In a hotel changing room in Auckland, New Zealand, players stretch, embrace, and sing along to a patriotic Afghan song as their flag hangs on the wall. Some struggle to hold back tears. The scene is both joyful and charged with meaning: this is Afghan Women United, the Afghan women's national football team in exile, gathering together for the first time since football's global governing body Fifa ruled in April that they could represent their country in official matches.

The 23-player squad — drawn from Afghan women now living as asylum seekers and refugees in countries including Australia, the United Kingdom, Portugal, and Germany — has travelled to New Zealand for a training camp and two unofficial friendly matches against the Cook Islands. For years, getting travel documents aligned to train as a team has been extraordinarily difficult, making this reunion all the more significant. The original Afghan national women's team, formed in 2007, was effectively disbanded after the Taliban returned to power in August 2021, imposing sweeping restrictions on women and girls that banned them from secondary school, university, most professions, and organised sport. Team members were evacuated and resettled abroad, and years of campaigning — led in part by Khalida Popal, who founded the original squad — eventually led to Fifa's landmark ruling, which allows the team to attempt to qualify for international competitions such as the World Cup and the Olympics without needing approval from the Taliban-controlled Afghanistan Football Federation.

The personal stories behind the squad illuminate the broader struggle. Manozh Noori, 23, now living in Australia, grew up playing football secretly on the streets of Kabul, hiding her identity behind a face covering to avoid her brother's disapproval. After her success became public following a televised interview, family conflict forced her to stop temporarily. When the Taliban took over, she buried her medals and trophies in her family's garden before fleeing — and says she hopes one day to return and dig them up. Her football connections ultimately enabled her to bring her mother and sister to Australia. Mursal Sadat, 24, was evacuated from Kabul at 19 and now works as a football coach and human rights advocate, saying plainly: "If I wasn't a footballer, I would still be in Afghanistan." Defender Najma Arefi, 22, who now lives in Doncaster in northern England, recalls how her team's national championship victory once led to billboards of the players appearing across the city of Herat, changing local attitudes toward women in sport. Today, studying and making independent decisions, she says the freedom is "incredible" — but is often overcome by guilt about the millions of Afghan girls still denied the same opportunities.

The team's Fifa recognition — achieved without Taliban consent — is widely seen as a historic moment. For these players, football is not simply sport; it is the thread connecting their survival, their identity, and their advocacy. As they stepped onto the rain-soaked pitch in Auckland to face the Cook Islands, they did so as symbols of a generation of Afghan women refusing to be silenced, carrying with them the hopes of millions who remain unable to play, study, or speak freely at home.