Carpets woven in the Afghan village of Surkh Aqcha now cover floors and walls across Madrid’s Rastro, crossing continents and decades of upheaval along the way. What began as a way for families displaced by war to survive has become a steady source of income for nearly 250 households, thanks to one shopkeeper’s efforts to connect two distant worlds.
Abdul Hakeem arrived in Spain with little Spanish and no contacts. Today, he runs Tailak, a two-story shop where traditional Afghan patterns sit alongside bold custom designs. His business sells carpets while supporting an entire community back home, where weaving is often the only way to earn a living. Afghan women earn $80 for every square meter woven. Men handle washing and dyeing, earning $100-$300 a month. The shop’s shelves are stacked with intricate textiles, the visible end of a supply chain that begins in family courtyards and backyard workshops thousands of kilometers away.
Demand in Madrid has changed the craft itself. Classic oriental motifs remain, but about 60% of Tailak’s carpets are now made to order, shaped by Spanish tastes and requests from film set designers. Some pieces have appeared in Pedro Almodóvar’s films “La habitación de al lado” and “Julieta”; the upcoming miniseries “El problema final” will also feature them. The route from Surkh Aqcha to Madrid is complicated: carpets travel by road to Kabul, then fly via Dubai or Istanbul to Spain. Each order can take up to three months, with prices ranging from €120 to €300 per square meter.
Hakeem’s path has not been easy. Forced to flee Afghanistan during the Soviet invasion, his family spent years in a Pakistani refugee camp before returning to their village, where weaving was a necessity. When Hakeem moved to Spain in 2008, his first attempt to sell carpets in Barcelona failed. Only after relocating to Madrid’s Rastro in 2009 did local shopkeepers support him, sending customers his way and helping him get started. Today, Tailak has a second location in Chueca and works with a growing network of designers and decorators.
The business relies on local Afghan wool and traditional looms, with women weaving while men handle processing. The workshop in Surkh Aqcha, opened in 2013, now employs around 50 men for washing and dyeing. Nearly a quarter of the village’s families are involved in weaving. Hakeem estimates that 70% of his stock comes from Surkh Aqcha, with the rest sourced from other regions.
For the families involved, the stakes are high. Sakhi Haji, a veteran of the Surkh Aqcha workshop, says more investment could change the region, where skilled artisans often lack steady work. The contrast with other migrant labor stories is clear: some foreign workers in Spain face exploitation and poor conditions, as reported earlier. Tailak’s model instead sends profits directly to Afghan households, offering a rare example of ethical cross-border trade.
Madrid’s interest in Afghan carpets goes beyond taste. Hakeem’s business shows how migration and cultural adaptation can reshape economies and identities. His success rests on hard work and community ties, not charity or nostalgia. His carpets now decorate Spanish homes and businesses, as well as film sets, showing that traditional crafts can survive and grow far from their origins. In a market often dominated by mass production and middlemen, Tailak’s approach stands out for its transparency and direct impact.
