Sarobi says she was scuppered by conservative Cabinet colleagues, who even blocked a decree condemning forced marriage.
"I tried my best, but it was not enough for the women of Afghanistan," she admitted. "They said it was our culture and tradition."
In Bamiyan, Sarobi's popularity stems from a solid political pedigree -- her uncle is a former vice-president -- and partly from the liberalism of her fellow Hazara, one of Afghanistan's more tolerant tribes.
After the Taliban seized power in 1996, she fled to Pakistan so her daughter could continue school. She also detested the obligatory burka, but found the ankle-length cloak a useful disguise when, years later, she slipped back across the border to establish a clandestine network of girls' schools.
"It was a necessary precaution. That way, nobody could recognize me," she said.
Afghanistan's most spectacular memorial to the Taliban's crude fanaticism lies etched into a sandstone cliff across the valley from her office. Two empty chambers where giant Buddha statues stood until the Islamists blew them up in 2001.
Bamiyan lies in a sweeping valley along the Silk Route, so harnessing its tourist potential is one of Sarobi's main projects for reconstruction. But the challenge is great.
Some of the main tourist sites -- particularly the forbidden City of Screams, an ancient citadel sacked by Genghis Khan -- are littered with mines. There is no electricity, no proper hotels, and the 240km drive from Kabul takes eight hours on a good day.
On her first day at work, Sarobi says, she found that 95 percent of her staff were "not professionally capable." There were no women.
Even the former governor, Muhammad Rahim Aliyaar, has lent his support, at least for now.
"It's too early to judge whether a woman can succeed. That will take six months or a year," he said. "But I believe that most people are behind her, and so am I."
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