In 2023, two years had passed since the regime change in Afghanistan. The situation was getting worse for everyone who was working in the previous government or for the international human aid offices. This new regime’s idea was that those who worked with foreigners should be prosecuted. Since my dad was working in those organizations, he was among those whom the government was monitoring. So, my family and I were very alert. I began noticing fewer smiles on my father’s face, more visits of my mother with her doctor, and my sisters sitting at home all day, wondering what they would wear when schools opened again, how they would study, and how they would spend time with their friends.
As the situation grew worse, the pressure quietly shifted toward me. I was expected to find answers, handle paperwork, and keep everyone hopeful. I was 18 years old. Generally in our culture it was my time to be responsible for some of the work, but my dad’s situation put all the responsibility on me. Everyone believed I was strong enough to help, but no one saw how painful it was for me to watch my family suffer. Yet despite all the expectations, I was not ready for that. It was overwhelming for me. I felt powerless every second of those days. But I had to keep going, and I had to try to get them out of that.
The only real chance we had was immigration. Because my father had worked with international nonprofit organizations, a small door had opened for us. To apply for our U.S. visa, we had to travel to a country with an active U.S. embassy. It sounded simple in theory, but in reality, it was complicated. We needed passports and many other travel documents, and I was responsible for applying for all of them. My father helped as much as he could, but most of the work was on me. I had to go every day for a month just to finish the process. Everything is handwritten. There is no computer or online work to apply or process anything.
After a long and exhausting process, everything was finally ready, and we were waiting for our interview to be scheduled at the U.S. embassy in Kigali, Rwanda. In October 2023, we received the email: our interview was set for January 25, 2024. I remember every second of that day. I remember the hope and smile on my father’s face. He was a good-looking middle-aged man whose beard had partially turned white due the level of stress in these years, and I remembered how my mom hugged us with relief. But my four sisters were confused. They had so many questions—where are we going, what would happen to our grandparents, and should we take our clothes and books with us. My little sister asked me if her best friend could come with us.
While they asked these questions, my mind was filled with fear. How do we leave the country safely? What if the Taliban captured my father? How do we afford the trip? My father began calling friends and relatives. They helped us with money, supplies, and protection. Many of them escorted us to the border with Iran. There were several cars and people with us, acting like human shields, especially for my father. It was a heartbreaking moment. Everyone was crying, but there was one more checkpoint at the border and nobody was allowed in that area except travelers. It wasn’t safe for us, so we choose to walk for three miles around them and go straight to the Iranian border patrol station. Since the border patrol was aware of the situation, there was a good chance that they wouldn’t care how we got out of the country.
We crossed the border and flew to Mashhad, Iran. We stayed there for a week, buying necessities like clothes, shoes, and a phone so we could let others know we were safe. Our flight to Rwanda was scheduled for January 17 at 10:30 p.m., with a connection through Dubai.
That day, we woke up early, afraid that something might go wrong. I checked our green passports, tickets, and immigration documents repeatedly. Everything looked fine. Then my father received a phone call. A friend warned him not to go to the airport because Afghans were not being allowed to travel without round-trip tickets. My heart sank. We had already spent most of our money on essentials and the hotel.
My father spoke firmly to his friend on the phone. “We are at the edge,” he said. “There is no way back. We either stay stuck here or we move forward.” After he hung up, he turned to me and said quietly, “Don’t worry. We will make it, by the will of God.”
But inside, I felt there was no hope.
We left the hotel at 2 p.m. and arrived at the airport an hour later. We waited for hours until boarding began. When we reached the counter, the staff checked our documents and asked us to step aside. After some time, an employee told us we could not fly because we did not have round-trip tickets.
There was another problem. Although we were speaking the same language, Farsi, our accents were very different, and the staff struggled to understand my father. Years earlier, I had become familiar with their accent because I had a friend in school who was born in Iran, and we spoke often. Because of that, I stepped in and began explaining our situation myself. The worker listened but said he could not help us. He pointed toward counter seven and told me to speak to the manager.
I walked to the manager, a handsome young man with circular-framed glasses, unsure how to begin. Everything depended on his decision. Without thinking, I said, “They will kill my father.” He looked shocked and asked me to explain. I introduced myself, pointed to my family standing nearby, and carefully answered all his questions.
He listened and then said, “If I let you go and something happens, it will become an international problem. It is against the law for you to travel without round-trip tickets. You cannot come back here with this visa, and we don’t know what will happen to you.”
I walked back to my father and explained what the manager had said. No matter what I told him, the manager kept repeating that buying return tickets was our only chance. He would not accept any other solution.
My father looked at me and said, “Tell him that no matter what happens, we will not come back here.” I returned to the manager and passed on the message, but he still insisted that we needed return tickets to Afghanistan. We tried to explain again, but he refused. It felt like our only chance was slipping away.
My father called a friend who worked for an Afghan airline, hoping to book return tickets, but the internet connection was poor, and nothing was certain. I looked around the airport and saw empty counters, as if everyone had disappeared. It was 10:15 p.m. My head was pounding. My father was on his knees. My mother tried to calm my sisters, telling them that one day they would go back to school.
Then my father handed me the phone and pointed toward the manager. I walked to him, exhausted and barely standing. He asked, “Were you able to book the tickets?” I didn’t answer. I just stared at him hopelessly. He understood. He got his answer.
After a long pause, he said, “I am going to do you a favor I have never done before. I will let you fly, but you must promise that if anything happens, you will not come back here.”
I could not believe it. I asked him to repeat it. When I turned toward my family with a smile, they understood. They rushed toward the counter with our bags. We were given seats together at the back of the plane, but it did not matter. The fact that we were allowed to fly meant everything. I thanked the manager, and we left that night.
Now two years have passed, and I have been through a lot while moving and settling here in U.S., but that was the first step towards where I am today. That was when I realized I could do things that I have never thought I could. I learned what it means to be responsible. It was like an exam that I have never studied for it, but I passed it.
However, in my mind I have some unanswered questions. What if there had been no war in my country or around the world? What was our fault out of all this war? This is only a small portion of what I have experienced. There are people that are losing their lives every single day around the world for wars that have been going for a long time. I encourage all the young students that are going to be new leaders of the world to work to achieve peace and put an end to the war.
