From Afghanistan to Michigan: A Journey Through Time and Culture-Part One
Introduction:
I’ve embarked on a mission to share the story of my life, piece by piece, and I invite you to join me on this journey through the tapestry of my memories. Before we delve into these recollections, let me introduce you to my current life. Today, I wear multiple hats — I am an engineer, a devoted mother, a loving wife, and a business coach. Two years ago, my family and I made the life-changing move from Afghanistan to Michigan, and we now call it our home.
Within this collection of memories, my aim is to offer you a glimpse into my world, both past and present. As the Afghan community continues to grow in American neighborhoods, I believe that sharing my story can serve as a bridge — a means to foster understanding and forge connections. My hope is that these fragments of my life will not only illuminate Afghan culture and life but also resonate with the universal experiences that unite us as human beings. So, come along on this journey as we explore the rich tapestry of my life and the culture that I carry with me. I invite you to stay tuned as I continue to unveil my story, piece by piece.
Part one: Childhood Memories: A Glimpse into Our Struggles and Bonds
When I find myself grappling with the challenges of my present life, I often reminisce about my childhood days. Reflecting on how far I’ve come from a time when mere survival seemed uncertain gives me the strength to persevere. I remind myself that amidst the world’s myriad struggles, my life, flawed as it may be, could be the aspiration of someone else. I embrace it, relish it, and seize every precious moment with gratitude.
I fondly recall my childhood, a time when my family and I toiled together in a challenging, male-dominated occupation. Our days would commence as early as 2:00 AM and often extend well into the night. My mother was the first to rise, sitting beside our sleeping area, gently coaxing us out of bed to begin our day. Her role was far from easy, as she had the difficult task of motivating her children to work while striving to provide for our family’s basic needs. She bore the responsibility of both managing the household and laboring alongside us in the fields.
As a young girl, I found the demanding work at the brick-making plant particularly grueling, especially given my petite stature. There were moments when I would unintentionally nod off amidst the quiet of the night, or when the scorching sun would cause my eyes to sting during hot summer days. The experience wasn’t just about sleepless nights; it also involved working during the silent hours when most people were asleep, with only the sound of crickets for company.
During the day, I found solace in the fact that more Afghan families joined us in our work. I could hear the distinctive sound of long metal ruler-like implements, which people used to strike the back of the frame they were using to make bricks. This was to clean the form from excess sand and ensure that the bricks came out in the desired size. These sounds served as a reminder that I wasn’t alone in facing such demanding work.
Our lunch break around 1 p.m. was a welcome pause in our grueling workdays. We usually enjoyed a hearty meal of pasta or rice, accompanied by some type of meat stew. Given the scorching heat of the days, a cold yogurt drink became a staple to help cool us down. Occasionally, we would have “shorwa,” a type of Afghan stew made with meat and various vegetables. My mother was dedicated to ensuring we had nutritious and energy-packed meals. In her eyes, those who didn’t eat well were likely to have lower productivity, and that was something my parents were determined to avoid.
Speaking of productivity, my father and I had a demanding daily goal — making 4000 bricks. Each of my sisters was paired with one of my brothers, with the same target of 4,000 bricks per pair. The job was not well-paid, but it provided us with the means to survive and put food on the table.
As I reminisce about those days, our family dynamics were significantly influenced by working together in that challenging and demanding environment. We siblings viewed each other primarily as co-workers during those demanding days. The weight of the work and the shared responsibility bonded us in a unique way. It wasn’t about being brothers or sisters at that moment; it was about who contributed the most to our family’s work and livelihood. In this demanding environment, my brothers often held more influence due to the physically demanding tasks they undertook, and my father instructed us to heed their guidance. The dynamics within our family were shaped by the labor we shared.
The other aspect of our work was the protective pride of my brothers. They often imposed restrictions on me and my sisters because we were working in a male-dominated environment. They were particularly insistent on us wearing the most modest clothing and would scold us if we ever wore something they deemed immodest. I remember in hot summer days when covering ourselves from head to toe was so difficult that it made us sweat and stink for the entire week. The week was intense, and the facilities were such that we could only take showers once a week, each weekend.
Now that I’m in my 40s and a mother myself, I can better understand and appreciate their perspective. I realize that they were looking out for our safety and upholding traditional values, even if it sometimes led to disagreements.
