All I was carrying were memories
Looking back for the last time, I knew deep down in my heart that I would not return. I felt like an outsider in my own homeland. I felt unaccepted.
I went to the yard and picked a small piece of soil and vowed that I would return if it ever called upon me. Turning my gaze towards my beloved mother, my heart ached with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. I whispered to myself, “will I see you again”. With a heavy heart, I wrapped my arms around her, and as I breathed in her scent, a sense of despair and hopelessness washed over me. We left the house around 2:00pm and two of my brothers accompanied my sister and I to the Hamid Karzai International airport in Kabul.
The once vibrant and lively city seemed dull and lifeless. The city that I adore the most seemed unfamiliar to me. The very essence of the city had been drained, leaving behind a strange silence that mirrored the emotions that gripped our hearts. Kabul had endured enough bloodshed and witnessed the anguish of its citizens during the Taliban’s previous regime.
As we approached the airport gate, the atmosphere became tense and chaotic. The airport was heavily congested with people desperately trying to flee the country and hoping to escape the oppressive rule of the Taliban. The streets were packed by the people which made it extremely difficult for us to even reach the airport. The scene reminded me of the zombie apocalypse movie World War Z. I vividly recalled wondering whether such a scenario could ever occur in real life. Now, faced with the frenzied masses at the airport, it felt as though I was living through the movie, with people driven to escape the infectious and radical ideology of the Taliban. In the midst of the chaos, I saw some families carrying little of their belongings while some people carrying only their passports and essential documents, leaving behind everything that was dear to them. As for me, all I was carrying were memories. Everything I carried with me was a reminder of my family, home and country. I was afraid that I was going too far, for too long and memories all alone could fade away.
My brother held my hand tightly and walked me in the crowd towards the first gate. As always he was protective, even in the face of danger. We had to steel ourselves for the challenges ahead. It felt as if the air was thick with tensions, each step we took closer to the first gate fraught with perils. The presence of the Taliban loomed ominously, their menacing figures guarding the gate made it exceedingly difficult to pass the gates. When we approached the first gate, we were pushed by the crowd who were claiming to be on the list of the evacuees. The Taliban, fueled by their authority and cruelty, pushing and whipping them ruthlessly. The scene unfolded before me like a nightmare. We were asked to sit as the Taliban claimed they would let us through if we were on the list of the evacuees. I feared not for my own safety, but for my brother’s. He had risked everything to accompany me on this perilous journey, and the thought of any harm befalling him filled me with an overwhelming sense of guilt. In that moment, I gathered all my strength, refusing to let fear or doubt sway my determination. I looked into him, pouring every bit of strength into my words as I told him that I would not return no matter the cost. The weight of my decision hung heavy in the air, a silence disrupted only by the chaos around us.
We reached the third gate which was guarded by the American soldiers and that’s where my brother and I parted ways. I felt a mix of relief and despair. The long hours of waiting had finally paid off and we were a step closer to safety. But my heart sank as I realised that in the chaos and stress of the situation, I had forgotten to say goodbye to my brother. I scanned the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but it was too late. He was gone. My sister shouted my name, “TANIYA, you have to be very careful and stick around me.” As we went forward, the tension grew and I was pushed backward. People were shouting at the soldiers pleading to let them through, claiming their eligibility for evacuation. I wondered who would be deemed ineligible in the time of such a crisis. No one wanted to live under the control of the Taliban rule once more, for Afghans had already tasted its poison, leaving scars upon our collective memory.
My sister was able to pass through the gates and was taken into safety. But I was left behind amidst the suffocating crowd. I was alone. I didn’t have my protective brother nor my sister. Therefore, I had to gather all my power and not give up because after all I am a survivor. I sneaked through everyone until I got closer to the gate. Now, I had to gain the attention of the American soldiers so that they let me in. One of the American soldiers was shouting at people “DON’T PUSH, DON’T PUSH.” Yet, the words fell upon deaf ears, as the majority did not understand English. Sensing an opportunity, the soldier inquired if anyone could translate. Stepping forward, I offered my assistance to translate. Addressing the crowd I asserted “If you all calm down and follow the instructions, everyone will have a chance to get through the gate safely.” Some of the people in the crowd looked confused, but I reassured them in the local language, using my voice to project confidence. “Listen to the soldier,” I said firmly. “Be patient and we need to cooperate.” A man among them shouted to me: “Wear your scarf.” I was wondering why he cared for my scarf in the midst of chaos.
Luckly, I was able to pass all the gates. I asked the soldiers to let the students and staff from our school to also pass the gate. I saw very young faces who were shouting to me for help and I clearly can recall one of them saying, “Sister, please help me and tell them that I have all the required documents.” I felt powerless and was sorry that I could not do anything.
Boarding the plane, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of sadness and loss. Leaving behind my home, my family and my memories was not an easy task. But at the same time, I knew that I needed to leave in order to ensure my safety and security. I can recall the chaotic scenes at the airport, and the words of the Taliban still echoes in my mind: “You are all going to America, shame on you.”
I left with a heavy heart, but also with a sense of hope for the future. When the plane took off, I knew that I was embarking on a new chapter in my life. I vowed to myself that I would work hard to improve and add value to my new home, wherever that may be. I would not forget my roots, my culture, and my people.
As I settled in my new home, in Middlebury, Vermont, I felt a sense of gratitude and responsibility, the opportunities that I had been given were not to be taken for granted. I was one of the luckiest Afghan girls who was able to escape her country while thousands of other Afghan girls, with the same dreams as mine, even more capable and competent were left behind. I don’t know why God chose me among so many.
I promised to use my voice to speak up for those who had been left behind.
While my world had been turned upside down, I did not go through it alone. I had my sister and closest friends around me who had gone through the same experiences. They understood me and listened to me with compassion. They were pillars of my strength, and I was grateful for their presence in my life. I don’t know how my life would have been different without my sister and closest friends. It would’ve definitely been a hell.
While the memories of those chaotic scenes at the airport will always stay with me, I remain hopeful that one day, we all will be able to return to our homeland, free from fear and persecution.
