Reminiscence of a Life Long Gone

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In the past year, Afghanistan has seen terrible tragedies befall them. People are desperate to seek safer lands to escape the onslaught of destruction that leaves what they once called “home” a desolate and dangerous place. Statistics show that an estimated 10,000 refugees from Afghanistan were evacuated and placed in the US during the August of 2021. Even though they have escaped their country, refugees still face trouble finding help in the country they have fled to. A few problems they face includes “discrimination,” finding a place to live, financial troubles, and difficulty adapting to the culture and language of the country they have run to.

This essay is meant to give insight into their experience as they settle into a new country.

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The sun bore down upon the streets, with blinding glares from the cars all around as overwhelming as the honking from the vehicles. I marched quickly across the road, unsure of where to go next. Every turn looked the same. Every building looked the same. The architecture around me was overwhelming, but eventually, I made my way down the correct street.

Only after it was dark did a somewhat familiar building appear. Walking in, the lively sounds of the family we shared the house with grew clearer. I made my way through the throng of talking people, saying a quick hello to our neighbor, who was managing her children alone. Her husband and my father were out for work, and they always came home late, so the women of the household stayed at home to take care of the younger ones.

I went into the room I shared with my younger siblings and started on my homework. The language was difficult to learn, and some of the words looked like a massive jumbled mess of black letters. As I scratched my head, pondering questions, my mother came in to tell me it was time to eat.

Dinner went by in a blink of an eye, but I felt like I had not eaten at all. Going back to facing the dreaded words, I felt like days passed before I managed to get the first part of the assignment done, and it took even longer for the sounds of light footsteps running and children giggling to fade.

Days dragged on. It was getting easier to understand words. I still didn’t know anyone at school, much less make friends. They stayed within their own groups and I felt like the odd one out. Occasionally, I heard them whispering to their friends as they sneaked glances at me. I nervously shuffled through the hallways, subconsciously pulling at my shirt to smooth the wrinkles, trying to make it look nicer by their standards.

I missed home. This emotion, this longing for days bygone, stayed and burrowed deeper within me. I would sometimes catch myself reminiscing about the games we used to play as children, throwing the ball around and playing gudiparaan baazi , running after the loser’s kite as it flew away. I also missed our home delicacies, the smell of the thin flatbread roasting as my mother turned it over and revealed the golden brown underside.

Everything was snatched away from me all too suddenly. News of the war reached our ears, and one day, our father woke us up in the middle of the night, and told us to pack. We left the minute the sky began to brighten, never having a chance to say goodbye to those we had known for our whole lives.

The journey to the airport was long and arduous, the soles of our shoes wearing away by the time we arrived. The building was packed with panicked and terrified people, all together in the stifling heat. My father muttered something about how lucky we were to be able to get tickets, but I didn’t particularly feel lucky.

Arriving here was the least of our worries, finding a place suitable enough to live was a challenge of another caliber. We had to go through so many procedures I lost track on the third interview. When we were finally able to settle down, my father was able to get a job at a construction site, and our mother worked part time as a janitor in a nearby hospital.

Things still aren’t great. I haven’t got the gifts of my peers when it comes to education, nor am I able to help earn money for the family. However, I still dream of the day I am able to return to my home country, when we can play in the streets again like before the war.