“Migration is a suitcase filled with pain, hope, fear, loneliness, sorrow and dreams.”
Migration is one of the most significant decisions that a family can make in their entire life. For me and my family, migration from our homeland in Afghanistan to Iran was essential, however, very challenging. That journey was not only moving from one country to another, but rather, crossing a step full of challenges, anxieties, worries, and hope.
The first challenge was the decision to leave the country. To move on from our roots – my parent’s house, our relatives, and friends was not easy. We took steps forward, fearful of the unknown but hopeful for a better future.
Indeed, we faced many challenges in the path of migration. Passing from borders, legal obstacles, strict inspections, hours of waiting and high travel costs and many other stressful and hopeless moments. Because we had no passport or visa, we were deported more than two times. Facing extreme hunger, unbearable heat, and severe financial hardship. Personally, I had reached a point where I was ready to die, unable to bear anymore humiliation and misery. I personally witnessed the death of three children due to extreme heat and hunger. It was deeply heartbreaking. We were a family of eight people including two small children and my mother was terribly afraid that something terrible might happen to one of her kids, because she was the boss of my family, and she was accountable for everything in the family.
Why did we endure all these hardships?
Only to escape the harassment and cruelty of the Taliban and to flee from the poverty that had overwhelmed every family, especially mine, after the Taliban came to power.
Finally, after all these hardships, we succeeded in entering Iran. But the difficulties were not over yet. The language, accents, laws, education system, and even the lifestyle were all different. Finding a home, a job, obtaining documents, getting medical treatment and more, these limitations and the constant feeling of being a stranger caused a lot of mental and emotional stress. There was no one to love us or respect us, we had no value there. They didn’t even count us as human. It was really hard to live in someone else’s house, it was nothing like the phrase that says, “Home Sweet Home”.
To wrap up, I personally learnt that to be a migrant means nowhere truly feels like our own home, even if we have a roof over our heads. On the path of migration I realized that tears fall silently and homesickness is reborn with every sunrise.
– Nikbakht “Nazari”
Letter received from our students participating in our Mentorship program. Name and text altered for protection of our students and for grammatical changes.
