Immigration Story bu N.R.

Sept. 18, 2012
An Immigrant Story

     Life is good! Yeah, right! Totally!! At least that’s what I think living in this part of the world, where the sun rises and sets like in any other place. But it is not any other place. Life in Afghanistan is more of an existence, hardly what you would call living. Added to that I am a girl. I hate being a girl. I cannot go to school. The village only has a school for the boys. Instead I stay at home and make myself ‘useful’. I collect water from the nearby well and rush home. Wandering outside poses danger. Everyone talks in whispers these days. The adults don’t say much to the younger ones. The little I know puts me in further despair. The kind of loss our village has known can only be found in stories. The blasts of gunfire and bombs are part of our daily life. The terror of the ‘big birds’ in the sky is always looming over us. The blue sky is somehow lost. Fear fills the air, misery pervades our life, and the dark clouds have taken over.

     As I stepped out of the house for water, there was not another soul outside. In fact there wasn’t a sound except for a slight buzzing. When I had barely taken another step, there was a sharp whizzing sound and right before my eyes the well exploded, with water and stone and wood flying everywhere. For cover I had only one thought in my head. "Duck!" There were no remains of the well in sight. I dashed home and on the way I looked at Aisha’s house who is my best friend. Nothing. Except for some wood remnants here and there, everything was flattened to the ground. Then, the men came. Ten or twenty armed men. I did the likely. I ran. The moment I got home I gave a sigh of happiness, for my hut was still standing. But at that second my parents rushed out, grabbed me and we ran never looking back.

     We had to find someplace safe, someplace where the insurgents would not find us. It was not safe to go back, there was no place to call home. Those who did not join the cause of the insurgents, would be killed. So on we trekked, through forests and mountains, night and day. We depended on nature to survive those harsh, long days. When we rested, the memories came flooding back, the sounds of the explosions still buzzing in my ears. I would lie there and watch the birds and animals. They were free to go where they wanted. Someday, I promised myself, I would be free too.

     Days had gone by. I lost count. There is always light at the end of a tunnel. Our light came in the form of a refugee camp. Watching the tears of joy slip down my parents cheeks I realized that I had tears of my own. I scanned the group and who should I see but Aisha! The tears wouldn’t stop. That night I slept a peaceful sleep with no dreams to haunt me.
The Red Cross has provided the essentials for us, but even more importantly they have arranged for us to be settled in Canada! I have heard stories from the other refugees, of that place far away. Everything took what seemed like forever to prepare but eventually details were sorted out and we were there.

     The day arrives and we are in Canada. I look up, the sky is blue, no looming clouds of dread. A clean slate, a new life. I smell freedom.