Maryam Amiri*

Content Warning: Sexualized and gender-based violence, burns. Please take care.

Never be a refugee again. This is what I swore to myself when we returned from Iran to our home city of Herat in 2004, three years after the Taliban government had been toppled. I was so happy to be home again.  

I am the first woman in our family who was able to study. People in Herat are very traditional. Studying to be a teacher would have been okay, but psychology? Luckily, my parents were on my side. As they were when I started work at Medica Afghanistan after my studies. 

On August 12, 2021, my parents sent me and my sister to Kabul. They were afraid for us. Just one day later, Herat fell into the hands of the Taliban. I watched videos of it happening. They were in sandals, on motorbikes, sometimes four men on one. They had no heavy weapons. I was sure they would be gone again in a day or two. Even today I do not really understand how they can still be there.

There were so many international institutions, soldiers and nations there. How could the Taliban win – overnight? 

My sister and I spent two days in the Kabul office of Medica Afghanistan. Then we moved into a hotel. And the Taliban moved into the city. The hotel was closed and we were on the streets, alone. Two young women without a mahram – a male relative needed to accompany any woman wanting to leave the house under the Taliban.  

In the end, a friend’s brother took us to his aunt. In her house there was so much warmth and love. We could breathe again. But not for long. That evening a message came from the office: “There will be a flight, come to the hotel.”  

We sat next to our packed suitcases, living on water, biscuits and hope. Waiting. In vain.

At the end of August the airport was closed and together with some colleagues we moved into an apartment. In November, many of us were able to leave the country for Pakistan. But my sister and I still had not been granted a passport, and without one there was no way out of the country. We were alone again: two young female Shias, more than 800 kilometres from home. Our father fetched us back to Herat.  

We had to keep moving. A neighbour had warned us: “The Taliban are looking for you.” In 2019, I had helped a woman to leave her violent husband – a Talib. Not all our neighbours were on our side. On the contrary: One of them denounced our family to the Taliban. “They are Shias, bad Muslims.” Years ago I had helped his wife take him to court for inflicting bodily harm.  

For ages we tried to apply for visas for one of the neighbouring countries. But it was not until September 2022 that my sister, my parents and I could leave for Iran. My brother still lives in Herat. He is 33 years old. But his hair is already white.  

For the onward journey to Germany, it should have been easy for medica mondiale to help us apply for documents at the German embassy in Teheran. But the embassy was closed due to the protests sparked by the death of Jina Mahsa Amini. So by the time we had the necessary documents in our hands, our visas had expired. This meant we could be thrown out, back to Afghanistan. 

So we spent a lot of money on short-term visas, which should have been valid for two weeks. Even now I do not understand why ours expired after two days. I will never forget Inga, Vida and Bele from medica mondiale. They kept permanent contact with us. I would not have been able to keep going without them.  

Eventually the day came and on February 20, 2023, we were due to fly to Germany. I had a high fever. Our expired visas meant we had discussions at every checkpoint, taking so much time we almost missed our flight. We had to run the last few metres.  

When we landed in Germany, I thought: “So now you have become a refugee again.” In the jobcentre in Germany they told me I could not study and work as a psychologist again. It would be better to do some vocational training. Maybe they thought I was uneducated. And this after all my struggles to be able to study.  

When I look back ... I was so strong. I looked after women who had been set on fire by their husbands, who had suffered up to 80% burns. I went into prisons. I stood up to the Taliban.  

And today? Today I am trying to find this old strength, clinging to my hope. The hope that we will be able to return to Afghanistan one day. That we will live a good life and build up our country. This hope is not very strong. But you cannot live without any hope. 

*For reasons of safety, the name has been changed.