My mother’s words as I fled my homeland ring in my ears

I’ll never forget the last thing my mother told my husband, Zakirullah, before we had to say goodbye.

‘Fatemah is my amânat to you, take care of her.’

Amânat is a Dari word that essentially translates to: ‘A gift you entrust someone with.’

She said this as floods of tears streamed down my face. I didn’t want to leave her – or my three younger siblings – but Zakir and I had no choice.

Within two weeks, Kabul fell to the Taliban and my whole world shattered.

I was born and raised in the west of Afghanistan in a city called Herāt. Devastatingly, my father was killed by the Taliban when I was just six years old, leaving my mother to raise me, my younger brother, and two younger sisters.

Despite this, I was always encouraged to dream big.

That’s why, after university in 2013, I decided to study a master’s degree in Kabul, which is on the other side of the country. From there, I worked for the British Council, where I was in charge of the child protection department and various programs within schools and higher education.

Zakir and I met in 2015 for the first time. I delivered a training in one of the orphanages in Kabul, and he was working there.  

I think God had already decided for us. We met each other by chance at one of the institutes again, and there we started talking, sharing job opportunities and study plans. I realised we were similar in many ways, but different in others.

I liked that he was smart, educated, and caring. But his family is quite conservative, so the women in his family didn’t get an education or a job. He has always been so supportive of me and my dreams though.

We got engaged in 2016 and were married a year later. We were thrilled to welcome our two sons in 2018 and 2020.

After that, our lives felt settled and comfortable. In fact, Zakir and I were doing so well (he was working with the US government by that point) that we managed to rent a home in Kabul and were able to help move my mother, sisters, and brother from Herāt to be near us.

It was worlds away from how we both grew up. We were all so happy. 

Then, in April 2021, we saw terrifying headlines that NATO allies were going to start withdrawing from the country, which would effectively hand it over to the Taliban.

Within a month of that, Zakir heard about the UK’s Afghan Relocations and Assistance Policy (ARAP) scheme, which helps relocate Afghans who worked with the UK to get them out of the country.

I was eligible because I had worked at the UK Ministry of Defence and the British Embassy, as well as various international organisations over the years, which would almost certainly put me in grave danger.

My husband decided to apply for us and it was all approved by July. Of course, we felt relieved at the idea of escaping to safety, but it was heartbreaking to realise we couldn’t bring anyone with us besides our two boys.

Breaking the news to our families was incredibly tough. We didn’t know when – or if – we would see them again and I was so scared that my work would put my family in danger.

That’s when I had the emotional moment saying goodbye to my mother and siblings. Her words were still ringing in my ears as we boarded the plane heading to the UK on August 3 – a country I’d never been to before.

We arrived in Manchester and were placed in hotel quarantine for seven days due to the pandemic. We were moved from hotel to hotel across the country until we finally secured permanent accommodation in south-east London.

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Thankfully, both my husband and I were able to continue working, but this wasn’t easy while juggling trying to get our sons settled and adjusting to school.

I have since completed another master’s degree and I work for the British Council again after a career break, while my husband secured a job at Queen Mary University.

As for my siblings and mother, they were forced to flee their homes repeatedly to avoid detection from the Taliban until we managed to secure visas for them in Pakistan by the end of 2021. Thankfully, my mother, brother, and sisters secured visas again – this time to Australia – by the year after, where they still are today.

Throughout it all, it’s been incredibly difficult to be away from them. Of course, we regularly talk but I haven’t seen my siblings now for almost four years.

I feel quite lucky to be able to say that I met with my mother in Germany last August for the first time since being separated. The moment I saw her, I broke down in tears – I was so happy.

Remarkably, my eldest son – who was around three when he last saw his grandmother – remembered her. In fact, he was so overwhelmed with joy at being reunited that he cried himself to sleep on her shoulder.

Unfortunately, we only managed to spend two weeks together in Germany before she had to go back to Australia and me to the UK. Ever since, my eldest son still asks when we’re all going to be properly united.

Of course, I want that to happen, but they’re all so tired of starting over again and again. For that reason, I don’t know what the future holds for us all.

For now, I’m concentrating on building a life for my sons in the UK. Part of that is trying to be a role model, which is why I’m an ambassador for the charity City of Sanctuary, as well as involved with Refugee Week.

At the end of the day, I want people in the UK to realise that we’re real humans with real stories.

We miss our homeland a lot, and we came here as we had to, not because we wanted to.

My story is not yet finished. But at least we still have the greatest amânat of all – our lives.

As told to James Besanvalle

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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