Nationality: - Refugee

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In September 2015, the whole world shook when a boy's corpse washed ashore from the Mediterranean Sea. He was at a very small age to even know what death means. The heart melting picture of the boy made the people open their hearts and talk about the sufferings of refugees.  They lose everything; their houses, their belongings, their loved ones and even their lives. This article is written as a tribute to the refugees who are fighting for their survival in many corners of the world. Here's the story of a little boy who lost half of his family in Taliban attacks and left his country for his life as a refugee. 

"At least 79.5 million people around the world have been forced to flee the homes. Among them are nearly 26 million refugees, around half of whom are under the age of 18. 

There are millions of stateless people, who have been denied a nationality and lack access to basic rights such as education, health care, employment and freedom of movement."

Img and Info Src: - https://www.unhcr.org/figures-at-a-glance.html

On the autumn day of October 31, 2002, I turned 16. I never thought of my sixteenth birthday after celebrating my fifteenth one in Afghanistan. I never thought of spending any day of my life in an alien land, becoming an alien myself to those who live in that alien land. 

I sat on a crooked chair, near the window of our single bedroom flat, watching out the smokes evolving from the two-way road filled with vehicles.

Slowly remembering the tales of my past, about how I spent early days of my life, how I whirled along with those village winds, how I played with Zara di, how I enjoyed the smell of kebabs Ammi made for all of us, how I hid myself in the rose bushes until angry Abba jaan cools down, how I fused myself with the heroes of the illusional stories sad by Dadi jaan, how I fought with Zara di for foreign goods baba bought for us, above all, I missed my home where I spent all the happy days of my life. Ahh! My beautiful home, it was designed with small domes and arches seems like medieval mahal of Mughals, made with makrana marble, surrounded by a small garden with palm, pomegranate trees rose shrubs. I bet that you can’t find a beautiful place than our house in the streets of Herat. Now, I miss all of them, all those winds will never flow again, all those roses will never blush red again, all those heroes gone dead, especially every moment I spent with my loved ones with whole hearted love, shatters my heart into pieces when I think of them…! Because they are DEAD! Sorry... Nope…! They were murdered; murdered by the cruelest things I had known – Taliban…!

A warm tear rolled down from the edge of my eye. Sometimes the dead things will come alive in the mysterious memories even if we bury them deep inside our hearts…! And that’s what we call it – “The past”.

Everyone had a past and when we compare with the present, the things in the past will be better for some, may be worse for other proportions of the population. And for us, the most helpless creatures – “Refugees”; the past is “brutal”, it brings back the grief, the torment, every time we recall it…! We neither bury it in the shades of dark nor we try to recollect it in the bright mornings…! Sometimes, it owns us, it consumes us in the most barbaric ways that one can think of, it makes us “numb” and “nostalgic”.

As today is my 16^th birthday, I don’t want to carry all that pain from my previous birthday here after…! It’s better to release all the grief isn’t it…? So, I am Alfez Ikram Khan , born in Herat, Afghanistan. I come from a Fauji family. My father Izaz Khan worked as Faujidhar under Dawood Khan after the demise of my grandfather Ibrahim Khan. My mother Sheema Sian Khan is the most beautiful women in my eyes and may be father’s eyes too. That’s the reason why he married her fighting with the entire crowd of our Uzbeks family and they both had their little princess Zara Khan as their first child and the craziest brut, me as their second and the last one…! Also, my sweetest dadi ma Afsana Khan lives with us too…!

We lived in the happiest world one can imagine until Afghanistan fell in the hands of Al-Qaeda. In the name of world peace, they destroyed our inner peace and happiness…! They made us homeless occupying our houses, buildings, belongings too… They made us question our existence. So many questions that hit my heart left unanswered. They made us feel dead by killing our beloved viciously…!

I was still sitting on the chair lamenting about what happened a year ago.

1 Year Ago,

It was a cloudy day. I was playing with Idris in the wheat field. Everything was good until we heard a 20000 hertz sound. We saw two grey bird like flying war planes in the blooming blue sky. We were too innocent to imagine what was going to happen. All we knew was that it was not something good. We ran as fast as we can, to reach our homes. We saw some people in their mid-20s holding guns and firing bullets on every living thing in their vicinity. Poor Idris! He got perplexed in that messy situation and ran towards those heartless men and got shot in his heart. I still remember that shade of red from the heart of my friend, whom I played with and spent all my childhood till then. There was no time left for me to process the situation and mourn for him. I kept running through streets, shut shops, houses, shrubs, waters and I tried my best to fill my lungs with air to save my life. I reached my two storeyed building, it was locked from inside. I started knocking the door. No one answered me. I was scared out of my wits. I shouted loud enough to echo in every room of our house and banged at the door with all my might. Abba jaan opened the door and lift me, a fifteen-year-old boy with his bare hands, took me in and closed the door. That happened in the blink of an eye. Zara di ran towards me and hugged me. Ammi and my dadi ma joined her, and we all cried our eyes out. None of us expected that we would be able to see each other again. I felt the warmth and love in their fear. After what happened a few minutes earlier, I was frightened with all those unexpected incidents. I cried like a baby hugging my Ammi for a long time. Abba left the room and walked upstairs. He looked away from the window. I wished that it would never happen again.

That night, Ammi baked some bread on Tandoor, and some Aloo Shorwa. We ate in dead silence. None of us slept that night. We slept in the same room that day except, my dadi ma chanting her prayers with a rosary in hand.

Finally, Abba jaan broke the silence, “They are so cruel. Killing people in the name of Allah. They are doing no good to people.”

“But why are they doing this in the name of Allah, Abba?” I asked.

"Alfez, humans are all good. But when we intend to do something bad, we search for names for it like religion, god, caste,hatred! Rubbish! We say that it is for our own good. But nothing good happens through that. We don’t think for others. Fulfilling our selfish reasons, feeding our darkest desires, we don’t want to stop that shit. Once we start doing something like that, we cover our mistakes in the name of love, goodness, peace! Allah is love; they are the ones with hatred.”

“But Quran says carry mercy and kindness in your heart for all people” I exclaimed innocently.

"Alfez, they are hardly humans to understand anything. They are misguided and they fulfill their cruel intentions anyway. They don’t care about what’s written in the holy books. Instead, they listen to their misleading ‘so-called’ leader. They kill everyone in the name of their idea of spirituality.”

“What can we do now Abba jaan?”

“Have faith in god son”

“Abba, can’t we flee?”

“This is your home Alfez. You were born here. Running away is for the cowards. I hope you are not one”

“But Abba jaan…”

“Sleep for now” Abba jaan ordered me and turned to the other side.

We were spending our lives in fear. After that day, everything changed. We were prohibited to gather outside, women and girls were not permitted outside without a male companion, all girls lost their right to education, no woman is pared if she talked with men in a louder voice, purdah was made mandatory to all women, no child played freely, no man made their evening pleasant after that, no woman was allowed to breath freely without the layers of black fabrics covering most of their faces, freedom, liberty, everything was in the hands of those who held guns. We were barely surviving each passing day.

We were happy until that very day. After a couple of weeks after that incident, spent uselessly, aimlessly, in the war of survival and life, Zara di looked from the window where she found beautiful red roses blossoming in the green shrubs. She got mesmerized with that beauty and she wanted them. She walked out unknowingly. She plucked one of those flowers with her mellow hands. She never knew at what cost she was going to have that rose. She never knew that those roses will soon be put on her grave. She never knew that behind those beautiful bushes, was a man about 6’2” height, in an olive-green colored uniform, holding a barrel gun in his hands. She didn’t wear purdah because the bushes were in the house premises. He grinned at her madly. She lost her grip and the rose fell off her hand. He grabbed her neck with his big palms of rough layered skin. She was trying to shout, she was trying to hold her breath, she was trying to free herself from his clutches, but she couldn’t. I looked out from my window and saw her struggling in the garden, but I didn’t know how to react to that. I was still recovering from what I saw last time, recovering from what happened to my friend. I couldn’t convince myself to go out and help her. I was too frightened. I was still that little boy who witnessed his friend’s death right in front of him. ‘I wanted to call Abba jaan. But what if they shoot him too? What if she dies before I go on a rescue mission? What if I do nothing?’ Too many questions left me puzzled. And before I could figure anything out, everything happened in a flash. She tried to see her family for one last time, her eyes welled up with tears, looked at her idiot brother from the glossy window. Her vision blurred; her breath become uneven. She was suffocating in his firm grip. She finally gave me a helpless look. She pointed her hand at me seeking for help, but she couldn’t understand why her brother was standing there motionless, more like a stone without any movement in him even after seeing his only sister in such a miserable situation. She lost her hope in the fight for her survival and I am one of the reasons for that. At last, she shed a tear from her right eye, the most painful moment I have ever experienced in my entire life. After fighting for a while, she gave up…! Her struggle went in vain and she’s no more…!!! And I, just like what I did when my friend died, did nothing even after her demise. She left her breath right in front of me, and I, good for nothing, just an additional useless existent being on the earth, didn’t even try to save her in her worst moment. She pleaded for help with her eyes. She asked me to do something with her sight…!

He laughed at the white pile of her body on the ground, kicked her with his leather shoe to test if she’s alive. He fulfilled his psychotic pleasure and left that place.

I stood there, looking at her corpse, turning pale. I didn’t dare to go out and lift her dead body and pay respects. I was afraid of the Taliban. I was ashamed of my existence.

After a while, Abba returned from his work. He never expected that one day, the first thing he would see after returning from work would be his dearest daughter’s cadaver. He ran to her, shook her once, twice, thrice, but poor didi didn’t move. He saw the red bruises around her neck…! Finally, Abba jaan broke that unbearable silence by yelling her name.

“Zara!!!?”

I rushed outside after hearing his scream. Ammi and dadi ma ran from the kitchen, leaving the bread in tandoors.

Abba lifted her body up and moved her into the house. Me, including Ammi, dadi ma were too confused to say anything. Even when I knew everything, I couldn’t let a tear out. Something was piercing my heart. I felt like someone placed a stone between my rib cage and slowly hitting it with hammer, raw pain flowing through my nerves. My guilty conscience made me suffer every second of my life thereafter.

“Zara, beti, what happened to you?” Abba screamed.

“Zara, why are you silent?” Ammi cried.

Dadi ma and I chose silence. But even dadi ma’s eyes were full of tears. I didn’t cry. Probably, I couldn’t.

“It must be the sin of those sons of b*****s… I will kill them today” Abba jaan’s eyes turned fire red and his face crimson with anger.

Without thinking a minute, he went out of the house with his licensed pistol. Ammi tried to stop him, but he waved her away. Dadi ma tried to stop him but he pushed her aside. I was such a coward that even in such a critical moment, I still chose silence. He angrily moved along the road and after that incident, I didn’t see him for a long time.

I didn’t know what happened exactly until that evening, until one of my uncles came home with a lifeless body of baba covered with blood everywhere, until my Ammi lost her husband, until my dadi lost her loving son, until I understood that I can’t talk again with Abba, until I knew that I can’t find Abba anymore, until we all knew that “Abba is dead…!!!”.

“Brave Izaz pointed the gun on the heart of that heartless Taliban. The next minute, couple of bullets penetrated through his body” Alam Kaka cried.

Ammi, dadi and everyone cried their heart out. On the other hand, I, his only son, his only child left, didn’t cry. No tears came out of my eyes. I stood there like a lifeless creature staring at nothing. The next day Mullah chanted prayers for the souls of Abba and Zara di to rest in peace. We lost them forever. The truth cannot be changed. I never expressed anything about their deaths. Everybody including Ammi thought that I might have too shocked after all those incidents. But they didn’t know what I did. If she knew it, she would hate me more than she hates the Taliban.

After some days, Alam kaka came to our house with his family to discuss something important to keep our going. Ammi offered him some mint tea to the guests in the house.

“The past has been painful with the demise of both Izaz and Zara. I know it’s not the time to say these things to you but, we had no option left with”.

Ammi wiped her tears as Alam kaka continued…

“Didi, we can’t live here for so long. This is no more the place that we had known in past. It became a war land. It became the place of dead and dying. This is not the place for us to live. We might die if we continue to be stubborn. Northern alliance has not arrived yet to save us and there is no guarantee that they would. Let us leave this place before it’s too late.”

After the demise of Abba, Ammi didn’t speak a word. She spoke after a long time to reply Alam kaka “But Bhai Jaan, where should we go leaving our house, belongings here? Your brother always loved this place more than his own life, how can we leave all his memories and run away from here?”

“Look, didi, I know what you are talking about, I can feel those things too. But nothing is worthy enough to take this risk of living here…”

“But…”

“Don’t think like that didi, don’t let the past hold you back. Don’t let your feelings and emotions take over your intelligence. Try to be practical. Alfez is growing up. He deserves a better future than this. Ammi is old. She must live in peace and you too Didi. You don’t have to live your rest of the life in that painful past”

“He is right Sheema. Nothing is more important than our lives. We must turn our eyes away from fire before it consumes us” dadi ma said.

“I will follow you all then. You both decide!” Ammi replied.

I and dadi nodded at Alam kaka.

“But where are we going Alam?” dadi ma asked.

“I know a friend in Delhi. We can move there”

“Delhi…, Is in?”

“India, Ammi”

“What? India? Why can’t we go to Pakistan? The land of Islam?”

“Ammi, Allah is everywhere. Pakistan is not safe either. Peshwar, Karachi, Lahore, maximal part of Pakistan is occupied by those Taliban. India is the nearest and safest place we are left with”

“How can we go there?”

“Ammi, we go there by flight from Herat to Delhi”

“What work do we do there? We have no livelihood.”

“Ammi, my friend already arranged everything for us. He owns a hotel in Hauzkhas, he was an Afghan too. He will provide us job there.”

“What if they find it out Alam?”

“They won’t find out Ammi. I had planned it all for us to reach safely to Delhi. You don’t worry. Just say OK! I will take care of the rest.”

“May Allah Bless you Alam”

Next morning, we all woke up early and packed our things. We left most of our belongings in our home except some pairs of clothes, our passports to reach Delhi, some valuables left in the locker for our future expenses in Delhi, and the most important thing, our family picture. I and Alam kaka along with our families, walked out of our house praying god to keep us safe.

We went to Masjid-I-Jami-I-Herat mosque and offered prayers. After morning prayer, we started our journey in Alam Kaka’s jeep. We can reach the airport by 6:15 and board the plane to Delhi before 7:00 and we can reach Delhi International Airport approximately after 4 hrs and 30 min.

We planned to tell that we are going to Mecca if anyone asks us. Everything was going well as per the plan. Alam kaka drove as fast as can, until we were stopped by a Taliban on the road side. He was tall, middle aged. He came and stood in the middle of the road to stop us. Alam kaka slowed down the vehicle and it finally stopped few inches away from that guy. He came near our jeep and examined everyone of us. He asked Alam kaka where we are going. Alam kaka said “We are going for Mecca”.

“Uh! Mecca?!”

“Ah! Mecca!” Alam kaka said.

His eyes stopped at my mom. He asked my mom to unveil her purdah. Alam kaka interrupted and said “She is not supposed to do so. Please let us go”.

He pointed a gun at Alam kak and said “She will”.

Ammi refused in protest. That guy penetrated the gun into kaka’s skin. Alam kaka’s wife got tensed and his daughters were crying. Ammi had no choice but to unveil her purdah. She did, revealing her long, fair face with clear jawline to the ugliest heart. He started ogling at Ammi in an unusual way. Ammi gave him a stern look. He asked Ammi to step out of the vehicle which Ammi refused in an instance. He threatened Ammi with the gun at Alam kaka’s head again. But this time, something really unexpected happened.

This inhumane deed of his enraged me. I clasped the gun in his hands and without thinking anymore, I pointed the gun at him.

Boom! He was on the floor motionless. No one came, because the sound of bullets was common in Afghanistan.

“Arey beta! Alfez! What have you done?” Alam kaka yelled.

“I served him what he deserved!” I said. It was as if I’m not the same person anymore. They say that people grow up in a particular moment of life. Some grow up when they are adults, some may grow up tomorrow, the next week, the next month, the next year, after 10 years and some people never grow up. I felt like I grew up in that moment.

Everyone in the vehicle turned silent and again we hit the road to the airport. I found that my heart felt light; probably it was relieved from all the guilt it was carrying till then. It’s hard to visualize the soft creature in you turning hard, when someone destroys the things it held dearest. That’s what had happened to me. I thought. We reached the airport. Chambers after chambers felt like, we were in some animated video game on which we have to cross sea, after that fire, after that thorns and snakes and finally reach the destination. Finally, our visas were verified. We, along with our luggage, went into the airbus. We sat on our respective seats. I got the seat beside the window and Ammi next to me.

 “Dear passengers, we are going to take off. Please fasten your seatbelts.” A woman announced it in soft voice. For everyone, it was just an announcement. But for us, it felt like the announcement of victory and freedom, from Afghanistan. After a few minutes, we were no longer on the land of Afghanistan. I was literally immersed in my own thoughts of anxiety mixed with anger. Ammi placed her hand on mine and I titled my head on her in a sense of relief. After a long wait, we landed in a place which we had never seen before, a place which we never thought in our millions of previous thoughts to live in. We arrived in ‘India’.

Someone in his mid-thirties with a white-black checks scarf around his neck came to us and hugged Alam kaka.

“Assalamualaikum” said Alam kaka.

“Mualaikumsalam” said the man.

“He is Roshan, my friend. The kindest soul I have ever known. He offered help to us before I asked him for any help” said Alam kaka.

We all wished him in return. We went to his place, where we have to work for the rest of our lives to lead a life that we never imagined. It was a big hotel, with lights everywhere and fancy furniture, the smell of the delicious food fluffed my nostrils. He showed us the entire hotel and instructed our elders their respective works and he left. Although we were there to work, he treated all of us in a generous manner. He gave two rooms in the nearby apartment, one for Alam kaka’s family and the other for my own. Ours is a small one with a single bedroom, small kitchen and a hall only big enough for us to have a meal peacefully. Ventilation was not so good and a small window in the hall was seen. The two ladies, Ammi and dadi ma lived in the bedroom and I made the hall, my official residence. Ammi was designated to work in the hotel. Dadi ma devoted herself to do the basic house work and to take care of me. I had nothing to do and became the quietest person. We never talked most of the days and even if there was a conversation, it lasted no longer than a few phrases.

As days passed, Ammi and dadi ma got blended with the present. But I still couldn’t absorb the things happening around me. This was my past which shaped my future in the worst way possible.

“You are not supposed to ruin your future Alfez” said dadi ma.

“Uh!!?”

“You know what had happened was not a good thing. But good and evil are parts of our lives. You can’t be stuck in the so-called past forever. It’s not right Alfez”

“Ah!”

“You have a good future ahead. Go on with your studies. We will search for a good school here, in Delhi. Be a good son to your Ammi.”

“Ji dadi ma!” I said.

That day, dadi ma told the whole thing to Ammi and Alam kaka and asked them to join me in a good school. The next day we went to the nearby school.

“We want our child to get his education in your school” said Alam kaka to the principal of Saint Thomas school.

“Sure. We are here to educate your children. Here is the form of admission. Fill and give it to me” said the principal.

“Khuda Hafiz” said Alam kaka and handed me over that form. It was an A4 sized paper, with printed lines of blanks. It went like this….

Name: - Alfez Ikram Khan

Age: - 16 years

Father’s name: - Izaz Khan

Mother’s name: - Sheema Sian Khan

Religion: - Islam

Nationality: -

My hand stopped moving further. Nationality.!? I am neither Afghan anymore, nor Indian yet. I felt too sheepish to fill it as ‘Indian’. No government made a clear provision in its constitution for aliens calling themselves as its citizens. Most of the acts formed for a cause, left an impact on the immigrants from neighborhood. I no longer belong to Afghanistan. And I need an Identification Proof to call myself an Indian. I handed over the form to the principal. He read out all fields and lifted his head up ad said.

“Nationality?”

“Refugee…!” I stood and left the office.

--- Written by Sreedevi Thappita

Editor: - Annem Ananya Sri

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