On August 15, the Taliban entered the city of Kabul, the government collapsed, and I went into hiding. On the third day, I was contacted by a woman in the U.S. Department of State. She said I was considered at high risk and should be evacuated. She told me to take my children and head to the Kabul airfield. It was an important call, and we needed to act quickly.
Except for a small bag containing our passports and a few necessary items, I decided to leave behind everything else—belongings, jobs, family.
Due to my years of activity in human rights work, I was quite well known, making me not just a possible but an easy target of Taliban retribution. We decided that my two adult children and I should try to leave.
Fear was everywhere, from everyone. Not only Taliban, but also those other extremists who were not happy with us and our human rights activities. On the way to the airport, I deleted and removed from my cell phone anything that could possibly put my life at greater risk. I disabled accounts, deleted photos and documents, and changed my appearance. Except for a small bag containing our passports and a few necessary items, I decided to leave behind everything else—belongings, jobs, family.
Despite the travel visa received from the State Department, we spent more than two hours dodging bullets before we gained admission to the airfield. The U.S. military was not letting anyone get near. The soldiers guarding the airfield fired indiscriminately at people rushing toward the gate.
The whole time I was trying to hug both of my children, Parisa and Jawed, hoping to protect them from the rain of bullets. The noises I remember from those moments, now turned into nightmares, were the voices of children crying, the successive gunshots, and the voices of foreign soldiers screaming loudly, “Go! Go!”
On August 23, after a short stay in Bahrain and Kuwait, we flew into Washington, D.C. We took a bus to a temporary accommodation, where a group of soldiers and translators welcomed us with clapping. I couldn’t stop crying.
After a few hours of rest, we were transferred to the Fort McCoy military facility in Wisconsin. I noticed that several families there had to live under the same roof, which was shocking. All of our group members were well-known women activists in Afghanistan. We needed to rest after our chaotic and frightening week of travel.
All of us were experiencing sadness over the separation from our families and friends. This made life in the camp more difficult for us. But there were also things to keep us happy, knowing that we were safe and sound.
Yes, there were shortages of food and clothes, and the management problems that come from putting thousands of people in the same place with a new culture, in a new country. But I personally witnessed the efforts of military managers and State Department officials to improve living conditions for evacuees. Beautiful green trees with attractive autumnal colors surrounded the camp. The soldiers would play daily with evacuated children; you could hear their laughter and joy.
My children and I were at Fort McCoy for nearly two months. Then on October 2, with the support of friends, we left for Silver Spring, Maryland. These were friends we never met, but we will never forget the support we received from them in resettling here. We have made new friends here in this new world with a new vision, and we are hoping to continue our life here and to be able to help others in our situation.
I am happy that things are going well for me and thankful to everyone who made this happen. But I have not forgotten, and will never forget, the thousands of Afghan women forced to live in a repressive and dangerous country and those who remain in the camps, still looking forward to finding their new lives.