Malika’s Shoes
This is Permaz's* story in her own words. She expresses the fear, the heartache, and the upheaval her family experienced a year ago and her hope for the future.
9:00 am
It is the morning of Tuesday, January 11, 2022. The darkness of night slowly gives way to the light of day as my plane cuts through the cottony white clouds outside my window. A thin ray of sunshine filters through the window indicating that today will be a sunny day in Calgary, Canada. I suddenly feel strange and realize that the last time I was in my hometown of Kabul, Afghanistan was also a sunny day. However, when I think about that day, I can only remember darkness and horror. That was the day Kabul fell to the Taliban. In fear for our lives, we left behind all our loved ones and all our belongings. We were among the first targets for arrest by the Taliban: me, a woman working for Western interests, and my husband, a human rights defender. I never imagined that the jobs that we studied and worked so hard for all our lives would one day cause us to flee our own country, the one we wanted so very much to serve.
I look at my phone, it shows 9:00 am in Calgary, Canada. Ohh! 9:00 in the morning, the same time that I received a call from my sister that last day in Kabul. She was panting for breath while running through a crowd, telling me that the Taliban had entered Kabul. I was in my office, destroying the documents that I had worked so hard on for years. My hands were shaking, and my heart was grieving deeply.
9:00 am. The time I collapsed when I saw the schoolgirl with her backpack on her back, her favorite book in her hand asking her mother, “Can’t I go to school anymore?’ Her mother sighed deeply, held her daughter’s hands tighter, and asked her to run. As they passed through the crowd of people on the street, everyone fleeing in fear of the Taliban, the book fell out of her hands and was trampled underfoot by crowd.
9:00 am. The hour I wished could stop time forever and not to go one minute further. After that 9:00 am, I could never really laugh, never really live again. My only thought was to stay alive. After that 9:00 am, my only thought was, if the Taliban arrest me now because I’m not wearing a long black hijab to cover my head and I work for foreign people, they could cut off my head. Then what would happen to my son and my daughter?
After that 9:00 am, I saw twenty years of toil and effort collapsing before my eyes, the efforts of the Afghan people who were now running in terror while the whole world watched us in horror!
That day when I finally arrived home safe and in shock, my husband said that his office had a plan to take its staff out of the country and from there find a way to evacuate them. We only had one hour to make a decision, pack up, and go with them. Out of all our belongings in the house, each full of memories for us, we could only take one set of clothes per person. Anything else would make the border crossing more complicated.
In that one hour the only thing we could do was go to the shoe store and buy a pair of shoes for each of us for the hard journey we had ahead. So, we all went to the nearest shoe store, each of us rushing to try on shoes. I was looking for a comfortable and sturdy pair when suddenly my eyes locked on a pair of white sneakers, the same shoes that a schoolgirl named Malika once wore. She was killed in a suicide bombing in front of her school along with dozens of other girls, all buried with their dreams. Her shoes were all that remained of her, and the photo of her bloody shoes was circulated on social media.
I chose that pair of shoes quickly; it reminded me that now the girl who wore those same shoes was not alive anymore to follow her dreams, so I would put my feet into the same shoes in memory of Malika and all young victims of war. I would follow their dream to be free and fight for freedom! Those shoes would give me the strength of heart to be determined and not to give up.
Later, when I wanted to wear the shoes, my husband said worriedly, ‘You cannot wear these shoes, these are the white and light color that is forbidden for women by the Taliban. What will happen to you if the Taliban stop you and find out your background?” So, I couldn’t wear the shoes, but I packed them in my bag.
I walked across the border without wearing the shoes. A long, narrow path with barbed wire on both sides and thousands of people standing under the scorching sun, all struggling to get out of the country. As we reached the beginning of the line, the Taliban whipped an old man standing next to me and started hitting him with the butt of a gun. My son watched the scene from my arms and began to scream and cry in panic and grabbed at the barbed wire.
Mercifully we were able to cross the border that day. After a time, we were taken in by Project Alpha and spent three months in their care when we had nowhere else to turn. They welcomed us and gave us food, shelter, classes for our children, and so much more. Several members of my family also sought refuge with Project Alpha and are even now still in their care. As for us, we were moved by my husband’s employers to another location in preparation for the move to Canada. In all, we were displaced for about five months.
I was heartbroken to leave Kabul and my father, mother, brothers, sisters, and all my relatives. I am now miles away. When I look at my son sleeping at my feet, and my daughter sitting beside me, I know that they will have a bright future in this country. For the first time, I have a strange feeling of being sad and happy at the same time and tears fill my throat.
The plane is landing. 9:00 am is past. I tidy myself up for the start a new life, bending over to tighten the laces of my white shoes, no! Malika’s shoes. Each of us can be a free Malika with white sneakers!
Thank you for reading and for blessing people like Permaz with your faithful prayers and donations. Our current needs are approximately $20,000 per month to cover the costs of caring for the people we host and helping them to move to safer places. Would you consider a gift towards these needs?
*Name changed for security reasons.