Afghanistan Peace Campaign 
A new era, a new beginning
My family are from Baraki Barak district in Logar province, but I wasn’t born there. They’d fled to Pakistan during the civil war in Afghanistan before I was born. And this is how, in 1993, I came to be born in Parachinar in the Kurram district of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa.
I was in grade four in 2003 when my parents decided to move the family back to Afghanistan. A new government had been installed two years earlier and people were saying that Afghanistan had entered a new era — one that promised hope and opportunity.
We settled in Kabul’s Dehdana area, where I finished primary school and then went on to the Ghazi Abdullah Achekzai High School. School was important to me. I enjoyed learning and did well in class. I got my high school diploma, sat the university entrance exam and was accepted into the Faculty of Accounting at Badghis University.
But life had other plans.
Stepping up for my family
The summer before I was meant to start my university studies, my father was diagnosed with cancer and had to stop working. I had to step up and start working to support my family. I didn’t go to Badghis. I had to stay close to home in Kabul, so I enrolled in a computer science course at Hazarat Muhammad Mustafa Institute.
My days were long and demanding. I went to school from seven in the morning until noon. After that, I got work tending my family’s livestock. We owned cows, sheep and goats. I looked after them, taking them to graze in nearby pastures and when there was no grass, I bought feed from the market. I sold the milk, yogurt and butter that we got from the animals to support the family.
Crossing borders in the dark
The promise of hope and prosperity in Afghanistan’s new era hadn’t lasted. Security had deteriorated and suicide attacks and explosions become commonplace, even in Kabul. Anxiety and fear were a part of daily life. So, in October 2015, I made one of the hardest decisions of my life. I left Afghanistan and migrated illegally to Europe.
It was a gamble — a dangerous one — but it was what I had to do to secure a better future for myself and my family. It was a long and exhausting journey. I travelled from Afghanistan to Pakistan, then to Iran and Turkey – much of it on foot, crossing borders under cover of night. From Turkey, I crossed the sea by boat to Greece. From there, I continued through Macedonia, Serbia, Croatia, Hungary, Austria, Italy and France. And finally, 45 days after I had said goodbye to my family in Kabul, I arrived in Spain.
I could have been caught by border guards or police at any moment along the journey. But I was determined. I spoke some English and managed to make the journey mostly on my own.
A new life in Spain
When I arrived in Spain, I went to the police. They registered my fingerprints and biometric data and took me to a refugee camp in Getafe, Madrid. I stayed there for six months. During that time, I began learning Spanish and took a six-month course to learn how to make pizza and wait on tables.
With my certificate in hand, I began looking for work. I found a job in a small restaurant in Madrid. I made pizza and other snacks and learned how to prepare barista-style coffee. At first, I worked six hours a day, mostly in the afternoons. Later, I increased my hours. I worked from eight in the morning to four in the afternoon, took a two-hour break and went back to work until midnight – seven days a week. It was grueling, but I was determined to make a go of things. That job helped me improve my Spanish and start to understand Spanish culture.
Later, I found a job in a Pakistani restaurant. I worked there for two months – every day from noon to four in the afternoon and again from six in the afternoon until eleven at night. After that, I went to work in an Iranian restaurant in Madrid with a similar schedule. All in all, I worked in these restaurants for two and a half years. Then, a phone call changed everything.
The phone call that changed everything
I was working at the Iranian restaurant in Madrid when my maternal uncles – who’d been living in Spain since 2010 – called me and said they wanted to start a business and asked me to join them.
We began selling dry fruits, baklava and Turkish delight. We bought baklava from an Iranian company in Madrid and imported dried fruit and other sweets from Turkey and Belgium. We sold our products to shops and supermarkets across Spain. We ran that business together for four years. I learned a lot about how to run a business in those four years, everything from imports to distribution, from negotiating prices to customer relations.
It was time for me to stand on my own two feet. So, with my uncles’ blessing I set up my own business. For the past three years, I’ve been importing and selling the same sort of products. It’s still a small business, but it’s mine. I work long hours and I travel across Spain, spending a couple of months in different cities – Madrid, Barcelona, Bilbao, Seville, Cadiz, Malaga, Huesca, Alicante.
Loss, family and a new beginning
In 2020, my father lost his long battle with cancer. We’d done everything we could and spent a lot on his treatment, but finally we had to accept that there was nothing more we could do except make him as comfortable in the time he had left. I went back to Kabul that year to spend time with him before we lost him and support my family through that difficult period.
After my father passed away, I set the wheels in motion to bring my mother, sister and younger brother to Spain. I also got married and brought my wife here. Today, we have a son. Recently, I became a Spanish citizen — something I once thought was impossible. Through years of hard work and sacrifice, I’ve been able to grow my business, buy an apartment for my small family and another for my mother and siblings.
The long road home
When I look back on the journey from a refugee child in Parachinar to a business owner and Spanish citizen, I feel proud of how far I’ve come. Life has taken me across borders and brought me face to face with many challenges. But my story is not unique. I’m not the first person forced by circumstance to leave their home with nothing but the hope for something better, nor will I be the last. If my journey proves anything, it’s that even when life begins in hardship, it’s still possible, through determination, sacrifice, opportunity – and a bit of luck – to build something strong and meaningful.
But I couldn’t have made a go of things alone. Along the way, I was helped by the goodwill of many people who saw a chance to help and did. I now feel an obligation to help others, as I was helped. I know all too well that, given the chance to work and contribute, those who arrive as strangers can become part of the fabric of the place they’ve come to call home.
Edited by Roxanna Shapour