Chakawak learned early on that rights and freedom must be fought for hard. She grew up in Panjshir as the daughter of a well-known lawyer and women's rights activist: "People said my mother was an infidel. Some even wanted to kill her."
Violence also reigned at home. Her drug-addicted father abused her and her family. "He wanted to forbid my mother from working and take me out of school. And when I was twelve, he wanted me to get married." For her mother, divorce was a huge risk. Nevertheless, she used her network to eventually separate and move out with her children. She became Chakawak's role model. "My mother showed me that you can fight. And that you have to." Chakawak became an outstanding student, interested in poetry and philosophy, became the youth spokesperson for her province in Kabul, and planned to study.
Then came the day that changed everything. She was 15, the last day of her final exams. "The principal came into the classroom and said, 'The Taliban have taken over Afghanistan.'"
Fighting broke out in Panjshir – her mother organized protests, and Chakawak joined them. Many fellow activists were arrested, tortured, and some murdered. The Taliban also searched for her mother. Her father, who had previously joined the Taliban, searched for Chakawak and arranged for her forced marriage to a high-ranking Taliban fighter. When they learned of this, the family fled headlong to Kabul.
At 16, Chakawak had to learn to live underground. "I was constantly afraid that the Taliban would find us. Or my father." Her mother fought tirelessly, trying to bring her and her brother to safety. Their only hope was her collaboration with a German human rights organization.
But the demands of the federal refugee program seemed almost insurmountable: "It took weeks until we gathered evidence of persecution and all other documents. Any contact with the outside world was life-threatening. How can you prove that you're being persecuted while on the run? That my father wants me to marry a Taliban?"
Meanwhile, the Taliban confiscated her house, threatened relatives, arrested and tortured colleagues, and her mother received threatening phone calls.
But the admission process was opaque, lengthy, and complicated. After several months, they finally received approval from the responsible German authority, the Federal Office for Migration and Refugees (BAMF). Now they still had to go through the visa process at the German Embassy in Islamabad, Pakistan.
Once again, they faced enormous hurdles: "How would we get to Pakistan? Where would we get thousands of dollars for visas? And how would we travel without a male escort?" The German authorities refused to assist single women in leaving the country—they had to comply with Taliban law, which forbids women from traveling without a male guardian. They borrowed the money from an uncle. "At the border, we had to pretend we belonged to another family. I was so afraid they would recognize us."
But Pakistan offered no protection either. Her father could have taken her back by force at any time. The visa process began at the German embassy: renewed checks, renewed questioning. Then it was a matter of waiting – for months.
"Some had their admissions revoked without explanation. What would happen if our case was also rejected? Then the Taliban would kill us."
Then came the message from the embassy: Without the father's permission, the children could leave the country—no visas . "I thought that was it. That I would never be free. That he would have power over me again." Her mother was summoned and again declared that her husband was a danger. But the embassy stood by its position.
The mother took a huge risk and contacted community leaders in her hometown. They were lucky; their old friends helped. The father was told the family was already in Germany but needed a health insurance certificate. He charged for the approval—but he gave it.
Then came relief: The flight date was announced, and they were taken to the airport. "But until shortly before boarding, the German embassy refused to give us our passports. People were pulled out by the federal police while we were still in line. We were terrified that we wouldn't be allowed on board either. Our nerves were on edge until the last second."
Today, Chakawak is 19 years old and lives in Germany. The fear for her friends in Afghanistan remains: "Most of my friends were forced to marry. They have nothing left. No rights, no life. I'm hearing more and more about suicides."
She's also worried that Germany will deport Afghans again. But the Taliban and her father are now far away, and Chakawak is dreaming again: "I want to write poetry again. Study astrophysics. Be free."