Nassim had a sheltered childhood. His family originated from Parwan but had lived in Kabul for many years. His father worked for the American troops at a military vehicle repair company. His grandfather worried about what would become of the family: "My grandfather always said, 'One day the Taliban will come, and then it'll all be over.'" But the work enabled them to have a good life and gave their children the chance to receive an education.
When his parents moved to Parwan with his four younger siblings for work, Nassim and his older sister, who was studying law, stayed in Kabul and were well cared for by their grandparents, aunt, and uncle in Kabul. "My aunt looked after me like my mother. I never felt alone." Nassim enjoyed school, had friends, and played sports. During the holidays, he visited his family in Parwan.
But the Taliban continued to gain power. Once, a bomb was thrown into their yard in Parwan; only by luck was no one killed. His father continued working for the Americans. "He said money was the best protection, and it was too late anyway—everyone knows who he's working for." Nassim only understood what this meant later. In July 2021, his father and the rest of the family came to Kabul and picked him up. Only when they drove to the Afghan-Iranian border did Nassim understand that this was an escape. And it came just in time—a few days later, the Taliban took over Herat and then Kabul.
They were able to hide with an acquaintance for two months, but then the father decided to flee further: Iran was not a safe place, as there was always the threat of deportation to Afghanistan.
They were separated while fleeing to Turkey because Nassim was fitter—he could run faster and was guided across the mountains at night on foot. He was lucky, and after him, his family also made it across the border. But Turkey wasn't safe either: anyone caught by the Turkish police was deported directly to Afghanistan. His father decided that Nassim should try to get to Europe—the sooner the better. The family then wanted to follow.
He was caught by Greek police: "They burned my things. I only had one pair of pants left. No shoes, no cell phone. Nothing." He tried again and made it to Athens. His father sent money for his continued escape. After being crammed into a truck with four other people for days, he arrived in Germany, completely exhausted but alive.
His family wasn't so lucky. They tried more than ten times to get to Greece and failed each time. At some point, his father gave up, but his parents wanted his little brother to try it on his own. Nassim is torn: "I don't want him to come. He's too young, and fleeing is too dangerous, especially for children. But what if my parents are right? Maybe it's better to risk your life to have hope for a future than to have no hope and no life at all."
Because he knows that there are no prospects for Afghan refugees in Turkey. Sooner or later, they will be deported back to Afghanistan.
Nassim hears from friends what life in Afghanistan means: "Everything is controlled—your clothing, your hairstyle, what you say. And where would you go, except to the mosque? There's no work. Anyone who has anything left to sell usually pays more in 'stall fees' to the Taliban than they can earn. If you don't have money for food or medicine, you have to steal and are again in danger of being caught and abused. You live in constant fear. I sometimes ask myself: Are the Taliban human or devils?"
Even at home, one isn't safe or free. His friends say that at any moment, a neighbor might try to protect himself from their violence by slandering him as an opponent of the Taliban. They don't need a reason for violence and arrests. But they always find something during house searches—a foreign number on a cell phone, a fake movie on a laptop, music. Everyone distrusts everyone else.
His sister lives with her grandparents and her uncle's family in Kabul. She was a law student but dropped out. Now she's a midwife—the only profession women were allowed to practice, at least under strict supervision. But even midwife training has now been banned by the Taliban. "She's a smart and brave woman. But she's losing a lot of weight. She's suffering and afraid. I'm very worried about her."
Fear for his family and friends makes it difficult for him to concentrate and study. He is often ill. He had to abandon an internship. But he is determined to complete his secondary school diploma, then evening school, and his university entrance qualification. And he clings to one hope: that the Taliban will one day disappear from his homeland.