Dori Samadzai  Bonner - Finding Home

 

I was born in Kabul, Afghanistan and lived there until I was 10 years old under the Russian occupation. I lived there with my family. My dad was a high-ranking officer in the military. My mom was a typist and my brother was two years older than me. By the time we left, I had witnessed eight years of war. It started when I was two years old. Bomb explosions, missile attacks and my dad imprisoned and tortured by the communists. For me personally, life was absolute hell. Not just because I was being raised in war, but because of my gender. I was automatically denied many things because of it. I was not allowed to participate in any sports. I could not go outside. I could not play with any boys or have any male friends. 

 

If I went anywhere or had to go anywhere, it would be in the company of a male guardian. At an early age, I had household chores, the equivalent of what you would expect of a homemaker here. So, after school, when my brother came home and then he went outside and played with his little friends, I stayed home cooked and cleaned. So, you see in society, in Afghanistan, as a young girl, I always knew my place. But it was until the day that I spoke up about being violated and made to apologize to that person for having accused an authoritative figure of such a heinous crime is when I realized I just had absolutely no rights. Not as a human, not as a child, but of course, not as a girl. 

 

After that day, I just stopped dodging the whistling sound that the missiles make right before they reach their target. One day, the coolest thing happens to me. I get this postcard from my aunt in America. And the postcard is of these two little kids, this little-- one blonde boy and a blonde girl at the beach making sandcastles. I'm so obsessed with this postcard because looking at it, this whole image, everything about it is completely far from my own reality. First of all, the little girl had blonde hair. I had never seen anything like it. [audience chuckle] She was wearing what looked to me like a cut off top in underwear. I had never seen a bathing suit before either. She's outside playing with a little boy. I thought she was absolutely crazy, but I absolutely loved everything she stood for. 

 

I would come home from school and stare at this postcard so intensely that it eventually became my ultimate dream to one day be just like her and to one day be under the same sky as her. One day I came home from school and noticed four backpacks in the corner of our living room and didn't really think much of it. That night I was awakened by my mom pushing my hands through these bangles. And you see, my life is so unpredictable that I don't know what's happening. I mean, for all I knew, they could have been marrying me off to somebody. I just didn't know. That night, my parents told us to grab a backpack and we were leaving our house. Everything inside of our house was completely intact. 

 

You see, my dad had been planning our escape secretly. He had gone to the bank and he was afraid that if he withdrew all of their savings that the bank teller was going to report him to the government. So, he only withdrew a certain amount and told the teller that he needed to buy jewelry for his daughter and his wife. He was planning on liquidating that later on where we went. Similarly, so they had to leave the entire house intact because they were afraid the neighbors were going to tell on him. That night we put a lock on the door. And what I remember even more distinctly about this evening is seeing the dirty dishes in the sink, which they purposely left there. But I was just so glad I didn't have to wash it that night. [audience laughter] 

 

On the plane, my dad explained that the American Embassy in India was giving Afghan refugees visa entries and that all we had to do is show up there. A couple hours later we land in India, grab a rickshaw and go straight to the embassy. And we are ecstatic. We are just so happy beyond our wireless dream that we are coming to America, except on the outside of the embassy, there's a big note, “We are no longer doing that outright,” instead they're going by the visa lottery system, twice a year, 50 people each time. We were very, very poor. We could not afford anything. 

 

My brother and I, in fact, would sleep in until late in the afternoon just to help skip a meal in the morning or when around 4 o' clock, my brother and I decided to take a nap because the ice cream man would come around her our little street and my parents couldn't afford to buy us ice cream. So, we decided to take a nap so that they wouldn't feel so bad. The one thing that we were always waiting for and that's why we didn't mind being poor, is that the day that we could go and put our name down to come to America, we woke up in the middle of the night. We ate and we prayed and then we started our one hour walk to the embassy because we couldn't afford to grab a cab and buses didn't run at that time and we had to make sure that we were going to fit in that 50 people that they were going to give lotteries to. 

 

So, we would go in, put our name, come back, and then you waited. We wait outside for the mailman and around 11 o' clock he came around our street and we were waiting for him and of course we're not going to just stand there. So, my brother and I started running toward him and after a few years he was still nodding his head, no. Money was running out and my parents were really desperate, so one night my mom woke me up, introduced me and my brother into this man we had never met before. It's this large Indian man with the long beard and the whole towel thing. We had never seen him before. And they said that he was going to take us to America. And it was only until my mom starts sewing this envelope inside of my dress and when she starts giving me instructions like, “Here's a little bit of money. This is contact information,” that I realized they're not going with us. There wasn't enough money. So, my dad sold the last bit of those bangles that they had purchased and hired this smuggler to bring me and my brother here. 

 

We get in the cab with the smuggler, and I remember this day like it was yesterday because it was the very first time, I ever saw my dad call. See, he's a military guy. He's tough and he's strong, and people saluted to him all my life and that's what I remember of him. But now he's standing on this side of the cab as me and my brother get into it with the smuggler inside of the cab, tears are rolling down my dad's face as he's trying to force on a smile and waving at us while holding my mom back as she started screaming after us. Our cab leaves, and I remember feeling so guilty because I may never see my parents again. 

 

But the mere thought of coming here to America made me feel like my heart was going to burst out of my chest. The smuggler told us that we had one stop in Thailand, and after that we were going to come here. And as soon as we arrived at Thailand airport, he asked me to give him the envelope. And he said, “My mom said to do that.” I trusted him because my parents trusted him. So, I yanked the envelope and handed it to him. And he said, “You just wait and then I'll be back.” Hours passed, and he never came back. So now we're in Thailand. We don't speak any English, we don't speak Thai, and we're stranded at the airport. I am 13 years old. My brother is 15 years old. And up until now, we had never been anywhere without our parents. 

 

So my brother comes up with this plan, and he says, “You wait one end of the airport, and I'm going to wait on this other end of this room. Because if one of us got caught, then it would be worth it at least one of us would get there.” Except by each moment passing, I'm kind of scooting closer and closer to him, or I would wave at him from far away or just making sure that I keep some contact with him. But it was only until I started crying that he just got up and grabbed my hand and we walked out of there. As soon as we exit the airport, we cannot read anything because everything is written in Thai. And not that we spoke any English, but it was a little bit more familiar. We see these letters, K-F-C. [audience laughter]

 

So we think, okay, that's fine. Americans are over there. We're going to go and ask for help. [audience laughter] We start walking towards KFC, but it was closed. So, we just sat out there like two homeless children, which we obviously were, and waited until somebody came in. And this very, very nice man let use the phone to call our parents. And my parents contacted that group of smugglers and they sent somebody else to help us hours later. By the way, the entire time we were in Thailand, I ate so much KFC, obviously, I would never, ever touch fried chicken again. [audience laughter] 

 

So we're waiting in Thailand, and this new smuggler, we're living in this one hotel room with him, and we don't know him at all. And now we're just completely losing hope, my brother and I. We don't know what's going to happen to us. Honestly, we wondered if he would sell us. We didn't know what he would do. So, one time I asked him what we were waiting for, what was taking so long? Were we going to get to America eventually or not? I wanted to know. And he said, “I'm waiting for a holiday in America called Christmas.” During this time, people are really happy and they're kind and they're probably drinking a lot. [audience laughter] And it is then that they're probably going to overlook the deficiencies on your passport. 

 

In December of 1999, my brother and I finally arrived at JFK. As soon as, I exit the plane, I see from the corner of my eye this red, white and blue colors, this huge American flag that I've never seen before. And in fact, I had never seen a cloth American flag before. So, I run toward it, and I'm standing there, and these vivid images of the burning American flag at the opening ceremony of my school is just rushing my mind. And I'm completely overwhelmed. And the only thing that comes to my mind is just to hug it. My brother comes from the corner with the two police officers, and he's nudging at me and he's like, “Say it, say it.” We didn't speak any English, but the only words that they had us memorized was “I need asylum.”

 

And we had been memorizing this on the plane over and over again, but I forgot it as soon as I was supposed to say it as soon as I got out. So, they take us into this room and on the left side there's a tinted window and I see a little blonde girl. And I'm looking at her and I associate this with the little girl from my postcard was here, an arm's length away from me, and we were under the same sky. When I finally became a US Citizen and when my family finally became a US Citizen, I did not only pledge allegiance to my new homeland, I also promised myself that until my dying days, I will thank Americans for giving me a place that I can finally call a sanctuary and a home. Thank you.