Enjeela Ahmadi-Miller - The Broken Circle - A Memoir of Escaping Afghanistan

God created the circle the same way he created the stars and the planets. It seemed so simple. If that were true, then I was part of his great cosmic plan, and someday I’d return here.

We rose before daylight to prepare for our day. There was an excitement in our group as we packed. “Today we climb the last mountain into Pakistan,” Masood said cheerfully. When we set out, Zia told me to stay close to him, that he would help me up. Fatima walked with such a heavy step, I wondered how she would make it up. We would have no donkeys.

These were the highest parts of the Hindu Kush, and the trails up the steep sides were narrow and treacherous, often strewn with boulders, and ran right along cliffs. Since I was the youngest in our group, I knew they were all concerned with how I was going to make it up this last mountain that separated the two nations. Once we reached the peak and crossed over the other side, we’d be in Pakistan. No more sleeping on the ground. No more eating with our hands. No more dodging bullets.

All during that day of hiking, I took the trail so easily, with a different step than when we had begun so many months before. Spring had just arrived in Kabul when Padar woke us in the middle of the night and set us off, and now the air had grown chilly. Ramadan had passed, so the summer was well over and fall was setting in. We had been on the road nearly six months. Everything about me had changed during that time, as if my very DNA had been rearranged.

I believed my pleasant life would last forever. I now knew the error of that thinking. Life could change in an instant.

In the cool of the early day, we reached the base of the last mountain. We had been climbing for about a week through the Hindu Kush to reach this mountain. We were already several thousand feet high, but this mountain went even higher. It was by far the tallest one we’d seen. It was also the steepest one we’d encountered. But on the other side of it lay Pakistan and freedom. We all stood at the bottom gazing upward at the thin, well-trodden dirt path etched in the side of the mountain. It zigzagged up the rocky face until it disappeared into a wispy line as thin as a piece of string. Masood began up the trail, but the rest of us stood there, looking up the face of the mountain. No one said anything; it was impossible not to be intimidated. But I’d come this far. I’d faced down soldiers, a wolf, and a scorpion, and I refused to let this mountain get in the way of my reunion with Padar and comfort.

I turned to Laila, Zulaikha, and Zia behind me. “Let’s run up it.”

“You’re crazy.” Laila shook her head in disgust. “We can’t run up it. We’ll be lucky if we can walk up!”

Even Zia looked awed by the trail. I smiled at them, turned, and took off. I caught up with Masood, then I sprinted out in front. I wanted to blaze the trail. If I found something that would block our way, I could go back and warn them. Every step upward, it became a little more difficult to breathe, but I was a lion, I would not give up. Soon I was so far ahead of them, they had disappeared from view. I ran up the trail for hours. When I finally reached the summit, I collapsed on the ground, panting for breath. After I recuperated, I stood and took in the view. I could see across both sides of the mountain. Afghanistan to the west was a series of mountains and valleys that went on and on. To the east I could see the buildings of Peshawar. I was straddling the border, one foot in each country. One of Padar’s proverbs came to mind: “One cannot exist with a heart torn in half between two loves, two decisions, or two worlds, because it will eventually break in two.”

I didn’t want to leave Afghanistan, but I stood there gazing into Pakistan. I must leave one to reach the other.

Alone on the mountaintop for several hours, I ran through in my mind what I was leaving, possibly to never return. The memories of the happy times had already faded. I turned toward the new country, Pakistan, and wondered what lay ahead. By the time the others arrived, sadness over leaving Afghanistan had mutated into anticipation for the future. We rested there for a while before beginning to descend. When it was time to go, I couldn’t wait to get into Pakistan, so I ran all the way down the mountain. I could hardly contain my enthusiasm until I reached the bottom. I was alone and out of breath, but I felt hopeful for the first time since the Kuchi woman had sold me the bangles and the scorpion jar.

A long line of soldiers with rifles stood along the border post, blocking our way. I looked back up the trail at our group, and all I could see was a row of dots descending the mountain. I waited, smiled at the soldiers, trying to get their attention, and when the group finally reached me, they were dusty, tired, and thirsty. I pointed to the soldiers in front of us. Masood told us to wait together and went up to speak to them. One of the soldiers glanced over at me, and I pleaded with my eyes: Please don’t hurt us. Just let us pass. We’ve come so far and been through so much to get here. The soldiers talked among themselves, then told Masood something. He wasn’t smiling when he turned from them.

Masood came slowly back and bent on one knee to speak to us. “They will let you and Fatima through, but I can’t go.”

We all stared at him.

“You will be fine,” he said, his voice as authoritative as ever. He pointed to something beyond the border post. “That’s a bus stop over there. Wait there for the bus, and it will take you directly into Peshawar.”

He gave each of us a brief hug. I tried to hold on to him. “I have to go, little lion.” He pulled me from him. He stood and gave us a stern look as we gathered around him. “You are all very brave. You have come a long way, and now you are here at your destination.” He reminded Laila of where we were to meet Padar.

She nodded. “I have the address, yes.”

“Then you are ready to go.” He pulled his tunic around him. “I will bring your father to you. So wait for him, no matter what.” With that, he turned and left us. With his shoulders straight, he hiked back the way he had come.

“He’s not coming with us,” Zulaikha said, her voice incredulous. We were all thinking the same things as we watched in silent shock as he began climbing the path up the mountain, returning the way he had come. He was one of the bravest men I’d ever met, and I learned so much from him. None of us said a word as he disappeared up the path, into the heights.

True to their word, the guards let us pass over the border into Pakistan. After crossing over, we waited with a group of other travelers for a bus at the stop Masood had told us about. We looked around, getting our bearings; it was strange to not have Masood with us. I spotted a vendor down the street from us selling sodas. It had been months since we’d had one. We quickly ran to the stand and each bought one. We stood around in a circle, tipping the sodas into our mouths. The sweet drink on my tongue tasted of the simplest pleasure. It hardly washed away the taste of river water and weak tea we’d lived on for the past six months. None of us spoke as we drank. My sisters and Zia all had smiles—something I hadn’t seen much of on our journey. I could feel myself smiling too, despite how dirty we were. With dust in our hair, mouths, and ears and over every part of our bodies, we were a mess. We had been wearing the same clothes for so long. But here we were, standing in Pakistan, and the sounds and grief of war were so far away, we couldn’t hear them. All of us must have sensed this at the same moment as we drank our sodas and began to relax.