Words by Maz Hakim
August 15th 2021, was one of the most anxious days of my life. I remember waking up a few times throughout the night to check my phone and read the news. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion in what felt like an alternate universe. Kabul had fallen. Were these the scenes of a horror movie?
It was a feeling of anxiousness and disbelief. The entire trajectory of the country was about to change. A land that was once known for many things – its mountainous terrains, its brave people, the land of poetry and storytelling, love and fables – would now be forever etched and associated with those haunting scenes at Kabul Airport.
I remember watching a live video of the airport security personnel fleeing the airport, leaving a huge security vacuum at the civilian terminals. All you saw was a scene of thousands of panicked people frantically running through the gates and into the airport trying to rewrite their destiny. I had grown up hearing of how my parents escaped Afghanistan for a better life. Paying a smuggler to help them escape, walking without food and water for an entire week risking the danger of being caught. Their toenails falling off, a permanent reminder of their horrific journey. But that was over 30 years ago and this was now. History was repeating itself.
Over the next 2 days, it was a chaotic exodus and pandemonium. 5,000 people rushing to the airport, grew into 10,000 people and the images of desperate people trying to escape started pouring in. Images of people leaving in a stampede with their suitcases and other belongings that they could muster together, family members being left behind out of desperation. The disturbing images continue to haunt us, people running after planes and holding onto planes, falling out of planes. It was a crisis of humanity. I remember watching a video of some women handing their babies over the razor wired gates, unsure of whether they would ever see their babies again. This for me was a recurring piercing image, representing the desperation of the situation.
Panic began to increase.
It felt like time had stood still. Like everyone was just watching, including me. And there was nothing that could be done. The anxiety of what happened in Kabul is now embedded in my mind forever. The days turned into weeks, and then it just faded. You just learn to ignore it. So you stop watching and pretend it’s not happening. A year on, those scenes at Kabul airport – now a nameless airport – is still a symbol of fear.
A year on, we ask – was it all worth it? Were all the sacrifices that were made significant enough for change? Where are all those people now, are they okay? Did they ever make it out safely, do they have a better life now? And what about the people who were left behind, are they okay? How are they coping? What of the families who remained behind? How safe are they? How are their daily lives? So many questions still remain unanswered, only time will tell whether this great nation will ever return to normality. Will the children learn how to smile again and play again. Will the women ever get the same equal opportunities as men? Will they ever go back to school? Will people ever dare to dream again? Or is this what fate has destined for my beloved Afghanistan…?
