The Lost Dream

The fall of Kabul shattered the hopes of an entire generation

Like any other person, I had a dream. My dream was to achieve greatness and become a significant figure in my country's future, implementing economic policies that would change Afghanistan’s financial sector.
 
During my childhood in a Pakistani refugee camp, I experienced bullying from other children who referred to me as a refugee. At that time, I was unaware of the full implications of the term, but it had a hurtful connotation. This was a period when the Taliban held control in Afghanistan (1996-2001). After the overthrow of the Taliban and the inauguration of President Hamid Karzai, my family and I returned to our home country, Afghanistan. We resettled in my village in Baghlan Province ( northern Afghanistan), where the environment differed significantly from the refugee camps. In Baghlan, I was no longer called a refugee or a"Kabuli," a term used for refugees in Pakistan. 

Everything was going well. 

I went to Kabul to study in high school and lived in a hostel inside the school. After graduation, I was selected for a merit-based ICCR scholarship in India in 2014, where I achieved the first position in all three exams in the selection process." I embarked on a new and thrilling journey as I left my home country to pursue my studies in a different cultural and educational environment. Even though the unfamiliar education system posed challenges in the first year, my exposure to Indian culture and language through Bollywood movies facilitated my adjustment. 

It was a challenging period for many scholarship recipients, with several choosing to return home due to the difficulties of acclimating to the new system and environment. However, as the first person in my family to receive such an opportunity, I was motivated not only to adapt but to excel, driven by the expectations and hopes of my family. This determination led me to devote more time and effort to my studies than the average student, ultimately enabling me to overcome the initial hurdles and secure first-class grades. With my family's dedication and support, I completed my undergraduate degree in economics and graduated with first-class honors. 

I returned home in 2020 with high hopes of finding a good job to become the primary provider for my family. I struggled for a few months to secure a job in Kabul, as the hiring system was mainly based on nepotism and cronyism. However, I still had hope and continued applying to various jobs. Finally, I landed a job in a local NGO and gave my all to it. Over time, I worked my way up and became part of the project management team in Afghanistan's largest Project Management Office. As a person with a strong focus on the future and achieving success, I was always the first to arrive and the last to leave my job. I was quickly promoted to the position of project manager and continued to work diligently for the future of our country. 

One day, like any other morning, I left my home to work. When I was halfway to the office gate, I noticed people running in different directions on the road. I couldn't understand what was happening. As I entered the gate, I saw no one there for security checks. The guards had changed their clothes, and one of them shouted my name, telling me to run home because “Taliban  Amada,” meaning that the Taliban had come to Kabul. 

This sentence was like a bomb that blasted near my ears, making me wholly deaf and numb. I was standing still for a moment like a dummy, feeling shocked and disoriented. Suddenly, someone shoved me towards the door, and I ran alongside others. After a few hurdles, I realized I was running in the opposite direction of my home. 

Soon after, I started receiving calls from my brother and family, urging me to return home more quickly. They warned me that the Taliban had come to Kabul. I ran for about a kilometer until I saw a few of them. People with long hair, black eyes, long clothes, white headbands, and guns were playing their victory songs on motorcycles and cars. 

Everyone was scared of them. After twenty years of suicide bombings, the Taliban entered the capital on a sunny morning, and people began to run. I didn’t know what to do and where to go next. Somehow, I made my way home. However, I was frightened about what would happen next. 

I didn’t eat that night and didn’t sleep. I watched the news all day, trying to come to terms with the fall of my own government. For a few days, none of our family members went outside. The city, crowded with millions of people, fell into complete silence as we could only hear the Taliban’s music blaring from the loudspeakers.

Days passed, and everyone was still in shock, unable to understand how an entire government could collapse in a single day. All the high-ranking officials fled on the same day, leaving a whole nation shattered and abandoned.

I have been left with nothing but depression. I wanted to enact systems that would make our government less corrupt and more economically independent. But seeing all those dreams fade away is the most hurtful feeling for a young person like me. 

Employees like myself, who were on the cusp of success and had hoped to contribute to the country's development, suddenly found themselves with nothing. Our weapons—our pens—had been taken from us. We have no pen to write with, computer to make a report with, or voice to raise anymore.

It's been almost three years since the regime change, and the country has stabilized, but it is not at peace. It is struggling with unemployment and a stagnant economy, and educated young Afghans like myself struggle to find employment.

Many of us who are educated and have tried to bring positive change to our country feel we have only one option: to leave. Whether today, tomorrow, or a year from now, everyone I know who is educated wants to go as they have no future for themselves or their families in Afghanistan. 

As someone who once aspired to contribute to our nation's development, I now find myself grappling with despair and contemplating becoming a refugee once again.

---

Tasal is a young man living in Afghanistan.