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

Author:Enjeela Ahmadi-Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-04-05T16:00:00+00:00

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.

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