From Kabul to Canada: A woman’s story of Loss and Resilience
Arzo Mohammadi - February 2025
My name is Arzo, a young refugee from Afghanistan, a country rich in cultural diversity where people from diverse ethnic groups speak different languages. Anyone you meet on the street has a warm smile on their face. Through this writing, I am sharing my immigration journey with you. I came to Canada following the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan.
My journey began on Sunday, August 15, 2021. The day started as usual. I opened my eyes at the sound of my mom calling me. Looking at the clock, I smiled. It was perfect timing: 6:00 a.m. I got up immediately and made my sleeping area. I was worried; the past few days were overwhelming. The Taliban were taking provinces one after another. Everyone was concerned, uncertain about what would happen.
“I was dressed up in my new blue dress, ready for university..”
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Trying to remain calm, I went about my normal morning routine. I helped my mother with household chores: preparing breakfast, brooming, and cleaning the house. By 10:00 a.m., I was dressed up in my new blue dress, ready for university. My books were in my backpack, and I waited for my carpool friends to call me.
While waiting, I started scrolling through Facebook. Suddenly, a livestream caught my attention. It was the president of the Kabul University Students Union. He was live streaming the university surroundings. Students were running in terror. At first, I thought there might be another bombing or shooting at the university. While making many assumptions, the president said, “The Taliban had entered Kabul,” the capital of Afghanistan. I froze. Confusion and fear replaced the thought of going to university.
My phone rang, and I answered. It was my father. I could barely hear him due to the poor connection. He said urgently, “Do not go to university. Tell your brothers to come home and lock the door.” The call dropped. My father had gone to the city to get his salary from the bank. Fear gripped us; he was a military commander. We called him over and over, but there was no connection.
By late afternoon, the whole family was home, silent and shocked. I remember my mother, with a trembling voice, saying, “God destroy the Taliban, God help us, God protect us.” I did not cry, I did not speak, and I did not write. I just sat there staring at my backpack full of books, still waiting to go to university. I wasn’t just losing a day of classes; I was losing my rights, my future, my existence as a human being.
In the days that followed, the reality of our lives under the Taliban's rule became clear. Fear and uncertainty settled in everyone's hearts.
This is a glimpse into one of the darkest days of my life. Before the Taliban’s return to power, girls had the right to go to school, university, and parks. We could travel, sing, work, and appear in the media without covering our faces. More importantly, we were recognized as human beings. But the Taliban stole these rights from us.
After the fall of Kabul, everybody began searching for a way to leave the country because under the Taliban's rule there is no life and freedom. Fortunately, I had the chance to come to Canada, a blessing that I will always be grateful for.
Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
“I want to thank God for guiding me here, thank my family who helped me get here, and Canada for opening its doors to my people.”
Shortly after my arrival in Canada, I took the Canadian Language Benchmark test, scoring three and four out of eight in each category. Not speaking the language of the place where you live is not easy. The inability to fill out an ordinary form, order food, and share your opinion because of the language barrier is overwhelming. People usually do not talk about these little yet deep struggles, but they shape every step of the journey.
After taking the language assessment, I began attending Language Instruction for Newcomers to Canada (LINC), where I first heard about culture shock, a concept that many people are familiar with along its stages. But trust me, not every immigrant experiences it the same way. The honeymoon stage did not apply to me.
My first few weeks in Canada were filled with sleepless nights, silent tears, and an overwhelming feeling of homesickness. I do not remember feeling any joy or excitement about anything, only a feeling of loss. Yes, we all are categorized under the term immigrants, but our experiences are not the same. Some choose to immigrate seeking new opportunities. Others like me are forced to leave everything they love behind. And for those of us who had no choice, there is no honeymoon stage, only grief. I remember those first nights in Canada, my head on the pillow but my thoughts in Afghanistan.
Arriving in Canada gave me back all my rights, but migration is not only about new opportunities; it is about quiet losses. Every time I attend a gathering and see families laughing with each other, I feel the absence of mine. Whenever I walk in a park, I think of my siblings and wish they could play in these beautiful parks. During Eid festivals, I do not find joy in Henna or wearing new dresses. How could I, when I do not have a day off and can’t celebrate with my family and friends? During Nowruz, our New Year, I wish I could be part of a Samanak party surrounded by laughter and joy. These moments, small and big, are the silent griefs that many immigrants carry.
But the weight of migration is not just emotions; it shapes the way I move in my life. Since arriving, I am in a constant rush. I rushed to finish my language classes, to get into college, to catch my bus. I walk fast, eat fast, cook fast. I do everything in a rush, just like running after something that I can't reach. It feels that I'm always running against the clock and never quite getting to the finish line. Why? Because I feel like I am behind in many things. While it's exhausting, it's something that became part of me.
One memory that is always with me: one of my LINC teachers always told me, “Arzo, slow down, get some rest. You will get there.” Yet, I find myself still rushing.
But that is fair enough. As an immigrant, I left everything behind and stopped in an unfamiliar place where I have to rebuild everything. I feel it makes me run on a road that others walk on. But now, three years later, I look back and see how far I have come, at a time I thought it would take me a lifetime to reach.
In April, I will earn my Paralegal diploma, and I have already made my pathway toward the four-year bachelor’s degree. I am a graduate of the Women in Civic Engagement program (WICE). I have learned English to the extent of publishing articles in prestigious media, participated in a professional research study, and am writing my story to share with Canadians and people around the world.
To all immigrants out there, stay strong. The homesickness, the loneliness, the tears, the silence, the feeling of being lost will pass. One day, you'll look back at yourself, at the three years ago, smile, and say, "Finally, I made it," and you'll be proud of yourself.
“I left everything behind and stopped in an unfamiliar place where I have to rebuild everything. I feel it makes me run on a road that others walk on.”
In the end, I hope Canada stands by people in Afghanistan and others in need by keeping its doors open to them. The recent decision by the Canadian government to lower the annual refugee acceptance rate was disappointing to many who hoped to find a better life in Canada, not only from Afghanistan but from around the world. The Earth is a shared home to all of us; it is we who draw lines and create borders.
As humans, if we are living in peace, it is our ethical duty to remember those who are in pain.
Arzo Mohammadi
As WICE program graduate, a soon-to-be paralegal graduate from Durham College and published writer, she continues to push forward while calling for more support for newcomers and refugees seeking safety and opportunity, especially women in her community. She hopes to return to her homeland one day and work towards building a better society with the networking and opportunities she has utilized in Canada.
