By Saba Masih*
My brother was the head of the criminal investigation unit in a police station in Kabul when the Taliban seized power in 2021. Wihan had worked for the government for 10 years. After the fall of Kabul, my brother and I fled to Daikundi. We stayed there for two weeks, but it was as unsafe as Kabul.
We decided to split: I would go to Iran and he should go into hiding. With the help of a human smuggler, I got to Herat. With seven others, we rode through the sandy plains of the province in a Corolla, before arriving at a home with a blue gate. The driver collected 300 afghani from each passenger, and knocked on the door. It opened immediately and a tall man in his 30s, dressed in blue, came out. He ordered us to throw away everything we had, including our clothes. We could only keep water and food. The only things I could not throw away was a rosary in the colours of the Afghan flag, two diary booklets, and a book.
I put two large bottles of water and four pieces of bread in my bag. The man inspected my belongings. He found a toothbrush and toothpaste in a pocket, which he threw away, saying they made the bag heavy. Then he turned to everyone and shouted, “Everyone listen! Don’t keep even a single shaving blade as that slows you down.”
The man in blue, whose name is Naeem, is our smuggler. He collected 1,500 afghani from each person and explained that smuggling to Tehran costs nine million tomans per person. In addition, after he brought us to a hostel in Tehran, we’d have to pay to stay there.
The same driver began our journey in the evening. In total, there were 13 people (two more joined us at the house). After 30 to 40 minutes, he handed us over to two others, who divided us into two groups and made us wear sacks as ponchos.
I was now in a group of seven, with the remaining group of eight around 100 metres behind us. We were holding each other’s arms and following the guide. Pointing, the guide said, “The lights that appear are the lights of the Iranian border. After passing those lights, we will be inside Iran.”
We were near the barbed wire of the border. He told us to crawl under it one by one. The guide said that we should run when we got through, as motorcycles were waiting a half an hour ahead. They’d shine lasers so we could immediately climb aboard the motorcycles.
The guide raised the barbed wire. One by one we passed underneath. Last was the guide, who erased our footprints with his shawl. He said, “Run!” We stood up straight and ran. If I saw a bush or a thorn in front of me, I would not deviate – I jumped over them. The only sounds I could hear were the shuffling of feet and the crushing of bushes. Suddenly, I felt a strong blow on the back of my neck, and then the voice of the guide: “[Swear word] You would make everyone get caught. Run quickly. They caught the other group, run!” The guide took my hand and told me to move faster, saying, “Run fast because the cars will leave.”
I saw the border patrol coming from a distance of 60 metres behind us. We lay down on our chests between the bushes as we’d been taught. The patrol bypassed us. I could hear the bushes crushing under their tires. I breathed quickly. I could see the patrol light that illuminated the plain. It came near us until it nearly crushed our skulls. Suddenly, a harsh voice said, “Dirty Afghans, stand up! Hands behind the head, heads down!” We had to obey. I heard the sound of heavy shoes coming toward us. He kicked the first person on his back and knocked him to the ground. Then the second, and the third, until the end. “Empty your trash!” he shouted. I dumped what was in my bag, keeping 6,000 afghani and 50,000 tomans in a pocket under my arm. My phone was in my back pocket. He looked at my notebooks and book and asked, “What are these?”
“My notebook and guidebook for writing,” I responded. I fell with my face on the ground. It was his kick that knocked me down. “You dirty trash, you keep a diary!” he said. Another soldier noted, “He is interested in literature.” They tore the handkerchief from my neck and tied my hands behind my back. He made us lay down on the sand with our backs.
It was early October. As happens when I get cold at night, I had a stomach ache. I was in pain. I begged them to let me go to the bathroom. They said, “We don’t have a toilet here for you.” He did not even allow me to defecate in the open. Two buses came. They collected 30,000 tomans from each of us and put us in the buses. Our eyes were still closed. Someone was sitting on top of Reza and Reza was screaming. He wanted to pull himself out but we were helpless. Eventually we were offloaded somewhere to be fingerprinted.
We were thrown into a narrow, dark, and smelly corridor. There was nowhere to sit. I went through the gate to find a place to sit. To my right was a large hall full of Afghans.
In the afternoon, it was our turn to be fingerprinted. I was praying that it would end soon and we can get out of here. It was well into the evening when we entered the Sefidsang refugee Camp. Two soldiers cursed and slapped us as they lined us up. A tall man in front warned us not to bring phones, marijuana, snuff, and bottles of water inside. My phone was still in my bag. A young man had hidden some marijuana in his pants and got caught during the body search. Two soldiers punched him in front of us as a lesson for everyone.
The leader then assigned one or two people from each group to clean the toilets and empty the trash cans. There were about 18 groups, with 43 to 45 people per group. I was in the third group.
Before we went to sleep, the leader collected 153,00 tomans from each person. Those who did not have tomans had to exchange money. Then the group shared their funds with those who had no money at all. It was about half past 10 in the evening when we left for the long trip to Herat.
In the middle of the road, the bus driver stopped and three Afghans got on board while three on board crammed themselves into the toolbox area. The group leader told Reza those new men would return to Afgahnistan and he’d come back to Iran still carrying those in the toolbox, who had each paid the driver 10 million tomans. The substitutes memorized the names of those three they were replacing so they would be officially counted off the list when we crossed the border.
He dropped us off at the municipality. A man with a uniform said, “In order not to delay too much, collect 100,000 tomans per person. You came to Iran. You used our facilities. You polluted our environment. You must pay damages; If you want to hide it, I’ll check and find out, I’ll take it all. Ha!” Everyone was silent.
We got off the bus at the last checkpoint. We were lined up and our names called out. We all said yes, including those three imposters. I got my bag and phone back.
As I left, I saw the three passengers taken from the toolbox area. The bus did not move. When I arrived in downtown Herat, Reza said that he had heard that someone had informed the police and the driver had been caught.
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the interviewees and writer, a second-year journalism student who had to leave Afghanistan.
