Finding hope in hardship

They escaped Afghanistan. But war’s struggles followed them

SACRAMENTO, Calif. — Inside a two-bedroom apartment in Sacramento, three siblings laughed as they watched an eager group of contestants competing to win a Lamborghini on a YouTube stream.

Zabiullah Musafer, 43, and his wife, Yalda, 34, shook their heads at their children, content that the show — however ridiculous — was helping them learn English one year after they fled Afghanistan and moved to California to seek asylum.

In many ways, Musafer said, America has provided him and his family with the safety and opportunity they had hoped for. He quickly found a full-time job at an Apple warehouse. His children — Sefatullah, 18; Rabia, 16; Muqaddas, 12; and Subhanullah, 10 — are enrolled in school. He and Yalda take English-language courses. Many in Yalda's family immigrated to California several years ago, during an earlier phase of the U.S. occupation, and on weekends the Musafers spend time with her sister's family, cooking together or exploring Northern California.

But their new life isn't without its challenges.

Musafer's children share one bedroom; his two daughters share a bed. His thoughts often drift to those left behind in Afghanistan and what their futures hold. He isn't clear on his immigration status: Although he spoke with a resettlement agency about his asylum application nearly five months ago, he hasn't heard back since that initial screening.

Seeking a new life

The journey from their home country is one marked by hardship and the need for swift adjustment — as well as hope for their futures.

Musafer and other recent Afghan immigrants are watching the proposal closely.

“Our fellow armed service members of the Afghan army, the airborne division, and special force units are still stuck back home,” said Musafer, a former fixed-wing squadron commander in Afghanistan's air force. “I urge the U.S. government not to abandon the evacuation process and ultimately not abandon the people of Afghanistan.”

“This resettlement system and refugee services are not fair,” said Mehran, who worked as a budget adviser for the Justice Sector Support Program — an international partnership with the U.S. and Afghan governments to help reform the Afghan criminal justice system and curb the flow of narcotics. “Some of my friends received good services. But most are in bad situations like me.”

His resettlement agency didn't help him find a home, he said. When they arrived in California, Mehran, his wife and 6-year-old daughter lived with an Afghan friend in Modesto for about 20 days, he said, though his friend's apartment did not have enough room for them all.

He found his current apartment through another friend, who said he knew the leasing office manager in a complex in the Arden Arcade area where many Afghans have resettled. Unlike other places that Mehran had found, this apartment did not require a co-signer with high income to back his application.

Mehran used his “welcome money,” about $3,500 disbursed by the resettlement agency, to pay for the apartment that he has furnished with hand-medowns and items he's salvaged from the street. His wife, Karima, 31 — a former nurse who gave birth to their second daughter after moving to California — sleeps on a mattress he pulled from the trash. The decorative pillow cases that he brought from Afghanistan are also filled with things he found in the garbage.

“I really didn't expect it, that life will start like this in the United States,” Mehran said. “I have lots of other problems. I must earn money to send to my parents in Afghanistan.”

Each month, he receives roughly $1,400 from Sacramento County in the form of cash aid and food stamps. His rent, before utilities, is $1,465. He recently started a job at a liquor store and works in food delivery when he can.

“I have a master's degree in finance, and more than 10 years of experience,” Mehran said, sitting on his living room floor. “I can do nothing because there is a wrong system for refugees.”

Escaping the Taliban

When the Afghan government collapsed after the U.S. withdrawal last year, one of the first changes many Afghans and outsiders feared was the potential crackdown on women under a resurgent Taliban. For years, women there had come to prize their freedoms — working in government, journalism and other formerly male-only occupations and going to school and college.

Working toward their goals was not without its difficulties, Afghan women say, but they made hard-won progress. And for a generation of Afghan girls who had never experienced Taliban rule, it was the only upbringing they knew.

This year, Taliban officials decided that girls should not be allowed to go to school after completing the sixth grade. Officials also issued a new dress code for women appearing in public, stipulating that only their eyes should be visible, after banning women from taking long-distance road trips alone in December.