On Saturday, October 5th, my host family took me along to Hamburg. The reason for our visit was because my host mother, Malalai, was involved in a theatrical production about the journeys of refugees. Not only was she involved, as it turns out, the production was an exposition on her journey from Afghanistan to Germany as a Refugee. Before arriving, I did not know the depth of her involvement in this production.
I say production because I’m not exactly sure how to describe it. Scenes were staggered between small puppet shows and short, projected videos. Though it was in German and some parts in Dari (one of the many languages recognized in Afghanistan), I found this experience very insightful and powerful to say the least.
I will not elicit the details of Malalai’s journey in fear of doing her story injustice. I will say that her journey was in no way easy and involved a great deal of hardship. The respect I have for this woman is immense.
The production itself was performed by a group of current Afghani refugees that appeared to be between the ages of eighteen and twenty five. Of course being twenty myself, I found this very powerful. Needless to say, these people have endured a struggle I cannot even imagine, try as I might. I was also informed that they are all without their parents; either their parents are dead or they have been lost along the very often treacherous journey from their homeland.
Despite the hardships they have endured, I was met with kindness and acceptance upon attempting to socialize with them. I say attempt because their was a pretty strong language barrier between us as my German is quite poor and their English is almost nonexistent. However we managed to have a little fun together in the form of dance and laughter. I was filled with emotion to see such beautiful souls dancing and smiling as they played their favorite Afghani music during a small afterparty for those involved in the production. We all danced in a circle and passed around a scarf of sorts to signify whose turn it was to dance in the middle. I was so honored to be a part of something so significant.
The bond between these refugees was profound. They have a certain understanding that no was else has. I was told that before the making this production none of them knew each other. Somehow they managed to get involved and the rest is history.
Though there was much joy to be felt that evening, there was also a great deal of sadness and nostalgia. After all the dancing was over and the music was turned off, many began to cry. I found it difficult to hold back the tears myself; the production was over and now they would continue on, finding their way in a relatively new and completely different culture–without their parents, without their family. But not alone. They now have each other and they now have Malalai. As the emotion poured out, all gathered round to comfort those in pain. I cannot express the feeling in the room. No one can.
They all have a great respect for Malalai for she has experienced a similar struggle. She is also responsible, in a big way, for bringing all of these people together. Before and after the production, she was showered in smiling phrases (I assume in Dari) and warm hugs from the refugees.
Though this post is not focused on Malalai, I would like to express my gratitude toward her as a loving host and a courageous person.