The Broken Circle: A Memoir of Escaping Afghanistan

by Enjeela Ahmadi-Miller

I became more watchful about what was going on around me, about the men of this land and their ways. And possessed of a new determination, I would not lie down and let evil happen to me. I had to be as courageous as possible—and if I died, then so be it. If it was my time, I would die; if not, then I would live. But I would not let these men make a victim of me.

But Islam teaches that a man must not touch a woman without her consent.

The way Islam was practiced in the countryside was very different than my father’s religion.

I had seen firsthand in Kabul that the Afghan and Russian armies were on the same side. The defense of the true Afghanistan had been left to civilians.

He went on to explain how as refugees, we had no legal status, so we couldn’t work and had none of the rights of citizens. We had no rights to travel to any other country, and the Pakistani government could force us back into Afghanistan anytime it wanted.

I sat at his feet as he read from his favorite poets—Hafiz Shirazi and Rumi. It didn’t seem to matter what the poem was about, the words always came around to describing a way out of my fears—always through love and faith in God.

Mina’s parents called selling their daughter into sexual slavery part of their tradition, and Mina’s husband treated her according to the dictates of his religion, but it was all the same. Their actions were motivated by hate. Hate is not from God. People who use religion to hate can’t love God. It is impossible.

An even deeper mystery I wrestled with was that I believed we existed in the hands of God. He evidently carries us with a light touch. He does not clench his fist around us and force any of us to hate or love—these are choices.

I began to wonder if the people of Afghanistan had been cursed.

Once in the past, I asked a bird “In what way do you fly in this gravity of wickedness?” She responded, “Love lifts my wings.”