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Coming Home To Too Much
When I first left Afghanistan, it was the Mayo that did me in.
The first time I came home from Afghanistan, I had been warned that going to the grocery store might be overwhelming.
It was the Mayo that did me in.
I stood there in the fluorescent lights, staring at an entire shelf of clean, neatly organized mayonnaise choices. Frozen with indecision. Consternating over the vegan or maybe the avocado — or should I go with the classic Hellman’s? Swept away as if it actually mattered.
And I just didn’t understand, why do we need so much?
This week, as the Taliban took control of the Government in Kabul — I drove to the grocery store with my five-year-old. And I started to cry.
My daughter asked me, “What’s wrong?”
I said, “There’s a really bad war in a place I love.”
“Who won?” she asked.
“No one. No one wins in war. People only win in peace.” I said, choking back my tears.
When little girls swarmed our cars as we drove to work and they walked to school — it was like being caught in a flood of joy. Like a river of hope — wearing white scarfs and baseball caps.
President Biden said many Afghans didn’t want to leave. And of course, for many, that was true. No one wants to leave their home. No one wants to be a refugee.
But for my friend Khalid — we know that isn’t true. He waited for over two years — researching resettlement options in Atlanta, Dallas, or all of California. Until President Trump’s administration found a way to deny his Special Immigration Visa (SIV). The visa that was supposed to ensure his safe passage out of Afghanistan — in exchange for having helped the US government.
They said they had reason to suspect he was a terrorist. Because of a translation error on the birth date of one of his six sons — a translation error, from their Islamic calendar to our Gregorian calendar.
