With a thin face and sunken eyes, a young girl appears on a video call from the other side of the border to recount her memories of illegal migration and the treacherous smuggling route that she traversed with an infant child on her shoulder. Introducing her name as Zarrin Taj Sobhani, she shares her harrowing tale of five days and nights spent navigating the harsh deserts, rocky mountains, and valleys in order to reach Iran.
Having once attempted suicide, she has been struggling with a depressed mind and a thin body. However, she was determined to pursue her dreams and fought for her right to an education. But with the resurgence of the Taliban, Sobhani’s hopes were dashed, and she ultimately had no choice but to flee her homeland.
At the age of fifteen, while still a 10th-grade student, Sobhani was engaged to a 35-year-old man without her consent. In protest against this injustice, she attempted suicide by consuming poison. Fortunately, she was saved by doctors in the hospital, and her engagement was subsequently canceled, allowing her to return to school. She eventually ran away from home with the intention of marrying the person she loved.
A bachelor’s student and a mother to a child, Sobhani was fortunate to have achieved a relatively peaceful life with her husband. But after the fall of the Republican regime, she was forced to stay at home and her husband also lost his job. Despite making many efforts, Sobhani and her husband were unable to find employment, and they eventually reached a point of despair.
With no other options left, they made the difficult decision to embark on an illegal immigration journey with their infant child, hoping to find bread and butter in another country.
From Afghanistan to Iran: Zarin Taj’s Story of Illegal Immigration
My husband and I faced great difficulties when the Taliban took control of Afghanistan. We were unable to continue with our studies or secure job opportunities. In light of this, we made the tough decision to flee to Iran for a better life.
Through a Telegram group, we got in touch with a human trafficker who claimed he could help us make our way to Iran within a week for a fee of 15,000 Afghanis (around $170) per person. We sold off all our household items, after which we set off from our hometown with just a backpack and some clothes.
It was one month to Nowruz 1401, and despite the approaching spring, the weather in Kabul was still chilly. We called the human trafficker and he instructed us to be in Nimruz in two days.
We departed Kabul, and after enduring a tiresome 17-hour journey, we finally arrived somewhere in Nimroz, located in the southwestern region of Afghanistan. We sought refuge at an inn that was brimming with women, children, and other travelers who were all also seeking passage to Iran. The scene was quite reminiscent of the chaos that ensued during the evacuation process around the Kabul airport after the fall of the Republican regime, as masses of people congregated around the airport in hopes of fleeing the country.
As I scanned the throngs of wanderer people gathered at the inn, I couldn’t help but feel like my husband and I were the only ones missing. The human trafficker, known as Haji, eventually arrived and escorted us to his residence, which also doubled as an inn.
The cramped living quarters housed over a hundred passengers in a small 30-meter hall. Haji had sorted us into groups of 15 individuals, comprising mostly women and children, with a few young boys and teenagers. Every night or every other night, under the cover of darkness, Haji would lead the groups toward the border or the deserts adjacent to the border wall separating Afghanistan and Iran.
Prior to commencing the journey, Haji had given us a stern warning, emphasizing the precarious conditions we were about to face. “Individuals who are unable to keep pace with the group are accountable for themselves,” he warned. “They may be at risk of encountering predatory animals, falling into valleys while crossing borders, or slipping from mountains. Additionally, we should consider the possibility of facing bandits. Therefore, it is imperative that we remain aware and prepare accordingly.”
In preparation for the journey, I purchased some chocolate and cocoa sweets, along with a few bottles of water. As per Haji’s instructions, we also procured sleep drops from the pharmacy for my son. Haji had warned us about the disruptive noise that the children could create and recommended that we buy sleep drops for them to keep them calm and asleep throughout the journey.
As we stayed in the inns of Zaranj city, the provincial capital of Nimroz, and Haji’s residence, we heard the constant stream of news about the bodies of asylum seekers being transported from Nimroz to their home provinces. These individuals had perished while attempting to cross the border or traversing the deserts en route to Iran. Witnessing these events firsthand and hearing the grim news left me feeling flattened and utterly hopeless.
As we waited for the journey to begin, my anxiety continued to mount. I couldn’t help but second-guess our decision to pursue the dangerous route of smuggling to Iran. Thoughts of my son’s safety flooded my mind, and I couldn’t fathom what would become of him if anything were to happen to me.
I found myself consumed with worry and fear, holding my heart in my hand as I contemplated the bleak prospects of unemployment and hardship that awaited us on this side of the border. But I assured myself again and again, hoping nothing bad would happen. I pleaded with my husband to look after our son, fully aware that the smuggler’s warning had robbed me of any hope for a safe arrival.
Under the cover of darkness, we left the smuggler’s residence at midnight with a daunting task ahead – crossing the heavily guarded Iran-Afghanistan border wall. I wrapped my son in my chador and hoisted it on my shoulders. Our journey began with a car ride, and then we disembarked from the car under the veil of darkness, deep in a remote area.
The group’s leader, one of the smuggler’s men, instructed us to remain in that spot until the Iranian security officers were sound asleep before attempting to cross the border; If not, they would notice our noise or the light from our torches. The darkness was so impenetrable that I could barely see my surroundings. My son was fast asleep, having been given sleep drops to ease the journey. At times, I could only feel his pulse to reassure myself that he was okay.
That first night dawned upon us without making any headway. We were left stranded in the area the whole day with no provisions, including water and bread, as we waited for the Iranian security agents to move on. Come the second night, we set off again, with renewed hope, determined to succeed this time.
In the dead of the night, we arrived at the spot that the group leader had warned us about. It was an area known for being a habitat for predatory animals, and we were advised to exercise utmost caution. We crossed the border while the Iranian security officers were sound asleep. As we walked, I stumbled upon bones, which seemed to have been lying there for years, and the stench of recently deceased bodies that had succumbed to the harsh realities of homelessness.
The distant howls of wild animals echoed across the barren desert, sending shivers down my spine. I couldn’t help but think of the smuggler’s warnings and my heart sank. Despite our tired bodies and blistered feet, we eventually arrived at a spot where our group leader changed. Better to say, we were exchanged between two human traffickers. Here, we boarded a taxi. But to our dismay, we soon discovered that a teenage boy from our group of 15 was missing. We couldn’t be sure if he had fallen asleep or if he was left behind somewhere due to exhaustion.
The cramped taxi was a discomforting experience. Our children were restless, and we were all crushed together, hands and feet intermingled, struggling to find space to move. There was no way to know the time or to tell how long we had been in the car. The scent of sweat and dirt filled the car air, and I longed for the smell of fresh bread. We hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for three days and nights, and it was taking its toll. When my weakness became unbearable, I would eat a piece of chocolate or cocoa, but my son wasn’t so lucky. He suffered from hunger and thirst and had convulsions twice on the journey.
Despite our exhaustion, we continued to our journey until we arrived in Sistan and Baluchestan province. However, as the fatigue of the arduous journey settled into our bones, I knew I could not go on. I told my husband that I couldn’t walk any further, and some of the other women in our group agreed that we needed to rest for at least a day.
We settled in a desert area and tried to get some sleep, but my fatigue, insomnia, and severe pain kept me awake. I took my son’s sleep drops and gradually drifted off to sleep. I experienced a sudden sense of relief and I felt as if I were a light-winged bird. When I woke up to the sound of children screaming, I saw six armed robbers encompassing our group.
The attackers first targeted the men. They physically assaulted and frisked the men and took their money and phones. Then they frisked us, women. I had no cash with me. The robbers took my smartphone, earrings, and even my chocolates. They spoke in a harsh, unfamiliar accent and showed no mercy to the children, slapping them to keep them quiet.
After five grueling days of traveling through valleys, mountains, and deserts, we finally arrived in Tehran, the capital of Iran.
