Written by Julia Leone, Communications Intern

The morning Kabul fell to the Taliban, Satar had left for work like it was any other day.

Saying goodbye to his wife Zahra and their two young children, he headed to the Joint Afghan Training Center (JATC), where he worked within the joint U.S.-Afghan Anti-Terrorism Assistance (ATA) program. There, Satar was part of a highly secretive training program: he, along with four others, had been selected by the U.S. government to train for eight weeks and teach American counterparts about Afghan affairs related to anti-terrorism efforts. He proudly showed me the various awards he had won for his work as an instructor. 

“Since my husband was working with the government, his life was even more in danger,” Zahra responded when I asked about their difficult decision to leave their beloved home country. But even prior to the Taliban takeover in 2021, Satar’s occupation working with both the Afghan and U.S. governments had long made him a victim of personal threats from the Taliban. “The most dangerous part was that sometimes the Taliban threatened me,” He explained. “When we went out [from home], we never knew if we would come back home safe.” 

Once evacuated from Kabul, the family began a long journey to Colorado. First, they went to Qatar, then Washington D.C., and then spent two months at a refugee camp in Wisconsin before finally coming to Denver. I asked the family what types of challenges they have been experiencing as they navigate the resettlement process. “Since we’ve come here, we haven’t had any bad experiences; we love it here. Language is hard, and the transportation system - going here and there - can be hard. But when we have questions, we ask [Andy],” Satar explained. “He is a good friend.”

Andy and his wife are part of ACC’s First Friends program - where individuals agree to support a refugee family for a minimum of six months. This support is unique to each refugee family but typically involves integration outings and English language sessions. Andy’s own words explain the program better than I could ever summarize.

“It’s a chance to make a difference for someone who’s resettling,” Andy explained, “and who is going through all the changes you’d expect of anyone coming into a foreign land and trying to navigate socially and economically… It’s being a resource, a small boost. For example, how do you talk to someone in a leasing office, or at a bank, or when buying a car when you’re still learning the language? It’s not solving the problem; it’s [providing] just enough assistance so they can solve it on their own - that’s what they need. We’ve found our own balance that works.”

The current hurdle the family and Andy are tackling together? The U.S. higher education system. Zahra had graduated from high school in Afghanistan, but the documents to prove it are long gone. She’s currently enrolled in a GED program through a local community college, and once completed, she hopes to earn a degree in computer science. For Zahra, who is raising two children and eight months pregnant with a third, the ability to earn a degree that would let her work from home means everything. She is driven, telling me, “I believe in me. I believe I can make it - to have a career and to succeed.” 

Overall, the family is happy with ACC. “ACC is great; you guys are great. It’s a very welcoming atmosphere. Any help and services that we need, you guys have provided in a great way. We are very grateful,” Satar told us. 

Toward the end of our interview, I asked the age-old question: “If tomorrow, the Taliban was gone, would you return to Afghanistan?” They seemed to pause when I asked, laughing almost as they shared knowing glances with the interpreter, also of Afghan descent. In short, yes. In long form, Satar and Zahra aren’t sure what it’ll take for the Taliban to be removed from Afghanistan.

We moved this conversation to the dining table, where Zahra had prepared a massive Afghan lunch for all of us. The table was covered with rice and various meat dishes: qabuli palaw, challow safed, lamb curry, and fried chicken. 

We discussed further over the delicious lunch spread. In Satar’s opinion, only a small percentage of Afghans truly believe in the Taliban’s rhetoric and ideology. “It’s not Islam,” he says, shaking his head. “Islam is peace.” Zahra also explained that many young and bright minds of the upcoming generation are fleeing Afghanistan. With the Taliban also restricting education for women and girls, the country is suffering from a brain drain. 

Satar and Zahra’s story is not over. While the family continues to work hard to integrate into their new community and create the life they desire, they still face hurdles on the path toward a permanent immigration status. As Humanitarian Parolees, the family must apply for either asylum or Special Immigrant Visa status (if eligible) before they can even consider applying for U.S. permanent residency. Tens of thousands of other Afghan individuals in the United States battle the same issue. Long wait times, confusing legal proceedings, and extensive fees make it even more difficult to obtain status as a permanent resident. With the due date for their third child coming closer and the stress surrounding their adjustment of immigration status, more challenges lie ahead for Satar and Zahra. Nonetheless, they are hopeful and prepared to do what they have always done: persevere.

*The faces of Zahra and her children are blurred for privacy and safety purposes