Dear Walo,
It is time to confess that two dreadful long years ago when I left you, aged five, to “fetch some new flower trees” for our back yard, I lied – as you have rightly realised by now and hence stopped talking to me.
My little bulbul, I hold very dear to my heart the songs you used to hum while sipping the green tea in breaks when we used to do gardening together. I hope you are as chatty and melodious as you were and start speaking with me again, at least on the phone. When you broke your months’ silence to just call me a liar on the phone and went away, I was relieved more than anything because I did not want you to be in that shell of quiet loneliness and anger. It is healthy to speak your mind and feelings.
I have explanations, my son.
The only reason I lied and used the excuse of flower trees was to make you think of your favourite red roses and not miss me, as life has since been on a rather thorny path for me, and of course you.
Back then, I couldn’t figure out ways to explain to your little mind the drastic political and security upheavals in Afghanistan, with the fall of the republic forcing me to flee. Even now I can hardly explain the reasons for not being able to secure a visa for you, your siblings and mum to join me in Australia.
There are governments run by powerful people who have priorities, not feelings, and I can’t change that.
Forgive me Walo, perhaps I am not as powerful as you might think. In fact I often feel very hopeless as nothing seems to be working right to get us reunited. But hang in there, I have not given up and I will not!
With this letter I want to tell you, I do see in your beautiful, yet sad, eyes so many questions. Your mum and I want to give you the best childhood you and your siblings deserve, so try to cope while we wait.
Before the fall of Kabul, two years ago on this day, your two elder siblings had friends in school and the youngest was too young to notice my sudden absence, but in your preschool age I was your closest friend – so I know it has been an extremely rough two years for you. The memories of me carrying you on my shoulder to water the trees in our back yard every morning makes me very sad, son. I can imagine it must be even tougher for your little heart too.
As a war generation child, life was always difficult for me since the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in the 1980s, when my father had to migrate with us all. I have so much more love and respect for him for what he must have gone through when I was your age. I wishfully thought it would not stay on that course for you, but here we are in 2023, separated for two years and counting. I could have taken the risk to drag us all together through the deadly mess at the Kabul airport when it seemed the entire country was fleeing, but I decided against it for the safety of you all.
I hope Australia will prove to be a nice place for you, your mum and your siblings – if it finally welcomes you. There is hardly a moment when I don’t miss you all. As the anchor of our family, your mum is a very strong woman, just like my mother – Afghan women have matchless resilience, my son. Have deep respect for them.
Melbourne is one of the biggest cities here and I would show you the zoo and the flowers in Carlton Gardens and many more places. You loved the sparrows and butterflies visiting our back yard in Kabul, and there is an abundance of all sorts of colourful birds here.
I’m not sure about the government, but the people are nice and friendly too. You would meet some of my new best buddies here who have been very supportive. Anyway, I don’t want to raise too much of your hopes, Walo, as I have no idea when the authorities are going to issue you all your visas. Please don’t think too much about all this and me, just keep gardening and humming like a bulbul as much as you can.
With love,
Your father, Shadi
Shadi Khan is a Melbourne-based journalist and former Pakistan and Afghanistan news correspondent
