Separated from his family, 15-year-old refugee Hussain Raza fled persecution at home and somehow lived to tell his story. At 15, I landed in Quetta, Pakistan, full of excitement to see my family again. Three years before, we had left Afghanistan to get medical help for my brother. He had been tortured by the Taliban because they suspected him of helping NATO forces. In Quetta, my brother didn’t make it, and after his death, my mother faced a difficult choice. Just like in Afghanistan, she knew we faced persecution for being ethnically Hazara — people who came from Mongolia long ago, and who have distinct faces and light skin. For my safety, she sent me to a place in Iran where young boys could work in unskilled jobs. But the police found me and sent me back to Afghanistan. I finally made my way back to Quetta, excited to see my mother and sister after three years. But my family wasn’t there, and I learned they had left for Australia. I knew I must go too. I missed my family, I had never been to school and there was no life for me at home. A former landlord and family friend helped me find a smuggler and, even better, agreed to pay the $5,000 cost. |