Afghan Translators

Me and Nilsy are back in England after a few weeks deep in the desert with no wifi or phone signal.

It’s always more of a culture shock for me to come home, than it is for me to go away. I will never get used to this grey drizzle, the unsmiling commuters and the newspapers full of pages and pages of sadness and negativity. Why don’t they tell me about the miracles happening in the world?

I try to avoid reading them, but Nils brought this one article to my attention. It always feels strange to read the story of individuals that you personally know, written up in newsprint.

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Today it was about translators from Afghanistan being denied asylum in the very country they risked their lives to serve. I have met several well educated, perfect-English-speaking Afghans in the Jungle, who worked as translators for the British army. When the Brits withdrew, they were persecuted by the Taliban, labeled as traitors, and forced to flee for their lives.

Naturally many of them headed to the UK. It made sense. They spoke perfect English, they were willing to work and here their language skills meant they could integrate and do so effectively. But the UK turned their back on those who put their lives on the line for British men and women and either left them living in the mud, in the Jungle refugee camp in Calais, or, for those who risked their lives to successfully make it to the UK, sent them back to their death in Afghanistan.

I am waiting for the day I open the paper and it tells me stories of inclusivity and oneness. Stories of positivity and love, of support for one another, of friendship, of unity. I know that day is coming, and I’ve come back more motivated than ever to keep fighting for it until it does!

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