Personal Narrative-The Kite Runner

The sound of guns and screams was an unwelcoming and disturbing experience. It began in Afghanistan, an uncontrollable and unorganised society where there tears of sadness and rage was a common occurrence. The nation was beginning to collapse and my mind raced for ideas. I knew that I would have to give up the life that I was supposed to live here in Afghanistan. I had to escape, but how? It did not matter, as what concerned me was how far I was going to travel and how my life would continue on. What would be the outcome? Would life be any different or better? I have a wife and a daughter who cry for a future and as a father, I had to do what's best for my family. My life was on the line.

We were not the only ones who wanted to escape, in fact there was a people-smuggling organisation who still believed that they can live a better life. The smugglers had noticeable wounds and I read them like a novel. It told several stories of their horrible life and persecution. My feet were swollen and my throat was sore red. The group informed me to dress in the manner of the Taliban in order to clear several checkpoints along the way. With minor hesitation, I took their advice and prepared for the journey ahead, leaving my family behind.

We had arrived in the Pakistani city of Karachi, where its citizens faced similar issues.

I had to keep my identity undercover and I had to be strong. Along the way, there was one of the people smugglers who caught my attention when he tapped on my shoulder.

“Excuse me sir, but do you know where we goin’?”

I replied with hesitation, “We’re going to a place where life will be rich and

beautiful.”

He gave me a broad smile. From there, he told me that his name was Abu-zar and that he had come from a poor and uneducated family from the north of Afghanistan. His bright blue eyes and yellow hair, blending with his dark skin was rarely seen in Afghanistan since the majority of people had dark hair and brown eyes. He too had a family and together we made a truth to support one another along the way. He made me feel more secure and happy. The people smuggling community increased in numbers in Karachi, as more Muslims from various countries joined us on our next checkpoint.

From Jakarta, Indonesia, we would soon begin our next journey on board an old fishing boat which seemed like it was at its peak point of collapsing. Sailing on an old rusty refugee boat was a thought of just suicide. I started to vision the horrible events that was highly likely to happen. My heart dropped to the earth below and ears began to ring. Risk was our only option and God was my only hope.

I sailed on the small boat in the open sea for three days, with sixty other members cramped together. There was no commotion, only the boat’s wooden creaking noise was heard which made us extremely worried. The stormy nights were cold and miserable, with severe waves crashing against the helpless boat. The commotion started to increase when one refugee exclaimed, “The boat is sinking!” I panicked and tried to empty some water with a metallic bucket. I could not keep up with the amount of water seeping through the boat’s vessel. Abu-zar helped me but it was in vein. The boat is sinking, fast.

Over the loud noise of the crowd I could hear an approaching rescue ship. It was too dark and someone grabbed firmly behind my back. My spine shivered, but ceased once my back was greeted with a warm blanket. I was saved by an Australian naval vessel that was to the north of the Australian mainland, near Ashmore Reef. My eyes opened, observing other refugees covered with blankets . Abu-zar was not to be seen and my soul collapsed.

One of the Australian rescue members informed me that a refugee named Abu-zar rescued me but could not rescue himself. He drowned to his death.

I could not describe the various emotions that I experienced. I was angry, sad and devastated. I will never forget his heroic and brave personality.