Jamila Rezayee

Jamila Rezayee
20/02/2002
Ghazni, Afeganistan

I am a Hazara woman from Afghanistan. My story begins in the home where I grew up, among the smell of warm bread baked by my mother and the gentle voice of my father reciting sacred verses. My dreams were always greater than the world around me seemed willing to allow. Every time I was told, “you cannot,” a small light inside me grew stronger. I wanted to study, to write, to be a woman and to be free to think.
(...)
University was a door open to the future, but behind it there were also fears and limitations. Many times, between silences and heavy glances, I would quietly say to myself: “Jamila, be calm. This is your path. Keep going, even if sometimes you must walk alone.” These silent conversations with myself gave me the strength to continue.
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Here in Portugal, I began to feel what it means to live with greater freedom as a woman. I found an environment where there are more opportunities to study, grow, and build my future.
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When I walk through the city, I see women everywhere: in parks, cinemas, concerts, cultural festivals, universities, and workplaces. Women who are present with calm, confidence, and joy. Seeing these images awakens hope and possibility within me.
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In Afghanistan, many girls face major restrictions and are not always able to continue their education or live freely in society. I grew up in a context where being a girl meant learning early on the weight of certain limitations. But it was precisely within those challenges that my inner strength was formed.
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Because of the language, I accompany my father and mother in many everyday situations, at the hospital, while shopping, and in public services. Here, the roles have shifted somewhat, and now I am the one helping them navigate a new country and a language they are still learning. Their effort to remain strong and not worry us every day teaches me the true meaning of dignity, responsibility, and love. Life here is a new beginning, and whenever I can, I try to give them strength, affection, and hope.
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Over time, I realised that homeland is not only a piece of land. Sometimes, homeland lives in the hearts of the people we love, in the gaze of my father and mother who always support me, in the presence of my siblings here in Portugal, in the prayers of my husband who accompanies me from afar, and in the silent faith of a woman who never gives up.
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Today, I am a woman who has risen through pain. I have grown roots in the midst of exile, with tears and smiles, with fear and courage, with patience and resilience. I have learned that every woman, even far from her homeland, can build a home within herself, a home made of voice, love, and strength.