I first heard of Farzana, a 23-year-old Afghan activist and journalist, through a New York-based non-profit organisation I worked with while living in the United States. It was in August 2021, when the Americans abruptly withdrew from Afghanistan. Initially, Farzana’s objective was to reach out to people outside the country and provide first-hand accounts of the rapidly deteriorating situation so that organisations could mobilise support if necessary. She did not want to leave Kabul; she believed she could still make a difference by staying.
As the days passed, however, Taliban forces encountered little resistance and were soon poised to seize the city. At this point, Farzana realised she was likely to become a target. She contacted our group in the hope that we could help her escape. We had five days to get her out.
The race to escape Kabul
Through contacts in the French government, I managed to secure her a seat on a flight leaving Kabul three days later with the French contingent. Unfortunately, the bus meant to transport Farzana and several other activists to the airport was delayed, and she missed the opportunity to board. My contacts arranged another flight for the following day, but an hour before she was due to leave to leave for the airport, a bomb exploded at the gate. All flights were grounded and no planes departed Kabul after that day. Foreign embassies withdrew, and Farzana had no other choice but to go into hiding.
She stayed in contact whenever she could find a wifi connection, moving from house to house to avoid capture. During those weeks, we became emotionally connected, almost fusional. In her harrowing experience in Kabul, I recognised echoes of my own memories of Pakistan in the 1980s: both of us shaped by fear of extremist religious ideologies that engulfed our lands and erased women’s rights as though they had never existed.
Survival, exile and an unexpected lifeline
Months passed. Then in October of the same year, an online argument led to an anonymous individual on Twitter who claimed they could get Farzana out of Afghanistan, provided she reached Tehran or Islamabad. I told Farzana frankly that I knew nothing about the person behind the Twitter account, but in her desperation, she agreed to take the risk.
She managed to get a temporary visa for Islamabad, but with no guarantee of being allowed through in those troubled times. She travelled first by bus, then on foot towards the border. For four agonising days, I heard nothing. Then, one day, faintly over the phone came her voice: she had crossed into Pakistan and was on her way to Islamabad. My Twitter buddy honoured their promise, and in early November, Farzana boarded a flight to Paris.
She collapsed into my arms at the airport. She was exhausted, traumatised, and deeply mistrustful – understandable, perhaps, given my Pakistani origin and the difficult relationship between Afghans and Pakistanis. Slowly, however, she began to emerge from her shell. She gained weight, cried less, slept more peacefully and eventually agreed to step out of the house.
Learning to trust again
I began taking her with me to volunteer at a soup kitchen helping vulnerable people. At first, she resisted the idea, but once there, she felt welcomed and useful.
Meanwhile, the post-it notes covered in French words all scattered around my house slowly began to make sense to her. There were some setbacks, but over time she started going to the language classes the French government had organised for her and I helped her with her homework in the evenings. Her progression from language acquisition to academic success was not linear but it was supported at each stage through practical guidance: help navigating administrative processes, encouragement during moments of doubt, and the informal mentoring that often determines whether newcomers persevere on their road to integration or withdraw into their shells.
I introduced her to my friends, many of whom invited her to museums, shows, or for coffee. She met other Afghans, began building friendships and gradually reclaimed a normal social life.
Finding belonging through language and community
Three years later, she moved into her own home. By then, she spoke fluent French, had earned a master’s degree in marketing, secured full-time employment and purchased her own apartment. Citizenship followed later, formalising a process of belonging that had already taken place in practice.
There are many reasons why Farzana integrated successfully into French society, foremost among them her own ambition and drive. Yet I also believe it was vital that she was welcomed as part of a family, rather than treated as a burden or made to feel like a second-class citizen. She was offered time, space, and trust to work through her trauma and pain. That combination allowed her to move beyond the emergency phase of displacement, feel safe again, and begin to believe in herself again.
Living within a household rather than in temporary accommodation provided something often missing in early refugee resettlement: continuity and stability. This helped offset the anxiety and stress often caused by cultural misunderstandings, casual prejudice, bureaucratic delays, and lack of procedural knowledge – sometimes framed as incompetence – often faced by recent arrivals. Language learning became daily practice rather than a bureaucratic requirement. Cultural adaptation happened organically, embedded in ordinary life, rather than confined to classes or appointments.
Volunteering at the soup kitchen was also, in my opinion, key in helping her come out of her isolation, and helped restore a sense of dignity and purpose.
Rethinking integration beyond bureaucracy
I believe her story offers a powerful example of what integration can look like when a person is treated not as a burden on a system, but as a life worth supporting. Her trajectory was not the product of chance, personal strength, or material support alone, but of sustained, emotional solidarity at the most fragile point in her life.
Her story stands in contrast to the often procedural and fragmented experience faced by many refugees in Europe, including the United Kingdom, where integration is frequently discussed in terms of targets, pressures on services, and political risk rather than human potential. It highlights a question that is often obscured in political debate: what happens when integration begins with trust rather than suspicion? When we recognise the trauma that the displaced carry and provide care for the emotional stress that they have often endured, instead of greeting them with hate and fear?
Refugee integration is frequently framed through the language of administrative burden – eligibility criteria, accommodation shortages, stretched services and cost. These pressures are real, particularly in societies where investment in public wellbeing has been eroded through years of austerity practices and policies leading to an increasing wealth gap. Yet such framing positions refugees as problems to be managed rather than as individuals capable of uniquely human contributions equal to those of any citizen, if given the right conditions.
Farzana’s case of integration with embedded support in a household is difficult to replicate at scale. A private household cannot substitute for a state system. Governments must manage resources and capacity in ways individuals do not.
What policymakers can learn from Farzana’s story
Nevertheless, her story illustrates a broader principle: integration accelerates when newcomers are placed in environments where they can participate meaningfully in ordinary life from the outset, as equals rather than outsiders. Her experience suggests that integration is not only about what a state provides, but about how quickly a person is allowed to become part of normal life – and how this comes about when they feel seen as humans, their trauma is acknowledged, and they are treated with compassion.
When refugees are given early stability, a sense of safety, language access, and pathways into work and education – planted into fertile ground prepared to receive them, so to speak – outcomes improve significantly.
Farzana’s journey raises a question for policymakers: what would happen if systems were designed on the assumption that most people – given safety, stability, and opportunity – will build successful lives?
The answer, if her experience is any indication, is that integration is not the exception. It is the natural outcome of genuine communal support.
More from Nazish Saad
Bylines Network Gazette is out!
The latest Bylines Network Gazette is out now. Become a Friend of Bylines Network or upgrade to a paid Substack subscription, and you will get access to a vital collection of citizen articles and stories.
Journalism by the people, for the people.
