Homaira

I left Afghanistan when I was probably three years old, too young to understand what exile, war, persecution, or being a refugee meant. All I knew were the streams where I played and built tiny mud houses with my hands, the proud mountains, the orchards, and the night sky filled with stars above my village. I didn’t know I was leaving behind more than a home; I was leaving behind a childhood that war and displacement would never let me return to and memories that would become the roots I’d carry across every border.

My journey has been one of constant movement, from Afghanistan to Pakistan, from Pakistan to Indonesia, and finally to Canada, in search of peace, security, and dignity. It took me more than twenty years to find a permanent place I can truly call home. But now, after finally finding a place where I no longer fear displacement, I’ve come to realise that home isn’t a place at all. Home lives in the memories I carry, in the people who walked beside me, and in the moments of love and courage that kept me going through every border I crossed.

My parents fled Afghanistan out of fear of persecution, hoping Pakistan would be a safe refuge. But persecution followed us there like a shadow. As Hazaras and Shia Muslims, we were systematically targeted by extremist groups. I remember the days when our education was interrupted by bomb blasts in our area. I remember the sound of shattering windows, the cracks on our walls, the streets covered in blood, and the terrified faces of people searching for loved ones. I still hear the echoes of mothers screaming their children’s names. And then, the silence, the heavy silence that followed in the days after, as if life itself had stopped breathing.

In search of safety, we fled once again, this time to Indonesia. Maybe it was never really a choice; it was survival. Indonesia gave us safety from bullets and bombs but took away our humanity and dignity. As refugees, we were banned from going to school, from working, and from building our futures. No conventions, treaties, and laws could or did protect our rights. We were invisible, alive, yet denied the simple right to live as humans.

But even in that uncertainty, I refused to accept the label of “burden.” I knew my heart, and I knew the passion burning inside it. I wanted to contribute, to give back, and to prove that refugees are not helpless; we are capable, resilient, and full of potential.

That’s when my path crossed with Same Skies, perhaps not by luck, but by shared purpose. Same Skies became a bridge between who I was and who I could become. They believed in us, in our ability to lead, to create change, and to take ownership of our future.

Through their programmes, I learned to take action more bravely, skillfully, and thoughtfully. From teacher training and teamwork to self-care and grassroots leadership, Same Skies opened doors I never thought possible. Over eight years, I became a volunteer teacher, an interpreter, a co-founder and project manager of Jakarta Bersatu Project, an advocate, and a friend to my community, all with their guidance and support.

But beyond skills and projects, Same Skies taught me something even more powerful: to stand up for myself when the world was against me, to find clarity when doubt clouded my vision, and to believe that leadership can come from anywhere, even from a refugee in limbo. They were mentors when I needed structure and friends when I needed hope. Of all the programmes I joined, the Transformative Leadership in Action programme was the one that truly brought out the leader within me. It guided me to design and run a grassroots initiative from scratch, a project rooted in empowering my own refugee community. The experience strengthened my leadership skills, deepened my sense of purpose, and affirmed my belief that my voice and actions could create meaningful change. The lessons I learned through that journey didn’t end there; I carried that confidence with me to Canada, where it continues to shape who I am and what I aspire to become. 

Today, I live in Canada. I am in my second year at one of Canada’s top universities, pursuing my dream of studying law. For more than two decades of my life, I was never able to take education for granted. Every time I sit in a classroom and listen to a lecture, I feel a quiet sense of grace and gratitude. Yet, even as I embrace this new life, I often ask myself, "Am I truly free when so many of my friends remain trapped in limbo?" When millions of refugees still live without rights, education, or dignity? When millions of girls and women in Afghanistan are banned from classrooms and denied their dreams? I carry their voices with me every day, in every step I take, because freedom means nothing unless it’s shared. 

I’ve learned that real change begins when we refuse to stay silent, when we use our voices not only for ourselves but also for those who are still unheard, and Same Skies taught me that even in exile, we can lead, inspire, and rebuild, not as victims, but as changemakers. Their guidance, mentorship, and belief in our potential helped me channel my experiences, my voice, and my passion into meaningful action for my community and for myself.