"The best thing about living here is the security... and being able to play football"

They wear shorts and a t-shirt in the blaugrana colors, and pose smiling in front of the goal with several footballs. Anita Rafat appears a bit shy: she wears a kind of turban on her head and black tights and an undershirt so that neither her arms nor her legs are visible. In contrast, her sister, Fereshteh, has no complexes: she shows her hair and thighs. They are 37 and 28 years old, and fled Afghanistan in August on one of the Spanish evacuation flights. Now in Barcelona, they do what they could never do in their country: play football.

“In Afghanistan I used to go to the gym,” says Fereshteh. But mind you, a gym only for women. In contrast, Anita explains that she had never done sports, let alone started running after a ball. But the Ramassà Sports Association offered them to join a football team made up of refugees from different countries, and they didn't think twice. “Meeting other women motivated us,” they argue.

So since then they train every week at the Esports UB complex, at the top of Avinguda Diagonal. “Come on, arms up!” shouts the coach, Chaima Moummou, while the women do their first stretches. The team is made up of about 35 refugees. There are Hondurans, Salvadorans, Peruvians, Gambians…, but especially many Afghan women. “At first they were worried about having to wear shorts”, comments Pere Bufi, president of Ramassà, who pushed for the creation of the football team because, he argues, there was no initiative of this type for women. What began modestly last May at the Carmel neighborhood field, now has the support of the Barça Foundation.

“The most important thing is that they can break away from the day-to-day, disconnect,” highlights the head of the social area of Ramassà, Marc Larripa. And seeing them play, it's clear they disconnect. Anita starts the training a bit shy, but as soon as she runs and kicks the ball a few times, she transforms, she doesn't stop smiling. Fereshteh is pure laughter. The two sisters say that the best thing about Barcelona for them is safety. Here they don't have to worry about their physical integrity. And then, without a doubt, football. The sport allows them to forget everything they left behind, in Afghanistan, and not worry about the future. Because yes, they admit it, they can't help it: they worry about their future in Catalonia.

Next Tuesday will be six months since the Taliban came to power in Afghanistan. Since then, Spain has welcomed 2,475 Afghans, 2,206 of whom arrived on evacuation flights and 269 subsequently obtained visas, according to data from the Spanish Ministry of Foreign Affairs. However, only 1,912 have remained in the State, 208 in Catalonia, specifies the Ministry of Inclusion.

Rafat-Shirzay Family

Anita Rafat has a degree in biochemistry and had worked for the Spanish Cooperation Agency in the small town of Qala-e-Naw, in northwestern Afghanistan, where everyone knows each other and it was easy for the Taliban to identify her. On the other hand, Fereshteh is a journalist, had worked as a translator for a Spanish reporter, and lived in the city of Herat, also in the northwest of the country. Furthermore, she had distinguished herself in the defense of Afghan women's rights. Before fleeing, she worked in a shelter for battered women, so she could not stay in Afghanistan in any way. Her life was at stake.

“I was making lunch when my husband arrived home and told me we had to leave immediately, that the Taliban were about to enter Qala-e-Naw,” recalls Anita, who explains that they fled with what they were wearing and little else. Her husband, Abdul Wasi Shirzay, is an agronomist and is 37 years old. They have a 9-year-old daughter, Asra, and a 17-month-old son, Ahmad. 

Fereshteh also had to flee in a hurry. Nervously, she forgot her glasses in Afghanistan and also had to leave her computer behind. She landed in Madrid at the end of August with her boyfriend, Mohammad Kahlid Toukhi, 32, but they were separated upon arrival. Out of shame, they did not say they were a couple – in Afghanistan, having a boyfriend is frowned upon – he was sent to Cordoba and she to Barcelona. Now they aspire to reunite soon.

Fereshteh and Anita with their family now live in a reception center in the Catalan capital. It is a fully equipped two-story house in the Nou Barris district, where they have three bedrooms and two bathrooms, and share a kitchen and dining room with four other refugee families. The center is managed by the Apip-Acam Foundation, which is one of the entities to which the Spanish government has delegated the reception of refugees.

Apip-Acam is responsible for the maintenance of the center, also pays the electricity, gas and water bills, and provides the family with certain products, such as cleaning supplies for the house, detergent or milk and diapers for the baby. Likewise, they give them economic aid, which is subsidized by the Spanish government and which is the same for all asylum seekers, regardless of their country of origin. In the case of Anita and Fereshteh, since there are five people in the family in total, they are entitled to aid of 341 euros per month for food.

"We basically eat potatoes, zucchini, eggplants, rice and pasta," the sisters enumerate because, they assure, they don't have money to buy anything else. For them, meat and chicken are now a luxury. They only eat meat (beef or lamb) once a month, and chicken, three or four times at most. They have also become specialists in finding the best prices. "If you go to the supermarket at the last minute, when they are about to close, fruit is cheaper," assures Fereshteh. However, they only buy oranges and apples. "Bananas are too expensive. A kilo costs 1.99 euros," they give as an example. They also cannot afford spinach, nor broccoli, and even less so cucumbers, which they often ate in Afghanistan and have seen here on supermarket shelves but have not yet been able to try.

“I took the child to the doctor last week and he told me he was low on iron,” says Anita’s husband, Abdul Wasi, who shows a prescription to prove it. On the prescription, the doctor prescribes oral drops for the baby called Glutaferro for three months. The problem is that these drops are not funded by Social Security and each bottle costs 7 euros. The Apip-Acam Foundation also pays the family 50 euros per person per month (20 in the case of minors) to cover other expenses besides food, such as shampoo, hand soap, or masks. However, all the money they spend must be justified with invoices. “I have nothing left from the 50 euros last month. When Apip-Acam pays me again on February 15th, I will buy the drops for the child,” says Abdul Wasi.

The head of Apip-Acam's welcome program, Dolors Calvo, explains that all asylum seekers complain that they are given little money for food. It doesn't matter if they are from Afghanistan or another country in the world. Spanish government aid is what it is, she adds. The amount of money is the same for everyone, whether they are housed in a big city or a small town in Spain.

Fereshsteh, Anita and Abdul Wasi are now dedicated to studying Spanish. They go to class four days a week. They have already achieved refugee status and have residency and work permits in Spain. This means they can move on to the next phase of the reception program: leaving the center where they live and receiving financial assistance to rent an apartment. But this also distresses them: rental prices are very high, and aid is minimal. Furthermore, they would like to continue living in Barcelona. "I don't want my daughter to have to change schools again," justifies Anita.

Asra has been enrolled at the Pau Casals school, in the Horta neighborhood. When asked to make an illustration of what she likes most about Barcelona, she draws herself with a smile, surrounded by her school friends. "If it were up to her, she would also go on Saturdays and Sundays," says the father, who is completely grateful for all the help the school's parent association has offered them: they have bought all kinds of school supplies for the girl.

“Here the teacher doesn’t hit the children. In Afghanistan they hit us with a ruler on the hands if we don’t know the lesson,” says Asra, who makes herself understood with gestures because she barely knows a few words in Catalan or Spanish. Her favorite subjects are mathematics, Catalan and music. And now she is enthusiastic because, finally, she has been given a desk in the front row of the class. She also forgot her glasses in Afghanistan and couldn’t see the blackboard well.

Hossaini Family

When Javad Hossaini arrived in Olot on August 26th with his wife, Fatemah Mohammadi, and their 5-year-old son, Amir Mohammad, he didn't know a single word of Spanish. Now he can make himself understood, which is the most important thing. And it can be said that he understands almost everything. His ability to learn so quickly is surprising.

"I spend all day watching Spanish videos on YouTube," he says. And he also goes to class with his wife five times a week. Despite all this, he is frustrated: "By now, after more than five months, I should be speaking Spanish perfectly." He regrets that he has no one to practice it with. In Olot, nobody speaks Spanish, and nobody has taught them Catalan.

Javad is 31 years old and is a physiotherapist by profession, but for years he worked as a translator for several Spanish journalists in Afghanistan. His English is impeccable. His wife, who is 29 years old, is a doctor. The family arrived in Madrid on a Spanish evacuation flight and, from there, they were transferred to Catalonia. They wanted to go to Barcelona, but since there were no places available in any reception center, they were offered to settle in Olot.

During all these months they have lived in an apartment managed by the Cepaim Foundation, another of the entities responsible for the reception of refugees in Catalonia. Like other Afghan families, they also have to watch very carefully what they spend. The Spanish government's aid is minimal. Nevertheless, they have no complaints: their son has been enrolled in the Volcà Bisaroques school, the apartment where they live is pleasant – they share it with a Venezuelan mother and her children – and they assure that the people in Olot are kind. Despite this, they want to leave.

"We know that big cities are more expensive, but there are many more opportunities," Javad opines. In October they were invited to participate in a congress in Madrid organized by the El que de Veritat Importa Foundation, and they were impressed. They liked Madrid for the movement of people, the amount of activities and because everyone understood them there when they spoke Spanish. For Christmas they visited Barcelona and they also loved it: "There are cheap clothing stores there, like Primark and Zara, unlike in Olot," she says.

Following their participation in the congress, some members of the El que de Veritat Importa Foundation have started to pull strings to help Javad find a job in Madrid. "They told me that maybe I could work in a cosmetics factory and that they would pay me 16,000 euros [gross per year]," explains the young man. The social worker from the Cepaim Olot Foundation, Eva Ruiz, clarifies that the family could only move provinces if one of them found a job of at least 20 hours per week. Of course, she adds, when they have a contract they will be outside the welcome program and will no longer be able to receive economic aid from the Spanish government to rent an apartment or for food. Otherwise, they could continue to benefit from this subsidy for twelve more months.

Despite this, Javad prefers to find a job as soon as possible. "I want to be independent and not live off the government," he says. He also says that if he earns a salary, he will try to save to send money to his family, who are still in Afghanistan. He cannot do this now with the government subsidy, because he has to justify all the money he spends with invoices. However, Javad is also aware that it is not the best time to jump into the unknown: his wife is seven months pregnant. Therefore, he and she are full of doubts. They don't know what to do.

Alized Family

Omulbanin is 10 years old and is a shy girl with a fragile appearance: slender, with very white skin and straight hair. She has been drawing for a long time, completely focused. She only raised her head from time to time to listen to what the adults were saying. When she finally finishes her work and is asked what she has put on paper, she answers in an almost imperceptible little voice: "It's me." The drawing shows a girl with tears on her cheeks and hair as long as hers. "And why were you crying?" Omulbanin then jumps, covers her face, and starts crying like the girl in the drawing. "She was crying because she was scared of the noise of the projectiles in Afghanistan. When she heard the shots, she hid at home," her mother answers for her.

Bentor Alizada is the mother of Omulbanin. She also went into exile when she was little. Her family fled to Iran in 1996, when the Taliban first came to power in Afghanistan. Now the story is repeating itself with her daughter. The Alizada family arrived in Madrid on August 25th on a Spanish evacuation flight. The father, Mojtabo Alizada, who is 33 years old, had worked as a logistician at the Spanish military base in Qala-e-Naw, and then had become a police officer, so he could not stay in Afghanistan: the Taliban would have killed him. The mother, 30 years old, was a teacher, but now she is willing to retrain in whatever it takes. “I can work as a seamstress,” she suggests. The couple has three children: Matin, 2 years old; Mohammad Morteza, 4 years old; and Omulbanin.

“I thank the Spanish government for bringing us here,” is the first thing Bentor says. It is clear she means it from the bottom of her heart. She assures that it didn’t matter where they were moved, as long as they were evacuated from Afghanistan. Now they live in a reception center run by the Apip-Acam Foundation in Parets del Vallès. It is a two-story house, which they share with three other families.

“I was about to give an exam to my students when I received a call from the Ministry of Education warning me that all classes were suspended because the Taliban were about to enter Qala-e-Naw,” the mother recounts. That’s how hasty the escape was. She says they arrived in Spain with nothing. “All the clothes we have were given to us.”

Bentor and Mojtabo are now learning Spanish. They go to class four times a week. For this, they travel by train to Barcelona. There they also take the opportunity to shop because they assure that in the capital they find better prices than in Parets del Vallès. “In Barcelona there are Pakistani or Indian shops where we can buy beef and chicken cheaper”. Their children, aged 10 and 4, are already enrolled in school. The next step they have to take is to find a rental apartment. “We have searched the internet and we are scared by the prices. Before coming here, I thought living in Europe was easier,” he states. She knows that her future is uncertain, but she tries to see the glass half full: “Here the schools are better than in Afghanistan, there is security, and I have fulfilled my dream: to see the sea”.

Aryan family

They were received at Parliament with full honors in October and the deputies paid them a moving tribute with a long ovation. In Barcelona, however, they were housed in a reception center with more than twenty people, each from a different country. They were assigned a single room with three beds and had to share the rest of the services: the bathrooms, the kitchen, the dining room... Feridoon Aryan; his wife, Nooria, and their two children, Heraab and Anosh, aged 7 and 2, continue to live in the same reception center, but now they say they have gotten used to it. What else could they do.

They no longer see sharing the bathroom as so bad, they have made some friends, and their 7-year-old son has been enrolled in school. The little one also goes to a nursery school, financed by the collective People Help. This, they explain, has given them some breathing room. At least now they have time to go to Spanish class, although for the moment the language they get by with here is English. "We started classes in December and then we had to self-isolate because a student in my son's class tested positive," Feridoon explains. They have also learned to get around Barcelona by metro and, most importantly, their parents and other family members arrived in Catalonia from Afghanistan a few weeks ago. Miraculously, they managed to get a visa. They have lifted a weight off their shoulders.

Feridoon is 36 years old and was the spokesperson for Unicef in Afghanistan. His wife, 28, worked as a professor at a private university. They had a good life there and could even afford to go on vacation to India, Dubai, or Tajikistan. Now, they lament, they don't have enough money to go to a restaurant for a hamburger for a day. The reception center where they are housed has a catering service, and therefore, they do not receive any aid to buy food, unlike other Afghan families. The only money the Spanish government gives them is 140 euros per month to finance other possible expenses.

The Aryan family arrived in Spain later than other Afghans, in October, on one of the only two evacuation flights that the Ministry of Defense made from Islamabad, the capital of Pakistan. Therefore, they do not yet have refugee status. However, Anna Figueras, the representative in Catalonia of the Spanish Commission for Refugee Aid (CEAR) – which manages the center where they are housed – assures that the government is resolving the Afghans' files with speed and granting them international protection. It's not a small thing, she points out: "90% of asylum applications are denied in Spain".