An Autobiography of Shahwali Arezo

I was born and raised in Afghanistan. My father was in the Afghan Army. He joined the Army when he was nineteen. My mother stayed at home and took care of most of the household chores. Initially, we had a very simple and peaceful life. My childhood memories are of homework, playing marbles, flying kites or trips to our farm in Shamali.

On April 27th 1978, the Communist Party seized control of the government in a brutal coup. After that, our lives changed drastically. The entire country found itself governed by an oppressive regime. Thousands were tortured and killed. Anybody who was opposed to the government was abducted from his home and killed in the political prison named Pul-Charkhi. My father was among those who suffered in the Communists’ hands. He refused to join the Communist Party and turned in his resignation from the Army. Shortly thereafter he was arrested. We never saw him after that. Months later, we learned that he had been killed in Pul Charkhi.

His death took a heavy toll on each and every one of us. Our lives were never the same again. We went through the most depressing and difficult times in our lives, all of which are covered in detail in my book. By November of 1982, we were forced to flee the country. We hired a smuggler who led us through the mountains of Afghanistan into Pakistan. We stayed in Pakistan for one month. From there, we found another smuggler who helped us obtain fake passports and visas. With these on hand, we made it across the border into India.

We lived in India as refugees for two years. We were solely dependent on our monthly stipend from the United Nations. We had spent all of our savings in our trip from Kabul to Delhi. We lived a life of poverty and destitution. Desperate for a better life, we filed for political asylum in the United States in early 1984. On October 31st, 1984, we migrated to Richmond, Va.

Life in the United States was not as easy as I had envisioned. We came into this country with only the clothes on our backs. I could barely speak the language. I had not finished high school. With the help of friends and the Refugee Office in Richmond we were able to find a place to stay. My older brother, older sister and I worked in order to support our mother and three younger brothers. But I was determined to finish my education and fulfill my dream of becoming a doctor. By January of 1986, I managed to obtain my G.E.D certificate. With the certificate I became eligible for college even though I had not finished high school. I attended my classes during the day while I worked as a watchman during the graveyard shift. By the fall of 1986, I started my education at JSRCC. In the fall of 1987, I transferred my credits to VCU, where I obtained my BS in Chemistry on May 19th 1990.
I was accepted at Eastern Virginia Medical School in 1991. On May 20th 1995, I obtained my degree in Medicine. I completed my Internal Medicine residency at MCV in June of 1998. After the residency I pursued a fellowship in gastroenterology. I completed my fellowship in the same hospital on June 30th, 2001. I have been in private practice as a gastroenterologist since then.

With the encouragement of my coworkers and some of my classmates, I started writing my memoirs in August of 1986. I would type snippets about the past on pieces of paper while I worked at night. I have been working on my manuscript ever since then. I was inspired by the support and enthusiasm of my coworkers and some of my classmates. Writing about my life has forced me to remember some of the most painful moments of my life. It has resurfaced the grief, anger and bitterness that have lain dormant for so long. At forty, I have been given a chance to look back and appreciate how much I have been through in life. It has given me a better perspective of my life and the man I am today. I would like to share my memories in the hopes to inspire others to face their own adversities and cope with their own haunting memories. I also hope that what I have written will give the readers a glimpse of the anguish and the pain that the Afghan people have lived through in the last 25 years. Moreover, it is my hope that the readers will also have an appreciation for the rich history and culture of Afghanistan.

By Shahwali Arezo
Feb. 2006.