I fled the TALIBAN

Zohre Esmaeli and her family crossed borders by foot in search of a better life

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Cowering in the corner of the mosque, I heard them before I saw their shadows: a group of soldiers, shouting in Russian, with rifles slung over their shoulders. Cracks of light seeped in around the rugs covering the windows, but it was enough to see them grab hold of some of the men in our group, including my father, and drag them outside into the freezing winter air. The women left behind - including me, my sister and stepmother screamed out, terrified of what they might do. When they finally returned, the men looked dishevelled and shaken up, and I later learnt the soldiers had strip-searched them in the street, in search of money. It was humiliating for us all and one of the worst moments of my life. But risking our lives was a price we were willing to pay as we made a perilous journey to a better future.

Growing up in a traditional home, my childhood in Kabul, Afghanistan, was strict. My mum died when I was two and I was raised by my stepmother and father, with two older sisters and four older brothers.

When the Taliban came to power in 1994, my life didn't change drastically. But their presence created fear within the community. I wasn't allowed to leave home without a male relative. And even at nine years old, I had to cover my face with a chador - a piece of fabric covering me from head to toe - in public.

My family didn't suffer directly at the hands of the Taliban, but we heard of people getting arrested, beaten or worse, for things like wearing nail polish or having a relationship.