“I was 6 years old, but I remember very well my arrival in France, these are moments that we cannot forget. I was very young, my parents didn’t really explain to me why we started. Today, I know that my father worked as an interpreter for French soldiers in Kabul, and that he was invited to come to France by the French army.
It was in 2015. The whole family accompanied us, in several cars. I was in that of my aunts. I told them to roll slowly so that my parents forget me and leave without me. It was the first time that I had taken the plane. I had asked one of my cousins to go buy me a balloon but we did not have time to inflate it. I remember putting it in my pocket, I was wearing a yellow shirt.
My parents did not look worried, in any case they did not show it. I was not stressed either. But we were very tired, my head turned to me. We spent one night in a hotel in Dubai and we took the plane the next day, a very long flight to Paris. Everything had been prepared for our arrival. At the airport, two people welcomed us: a lady and a man, who was called Mickaël. They took us in an apartment forty minutes from Rennes, a three-piece with two bedrooms. It is in this accommodation that we were going to live. Mickaël went to get us kebabs. The meat had a particular flavor. I never managed to find this taste in ten years.
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