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He risked his life helping U.S. troops. Now he works to bring his Afghan family to safety in Utah.

Ahmad has found support in the Beehive State, but he wants his mother to be able to hold her new grandson.

(Trent Nelson | The Salt Lake Tribune) Ahmad, an Afghan native who worked as an interpreter for the U.S. Army, with his wife, Hosna, and their son, Osman, in their West Valley City home on Tuesday, April 12, 2022.

Ahmad risked everything when, in 2010, the Afghan native signed up to interpret for the U.S. Army. More than a decade later, his parents and siblings are paying the price, forced into hiding for fear that the Taliban will find and — knowing of Ahmad’s work with the U.S. troops — kill them.

“My sister goes out and does the shopping,” he said, “but only fully covered so no one will know her.”

Ahmad, in contrast, rarely sees the inside of his West Valley City apartment, he is so busy trying to pocket money for his wife and infant son as an Uber and Lyft driver.

The now 35-year-old, who didn’t want his last name used to protect his family in Afghanistan, landed in Utah in 2014 on a Special Immigrant Visa after four years of working as an interpreter. Upon arrival, he was shocked to see how much his new home looked like his old one.

“With the mountains in the background,” he said, “I thought, ‘Utah looks like Kabul.’”

For years after his arrival, he was able to travel back and forth, visiting his family who — for the most part — were able to go about their lives. It was during one of these trips back home that he married his now wife, Hosna, who joined him in Utah.

Then came the U.S. withdrawal from Afghanistan last August and the subsequent Taliban takeover.

Trying but failing to flee Kabul

(Jim Huylebroek | The New York Times) Hoping to flee the country, people gather outside the airport in Kabul, Afghanistan on Friday, Aug. 20, 2021, as a military cargo plane takes off.

Ahmad’s family members were among the thousands to throng the international airport in Kabul in frantic hopes of boarding a plane — even as the Taliban closed in around them. His parents were elderly, however, and, in his mother’s case, unable to walk well. Together, they watched helplessly as others pushed ahead of them, their chance for escape growing dimmer with every thunderous takeoff.

Nowadays it seems as though the only thing separating them and a lifetime spent avoiding windows is Ahmad, who they hope can yet use his English and U.S. citizenship to open some invisible escape hatch.

Ahmad estimates he has called the U.S.-based company his brother-in-law worked for in Afghanistan more than 20 times asking for a recommendation letter he believes could help his sister’s husband secure a visa. When a woman in human resources collected his brother-in-law’s information and promised to reach out to him directly, he thought he might be getting somewhere. But it’s been eight months, Ahmad said, and still no word.

He also contacted the office of a Utah senator (he wasn’t sure which one), where an aide advised him to apply for humanitarian parole for his family members. He did but says months later the application remains in limbo.

Meanwhile, the more time goes by, the more the crisis in Afghanistan for people like his family recedes from international attention, especially in the wake of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

“I knew interpreting was a risky job,” Ahmad said, “but I didn’t know it would put my family at risk.”

Finding support among Utahns

(Trent Nelson | The Salt Lake Tribune) Ahmad, an Afghan native who worked as an interpreter for the U.S. Army, at his West Valley City home on Tuesday, April 12, 2022.

When Jane Johnson, a retired schoolteacher who taught in Murray for 25 years, learned of Ahmad’s story, she was moved. Between the car shop and her home, where Ahmad — the first to respond to her Lyft request — was shuttling her, she listened to the young father’s fear that his mother might die before ever meeting her grandson.

“So I said, ‘I’ll be his grandma if he needs a grandma,’” Johnson recounted.

Shortly afterward, she gathered her friends and invited Ahmad, Hosna and their baby over for dinner, where all were able to hear about the couple’s experience living in the United States, their Muslim faith and their families back in Afghanistan.

“It was wonderful,” Johnson said, “to hear about their religion and the things they believe in.”

A few weeks later, the same group reassembled, this time with Ahmad and Hosna as the hosts.

According to Ahmad, the dinners have been especially transformative for Hosna, who has struggled to learn English and with the isolation that comes from being a new mom in a country where she has no other family.

“My wife was really, really happy,” Ahmad said, laughing and almost shouting with enthusiasm on this point. “She was able to cook for so many people who enjoyed her food.” That was something of a dream come true for Hosna, who he said is eager to repeat the evening.

“Jane’s daughter especially was really kind to her,” he said, explaining she had given Hosna her number and invited her to call anytime.

For Johnson, these experiences have been a reminder that “we need to reach out,” be willing to “get outside of ourselves and recognize that we’re all part of the same human family” because ultimately, everyone “is looking for the same thing — acceptance, love and security.”

Hope for a happy reunion lives on

Recently, Hosna asked her husband when they would be returning to Afghanistan. Not for many years, he told her. Still, Ahmad has hope — and few regrets.

“My family supported me in my decision to become an interpreter,” he said. “They encouraged me, and I am still proud that I worked for Americans and Afghans.”

Ahmad said he speaks to his family every other day and that each time his mother tells him the same thing: Her only wish is to hold her grandson before she dies.

“I still have hope I will see them again,” he said, “and that we will be reunited.”

CorrectionApril 15, 2022: This story has been updated to correct where Ahmad is from in Afghanistan.