The author was born in 1975 to a prosperous and educated family in what was then a peaceful, stable and democratic Kabul. Within a few years everything went to pot and the family fractured. First her mother left, with some of the daughters, to get heart surgery in India and then declined to return. Then the oldest boy, a teenager, fleeing conscription. Then the youngest children traveled to Pakistan on foot, without their father but with a very capable guide who looked after them like they were his own family. It took six months because they often had to shelter in villages for extended periods waiting for the wartime conditions to be safe enough to travel further. After arrival in Pakistan they waited another six months for their dad to arrive, and it took a lot longer and several unsuccessful attempts and multiple border crossings before the family was able to reach India and become whole again. They later moved to the US.

Though the family endured great hardship, this isn’t a depressing story. This was a very close, loving family (not perfect; Dad had a drinking problem and before Mom’s departure the marriage had been strained) and they were dedicated to each other and determined to become whole and together again, even though years passed without them seeing or speaking to each other. I was also really impressed by the quality of many of the people they met along the way. The children’s guide who shepherded them to Pakistan was brave, wise and kind, he was basically a hero. They were sheltered in remote and desperately impoverished villages that nevertheless offered hospitality. When the children were living alone in a hotel in Peshawar, waiting for their father, a kind employee looked after them.

And the ending is a happy one. The author repeatedly acknowledges how fortunate she was compared to many other refugees.