Help a 13-Year-Old Girl Access Speech Therapy

The withdrawal of US troops from Afghanistan and the collapse of Afghanistan’s government into the hands of the Taliban were catastrophic for my family. My niece, Setayesh, used to be a normal introverted girl. Like many other introverts, she wanted peace and quiet. 

But everything changed. During the chaotic US evacuation, at age 9, she was traumatized, according to her mom. She began whispering her words. When she arrived in Canada, she refused to speak entirely. I met her at the airport when she, with her mom and younger brother, landed. She was a quiet girl but she gave me a hug. When I asked her, how are you? She responded, "good." That was the only word she used that day. 

A few months later, at a clinic in Saskatoon that conducted a basic screening, she was identified as autistic, but a proper and comprehensive assessment for autism has never been conducted on her so far. That is because her parents speak little English and have struggled to navigate the Canadian system. They recently moved to Calgary, Alberta, where, for the first time, the family doctor referred their child to a pediatric clinic for a comprehensive assessment.

In the meantime, her education has suffered enormously. Because she requires additional support in the classroom, schools have told the family that she needs an Educational Assistant (EA). But an EA has not always been available. Over the past three years, Setayesh has been attending for only a few hours a week.

I have been closely involved in Setayesh’s life and her family’s struggle to figure out what happened to their child and how to find services for her over the past three years. While working on my dissertation, I kept asking myself what I could do. Finally, I decided that I could no longer simply watch them struggle through the system alone.

I finally launched a fundraising campaign on GoFundMe and in the meantime,  I undertook the most physically and mentally demanding challenge of my life. Beginning on August 10th, for over 6 consecutive days, I climbed 14 of Colorado’s mountains above 14,000 feet to raise awareness and funds for Setayesh’s speech therapy and specialized education. At least two summits a day, often three or four.

Please go to the GoFundMe page and donate whatever you can to help my niece access speech therapy.

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Human destiny and the desert are interwoven

On the outskirts of LA, I recently met Aigul. When she told me she was from Kazakhstan, it created an instant and yet distant bond, something of a mirage that exists in a distant future, and that is an aspiration to visit the lush green mountains and ride horses in the endless grasslands. For a while now, I find myself being oriented towards the Stans. I don't know why and for how long, there is an urge in me to visit, maybe next summer.

I pulled my laptop out of my backpack, showed her a few photos of spectacular landscapes in her country, and asked if she could share some knowledge about them with me. Before she could say anything, she paused, and then said:

"My dear Kazakh steppes, how wondrous and beautiful it is. The pasture where my father raised her four children. The fields where my mother and sister used to pick tulips. The vast steppes that were the grounds for our horses' gallops. The wetlands that were vibrant with water lilies."

As she continued, I noticed her voice catching in her throat. Her almond-shaped eyes welled up with tears.

"Whenever I played with a baby donkey, or went horseback riding, or chased after a baby goat, I remember the steppes. I used to go out with my father to pick flowers and gather mountain gum. That time will never return. As everything passed before my eyes like a movie."

Aigul has lived for years on the outskirts of Los Angeles, far from her birthplace. She jokingly tells me, "I am a self-imposed exile."

I envied her, the feeling of fascination and nostalgia for the steppes and nature of Kazakhstan. Every time I watched videos of Westerners driving motorcycles through the vast and pristine steppes, I became more attracted to the steppes than ever.

The steppe and the desert are the habitat of humanity. From a Western perspective, the steppe, the desert, and pristine nature are a "landscape" to be gazed upon and admired. But for the natives, like Aigul, who grew up there, who picked tulips, galloped on horses, and greeted the water lilies every morning, it is a social reality. It is a complete livelihood. 

Human destiny and the desert are interwoven. One cannot be separated from the steppe and the desert. That is why you cannot separate Aigul's identity, now living more than two decades and thousands of miles away from the steppes and deserts of Kazakhstan, from her past, because her childhood memories are a geography shaped in the pastures and green meadows.