Ireland is ‘the village’ it took to raise my girl: 'Irish mothers know how to lend a hand'

After escaping from Afghanistan, Manizha Khan feared her daughter would struggle to settle in at school. But strong local support at every step helped Marjan adapt quickly and thrive

Manizha Khan and her daughter, Marjan, have received a warm welcome in Ireland since moving here in 2021. Picture: Noel Sweeney

My husband, daughter, and I arrived at Dublin Airport in 2021 from Qatar after three months in hiding in Kabul. I clutched my backpack tightly in one hand, filled not just with belongings, but with memories, fears, and hopes, and held my daughter Marjan’s hand in the other.

As she stood mesmerised by the beautiful Christmas decorations, she exclaimed: “Mummmmy!”

Her little voice pulled me away from my anxious thoughts and back into the brightly lit, festive airport. For a moment, I forgot my fears and the question that had been circling endlessly in my mind: What will happen tomorrow?

“What?” I asked, looking into her innocent face. She had no idea that she had just become a refugee or that her life had changed forever. Unlike my eyes, hers were filled with hope, wonder, and excitement.

“Where is Santa Claus?” she asked.

In that instant, everything changed. Even in the middle of uncertainty and loss, moments of joy were still waiting. There were still reasons to believe that tomorrow could be better.

Refugee or not, the desire to do everything within your power to protect your child and give them the best possible future is universal in mothers. Mothers are nurturers, carrying not only the survival of their own children, but, in many ways, the future of humanity in their hands.

This maternal responsibility helped me endure the forced displacement of my life. I realised that I could tolerate anything life placed in my path, as long as my daughter was happy, healthy, receiving an education, and free to become whoever she wanted to be. That realisation marked the beginning of a remarkable journey of rebuilding my life while raising my daughter.

If it takes a village to raise a child, then when you are raising a child who is a refugee, that village becomes even more important.

The process of integration is like peeling an onion: Layer upon layer of uncertainty, hard work, and rebuilding a life from nothing. You have to relearn everything, even the simplest things: How to talk, communicate, joke, laugh, make friends, and find your place in a new society.

Motherhood was one of those layers. When I arrived in Ireland, I felt the same way I had when my daughter was born: Running around like a headless chicken, clinging to books and searching for pearls of wisdom on how to raise a little human. But now my little human was already 10 years old and needed much more than being fed, burped and having her nappies changed. She needed confidence, belonging, and a future. If it had not been for the village of kind and compassionate mammies around me, I would never have done it alone.

New school in a new country

I vividly remember our second day in Ireland. A retired school principal, a kind and compassionate woman from Kinsale, came to visit us. She sat down with my daughter, gently assessed her level of English, and offered to teach her English and maths before schools reopened after Christmas. She worked out which class my daughter would join and returned with English and maths books of the appropriate level, along with a few storybooks.

My daughter was delighted. She could not wait to start learning.

The former school principal also made countless phonecalls, until she found a primary school for my child. Only later did I realise how difficult it can be to secure a place in a suitable school.

My daughter’s first day in St Joseph’s primary school, in Glanmire, was filled with emotions. The three of us, as a family, went together, accompanied by the kindest and most compassionate landlord. He drove us to the school because, of course, we had no car and knew nobody. I looked at my daughter. She was bravely hiding all the emotions that come with starting a new school in a new city, in a new country.

I wonder how difficult that day must have been for her. I am not sure that I would have been as composed as she was. The only thought keeping me calm was that she already had a foundation in English, which her father and I had taught her back in Afghanistan.

I will always remember the teacher who welcomed us with a warm, reassuring smile. He showed us around the school, talked us through my daughter’s subjects and activities, and brought her to her classroom.

I cannot describe how those few hours without her felt. I could hardly breathe.

She was smiling widely when she came home that afternoon, saying that her classmates had prepared for her arrival. They had made welcome cards, found Afghanistan on a map, and greeted her with kindness, curiosity, and warmth.

That school became a sanctuary not only for my daughter, but for both of us. The kindness continued throughout her primary school years.

Among the many super mums we have encountered, one took my daughter to a swimming pool for the first time and helped me to understand what extracurricular skills were needed for my child.

Even today, Marjan remembers her classmates, her teachers, and the compassion they showed to a little girl who had arrived carrying far more than a schoolbag. They gave her something every child deserves: The feeling that she belonged.

Then came the challenge of finding a secondary school. My expectations and reality were worlds apart. It is incredibly difficult to navigate an education system that you have never experienced.

Manizha Khan says she and her daughter Marjan have been made very welcome in Ireland since moving here five years ago. Picture: Noel Sweeney

As parents, we want to give our children every possible opportunity, but when we do not understand the system, we can feel helpless. No matter how hard we try, there is always the fear that we might make the wrong decision.

Once again, my Irish village stepped in. My landlady and best friend in Ireland, who had raised two wonderful daughters herself, patiently guided me through the Irish secondary school system. She explained how it worked, what to look for in a school, and how to approach the application process. Her advice gave me confidence at a time when I desperately needed it.

Finding the right school became an emotional journey. It also taught me the immense importance of schools that genuinely believe in equality, inclusion, and giving every child the opportunity to succeed, regardless of where they come from or where they stand on admission criteria.

Just when I had almost lost hope of finding a place that truly suited my daughter, we were fortunate enough to discover the ideal school, St Aloysius College, Carrigtwohill. The staff and pupils at St Al’s welcomed her with open arms.

Today, I can proudly say that the school has done far more than help shape her academic future. It has helped shape the young woman she is becoming: Strong, independent, compassionate, and confident enough to speak up for herself.

Watching her grow, I realise that education is about so much more than lessons and examinations. It is about being seen, being valued, and being given the chance to become the person you were always meant to be. For my daughter, that is exactly what this school has given her.

Shown extraordinary kindness

This December marks five years since we made Ireland our home. During this time, my daughter has not only received an academic education, but she has also had the opportunity to play soccer, learn to swim, and sing with a choir.

If it weren’t for the village, I would have been lost.

This is the real Ireland. Irish people — especially mothers — have shown us extraordinary kindness and compassion.

They know how to lend a helping hand. They know how to come together to raise a child, a family, and a nation. And they have proven that again and again through history.

When I think about the difficulties we encountered in our home country, I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude for everything my daughter has been given in Ireland.

Meanwhile, many of her former classmates in Afghanistan have either fled the country or been forced into child marriages. For them, the dream of going to school has been taken away. My greatest hope is that one day, every daughter of Afghanistan will once again be able to learn, return to school, and become whoever she dreams of being.

It takes a village not only to raise a child, but also to raise awareness. It takes a village to stand against ignorance, injustice, and silence, so that, together, we can give our children a more peaceful, hopeful, and brighter tomorrow.