Laila Ata escaped from Afghanistan during the Russian occupation. With her family, she crossed the Hindu Kush into Pakistan on the backs of donkeys. In Peshawar, her family waited, but the Russians were not leaving. They took a plane to the United States. After more than a decade in Virginia, Laila found Waldoboro and put down her roots. Laila has done a lot, from nursing in Peshawar, working for United Airlines in DC, being a Cultural Advisor with Department of Defense in Kandahar, counting households in Lincoln County for the Census and now, working at The Village Grill in Damariscotta. She built a home here. She’s lived in a shelter here. And she says Maine has been kind to her.
My ex-husband didn’t know that people from Afghanistan, especially women, they are very strong. They can deal with anything. I went through so much from the time I left Afghanistan until I landed here and then in Maine. And I’m still here.
I was born in Kabul. You probably don’t know that Kabul used to be called the ‘Little Paris of Central Asia.’ Kabul was beautiful, with everything the West had. I was ten when Russia invaded. But I still went to school and did very well.
One day at school, everyone was looking at me. When I got home, I saw that they had burned down our house. My mother, she was so burned on her legs and her arms that she had gone to the hospital. I was so scared for her. We lost everything. I must have been about twelve or thirteen then. It was a very hard time. We fixed the house, and then my grandmother passed away.
We were a target because we came from royalty, so we hid in my father’s friend’s house for three months. My mother packed her jewelry for money because we couldn’t go to the bank. My family had me and my brother pretend to be husband and wife to escape. We rode buses, and at the checkpoints we told them our family was going to Jalalabad for a few days of vacation. I wore a burqa. But to get into Pakistan, we had to cross illegally, go over the mountains and rivers on donkeys. It took five or six days. We hid during the day and traveled only at night. I was fifteen and had just finished high school because I’d jumped a couple of grades. I guess I was smart. But not anymore.
Our family had settled in Virginia after leaving Pakistan. I learned English, went to George Mason for psychology and then decided not to get a master’s degree. Instead, I started working for United Airlines. My clients were elite and I loved helping them, and I loved being able to travel. I met my husband on a ferry in the Virgin Islands, and I had never been attracted to someone blond and blue-eyed. Moreover, he wasn’t Afghan, and he wasn’t Muslim. So I couldn’t tell my father about him. We had a secret engagement.
Finally, when my father passed, we came to Maine, to his family’s house in Bremen right on the ocean. They told us we should buy a piece of property. I thought, “But who’s going to live in Maine? It’s so boring.” In Virginia we woke up seeing the Potomac and all the monuments. But my husband wanted to be closer to his family, so we moved.
I commuted for my job, and we bought land on Bremen Road in Waldoboro, and with waterfront, too. He put the deed in his name because I had no credit and no credit cards back then. But I trusted him. I gave him the money for the down-payment. After we got married, we started building our house, cutting down trees, clearing the land, and building it. I was still working for United Airlines. I got pregnant. We had a son.
I have a good heart. I’m very tough. If someone does wrong, I’m not going to do wrong to them.
We needed more money because he’d lost his work, so I found a job in Afghanistan that paid really well. But I was away from my son. By the second year, I was feeling our marriage wasn’t working. Money was disappearing, so I asked him to put the house in both of our names. When I came back, he went away for a job on a boat, but he’d never changed the deed. One day I fell down from the balcony. I should have been dead. It took a long time to get better, and I was in a lot of pain and pain medication.
When my husband got back, he wanted to divorce. I agreed, and to everything else he asked for because I was so out of it. I only found out after rehab that I’d sold my share in the house to him for two dollars. Then he locked me out. I had only my credit cards.
I found a room in a building, and the landlord gave me his best room. When I went to a shelter in Rockport, they found a room for me and my son immediately. They helped me get a voucher for Section 8 housing and this apartment. They gave me a free month of rent here while they fixed it up. Now the people in the Section 8 program are now helping me to restore my credit, and most of it is paid off.
Two years ago, I had rotator cuff surgery. I couldn’t drive, couldn’t work, couldn’t even carry a bag home from Hannaford’s. One day I saw someone delivering food to someone. They said they were the Food Pantry. So, I signed something, and they handed me food. They kept stopping by. It’s not what they brought. They were the most caring people I’d ever met. They made me feel that I am not alone. That is how so many people here have made me feel.
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