A Journey to Nowhere: 18 Hours in the Trunk of a Car

The tale of his trip to Iran is precise, painful, and violent. Hours of hiking, being beaten up by traffickers and smugglers, crushed in the trunk of the car, suffering from hunger and thirst, making his way over metal fences, and finally, returning to Afghanistan. Unemployment, insecurity, and poverty are key factors in an Afghan citizen’s decision to migrate, and the narratives of their illegal migration are fraught with violence and trauma. Sometimes, after everything they have been through, they have to admit failure and turn back.  

I met Mehdi Rasekh in a cafe in Kabul. Five winters ago, while still a child in seventh grade, he decided to go to Iran with some of his classmates. He got 5,000 Afghanis, a little more than 60 euros, from his father and went to the border town of Nimruz to find a smuggler and move on to a future he could not imagine.

Like many other Afghans, he asked around until he found someone he could pay to help him do the trip. He contacted several people, and many of them said they couldn’t travel in the winter — it was too cold and dangerous. Eventually, though, he found a smuggler who agreed to take Mehdi and his friends to Iran for a fee of 750,000 tomans ($55), provided that they paid for all their food and personal expenses. He spent two nights in Nimruz waiting until it was the right time to go.

While they were staying in Nimruz, Mehdi and his friends talked to travelers who had already made the dangerous journey across the border. The stories of the route the smugglers took them on were so sad and traumatic that he often woke up in the middle of the night in a state of terror. He also heard that the bodies of at least 15 Afghan citizens, who had died on the way a week earlier, had been transferred to Nimruz. Mehdi never knew for sure whether shots fired by the border police had killed them, or whether it was the terrain of treacherous cliffs and terrible weather that had claimed their lives. Sometimes he regretted his decision to try, but when he looked back at his life in Afghanistan, he saw nothing but insecurity and unemployment.

In all cases of human smuggling and trafficking, the smuggler or trafficker has the first and last word. The smuggler, who had agreed to take Mehdi and his friends to their destination, told them to always be ready to leave as soon as he contacted them. They had been in Nimruz for three days, when the man got in touch and told them to go to Naqsh Square at 1pm on a cold afternoon.

He was waiting for them. "The car was almost full; one person was lying behind the driver's seat,” Mehdi said. “The other passengers rested their feet on him. It was getting dark when we found out that the paved road had ended. The car suddenly stopped. For almost 15 minutes no one said anything. The smuggler, who had an Iranian accent, pulled us out of the car. We walked about 20 minutes; they said that we had to go on our knees so that nobody would see us. We continued for another 20 minutes."

The smuggler brought them to a deep pit. When they approached it, Mehdi and his friends saw several other Afghans waiting there, including two more of their friends. The smuggler explained the route several times to the group, outlining what they should do. He said he had talked to the border guards, who had agreed to make it possible for them to climb over fences at various places along the border. The man explained how to cross the barbed wire and where to hide.

The migrants, each with a backpack, prepared to make the journey — a journey many have described as a gamble with their lives, during which anything can happen. 

It was nine o'clock at night, Mehdi said. "We walked for about an hour. The lights at the border were on. The smuggler said we should turn off our phones. He had a laser that would help him point the way. He would help older people and children cross. I heard a child, six or seven years old, cry repeatedly. The man guided people two by two, pointing the laser to show the way, all the while standing alongside the border perimeter. There was a revolving light on top of the watchtower. Every time it turned toward us, we would throw ourselves face down. The light would move on and then we would move."

Mehdi puffed on his cigarette and continued: "We waited a minute or two for the person in front of us to pass. When it came to me, he pointed the laser at me [to signal that I should] move. My friend climbed the fence first and the smuggler grabbed him by the feet and threw him over the border. I climbed the fence. The smuggler was standing on the other side, and lifted the barbed wire to let us pass. My backpack got stuck in the barbed wire. The smuggler grabbed my foot and pushed me roughly, saying, 'throw yourself down.' It was about five meters high. I lost my backpack and he slapped my face hard when I wanted to go back to get it."

The trafficker explained that Mehdi had to keep going until he saw a dim light, a light to an old house. It was not obvious whether it was abandoned or not. Everyone gathered there. The smugglers counted to make sure everyone was there. He had also brought Mehdi's backpack.

There were about 40 people trying to make the journey. The trafficker divided them into three groups and ordered the young boys to take care of the elderly people and the children. They continued to walk, but then they were forced to crawl along the path to hide from Iranian border guards. After two hours of crawling, they reached a valley on the other side, from where a road was visible. Passing cars and their lights were signs that their journey on foot had come to an end.

“It Felt as if My Bones were Being Crushed”

Two Toyotas were waiting for them: "The smuggler didn't put anyone in the front seat. They threw a few old men behind the driver, and they each had no more than 20 centimeters of space. There were no seats. We were all piled into the car, pressed together." Mehdi said the space was so tight that they were not even able to drink water to relieve their terrible thirst, and it was difficult to breathe. "When the car was turning left and right I felt like my bones were being crushed."

It was about four o'clock in the morning when a Baluchi trafficker told the passengers to get out of the car and go into the backyard of a house. A young woman with an Iranian accent guided the migrants to a tent. Mehdi said it was about 20 square meters and there were already other migrants inside it. Another car was supposed to pick them up. While they were waiting they ate some bread and drank water, and the man allowed them to make five-minute calls to their families. The memory is still sharp in Mehdi’s mind, even five years on. "I remember exactly where the rabbits were kept inside that tent,” he said. 

After a half-hour break, they were told they had to move again: "Walk slowly," the man said. "We walked around the checkpoint. Opposite it there was a large highway lit up by lights from the checkpoint. We moved under the bridge to the road on the other side. After 20 minutes' walk, we sat for half an hour. The sky was gradually getting brighter when a bus came and we were loaded on. All the seats were full. I don't know how 40 people got inside."

After three hours, they were taken to a house to spend the day until it got dark again, and it was time to go. Mehdi did not know where in Iran he was. He only knew that they were going to Isfahan that night. In the afternoon, three Samand cars entered the yard of the house to transport them. Mehdi told me they took between 13 and 16 people in each car.

"The gray car came. I remember precisely the end of the license plate number was 96. He put two people beside the driver, one under him. There were four people in the back seat and two under their feet. The other three, including me, were in the trunk. I could not stretch out my legs. Our knees were tight together and we could only move a little. I thought I was in the car trunk for two nights. But one person said it took 18 hours. I could only drink a little water to avoid thirst. There were no stops and no food."

They stayed in Isfahan for a day and then traveled in the direction of Tehran by bus. Before arriving in Tehran, they were transferred to a Peugeot 206, and this time again Mehdi had to go in the trunk. They changed cars several times and eventually reached Tehran after a week.

The traffickers took them to a dormitory, and to a room with large televisions and full of cameras. "They took us three floors down. The kids played football. They ordered some food. Then they took us to the bathroom. In the bathroom, I cried for a few minutes. When I washed my hair, the bathroom floor was full of sand and dirt. I contacted my family. My sister picked up the phone; she cried and said they missed me and that I should go back."

Mehdi worked for seven months to pay for the trip. But in the end, he couldn’t do it "I could not repay my debt. I returned to Afghanistan after two years."