As Iranian on the run from Ukraine, if I want to return there one day, I must remain in the EU now.

This is the story of Farnaz Moradi (24), a young Iranian woman who had to face racism around her as she was on the run to escape Russian invasion in Ukraine 2022.

When I was 18, I was already working as a designer in Iran, but my real interest was in engineering. I also felt the urge to get to know other cultures. Since the university in Kiev had a good reputation and life in Ukraine is affordable, the decision was made: I left Iran to study medical engineering abroad.

I am the only girl in the medical technology class,
but I don't see a problem with gender.
As an Iranian, I am a minority,
but that's not a problem for anyone.
For me, all people are equal.

In my first year in Kiev, I spent a lot of time learning the Russian language, even though most of my classes were in English. For the last five years, I have lived in a university dormitory. I had two flatmates, one from Japan, the other from Ghana, and many international friends. My parents from Iran have always supported me, plus I earned some money myself by working for a delivery service that delivers food in Kiev.

Until war, I didn’t even know that there was such a thing as an air-raid shelter.

It was February 24th, 2022 at six thirty in the morning when I was woken up by someone knocking on the door and asking us to take documents, something to eat and drink and to go to a shelter. My flatmates and I unsuspectingly packed our things and went downstairs. It was cold in the shelter and you could hardly breathe. So many people, crying children, no way to walk and difficulty using the toilet. There were mattresses on the floor and we had brought our bedding, but with people panicking and scared, I couldn’t sleep well.

Ten days later, there was still no end in sight to the war and the situation was getting more serious. By this time, most of my international friends had somehow returned to their home countries. I stayed with the two remaining friends from my dorm, Himari and Kwame, and we made our way (on foot) to the train station. We had to wait eight hours standing on the platform for a train. When the train finally arrived, we were told to let the Ukrainians board first. The people said: “First Ukrainian children, Ukrainian women and Ukrainian men. Only if there is still a place available, you can get in too.”

We witnessed black people staying behind when the train to Lviv departed.

You have to know, my friend Kwame is black and there were other black students around. The Ukrainians obviously recognised that we were foreigners just by looking at us. At the beginning, the train staff only asked us if we had train tickets! Since there were no tickets to buy anywhere on those days, you could really call that racism. But I’m not angry, I try to understand people. I think this is not unusual behaviour in a situation of stress and fear. People wanted to keep their lives and their children safe. We witnessed black people remaining on the platform when the evacuation train to Lviv departed, but my friends and I were able to get on at the last second.

We drove to Lviv, where we slept in a hostel for one night, but it still didn’t feel safe. So we took a far too expensive taxi to the border in Poland, where we queued. It was daytime when we waited and it was freezing cold. I remember it was snowing that day. We only had to wait in line for nine hours, so it wasn’t too bad. When we got to the very front, the customs officers refused to allow young men to cross the border. But Himari and Kwame are a couple, and that’s probably why – apart from the fact that they are foreigners – they were waved through.

We only had to wait in line for nine hours, so it wasn’t too bad.

Right next to me was a boy, maybe 19 years old, all alone. He was about to cry because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to pass. I had never seen him before; I didn’t know his name or where he was from, but he wasn’t Ukrainian. He looked at me very scared and asked desperately, “Hey, can you tell them that we are a couple?” And I said intuitively, without thinking, “Okay!” We didn’t have to hold hands or anything, but “being a couple” obviously made it easier and we crossed the border on foot. Together and yet alone.

You wonder why I decided to stay in Austria for a few months instead of going home now? Well, once I go back to Iran, it will be very difficult to get another visa for a European country. So I’m waiting and trying to do my online seminars from here. If everything works out, I will finish my Bachelor’s degree in a year – maybe in exile in Austria, maybe in Ukraine, if the war is over by then.


Interview: Sandy Bossier-Steuerwald, Photo © private

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Wenn ich als Iranerin, die aus der Ukraine geflohen ist, eines Tages dorthin zurückkehren möchte, muss ich jetzt in der EU bleiben.

Dies ist die Geschichte von Farnaz Moradi (24), einer jungen Iranerin, die auf der Flucht vor der russischen Invasion in der Ukraine 2022 auch mit Rassismus zu kämpfen hatte.

Als ich 18 war, arbeitete ich bereits als Designerin im Iran, aber mein eigentliches Interesse galt dem Ingenieurwesen. Außerdem verspürte ich den Drang, andere Kulturen kennen zu lernen. Da die Universität in Kiew einen guten Ruf hatte und das Leben in der Ukraine erschwinglich ist, war die Entscheidung gefallen: Ich verließ den Iran, um im Ausland Medizintechnik zu studieren.

Ich bin das einzige Mädchen in der Medizintechnikklasse,
aber ich sehe kein Problem mit dem Geschlecht.
Als Iranerin bin ich eine Minderheit,
aber das ist für niemanden ein Problem.
Für mich sind alle Menschen gleich.

Im ersten Jahr in Kiew verbrachte ich viel Zeit damit, die russische Sprache zu lernen, auch wenn die meisten meiner Kurse auf Englisch stattfinden. In den letzten fünf Jahren habe ich in einem Studentenwohnheim der Universität gewohnt. Ich hatte zwei Mitbewohner*innen, die eine aus Japan, der andere aus Ghana, und viele internationale Freunde. Meine Eltern aus dem Iran haben mich immer unterstützt, außerdem habe ich selbst etwas Geld verdient, indem ich für einen Lieferdienst gearbeitet habe, der Lebensmittel in Kiew ausliefert.

Bis zum Krieg wusste ich nicht einmal, dass es so etwas wie einen Luftschutzkeller gibt.

Es war der 24. Februar 2022 um sechs Uhr dreißig am morgen, als ich von jemandem geweckt wurde, der an die Tür klopfte und uns aufforderte, Dokumente, etwas zu essen und zu trinken mitzunehmen und in einen Schutzraum zu gehen. Meine Mitbewohner und ich packten ahnungslos unsere Sachen und gingen die Treppe hinunter. In der Unterkunft war es kalt und man konnte kaum atmen. So viele Menschen, weinende Kinder, keine Möglichkeit zu gehen und Schwierigkeiten, die Toilette zu benutzen. Es gab Matratzen auf dem Boden, und wir hatten unsere Bettwäsche mitgebracht, aber da die Menschen in Panik und Angst waren, konnte ich nicht gut schlafen.

Zehn Tage später war noch immer kein Ende des Krieges in Sicht und die Lage wurde ernster. Zu diesem Zeitpunkt waren die meisten meiner internationalen Freunde irgendwie in ihre Heimatländer zurückgekehrt. Ich blieb mit den beiden verbliebenen Freunden aus meinem Wohnheim, Himari und Kwame, zusammen und wir machten uns zu Fuß auf den Weg zum Bahnhof. Wir mussten acht Stunden auf dem Bahnsteig stehend auf einen Zug warten. Als der Zug endlich ankam, wurden wir aufgefordert, die Ukrainer zuerst einsteigen zu lassen. Die Leute sagten: “Zuerst ukrainische Kinder, ukrainische Frauen und ukrainische Männer. Nur wenn noch ein Platz frei ist, können auch Sie einsteigen.”

Wir sahen, wie Schwarze zurückblieben, als der Zug nach Lemberg losfuhr.

Sie müssen wissen, dass mein Freund Kwame schwarz ist und es waren noch andere schwarze Studenten in der Nähe. Die Ukrainer haben offensichtlich schon beim Anblick erkannt, dass wir Ausländer sind. Am Anfang fragte das Zugpersonal nur uns, ob wir Zugfahrkarten hätten! Da es an diesen Tagen nirgendwo Fahrkarten zu kaufen gab, könnte man das wirklich als Rassismus bezeichnen. Ich bin aber nicht böse, ich versuche, die Leute zu verstehen. Ich denke, das ist kein ungewöhnliches Verhalten in einer Situation von Stress und Angst. Die Menschen wollten ihr Leben und ihre Kinder in Sicherheit bringen. Wir wurden Zeuge, wie schwarze Menschen auf dem Bahnsteig zurückblieben, als der Zug nach Lemberg aus dem Bahnhof rollte, aber meine Freunde und ich konnten in letzter Sekunde einsteigen.

Wir kamen nach Lemberg, wo wir für eine Nacht in einem Hostel schliefen, aber es fühlte sich noch immer nicht sicher an. Also nahmen wir ein überteuertes Taxi zur polnischen Grenze, wo wir uns in der Schlange anstellten. Es war tagsüber, als wir warteten, und es war eiskalt. Ich erinnere mich, dass es an diesem Tag schneite. Wir mussten nur neun Stunden in der Schlange anstehen, insofern war es nicht allzu schlimm. Als wir in der ganz vorne ankamen, verweigerten die Zöllner jedoch jungen Männern den Grenzübertritt. Aber Himari und Kwame sind ein Liebespaar, und vermutlich wurden sie deshalb – nebst der Tatsache, dass sie Ausländer*innen sind – durch gewunken.

Wir mussten nur neun Stunden anstehen, insofern war es nicht allzu schlimm.

Direkt neben mir stand ein Junge, vielleicht 19 Jahre alt, ganz allein. Er war kurz davor zu weinen, weil er Angst hatte, nicht passieren zu können. Ich hatte ihn noch nie zuvor gesehen, kannte weder seinen Namen noch seine Herkunft, aber er war kein Ukrainer. Er sah mich sehr verängstigt an und fragte verzweifelt: “Hey, kannst du ihnen sagen, dass wir zusammengehören?” Und ich sagte intuitiv, ohne nachzudenken: “Okay!” Wir mussten uns nicht an den Händen halten oder so, aber “ein Paar zu sein” schien uns aussichtsreicher und so wir überquerten die Grenze zu Fuß. Gemeinsam einsam.

Sie fragen sich, warum ich mich entschieden habe, ein paar Monate in Österreich zu bleiben, anstatt jetzt nach Hause zu gehen? Nun, sobald ich in den Iran zurückkehre, wird es sehr schwierig sein, ein weiteres Visum für ein europäisches Land zu bekommen. Also warte ich und versuche, meine Online-Seminare von hier aus zu bestreiten. Wenn alles klappt, werde ich in einem Jahr meinen Bachelor-Abschluss machen – vielleicht im Exil in Österreich, vielleicht in der Ukraine, sofern der Krieg bis dahin vorbei ist.


Interview: Sandy Bossier-Steuerwald, Foto © privat

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Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This is the story of Farnaz Moradi (24), a young Iranian woman who has to face not only her own fear but also racism around her as she’s on the run to escape Russian invasion in Ukraine.

When I was 18, I was already working as a designer in Iran, but my real interest was in engineering. I also felt the urge to get to know other cultures. Since the university in Kiev had a good reputation and life in Ukraine is affordable, the decision was made: I left Iran to study medical engineering abroad.

I am the only girl in the medical technology class,
but I don't see a problem with gender.
As an Iranian, I am a minority,
but that's not a problem for anyone.
For me, all people are equal.

In my first year in Kiev, I spent a lot of time learning the Russian language, even though most of my classes were in English. For the last five years, I have lived in a university dormitory. I had two flatmates, one from Japan, the other from Ghana, and many international friends. My parents from Iran have always supported me, plus I earned some money myself by working for a delivery service that delivers food in Kiev.

Until war, I didn’t even know that there was such a thing as an air-raid shelter.

It was 24 February 2022 at six thirty in the morning when I was woken up by someone knocking on the door and asking us to take documents, something to eat and drink and to go to a shelter. My flatmates and I unsuspectingly packed our things and went downstairs. It was cold in the shelter and you could hardly breathe. So many people, crying children, no way to walk and difficulty using the toilet. There were mattresses on the floor and we had brought our bedding, but with people panicking and scared, I couldn’t sleep well.

Ten days later, there was still no end in sight to the war and the situation was getting more serious. By this time, most of my international friends had somehow returned to their home countries. I stayed with the two remaining friends from my dorm, Himari and Kwame, and we made our way (on foot) to the train station. We had to wait eight hours standing on the platform for a train. When the train finally arrived, we were told to let the Ukrainians board first. The people said:

First Ukrainian children, Ukrainian women and Ukrainian men. Only if there is still a place available, you can get in too.

You have to know, my friend Kwame is black and there were other black students around. The Ukrainians obviously recognised that we were foreigners just by looking at us. At the beginning, the train staff only asked us if we had train tickets! Since there were no tickets to buy anywhere on those days, you could really call that racism. But I’m not angry, I try to understand people. I think this is not unusual behaviour in a situation of stress and fear. People wanted to keep their lives and their children safe. We witnessed black people staying behind on the platform when the train to Lviv rolled out of the station, but my friends and I were able to get on at the last second.

We drove to Lviv, where we slept in a hostel for one night, but it still didn’t feel safe. So we took a far too expensive taxi to the border in Poland, where we queued. It was daytime when we waited and it was freezing cold. I remember it was snowing that day.

We only had to wait in line for nine hours, so it wasn’t too bad.

When we got to the very front, the customs officers refused to allow the young men to cross the border. But Himari and Kwame are a couple, and that’s probably why – apart from the fact that they are foreigners – they were waved through.

Right next to me was a boy, maybe 19 years old, all alone. He was about to cry because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to pass. I had never seen him before; I didn’t know his name or where he was from, but he wasn’t Ukrainian. He looked at me very scared and asked desperately, “Hey, can you tell them that we belong together?” And I said intuitively, without thinking, “Okay!” We didn’t have to hold hands or anything, but “being a couple” obviously made it easier and we crossed the border on foot. Alone together.

You wonder why I decided to stay in Austria for a few months instead of going home now? Well, once I go back to Iran, it will be very difficult to get another visa for a European country. So I’m waiting and trying to do my online seminars from here. If everything works out, I will finish my Bachelor’s degree in a year – maybe in exile in Austria, maybe in Ukraine, if the war is over by then.


Interview: Sandy Bossier-Steuerwald, Photo: © private

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *