From Refugee to Emerging Leader: The Remarkable Journey of Naqibullah Mashwani

By Staff Writer

In a dusty refugee village near the Durand Line—where the borders of Afghanistan and Pakistan dissolve into tribal winds and daily struggle—a young child named Naqibullah Mashwani awaited his father’s visits as others awaited Eid.

Every few months, his father crossed back from Afghanistan, worn from laboring to support not one but three families: his own, his late brother’s, and his disabled brother’s. For Naqib, those fleeting visits were sacred. “That was my celebration—that was my Eid,” he says.

While other children played, Naqib carried responsibility far beyond his years. With his older brothers at madrassa, he supported his mother and watched over his sisters. He grew up in silence and hardship, learning early that love could be measured in brief visits and that survival demanded a maturity beyond childhood.

Self-Enrolled, Self-Made

At just ten years old, in 2006, Naqib took a bold step that would chart his future—he enrolled himself in school without anyone’s help. “That moment is etched in my memory,” he recalls. More than a choice, it was an act of resistance and hope.

Despite poverty, isolation, and a school staffed by only two teachers, Naqib excelled. He topped his class and served as class monitor—his first taste of leadership. When teachers were absent, he stepped in to teach younger students, foreshadowing the mentor he would one day become.

But the village was not kind. “Refugee” was thrown at him like an insult. Children and adults alike reminded him he didn’t belong. “Psychologically, it was torture,” he says. Though his mother recalled how villagers once stood by Afghan refugees during the Soviet invasion, Naqib never felt that compassion.

The Long Walk to Learning

Naqib’s primary school had only two teachers. On rainy days when one was absent, he would teach the younger children himself. After finishing fifth grade among the top scorers, he insisted on enrolling in a more competitive private school—despite a grueling daily journey.

“I walked 10 to 15 miles each day,” he says. “Through scorching summers and freezing winters. No lunch. Sometimes even relatives refused me a ride.” In this harsh environment, his grades slipped from the top three to the twenties. “I wasn’t lazy,” he insists. “I had no support, no guidance. I didn’t even understand what ‘homework’ meant.”

Still, he never quit. His father’s words fueled him: “Complete your education even if I go to bed hungry.”

After high school, another barrier arose—documentation. Though his family had lived in Pakistan for four decades, they lacked legal papers. Naqib refused to acquire fake documents. In 2016, he made a courageous decision to return alone to Afghanistan to continue his education.

A Brutal Awakening

Naqib enrolled temporarily at Nangarhar High School, where he endured one of his darkest moments. After asking to postpone a haircut until the next day, the principal and staff publicly beat him in front of his classmates.

“It was brutal. I wasn’t just physically hurt—I felt utterly helpless,” he recalls. That moment transformed him. “I no longer wanted to be a software engineer. I wanted to become a political leader—a policymaker who protects people from humiliation and abuse.”

He later found refuge at Rahman Baba High School in Kabul, where he completed twelfth grade. With no home of his own, he taught English at a language center in exchange for accommodation. “It was a miracle—my skills kept me alive.” He taught for three years while nurturing his dream of studying abroad.

Finding Voice Through Struggle

In 2020, Naqib’s persistence paid off. He won a full scholarship under the Alma Muhammad Iqbal Program to pursue a Bachelor’s in Politics and International Relations at the University of Lahore.

The timing was cruel. The Afghan government collapsed during his first semester, throwing his future into uncertainty. Stipends were delayed; sometimes he worked night shifts to afford food. Yet he stood firm. “I was built by struggle,” he says.

He began publishing articles and authored a book titled Basic English Conversation. Rising as a student leader, he participated in panel discussions on Afghanistan’s future—even receiving death threats for his outspokenness. But fear never silenced him.

He became Research Director at the Young Peace and Development Corps and General Coordinator of the Afghan Initiative Society. He earned a place on the Dean’s Honor List, won third place in national debate and documentary competitions, and founded the International Afghan Students’ Association—a platform uniting Afghan students worldwide to learn, lead, and uplift.

Coming Full Circle

In 2025, Naqib graduated with a stellar CGPA of 3.9—the first in his family and village to earn a bachelor’s degree. His homecoming was met with pride and celebration. “All my villagers, relatives, and ethnic elders welcomed me. It was one of the most inspiring moments of my life.”

He began a fellowship with Displaced International, continuing his advocacy for uprooted youth. Fluent in Pashto, English, Urdu, Dari, and Farsi—and conversational in Punjabi—Naqib is a bridge between cultures and communities.

He has published widely, including in CSSPR Student Corner, Invisiblites, The Spectacle, and Displaced International Flagship, and authored research on China’s foreign policy towards Afghanistan at the Center for South Asian Studies.

The Dream That Still Waits

“My only dream was to reach the U.S.—to Stanford, Harvard, or anywhere that would help me become a foreign policy expert,” he says. “But new visa policies and political restrictions shattered that dream.”

Still, Naqib remains undeterred. He continues applying for opportunities, hoping one day to walk the halls of a global university—not just for himself, but for millions of displaced Afghan youth whose voices remain unheard.

“All I ever wanted,” he says, “was a chance—not to escape, but to return stronger. To build the Afghanistan we deserve.”