I first met Mustafa at an English-language table event in the heart of Berlin’s Neukölln district. The room was filled with small talk, as non-native speakers practiced how to order coffee, make introductions, and describe the weather. Sitting between a Russian woman who had fled her husband’s looming conscription in the Russia-Ukraine War and a Turkish man refining his English skills to find work, Mustafa spoke of a past life full of ambassadorial travel across Asia and North Africa.
Mustafa, a former Afghan diplomat, was forced to seek asylum in Germany amidst the Taliban’s 2021 return to power. Now in Berlin, he spends his days practicing German and English, waiting for the chance to find work that he believes matches his experience and global ambitions. “I am trying to find a job that is suitable,” he tells me during one of our meetings.
Mustafa, however, is not his real name. True to his diplomatic past, Mustafa was deliberate in the information he chose to share — and not share — with me.
Born in a remote, under-resourced village within a province far from Kabul, Afghanistan’s capital, Mustafa’s father had impressive dreams for his son. “My father wished for me to be in the foreign ministry,” he tells me. “He worked hard to give me every opportunity.”
Following his achievement of a Master’s degree in International Relations from the Moscow State Institute for International Relations, Mustafa joined the Afghan Foreign Ministry. Beginning as an associate officer in the Ministry, he worked his way up the ranks and was appointed to his first ambassadorship, Ambassador to Hungary, in 2013. He went on to become Ambassador to Turkmenistan in 2019 and to Pakistan beginning in 2020.
Due to his position of power within the NATO and UN-backed, democratically elected Afghan government, Mustafa says he had “no choice” but to leave after the republic’s collapse on August 15th, 2021, when the Taliban took over Kabul.
Dr. Lukas Fuchs, researcher at the German Center for Integration and Migration Research, emphasized the probable necessity of Mustafa’s departure from Afghanistan. “People were persecuted because they were working with Western organizations or governments or because they had been advocating for human rights or women’s rights… whatever the Taliban stands against. There have been arbitrary killings, mass arrests, and disappearances of people.”
One month after the Taliban’s takeover, Mustafa, his wife, and their 16-year-old son were able to fly from Kabul to Istanbul.
Once in Istanbul, Mustafa and his family waited another month to receive a visa to move on to somewhere in Europe. “It was terrible,” he says. “There is no support for refugees there.” On December 31st, he received a visa for his family to travel to Germany, a development he calls “a miracle.”
According to Dr. Fuchs, this does seem miraculous. “Asylum cases from Afghanistan have routinely been taking the longest time to be processed,” he tells me. “It was at an average of around three years until you will reach a final decision…So that is a long, long, long time living in uncertainty.”
The second time we meet, this time in a cozy cafe run by refugee volunteers ahead of a German language event, Mustafa tells me about travelling from India to Morocco, Egypt, China, Thailand, and the former Soviet Union. He also brings along with him his book, The Realities of Relations with Pakistan – a 330-page reflection on the regional challenges faced by the Pakistani government, with a large image of his face gracing the cover. The book is printed in Dari and Pashto, but has yet to be translated into English. He flips to pages filled with pictures of him shaking hands with foreign dignitaries and international ambassadors. “I didn’t want to be a refugee,” he tells me several times as if to assure me of his devotion to his country and his diplomatic duty, “I always returned home to Afghanistan after my posts.”
Mustafa remembers crying while standing in line to submit his refugee application at a local site for the Federal Office for Migration and Refugees (BAMF). “I tried my best to study and get my Master’s degree. The dreams of my father for me to be in the Foreign Ministry were destroyed in a second.” At nearly sixty years old, Mustafa was starting anew.
Not only did he have to rebuild his life from scratch, but he also had to become a student again for the first time in forty years. The German Government mandates participation in German language courses for asylum recipients. Thus, Mustafa enrolled in German classes alongside other refugees.
At the time of our meeting, after approximately three years of study, Mustafa tells me that he is at the B2 level of German. However, most employment and higher education opportunities in Germany require advanced language certifications amounting to a C1 level. This, in part, is why Mustafa has yet to find a job in Berlin.
This is not a challenge unique to Mustafa. A 2024 study by the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) found that about 51% of immigrants living in Germany surveyed saw knowledge of German as a major barrier that has prevented them from finding employment. Additionally, 65% said that a lack of knowledge of German was the most important obstacle in their daily lives.
Stephen Sulimma, an employee at Berlin non-profit Contact and Advice Center for Refugees and Migrants (KuB), thinks this language-based exclusion is indicative of a larger issue. “The majority of people in Germany accept being a refugee, mostly under the condition that you then will leave again. But only a minority of people accept people who show up and want to improve their economic situation.” Sulimma continues, saying that necessitating high German language skills to improve the economic status of refugees “is where this racism thing kicks in.”
Dr. Fuchs adds, “Afghan refugees have historically struggled to be very well integrated into society in Germany. That has definitely also to do with the long waiting process during which you don’t get language courses and government aid. A lot of these factors hindered the integration of migrants in the past.”
Despite his constant effort and impressive international experience, Mustafa cannot find employment. In an ideal world, he tells me, he would get his PhD in International Relations, but it is too expensive, with costs as high as twenty thousand Euros per year.
Mustafa still considers himself to be very lucky. “Every country has its pluses and minuses,” he says, smiling – a phrase he has repeated several times over the course of our meetings. “Germany is a very secure environment, a multinational country… I have faced no discrimination,” he tells me. And so, until something changes – a job, a scholarship, or any sign of what may come next – his weeks remain measured by his language classes, English on Tuesday and German on Wednesday, suspended in a limbo he never wanted.
