How an Afghan teen made it to St. Louis: 3 flights, 19 months and help from a stranger

"There were too many people," Ghandiwal remembered. "It was crazy."

It was August three years ago. The U.S. military was pulling out of the Afghanistan capital. Tens of thousands of Afghans had gathered at the Kabul International Airport, hoping desperately to get on a military flight to the U.S. But as the throngs pushed, thousands were separated from their families.

Ghandiwal was swallowed by the crowd. The sounds of desperate voices were all around him - people shouting, pleading for help, calling out for loved ones. Lost in a sea of panicked faces, he latched onto one he knew - a neighbor, there in the crowd. The two pushed forward, broke through the masses, and, with no time to look back and no certainty of what the future would hold, got on one of the last flights out, leaving behind their families, their homes and everything they had ever known.

Over the next several months, Ghandiwal landed in Qatar, then New Jersey, then Pennsylvania, then a crowded apartment in St. Louis, and, finally, at a family home in Frontenac and school in Ladue. He's one of tens of thousands of Afghans who moved to the U.S. after the fall of Kabul. Hundreds have come to St. Louis.

But relatively few were children when they arrived.

The U.S. Office of Refugee Resettlement estimated 1,450 Afghan children were evacuated from Afghanistan without their parents after the city fell. U.S. officials reported that most were swiftly placed with sponsors, including other family members who either accompanied them during their escape or were already residing in the U.S. Some were reunited with families through a fast-tracked screening process.

Ghandiwal's family is still in Afghanistan.

It took him three flights and 19 months, with help from a neighbor, an uncle, a grandfather, a cousin and a stranger.

But, last year, he made it to St. Louis.

'In Afghanistan, school is not easy'

Ghandiwal stands out in a crowd. His imposing beard makes him look far beyond his 17 years.

His manner - he's now a host at Brio Italian Grille in Frontenac - is polished, his demeanor professional.Faisal Ghandiwal, right, helps customers to their table while hosting at Brio Italian Grille in Frontenac on Friday, Aug. 23, 2024.

But Ghandiwal's maturity is not merely a matter of appearance. It's a reflection of a life of hardship, sorrow, discipline and dedication. Every day, he practices Salah, the ritual of five daily prayers central to Islam. His first prayer of the day begins before dawn.

Ghandiwal has been practicing Salah since he was a child.

Born and raised in Kabul, he lived with his siblings, uncle, and grandparents in an apartment building.

His father was a businessman. Ghandiwal was a sports enthusiast.

His days were filled with cricket, soccer and wrestling. His idols were at the Spanish soccer club Real Madrid.

He wanted to become a professional soccer player. His family valued education.

"In Afghanistan, school is not easy, like here," he said.

His mother woke him at 6:30 a.m. for breakfast and Salah. School was six days a week.

Chaos at the airport

Unlike the Ghandiwals, many at the airport that day in 2021 had worked with the U.S. Armed Forces as translators or interpreters in Iraq and Afghanistan. They were hoping to leave Afghanistan under the U.S. Special Immigrant Visa program.

Ghandiwal's father never worked for American forces. But his grandfather did. And that meant their lives were in danger.

Just the walk to the airport put the Ghandiwals in enormous risk. The Taliban had checkpoints everywhere in Kabul, pushing people away from the airport through violence and intimidation.

Ghandiwal's family made it. But as they fought to get through the entrance gates, the crowd - thousands of Afghans, shoulder to shoulder - surged between him and the rest of his family. Only Gandiwhal and two neighbors, a husband and wife who had traveled with the Gandiwhals to the airport, appeared to make it through.

Later, Ghandiwal's family told him that they kept trying, but the crowds were too large, too strong, and eventually they gave up.

Ghandiwal tried to find them, too. Again, the sea of humans was too much.

But in the chaos, two things happened: Someone in the crowd trampled Ghandiwal's foot. And the neighbor and his wife were separated, too.

Ghandiwal needed help walking. And the neighbor needed to find his wife.

"He took my hands and said, 'Let's go,'" Ghandiwal said.

The two then ran into a line of U.S. soldiers. Ghandiwal began raising his hand, hoping to catch their attention and get help. A tall soldier looked at them kindly, saw Ghandiwal's foot, and made his way to them. The soldier asked Ghandiwal who was holding his hand. "A friend," Ghandiwal said.

The soldier took them beyond the crowd and into the airport grounds.

There, they found the neighbor's wife, and also another surprise: One of Ghandiwal's uncles had made it through.

It took hours to organize the thousands and get them onto flights, but, eventually Ghandiwal, his uncle, his neighbor and wife all found themselves on the floor of a C-130 overcrowded with refugees.

Ghandiwal was sad, lonely, anxious, overwhelmed.

Still, he remembers thinking: "I can do it."

A search for relatives

The plane arrived in Doha, Qatar, on the first leg of a flight to the U.S. There, he was separated from his uncle, and put into a section for children.

Ghandiwal stayed in Doha for two months at Park View Villa, a compound built to house officials for the 2022 World Cup. The Villa was a four-star residence of 100 units, with tree-lined pathways, a theater, and handball and basketball courts.

Meanwhile, the U.S. government was attempting to trace relatives he might have in the United States. The process was slow.

Ghandiwal was surrounded by other children, all in the same process. He clung to a constant: Every day for two months, he performed Salah.

There was a mosque there, where Afghan refugees prayed together. They prayed for the resettlement process to continue. They prayed to get to America.

"There was a lot of praying," Ghandiwal said.

In October 2021, Ghandiwal boarded a plane to Pennsylvania.

There, he was in custody of United States Citizenship and Immigration Services. They asked him questions to get any clue that could lead them to a family member.

And, after many tries, they were successful. They were able to locate one of Ghandiwal's grandfathers, who had escaped Afghanistan in one of the earlier military flights, in a refugee camp in New Jersey. The two stayed there for six months before agents moved them to Bowling Green, Kentucky.

For 11 months, Ghandiwal called Kentucky home. He went to school to learn English and worked in a warehouse to support himself.

Then he moved again, this time on his own.

Life in Bowling Green was good, he said. But he was just going to school and working. He wanted more.

A cousin, 18, was in St. Louis. He had left Afghanistan three days before Ghandiwal.His cousin told him there was more opportunity here. Ghandiwal wanted to join him.

A new home, in Frontenac

In St. Louis, Ghandiwal and his cousin lived together with two other Afghan men in a one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment.

It soon became untenable.

The apartment was fine. But a few days after they arrived, one of their friends came back to St. Louis from a trip to Texas. The landlord, concerned about the number of occupants, insisted someone had to leave. The Afghans threw out Ghandiwal, the youngest. His cousin left with him.

For a few days, with no place to go, the two lived in his cousin's car.

Then they heard about Welcome Neighbor STL, a nonprofit that assists refugees in St. Louis. At Welcome Neighbor, they encountered Rock Erekson, who works as the St. Louis coordinator for JustServe, a website run by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that connects volunteers with organizations in need.

Erekson knew that the pair couldn't keep living in their car. "I called my wife and asked, 'Can we bring these guys into our home? They are too young to sign a lease.'"

His wife agreed.

The two cousins moved in with the Erekson family in Frontenac. It's a wide brick ranch, with a big front yard and an arching driveway, a long way from Kabul.

Ghandiwal's cousin picked up English as a Second Language classes and got a job at an Amazon warehouse.

Ghandiwal enrolled at Ladue's Horton Watkins High School, where he has begun his senior year. He scored so well in a placement exam that administrators scored him proficient in English and allowed him to take standard English courses. His favorite classes are math and public speaking. He wrestles for the high school team. He wants to attend the University of Missouri and become a pilot.

And he works on his English.

His favorite tool: American movies. He likes "Titanic," and anime cartoons.

He has also begun learning Arabic and Hindi thanks to friends at the high school.

But his greatest joy: Talking to family, back home in Afghanistan, online.

"I talk to them every day," he said. "When I call them, sometimes they're happy, sometimes they're sad."

Afghanistan, his family says, is dangerous. Ghandiwal hasn't lost hope that, some day, they'll make it out. With the help of Erekson, he has now filed for Family Reunification with the U.S. State Department.

Erekson cautions that he is part of a huge pile of reunification cases.

In the meantime, Ghandiwal continues practicing Salah.