During my weeks of classes, there’s a small routine I’ll never miss: a visit to a tiny pizza shop. It’s my go-to spot, especially on Wednesdays, when a one-hour gap between my history lecture and mathematics seminar gives me just enough time for a quick escape. The shop, run by two Afghan brothers, offers a large pizza for just six euros—a bargain that first overwhelmed my appetite but now feels like a midweek treat I can’t do without. Over time, their warm smiles, welcoming words, and the aroma of fresh pizza began to feel like home.

The pizza shop had become a part of my life—like a friend whose name I knew but whose story I’d never asked. But it wasn’t until winter break that I discovered the incredible story behind those smiles—a story of resilience, sacrifice, and the remarkable journey that brought them here.

That cold afternoon, the shop was unusually quiet, and only one of the brothers was behind the counter. While waiting for my fresh pepperoni pizza to be baked in the oven, he leaned forward with a friendly smile.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Malaysia,” I replied.

“Ah, Malaysia,” he said, his face lighting up. “I’m from Indonesia!”

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, I’m joking. I’m from Afghanistan. What do you think about it?”

Caught off guard, I paused before answering honestly. “It’s a politically unstable country, especially with the shifts in power involving the Taliban.”

He nodded gravely and said, “Yes, but the worst thing is the prohibition of education. It destroys futures before they even begin.”

Something about how he said it—simply, almost softly—cut through me. I felt a rush of gratitude for my own freedom to study, and a pang of guilt for ever taking it for granted.

A few years ago, he fled Afghanistan amidst intense political turmoil. Leaving home was a monumental decision. He had no clear destination, just a deep desire to escape the chaos and find safety.

“It wasn’t a choice,” he said. “It was survival.”

His journey began with walking day and night, across rugged terrains and through countless borders. He passed through Iran, where they stayed for a month, then Turkey, where he worked odd jobs to gather some money. Next came Bulgaria, Serbia, North Macedonia, and Italy.

Each border brought new challenges. In some places, he faced harassment from locals. In others, he was caught by law enforcement and jailed for months. The most harrowing part, he recounted, was the uncertainty.

“Every day, I didn’t know if I would make it to the next,” he said.

In Italy, he spent almost two years working in a small pizzeria, where he learned to make pizza—a skill that would unknowingly shape his future.

By 2016, he had reached France. Exhausted but hopeful, he arrived in Calais, dreaming of crossing the border from France to the UK. For months, he tried and failed, each attempt met with heartbreak. He saw others try to cross, risking their lives, and some never made it.

Finally, French police intervened. They urged him to stay in France, offering a path to legal papers and a chance to rebuild his life. 

Moving to Toulouse, he worked tirelessly in a factory. Despite the long hours, he attended government-run language classes, becoming fluent in French within a year.

By 2019, invited by his brother, they pooled their savings, took out a loan and moved to Le Havre, a small port city, and rented a modest stall. This marked the beginning of the pizza business.

Their strategy was simple but brilliant: offer massive pizzas at unbeatable prices and stay open late—often until 1 AM!

The second brother, more reserved, usually hovered near the oven, kneading dough and quietly handling customers with their pizzas. Although he rarely spoke, his presence was just as warm, nodding in greeting whenever I walked in. Working side by side, they transformed an ordinary pizzeria into a lifeline for the Afghan community.

“The Afghan community here is growing,” he said with pride. “We want to be a place where they can feel at home.”

What struck me most about his story wasn’t just his resilience but his unwavering compassion.

His shop became a sanctuary for the Afghan community, especially for those working long hours. He explained that many in the Afghan community in Le Havre worked late shifts at factories, docks, or restaurants, often finishing well past midnight. 

“It’s hard enough starting over in a new country. The least we can do is offer them a slice of comfort—a hot meal after a long and exhausting day.”

He also offered part-time work to Afghan students living in Le Havre. “I know how hard it is to start with nothing,” he said. “This way, they can earn something while studying and have a little less to worry about.”

A young man in a flour-dusted apron darted out from the back to take out the rubbish, tossing it away before finishing his day. He was a student, juggling college in the daytime and this job at night to cover living expenses.

“This shop is more than a business,” he said, gesturing around with a smile. “It’s a place of support and hope, for anyone who needs it.”

At that moment, another student dropped in, yawning after a late shift. The brother greeted him by name, taking the time to ask if he was keeping up with his coursework. It was a small scene that spoke volumes about the sense of community they had built.

“Back home, having too much money makes you a target,” he explained. “But without money, you can’t do anything. So, we work hard, but we always share what we have.”

Millions of Afghans have faced similar experiences of fleeing their country amidst turmoil. Political instability, persecution, and the erosion of basic rights have driven countless others to embark on dangerous journeys in search of safety.

He noted that in many countries, refugees are met with suspicion, hostility, or government bureaucracy that make rebuilding their lives incredibly difficult. Yet, like him, many persevere—working hard, learning new languages, and contributing to their new communities, often while carrying the weight of their past.

“Afghanistan isn’t the only country,” he said. “There are people escaping from Syria, Sudan, and so many other places. We’re all looking for a place to call home.”

As I left the shop that day, the chill wind outside felt sharper than usual, perhaps because his story had jolted me into seeing things differently. I couldn’t stop thinking about the story of a pizza shop brother who faced unimaginable adversity but fought through it to create a new life and turned his struggles into something extraordinary. And this is the essence of the extraordinary in the ordinary.

We all face challenges. However, adversity has a way of shaping us, pushing us to grow in ways we never imagined. What’s your own story of overcoming adversity?