The day the Taliban took over started with a call from my friend in Germany. He told me to get to the airport because there was potentially going to be a German embassy evacuation plane leaving that day. He put my name on their evacuation list because I had worked for German media, and I had been in the process of applying for a visa for the past year.

I didn’t have time to think. It felt like a lifeline for me as a progressive, outspoken journalist with tattoos – basically the antithesis of what the Taliban stands for. I took my laptop and phone and nothing else. I felt scared the minute I left my home – I’d never felt so much pressure.

When I reached the airport, the initial checkpoint was eerie. The police had left, and the military was almost all gone. There was only private airport security checking bags. I didn’t have a visa, so I was scared of being turned away – but I couldn’t turn back.

When I reached the international terminal, I was shocked at what I saw, and I started to feel hopeless. There were thousands of people: women and men with their crying babies, struggling over what to do. They were fearful that the Taliban were coming. All these people, including foreigners, went to the airport not knowing what would happen.