I never gave up on my Olympic dream – even when fleeing my home

All I remember when I was fleeing Iran with my mum at 14, was being told to act normal. 

We were at the airport, attempting to leave the country for good as Mum’s life was in danger, so it was of the utmost importance that we didn’t draw any suspicion. 

However, I’d just had to say goodbye to my dad, as he wasn’t able to come with us. I didn’t know when I would see him again, or whether I even would. 

And yet I had to act like everything was fine; that I’d be back to Iran and with my dad soon. 

Then last August – six years after that awful day – I looked up in the stands from my position on court at the Olympics, and saw both my parents beaming with pride amongst a crowd of thousands. 

I knew then that the journey had been worth it. 

Representing the Refugee Olympic Team in badminton was the most incredible, emotional moment of my life – and something I never used to think was possible. 

My dad started teaching me badminton when I was nine, and I was hooked. 

By the time I was forced to leave the country, I was training regularly and playing at a high level, but all that had to be put on pause.

We departed Iran for Turkey, and spent months trying to leave the country before eventually settling in Germany for almost a year. 

All the while, I was wondering when I could get back on the court to practice, but it wasn’t that simple. After our application to remain in Germany was rejected, and facing deportation, we found ourselves in France, then Belgium. 

All the while we were considered illegal immigrants in Europe.

The fact that I was a teenager didn’t seem to be a factor for security forces when we tried to leave countries. 

I always remember yelling ‘I’m 15! I’m 15!’ when I was being arrested, all the while panicking about whether the handcuffs would damage my wrists and affect my ability to play badminton, or worse, that the gun pointed at my head would go off. 

Arriving in Birmingham, things finally looked up for us.

After what we’d been through, everything was so much kinder in the UK. We immediately went to the police station and declared ourselves asylum seekers, and were given a temporary house and I was enrolled in a local college to try and recover my education. 

But badminton was still a burning passion, so as soon as Mum and I were settled, I started trying to play again. I remember walking around Birmingham for hours, with a battered old racket and unsuitable shoes, desperate to try and find a club. 

At times in France, Germany and Belgium, I was so close to giving up, assuming that my dream of playing at the Olympics was dead. 

In England, everything changed. I had tried my best to stay in shape and through college in Birmingham I was introduced to Lorraine Cole, and later Sara Sankey, former elite badminton players who helped me in so many different ways. 

I got sport-ready, I improved my English, helped my mum and I to secure permanent settled status in the UK, and worked towards getting qualifications in physiology. 

No matter how well I played, however, I just assumed the Olympics wouldn’t be possible. Everyone knows athletes represent their home country at the Games, but I was exiled from my home country. I loved and missed Iran, but I knew I wouldn’t be welcome there. 

But when our settled status was sorted, and we moved to London to be closer to our family, I reconnected with one of my old coaches from Iran who had also travelled to the UK. 

She asked my mum ‘why on Earth isn’t Dorsa trying to represent the Olympic Refugee Team?’

To be honest, neither of us had heard of it. I had no idea it was even possible for a refugee to go to the Olympics. 

Speaking to fans and even other athletes, I’ve found people are often in the dark about the amazing Refugee Olympic Team, which was founded in time for the Rio 2016 Games in order to allow refugees to compete and send a message of hope to others who have been forced to leave their country. 

Last year, there were more than 43 million refugees globally, so it makes sense for us to be represented on the biggest sporting stage. 

After qualifying in regional tournaments for the women’s singles – supported now by my dad who had moved to the UK – I went to Paris as part of this team, and couldn’t have been made to feel more welcome. 

I made friends for life among the other 36 athletes that took part in the Games. We came from all over the world and had all manner of different stories, with representatives from 11 countries in 12 sports. 

14 athletes, including me, were from Iran. 

It would have been amazing just to be around the Olympics, but to take part was something else entirely.

In the village we were treated like any other athletes, even rubbing shoulders with superstars like Serena Williams, and we cheered as a team when Cindy Ngamba, who was originally from Cameroon, won the Refugee Team’s first ever medal with a bronze in the women’s middleweight boxing. 

When it came to my fixtures, I was initially overwhelmed. I was in an arena with some of the athletes I’d worshipped from a young age, and felt like I couldn’t cope. 

But I just took a breath, found my parents in the audience (even catching my dad shedding a tear) and represented myself and the Refugee Team with pride. 

I was knocked out in the group stage after coming up against some highly ranked players, but since returning to the UK my hard work has started all over again.

I’m in my second year at Middlesex University with a degree in sports physiology, and my focus has turned to the 2028 Olympics in Los Angeles. 

In an ideal world, I’d be able to represent Iran, and in 2028 hopefully things look better for refugees and asylum seekers in the USA and all over the world. 

I didn’t choose to leave Iran. I didn’t choose to become a refugee. But whether it’s at the Olympics, or at home, I’m proud to be one.

As told to Ross McCafferty 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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