Azeem, Hareem and Sana photographed near their home in Skellefteå. "It often feels like talent versus language. Challenge me, test me on my technical knowledge. If I don't satisfy you with my expertise, then fine, I can accept that," says Sana.
Sana’s voice catches, laden with an emotion that seems to fill the small living room in Morö Backe.
– It’s like a nightmare for me. This life we've made for us here is falling apart.
I’m with Sana, 39, and her husband, Azeem, 45, in their apartment, discussing the precarious situation they now face. After building a life in Skellefteå for more than two years, the dream they pursued from Pakistan for their young daughter, Hareem, is under threat.
– When I think of uprooting her from this environment, it is very daunting and heart-wrenching. And now we might have to go back to our home country, which I don’t want to do, Sana says, her eyes briefly glazed with tears.
Sana, a highly qualified pharmacist with a Master's in Pharmaceutical Modelling from Uppsala University, and Azeem, an experienced IT professional, made the move to Sweden with a singular, powerful motivation: to provide a better, safer future for Hareem.
– We had plans to move to a new country for our daughter's future, Sana explains, her gaze earnest.
– We have relatives elsewhere in the world, in places like Canada and Australia, but we chose Sweden because of its reputation as a country that supports families and cherishes children.
They initially settled in Uppsala while Sana completed her studies, before the promise of work at Northvolt drew them north to Skellefteå in June 2023.
– We really like it here, Sana says of Skellefteå.
– We all love the snow, too, she says, briefly offering a smile.
– Our daughter is studying here, and she has made so many friends, Azeem says, a hint of pride in his voice.
– She's always playing outside, and her school-friends often come over to our house to play with her.
Hareem, eight-years-old, bright as a button and fascinated by the photographer's huge camera, is thriving and has embraced Skellefteå’s multicultural environment.
– She has friends from many different countries, and she loves it. She often says that Skellefteå has made the world feel smaller, Sana says.
Sana’s Swedish career began at Northvolt, a place she regards with warmth.
– I am deeply grateful to Northvolt for welcoming immigrants, she says, a touch of nostalgia in her tone.
– I've really enjoyed my time there. It always felt like a second home.
The situation took another complex and painful turn last week.
While many faced redundancy, Sana was asked to stay on for an additional month to assist with the wind-down at Northvolt.
Azeem, however, was laid off.
– To be honest, it’s been an emotionally challenging time for both of us, Sana says, the strain evident in her eyes.
– I was asked to stay on for another month to help with the wind-down, but Azeem was unfortunately laid off. This uncertainty affects us both profoundly. We are now navigating immense pressure to secure new employment quickly - not only for financial stability but also to meet the strict requirements tied to our work permits in Sweden.
The stark reality for non-EU workers like Sana and Azeem is a daunting three-month window to find new employment – a job that must meet a minimum salary threshold of 28,480 kronor a month – or face deportation. It’s a policy that seems to stand in sharp contrast to a nation vocal about its need to attract global talent.
For families like Sana and Azeem, who have poured their hopes, skills, and savings into building a life here, it feels like a cruel, bureaucratic paradox.
Adding to their anxieties is the language barrier – a common hurdle for many international professionals in Sweden.
– At Northvolt, the company environment is entirely in English, explains Azeem.
Sana elaborates on their situation:
– Even our Swedish bosses primarily spoke English with us. So, they didn't make us feel that Swedish was an immediate necessity. That was our big mistake, which we realise now, especially with so little time.
This isn't due to a lack of ability; Sana herself is fluent in English, Urdu, and Arabic.
– I can learn Swedish as well, she asserts confidently.
– It is not something that's impossible; we just need a little focused time.
The frustration is palpable when skilled individuals find their talent overshadowed by language requirements.
– I feel that talent isn't always valued as much as language skills in the current job market here, Sana says.
– It often feels like talent versus language. Challenge me, test me on my technical knowledge. If I don't satisfy you with my expertise, then fine, I can accept that. But if you don't even grant me an interview and just reject my application based on Swedish language skills alone, that's deeply disheartening.
Azeem, Hareem and Sana photographed near their home in Skellefteå. "When we started selling some of our things, she asked, 'Baba, Mama, what are you doing? Why did you sell this?' "
Both are now urgently, almost desperately, seeking new positions.
– We’re applying for roles that match our skills and backgrounds: mine as a pharmacist, in laboratory work, and quality control, and Azeem’s in computer science and manufacturing, Sana says.
Azeem, an engineer with eight years of solid experience in IT, including database administration and management roles, is finding the job hunt brutal. His voice is tinged with a weary sadness as he speaks.
– I've applied to countless companies for IT roles, warehouse positions, anything suitable, but I've received virtually no positive responses. I am still applying every single day, but mostly I just keep getting rejections. We still haven't had any interview calls. The emotional toll is immense.
– It's too much sometimes, he adds, his voice barely above a whisper.
– We are very depressed because we only have these three months.
He then speaks of his daughter’s confusion and sadness, a pain that clearly cuts him deeply.
– When we started selling some of our things, she asked, 'Baba, Mama, what are you doing? Why did you sell this?' So, I had to try and explain that we might be leaving. She is very disheartened by this and has even discussed it with her friends and her school teachers.
Despite the overwhelming pressure and the looming uncertainty, their resilience is remarkable.
– We are still hoping for the best, Sana says, a quiet determination in her voice.
Azeem makes a heartfelt plea:
– We are asking Migrationsverket to please extend our time. This situation is a result of the company's bankruptcy, which is the employer's responsibility, not ours. We are qualified, experienced professionals, and there have been no complaints about our work. So, we implore them to please find a way to help us.
As they wait, holding onto slim hopes and the precious memories of the life they’ve built in Sweden, Sana’s fighting spirit remains.
With a flicker of defiance in her eyes, she says:
– We are fighting, and maybe, just maybe, we will win.
Sana Naz with her husband Azeem Yasin Khan and their daughter Hareem Khan, photographed at home in Skellefteå.
"We have relatives elsewhere in the world, in places like Canada and Australia, but we chose Sweden because of its reputation as a country that supports families and cherishes children."