TAMPA, Fla. (Tribune News Service) — The incident went unnoticed, nestled deep in the grass roots of the local sports landscape. On a Friday in February, a high school wrestling match in east Tampa got chippy, and a kid got disqualified.

Even the sparse audience inside the King High gymnasium seemed oblivious. After all, this was a tournament, where dozens of matches are held on a single day, some running concurrently.

The inconspicuousness worked against Bashir Rostami.

An 18-year-old Freedom High senior with long black bangs and a wide, warm smile, Rostami appeared destined for a state title in his final prep season.

Entering this event, he had defeated 29 of 30 opponents. His lone loss had come against Lake Highland Prep’s Claudio Torres, who won his weight division earlier in the year at the National Prep Wrestling Championships. Days before, Rostami had won the 152-pound title at the prestigious Tony Ippolito Memorial Tournament at Brandon High.

“I’m thinking the whole season, this is going to be such a marketable kid for a marketable story for colleges,” Freedom coach Derrick McCoy said.

But late in his match against Strawberry Crest’s Georgie Rivera, Rostami took an elbow to the head. A few seconds later, Rivera took a swipe at Rostami’s upper torso with his right hand. Rostami answered by shoving Rivera on the left side of the head with what appeared to be an open hand. He was assigned a Level 1 flagrant unsportsmanlike conduct penalty and disqualified.

“I was so mad, I just pushed him,” Rostami said in measured, clipped English. “I said, ‘What are you doing? Do you want to wrestle with me or fight with me?’ And then the referee come in and was like, ‘You can’t wrestle anymore. Get out.’ ”

The penalty came with a four-contest suspension, meaning — barring a successful appeal — Rostami would miss the entire postseason and a chance to compete for a state title. Appeals formally were filed on his behalf to the Florida High School Athletic Association (FHSAA), accompanied by video of the incident.

“He did not appear to make a fist and his action did not appear to be a punch or strike,” Strawberry Crest coach Blake Olson said in a letter written on Rostami’s behalf.

“In my eyes, the correct application of penalties in that situation would be to assign unsportsmanlike conduct penalties to each wrestler and continue the rest of the match. Rostami’s actions did not appear to be serious enough to disqualify a contestant from the match.”

So Rostami waited as the appeals process played out, his prep wrestling career in limbo.

As hope dissipated and the district tournament drew closer, Rostami kept practicing. McCoy remained candid with his star competitor, acknowledging the odds for an overturned decision were slim.

“But he still showed up every day,” McCoy said. “His optimism and outlook on life is rare.”

So are the circumstances that led to his family’s arrival in Tampa.

Rostami’s English remains a work in progress. His perspective is fluent.

Loss of a father, and freedom

The Rostami family’s odyssey is devoid of straight lines. The starting point is Kabul, Afghanistan, where his mother, Golsum, married Mohammed Zahir Rostami at age 13. They had seven children who currently range in age from 26 to 7.

The family practices Shia Islam and belongs to the Hazaras ethnic group, which is predominant in Afghanistan.

“The Hazaras tribe is one of the tribes who is always studying, improving themselves,” said Rostami’s oldest sister, Malalai.

Rostami began wrestling as a prepubescent, with aspirations of becoming a mixed martial arts competitor. Malalai studied to become an air traffic controller, defying relatives who condemned her for stepping far outside the perceived role of women in that culture.

“I grew up in a society which they are almost ignoring the women,” said Malalai, 26. “They don’t allow women to study. When I was in school like, (fifth) or seventh grade, all my father’s family were just trying to stop me from going to school. They’re saying like, ‘Woman should go stay home, have kids and take care of the family. It’s the woman’s job.’

“I said, ‘OK, I will stop. I will stop.’ And I didn’t stop. I was just saying lies.”

Encouraged by her parents, both of whom received very little education, Malalai ultimately landed a job as an air traffic controller working with the U.S. military at what was then known as Hamid Karzai International Airport. The first female to hold such a position at the airport, she also would be the last.

In the early summer of 2021, Mohammad Zahir Rostami — 49-year-old father of seven — died at a relative’s home under circumstances that remain mysterious. Then on Aug. 15, the Taliban captured Kabul, commandeering the airport as Afghanistan president Ashraf Ghani relinquished power to the Islamic fundamentalist group.

“Working with the men especially, I was scared,” Malalai said. “Because if they understand about my backgrounds and my identity, that I was a woman, and first woman working with the U.S. men and Afghan men, oh you’re supposed to be killed right away.”

Malalai left her workplace that day and went home. After four days, she received a text from her job’s messenger group indicating that if she came to the airport, American troops — who had been deployed to help Afghanistan citizens evacuate — would help her get out of the country.

What followed was a harrowing ordeal of violence, panic and chaos.

‘A big blessing of God’

Amid a suffocating throng of fellow Afghans attempting to evacuate, Malalai tried making it through the airport’s outer gates and inside the terminal, praying the Taliban wouldn’t recognize her as an air traffic controller. When the surge of people got overwhelming, the Taliban fought them off with ropes and tear gas, Malalai said.

She never made it inside on her first try, but attempted again the following day. After nearly 10 hours outside with neither food nor water, she made it.

“I felt like I came from the hell to paradise — to the heaven,” she said. “It was like that.”

Upon gaining entrance, a U.S. military officer told her that if her family members had ID cards, they could join her in leaving. Malalai called her mother, who didn’t answer her phone. She then called Rostami.

Her message to him: “‘The way you’re coming, you may be injured, you may die,’” she recalled. “‘Anything will be possible to you guys, so be strong in all parts.’ ”

After a six-hour wait, at roughly 11 p.m., Rostami, his mother and three of his siblings joined Malalai. For five tense days, as the Taliban lurked, the family waited inside the terminal for a flight out. The only food was stale U.S. Army snacks; the family says it had no water the final two days.

“That was super hard,” Rostami said. “We were so scared.”

When the family finally boarded a plane, it had no seats. Shoehorned inside with hundreds of other refugees, Rostami, his mom and siblings endured a 3½-hour flight to Qatar, where they stayed less than 24 hours before heading to Germany. After a frigid week in tents on a military base with little food, they were flown to Washington D.C., where they landed on Sept. 1.

After one night, they were flown to an Air Force base in New Mexico, where the sprawling tents included beds and blankets for every family member, and better food. They remained there for 52 days, primarily resting and recovering from their frightening journey.

They arrived in Tampa later that fall. Malalai had been texting one of her American instructors in Afghanistan who was living in the bay area. His reference allowed the family to move to Florida.

Today, Rostami, Malalai, their mother and four other siblings share a three-bedroom apartment in a hardscrabble neighborhood near USF. Malalai and brother Omid (employed at a warehouse) work to support the family.

They are here via humanitarian parole, a grant of temporary permission to enter the country for urgent humanitarian reasons. They have applied for asylum and hope to someday seek permanent residency in the U.S.

“It’s a big blessing of God,” said Malalai, who now drives a black 2021 Kia and works as a case aide (assisting with Afghan asylum cases) for a social services organization. “We are happy and, even if not right now with no chance to continue my education, I’m happy for my brothers, for my sister.”

A new beginning

When Rostami arrived at Freedom High that November, McCoy immediately spotted his cauliflower ear, a surefire sign of a seasoned wrestler.

“So I tapped him and said, ‘Hey, are you a wrestler?’ ” McCoy recalled. “And this is when he barely knew any English, but he heard ‘wrestling,’ and he opened up his backpack and it was just full of wrestling medals.

“When they had to leave their house (in Afghanistan), they were given just a couple of minutes to go grab stuff, so he grabbed all his wrestling medals.”

His late enrollment left him academically ineligible for the 2021-22 season, and Rostami contemplated quitting school to help support his family. McCoy convinced him to stick it out, and his English greatly improved as he assimilated himself into the American culture.

His senior year was projected to serve as a springboard for his wrestling career, perhaps launching him into the consciousness of college scouts. In addition to his 29-1 mark, Rostami was honored as Freedom’s outstanding wrestler for the 2022-23 season.

But the final ruling from the Florida High School Athletic Association dashed his hopes: It offered to reduce the suspension from four contests to two, meaning Rostami still would miss the district tournament. No districts meant he couldn’t qualify for regionals or the state meet. His season — and high school career — was over.

Yet a couple weeks later, he still was attending McCoy’s practices, helping train Patriots state qualifiers Lilly Luttrell (girls 155 pounds) and Austin Chung (boys 138).

“He told me, ‘I believe that you tried everything you could,’ ” McCoy said. “‘Now we’re just going to focus on making Lilly and Austin a state champion, not me.’ That’s what touched my heart so much.”

Rostami even attended the state tournament in Kissimmee, where both his teammates placed in their respective weight classes. These days, he still practices mixed martial arts and is training for the Florida National Team qualifier in Miami — a freestyle tournament sanctioned by USA Wrestling — at the end of April. A solid performance there could open a college door or two.

Even if it doesn’t, he won’t be bitter about the opportunities denied him. Life has been too good to fret over a suspension.

“I’m so happy right now,” Rostami said. “I’m grateful because I got to the United States. I live here. I can practice, I can come to school.”

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