Body in London, heart in Pakistan: Judoka Qaisar Afridi’s battle beyond the judo mat

By Alam Zeb Safi
ISLAMABAD: Every morning, Qaisar Afridi steps onto the judo mat in London with the same discipline he learned as a boy: bow, breathe, fight. Under the watchful eye of Japanese coach Kohta Nishizoo at Budokai Academy, he trains relentlessly, chasing an Olympic dream that once defined his life.
Yet even in safety, Afridi’s mind is never fully present, according to the athlete.
He claims that thousands of miles away, his family’s life has been torn apart. He claims that his family has been receiving threats and they live in fear and uncertainty, unsure of what tomorrow will bring.
“It is impossible to separate training from pain,” Afridi told thecricketplus.com from London.
“When I fight on the mat, I am also fighting with my thoughts. My body is here in London but my heart is with my family,” said the former Pakistan’s fighter who also took silver in the 2019 South Asian Games in Nepal.
Afridi, once regarded as one of Pakistan’s most promising judokas, was widely seen as a potential successor to Olympian Shah Hussain. A prolific competitor on the international circuit, he carried his country’s hopes as he pursued qualification for the 2024 Paris Olympics.
But his journey took an unexpected turn.
Disillusioned by what he describes as a lack of institutional support for athletes back home, Afridi left Pakistan and moved to England a couple of years ago. He began training in London, seeking better facilities, consistent coaching and a more stable future. His Paris Olympic campaign was ultimately abandoned midway as personal and financial pressures mounted.
“I didn’t leave because I stopped believing in myself,” he said. “I left because I felt I was fighting alone.”
In London, Afridi found structure and safety. Budokai Academy offered him a professional environment, and Nishizoo’s disciplined, traditional Japanese approach helped him rebuild both physically and mentally. Training sessions are intense, often pushing him to exhaustion.
But away from the mat, the contrast with his family’s reality is stark.
“Here, I worry about weight cuts, injuries, training schedules,” Afridi said.
“Back home, my family worries about survival.”
Afridi speaks cautiously, aware of the risks his family continues to face. Communication is sporadic and every message carries an anxiety.
“There are nights when I cannot sleep,” he said. “You ask yourself, is it right to chase a dream when your family is suffering? But judo is the only way I know to keep going.”
For Afridi, sport has become more than competition. It is a means of preserving dignity and hope amid loss.
“In judo, you fall and you stand up again,” he said. “That is what I am trying to do in life.”
While he continues to train with Olympic-level ambition, Afridi’s story highlights the human cost often hidden behind elite sport. Athletes from conflict-affected regions, he says, carry burdens that go far beyond performance metrics.
“People see strength, medals, results,” he said. “They don’t see the fear, the grief, the responsibility we carry.”
Afridi does not know what the future holds whether he will compete at the highest level again, or whether his family’s situation will improve. What he does know is that each training session is an act of resistance against despair.
“I am sharing my story because I want people to understand,” he said. “For some of us, sport is not just about winning. It is about surviving, about giving meaning to pain,” he said.
As he bows off the mat at the end of another gruelling session in London, Afridi carries the same quiet resolve he brought with him from home, a belief that even in the face of unimaginable loss, fighting forward is the only option.