Ojhri Camp disaster (Part 1)

January 7, 2014

By znjavid

On April 10th, 1988 the Ojhri camp disaster took place in Rawalpindi, Pakistan. There was a blast in the ammunition depot in Rawalpindi and rockets and ammunition were expelled into the twin cities of Islamabad and Rawalpindi killing 1300 people.

At that time I was studying in Grade 7 and my elder sister was in Grade 11 (O’Levels) in the same school. My brother was doing his A’Levels in another school in the same city.

One morning in the middle of classes we heard a loud blast followed by a rumbling noise. We looked outside and we saw a big mushroom cloud of black smoke ominously filling the sky. It looked something like the mushroom cloud of a nuclear bomb. Was our country being attacked?

Now our teachers had no clue what to do in such a situation. This is also the time when nobody had mobile phones so it was not possible to contact our family. We have a lot of earthquakes in our country as the northern part falls on an earthquake belt and the normal response is to go out of the building and into an open area.

So that is what the staff decided to do with us. We made lines and class by class we were escorted out of the school building and into the open. Little did we know that it was raining missiles and the last thing to do was to be out there in the open.

As I stood outside I had the comfort of knowing that my sister was nearby. However not knowing what was happening, and indeed what was happening in the rest of the city where my parents and brother were was extremely disturbing. The incessant rumbling was not helping either. I began to cry.

My sister, who till then was quite happy that they were missing their Maths class, when she saw me crying, realized that matters were quite serious. She came over to console me. Some of the teachers had begun to recite verses from the Quran. Were we all going to die?

In the meantime my father, a retired Army Brigadier was at home when the disaster took place. He immediately decided to bring the children back from school. He doubted that the school would have taken the correct precautions in such circumstances.

As he reversed the car, he heard the sound of a missile approaching. From his years of training in the army he knew how close it was and he braced himself for the end.

(To find out what happened next, read Part 2…)

Weekly Writing Challenge: Cliffhanger!

My World

December 18, 2013

By znjavid

I pushed the wheelchair along as my mother sat enjoying the view of the garden. Every now and then she asked me to stop so I could take a picture of her with the flowers. The bright array of colors made a stark contrast with the dullness of the shawl she wore around her head and shoulders. Her upright stature did not betray her age and she smiled as I clicked the camera. I felt satisfied that this was a good way to spend the morning when my son was at school.

My son was not interested in seeing the garden; his interests were more in tune to the ferry trip we took last week. He sat watching the sights for an hour and that in itself was a great achievement. My camera was constantly clicking sometimes at the majestic buildings and their reflections glimmering in the water and sometimes at my son when he would turn around to smile at me. “Thank you Mama, for bringing me on the boat” he would say to me and each time my heart would melt. It really was worth the trouble bringing him without my husband being there.

My husband returned tonight just in time for dinner and after a week we ate together. He listened to me intently as I recounted the week’s happenings and my plans for the week ahead. He’s been having a tough time at work and the stress shows in the way his shoulders droop. I could tell that he was still thinking about work even when he was back home. He ate fast and with few words. His phone rang and it was from the office. He grimaced and got up to answer the phone leaving his food unfinished and me with my thoughts. “Well at least he’s back” I thought to myself, excited about the week of holidays ahead.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Collecting Detail

Global Village

December 9, 2013

By znjavid

Global village or “Gobal Village” as my son calls it, is one the of largest outdoor cultural and entertainment destination in the Middle East region. It runs annually in Dubai and this year it will run for 5 months and include 37 pavilions representing 65 countries. 5 million visitors are expected for the current edition.

We visited Global Village this weekend and arrived in the evening, an hour or two before dinner. We made our first stop at the Pakistan pavilion where I bought traditional handmade leather shoes called khussa.

We then visited my favorite Turkey pavilion where I bought yet another lamp.

Next was the China stall where I got a good deal on a Chinese screen. With all this shopping my son was getting a bit bored so we stopped at the rides to entertain him.

And this is one of the rides there that I would never ever take!

By this time both my son and my husband were feeling hungry so we went to our favorite Pakistani restaurant. While waiting for the food we enjoyed a cultural performance of Chinese acrobats. Soon our delicious dinner consisting of parathas (bread) and chicken tikka (BBQ chicken) was served with a sweet ending of Ras Malai (sweet flour balls in milk topped with nuts). My son, the picky eater that he is, was not up to tasting the Ras Malai so we had to stop for chocolate ice cream. While he happily ate his ice cream we admired the view of the traditional abras (boats) taking visitors on tours.

On the way back sure enough my son fell asleep in the car clutching the toys he had bought from “Gobal Village”!

Weekly Writing Challenge: Multimedia Storytelling

Weekly Photo Challenge: Let There Be Light!

November 29, 2013

By znjavid

The beautiful Turkish lamps at the Turkey stall in Global Village, a festival of countries held annually in Dubai.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Let There Be Lights!

Weekly Writing Challenge: Haiku / Bubbles

November 28, 2013

By znjavid

(Wednesday, 27th Nov)

Bubbles dancing here,

Rainbow colors in the sun,

A carefree child’s play.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Haiku

For a better life

November 18, 2013

By znjavid

Mary Ann was a diminutive woman with a quiet manner and a kind face. She lived in a small room cum store in the corner of the 5 bedroom villa. Her work had been detailed to her since the day she arrived from Philippines nearly 6 months ago.

Her Madam (she dared not call her by her name) gave her curt instructions. She was to clean the entire villa every day, do the laundry and ironing and look after the little boy who was not yet going to school. She smiled at the little boy with thick curly hair peering shyly from behind his mother. He smiled back and hid his face.

“This is Youssef. You are to bathe him, dress him, feed him and keep him entertained and happy. The other maid will tell you about his likes and dislikes.”

She remembered how difficult the first few weeks had been. She would cry every night when she thought of her 5 yr old son Andres who she had left in the Philippines. Would he be able to sleep without her? She would dream that he would be calling her and when she would answer he couldn’t hear her and would keep crying for her. Her helplessness translated into her dreams.

In just a few weeks time Youssef had become very attached to Mary Ann. And vice versa. He reminded her of her son and she felt that if she loved him like her son, her son would be loved the same way.

She had left her son with her sister and come to work in the Emirates so he could have a better life. Her husband had abandoned them for another woman years ago and didn’t bother to send them any money. It was the most difficult decision she had ever made. But she was so fed up of borrowing money and always being in need that she had decided to make this sacrifice.

When she told her son of her decision he had just kept quiet. It was so strange that he hadn’t argued with her. Usually he loved to argue. Maybe he had understood. Then he looked at her with tears in his eyes and said,

“Mama are you angry with me?” Her heart ached. How could she make him understand that she was doing everything for him?

“My sweetest boy, of course not” she said her voice quivering. “But Mama wants you to go to a good school and have nice clothes and nice food. That’s why Mama has to go.”

“Is that why Papa left too?”

She always tried to avoid talking about his Papa.

“Mama will come back soon.. I promise.”

But soon would be at least 2 years. She had already signed a 2 year contract.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Characters that Haunt You

A Father’s Legacy

November 12, 2013

By znjavid

“O dweller of the graves, peace be upon you. May Allah forgive us and you. You reached before us and we will follow behind you.”

This is what the young man prayed as he entered the graveyard. He reached the end of the rows of the graves and came to one simply marked with his father’s name and year of birth and death. He remembered that day 5 years ago as if it was yesterday.

He had finished his O’Level exams and felt a sense of relief. He had done quite well he thought. He was sure he would make his father proud. Maybe he would finally convince him to let him join the army. He never understood why being a Colonel in the Armored Corps himself, he was against his son following in his footsteps.

That afternoon instead of his father’s staff car bringing him home, an army jeep came to their house. A senior officer came to talk to his mother who soon broke down when she heard the news.

A suicide bomber on a motorcycle had collided with his father’s car killing both him and his driver on the spot.

It was then that he understood why his father hadn’t wanted him to join the army. He was trying to protect his only son.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Traces

Begging for hope

October 22, 2013

By znjavid

A middle aged man with a tired looking face and old clothes stood in the scorching sun and waited for the lights to turn red. The family in the Land Cruiser watched as he approached their car. When he came close they looked away. But the child at the back was curious.

“What does he want?” asked the little boy snuggled safely in the car seat and holding a Barney that talked when a button was pressed.

“He wants money,” replied his mother as she put down her fashionable Prada sunglasses from her head to cover her eyes and looked in the other direction at the bright shops on the side of the road.

“Can I give him my cookies?” the little boy suggested. His parents exchanged looks and didn’t say anything.

The man on the road looked at the boy in the car and thought of his own son back home. His heart ached. He wished he could send him money like he had promised, but here he was without a job and a visa and begging on the road so he would not starve. He trudged to the next car that stopped.

It was a red sports car with a young man at the wheel listening to loud music. He drummed on his steering and didn’t even notice the man on the road. His mind was too occupied with his lunch meeting at a five star hotel with the girl of his dreams. He checked himself in the mirror, adjusted his spikes, and then continued drumming.

“There’s no hope here”, thought the man on the road as he again took his position on the divider. The lights turned green and the cars sped off leaving him standing alone, the perspiration beginning to drench his faded shirt.

He had come to the country on a visit visa hoping to find work as an electrician. His family of 8 had many expectations of him and had believed that better days were coming. But his visa expired and he still hadn’t found any work. He was willing to do any kind of work but there were hundreds like him in the city and not enough jobs. He had no money left and was forced to beg. Sometimes a kind soul would hand him a few dirhams and he would eat that day. At night he slept at the bus stand.

He would stand at different places each day. He didn’t want to get noticed. He would keep walking if he saw a police car patrolling the area. He didn’t want them to stop him and ask for papers he didn’t have.

He waited for the next batch of cars to stop at the red light. A grey Mercedes slowed down and the driver of the car, an elderly Emirati recognized the man on the road from the day before. He remembered how guilty he had felt for not doing something. After all he had been blessed in every way and it was his duty to share those blessings with those less fortunate than him. He opened his window and signaled to the man on the road.

“Do you want work? Can you work as a gardener?”

The man nodded.

“Here is my address. Come tomorrow morning.”

The man on the road could hardly believe it. He had heard of the generosity of the locals. Was his luck finally changing?

Weekly Writing Challenge: Point of View

Minorities in Pakistan

October 15, 2013

By znjavid

28th May 2010: In nearly simultaneous attacks against two mosques in Lahore, Pakistan of the minority Ahmadiyya Community during Friday prayers, 94 people were killed and more than 120 were injured

16th February 2013: At least 84 people were killed and 190 injured after a bomb hidden in a water tank exploded at a market on the outskirts of Quetta, Pakistan; the victims being of the predominantly Shia Hazara community

22nd September 2013: A pair of suicide bombers blew themselves up outside a 130-year-old Anglican church in Peshawar, Pakistan after Sunday Mass, killing at least 78 people in the deadliest attack on Christians.

The Office of the High Commissioner for Human rights defines Human rights as follows: “Human rights are rights inherent to all human beings, whatever our nationality, place of residence, sex, national or ethnic origin, color, religion, language, or any other status.”

However the minorities of Pakistan are even denied the right to live.

Belonging to one of the most hated minority communities in Pakistan, the news coming out from our bleeding homeland just strengthens our decision: We are not going back.

Things are just going from bad to worse. Who can turn the flow around?

We have been living in Dubai for the last 3 years now. After my son was born, my husband made the decision of applying abroad for a job. He was offered an excellent opportunity and we wasted no time to avail it.

We live in peace and without fear. My son cycles every day to the park nearby and I don’t fear that someday he might not come back.

I worry that he doesn’t eat as much as he should, I worry that he still doesn’t know his phonics, I worry that he doesn’t hold the pen correctly when he writes, but I don’t worry for his life.

It is still true that there are people here as well who spread hatred but they are a few and do not wield the power they have back home. They will not greet us like they would greet others but it is OK. I will teach my son that where there might be some who hate him, there are far more who will love him. Love him for his actions and not worry about his faith.

May God bless every child no matter where he comes from or what his beliefs are. And may God have mercy on my homeland.

“The Human Rights Watch has accused the government of having failed to act against abuses committed by security and intelligence agencies which are letting extremist groups to attack religious minorities….Pakistan’s human rights crisis worsened markedly in 2012 with religious minorities bearing the brunt of killings and repression,” said Ali Dayan Hasan, Pakistan Director of Human Rights Watch.”

Weekly Writing Challenge: Living History

Getting to school

September 18, 2013

By znjavid

“I’ll put you in jail and lock you up” announced the little boy with the Dusty backpack.

“Then who will run the nursery?” answered the Principal with a wry smile on her face.

The little boy’s embarrassed mother hovered behind him. “Oh he’s just being a policeman today..” she said weakly to the Principal.

That’s my son as he entered the nursery today. Every day getting him inside is a monumental task. Today he went of his own accord but apparently it was to make this announcement. He’s not even scared of his Principal. Everyone is scared of her, even me.

My mother has promised to give him a prize at the end of the week if he goes every day without making a fuss. She’s bought a few small windup toys to give him, a little footballer that walks, a little penguin, an airplane with a pilot in it and a crab inside a shell. But even giving him a little incentive is not working.

Yesterday it took me 20 minutes to get him inside. 10 minutes he was squatting near the car and refusing to budge and another 10 minutes outside the nursery door. Finally I had to ask the assistant to come and get him.

I talked to his teacher about it. She told me that as soon as he enters the class he forgets that he didn’t want to come. He works well the whole day and interacts with everyone. All this fuss is just for me.

It starts when he finishes his breakfast. “Ok now get ready for school”, I tell him as I pack his bag. “I don’t want to go to school. I want to play with my toys.”

He’s too big now for me to physically bundle him into the car and into the school. I have to convince him somehow. And he doesn’t tell me why he doesn’t want to go. “You’re alone at home and there are no other girls or boys to play with”, I try to tell him, but all my arguments fall on deaf ears.

My husband works in another country during the week so it’s all up to me to get him to school every day. Yesterday I was so stressed out I ended up in tears. I’ve tried everything and I don’t know what to do now.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Dialogue

A mom's blog

“A child is God's opinion that the world should go on.”

Tag Archives: DPchallenge

Ojhri Camp disaster (Part 1)

My World

Global Village

Weekly Photo Challenge: Let There Be Light!

Weekly Writing Challenge: Haiku / Bubbles

For a better life

A Father’s Legacy

Begging for hope

Minorities in Pakistan

Getting to school

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