There was a day
not long ago, where life, it changed, forever. It wasn’t a day like any other,
however. Monday, the beginning of our second week in our abruptly changed new
life: New school, new room, new people, new surroundings, from the dusty
crowded city to the quiet star filled skies above the foothills of the
Himalayas. Even the altitude was higher. Away from the only school I ever
imagined being part of, merely two years shy
of graduating. Who else knows high school is tough for teenagers? I got caught
being in the wrong place with the wrong people and it cost
me an unwanted new life, not to mention my poor sister’s too. Having a driver
that tattle-tales when you stop bribing him isn’t ideal either. I’ve held this
against him for years, but I know that God used him to get me out of an unhealthy
situation. I was at the stage in life where I knew my life wasn’t heading in
the right direction, but I had consciously made the decision that I would set
my life straight after high school was over. I would be far away from my
friends and classmates; none of them would have to know. It was genius.
Yet here I was,
first day of my second week in my new school. Boarding School. Somehow we were expected to fit into the lives of all these kids that had grown up together,
literally. They were like a close-knit family. And they were predominately
white, while I had spent the last years of my life surrounded by Pakistani’s (Months later I would learn that most of them, who had grown up in Pakistan, were more like me than I initially thought). I
quickly found out in my first week, that cheating wasn’t on the agenda. Who
knew that this didn’t happen in all schools? You mean I’d actually have to
study and do my own work? It still baffles me how I managed to graduate in the
end. Cheating and lying had been such an important part of my life, until then.
Coming back to
my first day of my second week in my new school. The first week had been really
emotionally draining and difficult. I woke up that Monday morning, begging my
mother to stay home because I said I didn’t feel well. She was staying with us for a
few weeks to help us adjust and the boarding part of school hadn’t officially started yet.
The other students were with their own parents for the summer months. My sister
and I basically had an entire floor to ourselves, which we needed considering
the amount of clothes we brought with us. In the end I had to get up and go
to class anyway. Since it rained the night before, I can recall that the air was really cool in the morning. Everything outside was still wet. This saved many of our lives that day.
August 5, 2002
It was after our morning break, all the students had gone back inside their classrooms. My particular class was generally held outside on the benches just in front of the main school gates. As we were all walking towards the “outdoor” class our teacher motioned for us to go inside because the benches were still too wet. I remember joking around with someone moments before we suddenly heard a strange sound. Everyone stopped talking and looked at each other. “What was that? Oh must be pataka’s (firecrackers)” I can’t remember if this conversation was in our heads or if someone said this out-loud. Then the sound came back again, without hesitation we all knew. Someone yelled “Get down under the desk!” I’ll never understand how I managed to slide under the desk like a slippery slug in the speed of the Flash, I’m sure it was much too narrow. Hearts were racing, fear had gripped us, everything happened so quickly. After a few moments we got out from under the desks and crowded together in the corner of the room. I don't remember why this was a good idea. I squeezed onto someone so hard, I’m sure I was hurting them. All I remember chanting was, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God” and then I heard someone whisper, “Shhh they’re going to hear you.” In a moment of complete terror, for those first moments all you can think of is your own life and whether you’re still going to have one for much longer. Then as I started getting to grips with what was happening my thoughts wandered towards my sister and my mother. Where were they? What room? Were they shot? What if they’re outside? What if they’re dead? Then we heard someone yelling outside “Help me, I’ve been shot!” It was Mrs V, a mother.
Within minutes someone came in and directed us to go to another room upstairs. I identified my sister in the line and grabbed hold of her instantly. She was alive, she was safe and she was with me. When we got down on the ground in the other room, I completely engulfed her in a tight embrace and would not let go the entire time. Now all I could fear for was my mother. Some of the students started singing a hymn and this brought a sense of God’s peace into the atmosphere. "H" was comforting "J" who was sitting next to us crying for her mother, Mrs V, who had been shot. She was ok. Miraculously she survived, as we later found out the gunmen had shot directly at her but the bullets just passed through her hair. There was just one bullet that ricochet off a wall and injured her hand. She was not the only one who had been protected or helped by angels. Angels that looked like Pakistani people who suddenly disappeared. Angels who helped someone climb over a wall to safety, angels dressed up as guards who waved and smiled at Mrs. V seconds before she got shot at, angels who prevented flimsy unlocked doors from being kicked open. God’s angels were with us that day in plain sight. In those excruciating minutes that we sat huddled on the ground waiting for the ordeal to end, praying they wouldn’t find us, I made a promise to God in fear of not knowing where I would go if I’d die. I vowed that if I lived I would recommit my life to Him.
From memory the
gunmen were on campus for fifteen minutes, which felt like much longer. My mother was safe. Devastatingly there were some who lost their lives, one a mere passer by at the main gates
where they entered. The same main gates where we would have been sitting in front of had it not rained the night before. Thankfully no children were injured. The situation could have ended much worse, if I can even say that.
Sure enough, I
kept my promise and my life slowly began to change. From a destructive situation, God somehow brought forth good
in my own life. But I can only write from my own perspective.
Now twelve years
later, pain has struck the hearts in our beloved Pakistan. It makes me think of
the experience that we had all those years ago. But this time gunmen came and ruthlessly killed 132 children inside their school. Children just like we were, when they
attempted this in our school. I cannot help but wonder,
“Why did we not die?”
