Conditions for Girl Students inside Pakistan: Before embarking on the journey to Quetta, we were relentlessly reminded to not expect an authentic insight into Balochistan by just visiting its capital. While we found that to be true upon arrival, we almost immediately also realised that Quetta is partially submerged in the darkness of the restive province. En route to this epitome of stark beauty, Quetta stands tall and proud like its mountains. It is only when you draw near; that the city permits you to look upon its open wounds. Once entered, it is a living testament to the sectarian, political and tribal strife that grips the entire province. Not to forget the looming presence of terrorism that keeps residents forever alert, and distrusting of everyone. Yet, underneath these burdens, the city breathes. It lives each day, as if only for the resilience of its people, all from different ethnicities and sects. On the face of it, the people of Quetta look gruff, unwilling to exchange pleasantries. But that lasts until they know you are a guest, homes and hearts both open in the moments that follow. Almost everyone that we came across appeared to be fighting their own battle. Bruised and broken, one person was linked to another, all as victims of terrorism, either state-sponsored or otherwise. Whether it was a Pashtun girl who doesn’t want to give up on her education after a suicide attack on a university bus, or a Gujjar family who are struggling with the ghastly memory of picking up their daughter’s pieces after the attack, or a vice chancellor who wants to provide security to her students while she secretly fears for her own, they all speak of the same sadness and trepidation that life in Quetta now offers. With no relief in sight to their sorrows, they do what all survivors of tragedies do, they cope. Adjacent to Hazara Town, stands the Sardar Bahadur Khan Women’s University – Quetta’s only university for women. Built in 2004, it has grown to include female students from all over Balochistan, but specifically a strong majority from the tribal areas of the province, like Makran, Turbat, Loralai and Kech. The university is undergoing some repair and renovation work as the new vice chancellor, Dr. Rukhsana Gul takes charge on her first day. It’s apparent that she’s holding back from saying anything controversial, yet despite herself she staunchly says, “We are on a Jihad, a Jihad to educate women, to not bow before fear.” Then, just minutes before lunch break, at around 1pm, Dr Gul goes to meet with the transporters at the university on the bus route schedules and respective security arrangements. Since the suicide attack in the premises, a pungent smell pierces the air, one that is hard to ignore. On her way out, Dr Gul instructs the gardener to see if he can do something about it. Born and brought up in Quetta, Dr Rukhsana acquired her doctorate from the Quaid-e-Azam University in Islamabad, she returned to Quetta and worked as a senior faculty member with the Balochistan University for the next 25 years. Teaching is the only thing she knows, she says. When asked to talk about the June 15th incident, a shadow fell across Rukhsana’s face. “Our girls are still scared. Many are having nightmares. We used to pride ourselves on having such a large number of female students from the tribal areas, ever since the incident, most of the girls have gone back.” There’s a palpable sense of guilt in both the vice chancellor and the registrar about the incident taking place on campus. The registrar SBKWU, Dr Naheed Haq said that they were now being accused of making the university “castle-like” with security and questioning at every step. Just like any other incident, the bus attack generated its fair share of unconfirmed reports, one of them being that the female suicide bomber, referred as ‘Ayesha Siddiqa’, by Lashkar-e-Jhangvi while accepting responsibility for the attack, was an Islamic Studies student at the university. Both women completely refuted this, adding, they had no clue whatsoever about the nature of the attack and who did it. “The police haven’t shared much information with us, yet. On our part, we are getting the scanning devices installed…” Dr Naheed trailed off. Dr Gul quietly adds, “The attack was not a one-off incident; neither is it going to be the last.” If the route of the bus had not been changed three days before the blast, it would have been the Hazaras mourning the brutal murders of their daughters, says the SBKW University Registrar, Dr Naheed Haq. The usual route of the bus that was blown up was Hazara Town. But the university felt that the Hazara girls needed a bigger bus. While a bigger bus was set aside for them, a 24-seater bus was arranged for the remaining girls going towards Jail Road, an area full of Punjabi and Urdu speaking settlers. And so, it was the bus that was heading for Jail Road that was attacked. News reports of a missing girl filtered in, as parents frantically searched for their daughters at the hospital. Dr. Naheed breaks down and cries, while clarifying that no one went missing, “as there was nothing left of them to go amiss…” Hailing from a Pashtun background, Neelam Fatima is the youngest and most pampered member of her family. The bus attack on June 15 left her traumatised yet resolute about continuing her education; a decision her family also supported. Now that the university has reopened, she is relieved to be back. “Sitting at home, I would constantly go over and over what happened. At the university, I can at least speak to my friends and classmates about it and try to make sense of what happened to us…” A BBA 5th semester student, Fatima was waiting for her friends behind the bus ‘9769’ which was attacked in the blast. In that moment, she recalls how relieved she was that exams were almost over. “We had a field trip scheduled for the IT University for which we were all quite excited and busy making plans,” says Fatima now sitting in her two room home on Jail Road. As girls started filling in the buses, Fatima waved to two of her close friends, Hina and Mahwish who were also bound for Jail Road but through another route. Within a minute there was a blast, not a very loud one insists Fatima. Within seconds there was another, this one prompting Fatima and others with her to run out of their bus to see what had happened. Fatima didn’t think the two successive sounds would have caused that much damage, but she emerged from her bus covered in blood. “All I could see was blood, and body parts scattered across the lawn. I saw a girl’s arm on a tree branch. All I know is I’ll never be the same again,” Fatima says simply. In those moments of incoherence, the girls found themselves covering their friends’ bodies with headscarves and chadars. “There were men around and they wouldn’t go forward because the blast had ripped apart every shred of clothing from the girls. We put our head scarves over them, thankfully by then the ambulances had started arriving…” Following the bomb attack, Sajeela Shahjahan Gujjar’s father received a phone call from his neighbour, informing him about the attack. The family rushed to Bolan Medical Complex. By the time they arrived, other families had crowded to see what had become of their daughters and sisters, and the hospital staff had to ask the security personnel to hold them back. “As I got into an argument with an FC guard there was another blast, right inside the hospital. I have never seen anything like that, ever,” he says. But for those looking for their children, there wasn’t much left to see. The hospital received stretchers with a few kilograms of body mass, nothing else. One girl identified her sister through a ring that she was wearing on her left hand. Shahjahan’s family received only a torso and is considered among the lucky ones. Back at her home amid the deafening silence, the sounds of Sajeela’s presence resonate everywhere – in a flowerpot decorated with a golden marker, paper cut flowers inside a vase, a heap of clothes recently sewn for herself and her sister. Since her death in the blast that claimed the lives of 13 other girls, her parents fight with the pangs of pain and loss every day. Her mother, Seema Gul, can only say “I don’t know how I lived through this.” She smiles only when showing proudly her daughter’s picture journal and poetry she wrote for assassinated political leader, Benazir Bhutto. Though young at the time, Sajeela keenly participated in preparations for BB’s visit to Quetta in 2007. “She was very active. I wanted to see her sit still for a while and relax. But she used to get angry if I insisted.” Her father Shahjahan shares stories of how she taught the neighbourhood kids. She would take up a new cause, be interested in a new profession every day. Things will never be the same again. “I still can’t get over how someone could attack a girl. It ruined our family. We may move on but inside, we are ruined,” Shahjahan says slowly. No one wants to talk about the attack itself much. But when they do speak of Sajeela amongst themselves, they reminisce fondly. Shahjahan wants to remember her the way he saw her a day before she died: With a bowl full of fresh water and a sponge ready to give him a facial massage. The family still laughs at the memory, as they remember how Sajeela applied cream to his face. “He looked at me helplessly,” says Seema, “to help him out. But he couldn’t say no to her.” Shahjahan’s father moved from Batgram in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, to Quetta, in 1942. The family stayed put during the increased violence against settlers in Balochistan in recent history. But what happened now goes beyond his understanding: “Whether it is an attack on Hazaras or Baloch or a Pashtun or a Punjabi like me, the FC cannot control it. Their posting is just a formality.” Sitting in the middle of the room, Sajeela’s grandfather, a man with drooping shoulders, is pleased at being interviewed by a girl his granddaughter’s age. He repeatedly inquires whether we have had enough to eat or drink, and Seema reassures him that we have already eaten. He calls for juice anyway, lecturing everyone for not taking care of his “daughters.” Smiling, he hands me a Rs.20 note and asks me to buy something for myself. He puts his hand over my head, saying, “I’m so happy to see you. You remind me of my angel…” and cries. – By Saher Baloch /Dawn
Posted on: Fri, 13 Sep 2013 06:52:31 +0000
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