Courage to Say No

by Raana Mahmood

  I prepared for the holiday carefully. I bought him a new set of white silk kurta pajamas for the prayers.

  Taimoor attended the mosque with my father and brothers. My brother Rafhan later related to me something that made my heart sing.

  After prayers that day, one of our neighbors asked my father, “Ch. Sahib, who is this young prince? I have never seen him before.”

  My father turned to Taimoor, beaming. “He is my grandson. My daughter’s son.” Taimoor looked so handsome in his white silk outfit, tall and athletic, with a full head of black hair neatly combed. He carried himself like a cadet. My son stood a bit taller after his well-respected grandfather acknowledged him.

  Later that evening at the Eid reception, we were all gathered—neighbors, friends, and extended family—to eat a communal meal. My father arrived late, and everyone had already begun eating. He sat beside us and glanced over at Taimoor, who sat in front of a full plate of food.

  “Taimoor, you aren’t eating tonight?”

  “I’m waiting for you, grandfather. How can I start without you?”

  My father looked very pleased. I had not seen him glow like that since my mother died. He was delighted.

  After the meal, he turned to my son and said loud enough for all of us to hear: “Taimoor, you don’t have to return to Patero. You can continue your schooling here in Karachi.”

  Taimoor had found a way into his heart, and I couldn’t be happier.

  To spread the news of the Geriatric Care Foundation, I arranged a press conference in the Karachi Press Club. I sent out invitations to journalists and interested parties. I announced that I was starting an NGO to provide healthcare for the elderly, to look after their medical care, and to help them obtain government benefits. The press meeting was well attended, and I presented my plans to meet the needs of a growing population.

  As soon as I opened the doors, seniors began arriving at my clinic. Many of them attended the day care center, which provided books, indoor games, information about illnesses, and information on how to obtain services for their various health issues. As more clients arrived at the doors of the clinic and day care center, I began to understand the depth and variety of the needs, and the stigma of the myths surrounding aging, particularly for anyone over fifty, and especially for widows and divorcees. Once they turned fifty, these women were considered too old to have productive lives or remarry. Their family, including their own children, expected them to sit in the corner of the house, quietly waiting for death.

  I began to meet seniors from every walk of life. I met the poor, the working class, those from middle-class families and many of the elite. Some were too embarrassed to discuss their needs in person, so they called me. Many of these elderly women were expected to simply accept their situation and live their lives in meaningless boredom, stuck in a relative’s home, waiting for death. It was such a waste of potential when they could live full, productive lives.

  One of my observations was that the elderly were more likely to die from flu and pneumonia, so I set up a health program of inoculations, exercise, and a simple diet that would boost their immune systems. I spent my free time researching geriatrics in the Agha Khan Library. From there I began writing articles and submitting them to the local newspapers.

  My first published article was about the fall risk of the elderly and its prevention. Fractures and injuries from falling and accidents were a major reason that the aged lose their independence. At the Naway e Waqat newspaper I met a reporter, Miss Fasih, who gladly published my work. Based on the successes of my first few articles, I was soon asked to contribute a regular column for Ummat, a large Karachi paper. I wrote a question-and-answer column for seniors. The topics were wide-ranging, covering health, social, and financial issues. My articles began appearing in both Urdu and English newspapers and magazines.

  With the news of the Geriatric Care Foundation spreading, I needed more funding to provide services for the increased patient load. I began meeting with pharmaceutical companies executives, government-funding agencies, and other NGO executives. In the office of one such executive, I was also ushered into the office of the CEO. He was tall, handsome, and smartly dressed, and surrounded by bodyguards who were stationed in his office. He waved them away, and we were left alone. He invited me to sit. He began by saying his secretary had briefed him on my struggle at Sui Gas, and he admired my courage. After a few minutes, he got down to business. He made a proposal of marriage. While that may seem abrupt by Western standards, in Pakistan men often do this. They know what they want, and what do they have to lose? If I accepted, he offered to arrange a house apart from his current wife, and make provisions for Taimoor to be educated abroad. For the first time, I began to think this might be the best for me, to be under the protection of such an accomplished and handsome man. But I doubted there was much between us except for a mutual and immediate attraction. While I considered, the failure of my two marriages lurked in the back of my mind. What if Furqan had been correct all along, and the powerful magic he had performed on me had doomed my relationships? What if my happiness was being manipulated by a mysterious power beyond my control? This man wanted my answer. At that moment all that occurred to me was to say, “No, thank you.”

  Later, I wondered if I had made the wrong decision. I had read about him, and I knew of his reputation. He was a strong and influential man.

  My proposal to his organization to collaborate never went anywhere after that, but unlike many of the other men who had made a spontaneous marriage proposal, he never bothered me again.

  Radio Pakistan approached me to create a weekly, hour-long program to address the concerns of the elderly. Over the six months of my contract, the program became very successful. I discussed health, social, and financial issues, and gave advice to seniors who called in. I specifically advised then to save money for their old age and for rainy days. And to protect themselves from cheaters and fraudsters. Many seniors wrote and called to tell me their stories—of isolation, of living by themselves apart from their families, and of the lack of services for their chronic diseases. When my contract with that station expired, I moved my program to two local radio stations, FM 101 and FM 100, and to ARY Digital TV, where I presented the program, “My advice for your health,” became very popular. I was invited to appear on many programs, particularly political talk shows, which I often refused. After many invitations, I finally agreed to appear on a political talk show. I was asked what I thought of MQM leader, Altaf Hussain. Remembering my experiences working near their headquarters, the violence I witnessed, and the personal harassment and death threats from their followers, I said, “He is responsible for thousands of deaths.”

  The host, Agha Masood, immediately went to a break and turned to me. “Dr. Raana, don’t say that. Just say he is a nice person and a great leader.”

  “I will not say that. Why can’t we speak the truth in this country? Wrong is wrong.” I had witnessed the terror the movement’s followers had perpetuated firsthand.

  “If you talk like that on the air, they will kidnap you, or worse.”

  “I’m not afraid of them.”

  We finished the interview without bringing up the MQM or their leader. I had no idea how my brief comment on TV would come back to haunt me.

  I spent the next year traveling and meeting influential people who could help me promote and fund my work. I knew there were many resources out there, and I began to research experts in the field of geriatrics. I began corresponding with Dr. Larry Gell, director of an international agency for economic development in New York City. He had organized a conference on aging in Iran, and once I explained to him about the work I’d undertaken, he proposed I host a similar meeting in Pakistan. He was impressed with my pioneering work.

  In my mind, the most significant resource of aid and recognition was the United Nations in New York. Since my childhood, after listening to my mother speak highly of the United Nations, I wanted to visit. My wish came true, when
the next year—2002—I traveled to New York with Taimoor. My purpose was to register my NGO with the United Nations, but also to network with program leaders who were also providing geriatric services. I wanted to learn what different countries were doing to address the needs of the elderly and bring the best practices back to Pakistan.

  Before I left Pakistan, I had researched how the UN operated, and I found I needed to speak to with Ms. Hanifa Mezoui. She headed up all the NGO registrations in the United Nations. I called ahead and was able to book an appointment with her. I had a strict budget for the trip, so Taimoor and I stayed at the YMCA in Brooklyn.

  The day of my meeting, I strode down 46th Street, and the sight of the iconic United Nations building next to the river thrilled me. I had dreamed of making this trip as a child, and now I was here. I found the reception center and called up the receptionist to let her know I was here for my appointment. After waiting briefly, I was escorted to Ms. Hanifa Mazoui’s office. We had a wonderfully productive meeting. I explained the ongoing work of GCF in Pakistan, and that we were the only organization in the country working exclusively with seniors. When I described the extent of the problems, and how hard it was to meet all of these needs, I could tell she understood. She explained that her department was inundated with requests from NGOs from all over the world, and that it typically took many years to complete the process. But in my case, she would see to it that GCF’s registration was completed within a year. She was equally impressed I had made a special trip to see her. It was a very productive meeting.

  While I was in New York, I wanted to make the most of my time, so I also went to see Valerie Levy from the New York State Department of Aging. I wanted to take advantage of her expertise and learn how the elderly were cared for in the United States. My meeting with her also went well. I set up several other meetings: with Helen Hamlin of International Federation of Aging; Nora O’Brien and other senior doctors from the Research Institute for Aging, and Beth K. Lamont from The Humanist Society. All my meetings were productive and informative. I visited a few senior housing projects, including Fordham House for Seniors.

  I also met Professor Nizam Uddin, Chief of the Aging Program at the UN. He was surprised that I had come to New York alone. September 11th was still fresh in everyone’s mind. Many people from Pakistan were too fearful to come to America. I took advantage of our meeting and made a presentation of the work for GCF I was spearheading. When he saw the brochures and newsletter, he was amazed. He appreciated my efforts, and he invited me to a conference for the elderly commencing that week. At the conference, I gave a presentation on my work. This was an exciting opportunity, and I was honored to be asked to participate.

  Upon returning to Pakistan, I visited Islamabad and called on the Ministry of Women’s Development and Special Education, where I met Mrs. Agha, the secretary of that ministry. After I explained my mission and trip to New York, she invited me to become an executive member of the Committee on Aging. The committee met every few months, and she would make certain I had an invitation to attend the next meeting.

  Before leaving Islamabad, I went to the office of the European Union. I met with the chief of their funding department, Rashid Khan. He liked my project. He understood the real need and thought I was doing good work. He said he would come to Karachi soon, and he would meet with me again.

  True to his word, we met again in Karachi, but the meeting wasn’t what I was expecting. He was pleasant, but bold. He made it clear that he wouldn’t help me unless I gave him sexual favors. When he saw I was quiet, he repeated, “We only provide funding to those women who give us sexual favors.”

  For him to admit his corruption so openly, as if it were an ordinary transaction between us, shocked me. I even didn’t pick up my presentation materials from the table as I abruptly stood up.

  “Please continue to give funding to those women who will sleep with you. I don’t need your funding.” I stared at him indignantly.

  He looked shocked, as if he was not used to being turned down. “This feels like you just kicked my ass,” he said to me, possibly expecting me to feel bad for what I’d said.

  “I hope for the rest of your life you feel I have kicked your ass.” I turned and strode out the door. I never spoke or heard from him again.

  The meeting reaffirmed for me what women must endure in my country to simply conduct everyday business. Men somehow think that this kind of appalling behavior is normal. In my heart, I will never believe trading sex with a man so he will perform a job he is paid to do is normal.

  CHAPTER 17

  Meeting an Old Acquaintance

  IN WESTERN COUNTRIES, WHEN CULTURAL or social problems arise, they are usually addressed openly. Once an issue is identified as vital to a significant sector of the population, planning and research is implemented to find solutions to the pressing needs of the population. This happened in the West with the AIDS crisis. There are so many additional examples. In developing nations, such as Pakistan, officials tend to deny that such issues exist until the problems spin out of control and threaten to destroy civil society. Only then does the government take action. This was the situation in Pakistan regarding geriatric issues. The elderly had become the forgotten, the neglected, the quiet ones who had no voice in a society gripped by political and economic corruption, sectarianism, extremism, and violence. Who had time or interest in caring for the most vulnerable in our country?

  That was the case when I established my Day Care Center for the elderly and Geriatric Clinic. The press, the government, and powerful sources who could influence change in Pakistan denied there was a problem with the way the elderly were treated. When I began my program, as popular as my media programs were with the elderly, I heard from many detractors, who denied that the elderly were being neglected. But when I met with the elderly and heard their stories, and began relating their stories on the radio and TV programs, I noticed a change in many attitudes. The press picked up on the issue, and human interest stories were being published. Awareness produced changes.

  One TV station broadcast a documentary on the daily lives of the neglected elderly citizens. The UN established October 1 as the International Day of the Elderly. Walks, seminars, and programs were created to raise awareness of the issue. It was an overwhelming response to my continuous efforts and dedication. Within a few years, the government began taking the issue seriously.

  I believe during this time, one of my most effective achievements was increasing the awareness of the necessity of flu and pneumonia shots, of daily exercise, and a renewed culture of respect for the elderly as a whole. I began seeing forty to sixty clients a day in the Geriatric Clinic. The need was overwhelming, and I needed greater resources to operate.

  Professor Frederick Fenech from Malta contacted me. He had read about my work and invited me to the International Conference on Aging in Malta, which he had organized. It was a great honor to receive that invitation, but I had minimal funds for travel. What funds I did have, I needed to operate the clinic. It was still an incredible honor to be invited.

  At a local conference in Karachi, I met a government minister, Aftab Sheikh from MQM, a political party that had shared power in Karachi. After my speech, he told me that he appreciated my approach to addressing geriatric issues. He was elderly himself and said I could come to him any time if I needed anything. I immediately thought of the Malta conference. I told him that I needed airfare and expenses. He told me to bring him a letter from the Social Welfare Ministry, and he would help me fund the trip. I took an application to Dr. Saeeda Malik in the Ministry of Social Welfare, and she immediately signed it. Then Mr. Sheikh signed it, but then he laughed. “You are only asking for 48 thousand rupees [about USD $500],” he said slowly. “You should have asked for a few crores [one crore about USD $70,000], and we would divide it between us.”

  I was shocked at his suggestion, and I shouted, “No!”

  “Dr. Raana, I was just joking, but this amount is so little. It won’t cove
r all your expenses. What will you eat? How will you do any shopping?”

  “Sir, this is all I need for travel. But when I return, I will come to you for more funding for some important projects.”

  He smiled and agreed. Since the conference was set to take place soon, he suggested I use my own funds to travel, and seek reimbursement when I return. This was because it usually took a few weeks to process a request through the finance department.

  I arrived in Malta, and the arrangements went smoothly. On the first day of the conference, Dr. Fenech visited each of the delegations, and then gave a welcome speech. Malta was one of the first countries to recognize early on the problems of the aged. Their work resulted in the International Institute of Aging by the UN. I learned about the international efforts to address the common issues of the elderly. It was an exciting and inspiring time, and overall, it was a wonderful experience.

  Upon my return, I went to the finance department three times to be reimbursed. Every time I was told that the secretary of finance, Fazal-ur-Rehman, was busy. On my fourth visit, I was told to wait. After an hour, I protested. I could hear the secretary in his office laughing and talking. I peeked in the door. He was with a group of men, drinking tea and eating cake. When his friends began to say goodbye, his assistant announced the secretary was leaving, and I needed to return another day.

  I wasn’t returning. I brushed past the startled man and confronted the secretary with my signed expense report.

  He took the paper, scanned it briefly, and shoved it back to me, rudely. “Pakistan’s treasury is empty. We can’t give you this amount.”

  I thought of Mr. Sheikh laughing at me for asking for such a small amount. All the other participants had extra money that had been provided by their government and allowed them to shop and eat expensive meals, activities I couldn’t afford. I was enraged. “Corrupt political leaders and bureaucrats like you are responsible for emptying the treasury. I was told I would be reimbursed for this small amount, and you drink tea and eat cake and have nothing to pay me.”