Dear Pakistan

by Rosanne Hawke

  We both fell silent. How on earth would he ever find a job here? I tried to sound encouraging. ‘Could he teach that at university here?’

  She shook her head. ‘We were told he must do another course of study here to get a teaching degree. But,’ and then she gave a heavy sigh, ‘it would be too difficult with the children.’

  I stared at her without anything to say. Dad would say ‘another brilliant guy driving a taxi because his expertise wasn’t recognised.’

  She was speaking again. ‘Cousins of ours own a fish and chip business. We will help them for a while.’

  Just then a voice from the loud speaker began leading the prayers in ancient Arabic. The beautiful chants echoed across the courtyard as hundreds of believers stood, knelt and prostrated themselves in unison, their lips moving in devotion to a great and merciful God. I guess such a mass of people bowing was an impressive sight and would move the hearts of those who had an empty shape in their souls, but I wondered what it truly meant to those who were there.

  When I had told Mr Bolden I was going to the mosque with Yasmeen, he’d looked bothered, as if I might not be sure who I was again. But I told him not to worry, that I was just showing friendship to Yasmeen.

  The sermon began and the women who’d covered their heads for the prayers pulled off their scarves and rearranged them about their necks. I copied them. Rosina sat resolute throughout, her face saying louder than words what she was thinking. Then I did hear her murmuring under her breath. It sounded a lot like, ‘This is such crap.’

  I was genuinely shocked and hoped I’d misheard. For after all, this religion was extremely important to her family and if anyone said something like that in Pakistan, there could be a terrible punishment. People were jailed there for blasphemy, many on death row.

  She turned to me then. I almost drew back at the force with which she moved. ‘Why are you here? You don’t have to listen to this.’

  How could I explain that it didn’t touch me other than having respect for someone else’s beliefs?

  She misunderstood my silence. ‘Are you becoming Muslim?’ She almost spat it out and it made me think of Debra.

  Rosina was serious for once so I answered her in kind. ‘Islam means everything to people like Yasmeen but I’d rather have a relationship with God without having to keep a heap of rules. I like being loved for who I am, whether I deserve it or not.’

  She looked surprised, as though she’d expected me to be jumping thoughtlessly onto the Eastern bandwagon. But I’d learnt that although there were many religions, each person believed only theirs to be true.

  Suddenly Yasmeen was there in front of me and I was being introduced to other Pakistani girls as her friend. It felt like a capital ‘F’ was in order; she seemed so proud of me. Ali’s mum was trying to introduce me to her cousins as well. I’d never be able to remember all the names.

  ‘Come now.’ Yasmeen guided me through the crowd. It was worse than the airport when we arrived in January. I could hardly manoeuvre past the joking and excited men without brushing against them, as Yasmeen pulled me by my hand. Children were running about, almost pushing between people’s legs to get through. Rosina was behind me; I lost Yasmeen’s grip. Then I saw Shehzad.

  ‘Hi, again.’ His accent sounded weird in a mosque. He managed to make a small passageway for us to make it out the front gate in one piece.

  ‘Talk about wall-to-wall people.’

  ‘Like the bazaar in Lahore the day before Eid,’ Shehzad added. He was right.

  ‘The picnic will not be so crowded—just our friends that were at Fozia’s birthday party.’ Yasmeen gave me a reassuring smile.

  I had to grin. ‘Just our friends’ could mean thirty families and a whole heap of kids!

  20

  With interest I watched the food appearing on the folding tables: curries, chicken, rice dishes, flat bread, Coke and modern vacuum flasks filled with milky, sweet tea. As Yasmeen’s guest I didn’t need to bring food, but I couldn’t help wondering if her polite insistence not to bring any was tied with ensuring the meat was halal, properly slaughtered in the name of God. All Yasmeen’s friends bought their meat from the mosque or from Muslim butchers.

  It took so long for everyone to arrive. Elly would have complained of food deprivation by 3 p.m, but even she would have been impressed by the speed with which the food was transferred onto everyone’s plates. A late start meant a quick eat, it seemed. I kept thinking of Elly because she liked the simple things in life, but after what happened next I was glad she wasn’t there.

  I was on my second piece of tandoori chicken when I first noticed the young guys lounging at a picnic table some distance away. One seemed to be looking my way and it made me feel the way I had at the beginning of the year, as if there was a crow on my shoulder. His hair had been shaved and his bulging black T-shirt and leather vest made him look like a criminal. Some of his mates were talking loudly enough for their words to be heard, about dirty boat people taking over the country.

  I hoped no one had heard but I forgot about Yasmeen; she was never far from me. ‘It is all right,’ she said gently. ‘Do not be angry. We are used to it.’

  ‘But it’s so rude. If only they knew what you all were like.’

  ‘It would not make any difference. Ignore them.’

  I stared at the calm acceptance evident in her face and wondered if Shehzad or the other young men would react the same if they’d heard those words.

  Just then one of the male cousins called to Yasmeen. ‘We are playing soccer. Come and watch.’ Just like guys anywhere; they all like to have the girls watch them. Yasmeen beckoned to Rosina and we followed the boys away from the picnic area and swings to an open part of the park.

  By the way Rosina’s foot kept jerking whenever the guys kicked the ball, I could tell she wanted to play. She wasn’t the only one. We both moved in closer, waiting our chance. We didn’t have long to wait; the ball came rolling towards us. Rosina was there before me and kicked it back to one of the guys, Amir, Shehzad’s friend. The look on his face was priceless as he lost concentration so that Shehzad took control of the ball. None of the adults were close by and I didn’t wait to see what Yasmeen would say; I just followed Rosina further into the game.

  I was glad the boys let us keep playing. We were all much the same age so how could it matter? Suddenly, the ball was heading straight towards me. I got ready to mark it as I’d seen footballers do on TV but it was too high. Yasmeen was shouting, but I swung round to chase it up and stopped dead, paralysed by waves of fear that dumped on me. The ball bounced off a table. Bottles and cans flew as it rolled along the grass to land in front of the black-clad guys.

  One of them picked up the ball as they all walked purposely towards us. Maybe there were only three or four of them but it seemed like more. It is true: fear does come in waves, one after the other and I was drowning in it. Yasmeen was pulling me, but I couldn’t move. Rosina looked belligerent and either wouldn’t move, or like me, couldn’t.

  I know some men like their beer but I suddenly thought how ridiculous they were, being so upset about a stray football. I still didn’t know how much more than spilt beer was at stake. I soon found out.

  ‘So you’re a terrorist-lover. Next thing they’ll be bombing the park.’ The owner of the voice was strolling closer to me like a hunter stalking a fox. I didn’t like the way he was staring. He hadn’t shaved for ages and his eyes made him look as if he was already undoing my buttons. That thought made me take a step backwards.

  ‘Which one of these smelly wogs are you having it off with?’ At this he slapped the hand of the guy next to him and they both practically fell on the ground laughing. Those guys calling the Rasheeds and their friends names was so ludicrous that I found my tongue at last.

  ‘They’re not terrorists! Can’t you hear what you sound like? You’re just picking on them because they
’re different from you.’ Besides, they were the terrorists and I wished I had the nerve to say that too.

  ‘Picking on them, are we?’ The speaker turned to his mates. I didn’t like the look of his grin. ‘We want an apology, see, for losing us all our beer.’

  I didn’t mind apologising for a mistake. I started to, hoping that would be the end of it. ‘Of course, we’re—’ I didn’t get any further for Rosina cut in with ‘not sorry’.

  ‘Hey?’

  ‘Are you thick? We’re not sorry about your stupid beer. It was an accident.’

  They must have been so surprised by Rosina’s Australian accent that it floored them for a second, but it didn’t end there. Apparently they didn’t like the word ‘thick’.

  It all happened quickly then. One grabbed me—I was the terrorist-lover. Another held Rosina as she tried to kick and squirm out of his grip. I heard the material of my shirt rip just as we were both knocked to the ground. I rolled clear in time to see Shehzad on top of the shaved-head guy, practically bashing his face in. Pakistani guys mature early and even though Shehzad was only seventeen, he was just as big as his opponent. Amir, though younger, was trying to deal with the one that had hold of Rosina, except she was doing a fair job of it herself.

  I shouldn’t have relaxed. One of the guys who hadn’t said anything before suddenly took hold of me and started to shake me. Then he slapped me, all the while saying stuff about teaching me a lesson, that I shouldn’t be a wog-lover; they come illegally and take all our jobs. If he didn’t have a job, it wasn’t hard to work out why. I would have liked to tell him what I really thought of him but I was dizzy and could taste blood in my mouth. I had no fight left.

  That was when Shehzad pulled him off and belted him across the mouth. Guys brought up like Shehzad are fed so much stuff about the honour of women. I’d often wondered where he had stood in his family’s beliefs; I was seeing it now. I was Yasmeen’s friend, which gave me the status of sister, and I’d known of guys in Pakistan who’d kill to save their sisters. I couldn’t see Yasmeen and hoped she’d gone for her father. I had to stay, even though I couldn’t help and hated to watch.

  All the black-clad guys were onto Shehzad and Amir then and it was obvious the younger guys wouldn’t be able to hold them off. Besides, the numbers weren’t fair. I was sobbing as one of them held Shehzad while another punched him again and again in the head, in the stomach. How could anyone stand so much punishment? Amir was still fighting, but it was in slow motion, as if the thugs knew they’d won and were going to enjoy the game a little longer.

  I heard the shouts before Dr Rasheed and the other men arrived to pull the guys off Shehzad. The guy fighting with Amir had already slunk away and Amir was feeling his body gingerly, checking if he was in one piece. Shehzad wasn’t even moving. Blood covered his shirt, and his face was hardly recognisable. He lay on the ground, not even groaning, as his father expertly felt over his body for injuries.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ I was openly crying and felt so responsible. If Rosina and I weren’t there, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. Yasmeen had returned and she hugged me tight.

  Amir must have heard what I said for he gave me a wry grin. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Jameela. They were only using you to make us fight. It would have happened even if you and Rosina weren’t here.’ He still sounded jaunty through his tiredness and I wondered if it had occured before. I shuddered; I certainly never wanted to go through that again. Soon it was my turn to be inspected by Yasmeen’s father. His prognosis included a black eye and bruising but I’d heal.

  ‘Will Shehzad be all right?’ I was almost too scared to ask for fear of what I’d be told.

  ‘We will take him to hospital now.’ His father’s voice was tight. ‘There may be internal bleeding. Be careful,’ he said suddenly as some of the men lifted Shehzad.

  n

  Dad picked me up from the Rasheeds’ place. He kept looking at me in the same way Mr Bolden used to in first term. The shock had started to set in by the time we got home and I was a shivering mess. Mum got out the ice pack and extra blankets, saying I had a black eye as good as Andrew’s when his sneakers were taken. She was trying to cheer me up. I wished they didn’t try so hard. I was fine, really.

  Mum sat with me until I felt like talking. Looking back on it, the worst part was watching Shehzad getting beaten just because he was different. Mum kept saying not everyone was like that and I knew it too, but it still made me feel terrified as though nowhere was safe. It made me want to go back to Pakistan on the next flight.

  I heard them talking later when they thought I was asleep.

  Who could sleep!

  ‘She was doing so well, too. Now this will set her back worse than before.’

  They made it sound as if I’d been a real problem. Had I? Their voices became muffled then, but the worried tones couldn’t be disguised. That was when I made up my mind. However long it took me to get over this I wouldn’t let it beat me. Why let those guys win? Danny had told me, hadn’t he? It was what was inside me that counted. It was how I reacted to things that determined the effect they’d have on me. I could choose to let it grind me into dust and wallow in self-pity or rise above it and soar like an eagle in a storm.

  21

  It seemed to take weeks before Shehzad came out of hospital. Whenever Yasmeen visited him on the weekends, I went too, for I didn’t think he or his family would understand if I went by myself. I was beginning to see that although Shehzad wore the best label jeans and sounded more Australian than Danny, he still had a Pakistani way of looking at things when it came to the crunch.

  The first time he opened his eyes and smiled at me I got teary with relief. By then I knew it wasn’t my fault that Shehzad was beaten up but I was scared he might think so.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ was all I could whisper that first time. There was so much I didn’t say—sorry, not just for my being there, but for his getting half killed and for what? Because he was dark-skinned, good looking and intelligent? That he would do better in this country than those guys who beat him and they knew it? Or was it just senseless animal instinct of culling out the different ones in the herd?

  When I looked at Shehzad’s bruises and bandaged stomach, I felt ashamed I was Australian until I remembered I’d seen it happen in Pakistan as well. I sighed. At least our police were trying to stop it.

  I said it again in case he hadn’t heard. ‘Shehzad, I’m so sorry.’ He smiled again, slowly, as if his face hurt when he moved it. I felt more encouraged. His eyes were very much alive and he used them in the way Danny would have used his arms. I grinned back, wishing I could touch his hand, but I didn’t dare.

  ‘It’s cool, Jameela. Don’t worry. They were off their faces.’

  Shehzad’s seemingly easy dismissal of it astounded me. I didn’t remember thinking the thugs were so drunk, or was Shehzad just trying to make me feel better?

  As I left that day, I found I couldn’t deal with the whole thing as quickly or as easily as the Rasheeds’ tight-lipped acceptance. For weeks I’d wake suddenly in the early hours, not able to cope with the dream I’d been having, usually of Shehzad, or Rosina and me getting killed.

  The dreams gradually subsided, as did the feelings of anger that the thugs seemed to have gotten away with it. I never found out if they were caught or if the Rasheeds had even pressed charges. I told my friends at school about it so they wouldn’t keep annoying me with inquiries about my bruises, and Mr Bolden treated me as if I were one of those kids with a blood disorder. He even let me off the report on the mosque.

  n

  By the day of the Year 12 dinner I was more myself again. Blake found me in the library putting the final touches to my speech. ‘How ya going?’

  I grinned. I was becoming more comfortable with him. He’d been so helpful to me and I found sun-drenched blond wasn’t as off-putting as I first thought.


  ‘Not nervous, are you?’

  ‘A bit.’ Actually I was panic-stricken but who’d admit to that? I’d had a hard time working out what to say to school leavers about the workforce, getting a job, going to university. Blake said I could talk about whatever I wanted, but I needed a straightforward topic to keep my nerves in straight lines. Dad had helped me, but I couldn’t understand why they didn’t get a teacher to do the speech. As it happened, I needn’t have spent so much time on all that research. It all came out differently from what I’d planned.

  Contrary to the impression I gave the girls, I did worry about what to wear. I couldn’t see myself in one of those low cut or strapless gowns that most of them were wearing. I still found it hard to show that much flesh in public, yet I wanted to look elegant and Western too. Nothing in the shops turned me on so I finally resorted to designing an outfit myself. Yasmeen made it up for me. She could sew a dress just from seeing a picture of it. That never ceased to amaze me.

  If she was shocked about the short sleeves, she never said. She just seemed pleased that I’d created an outfit so totally me. When Mrs Rasheed saw the blue silk Western-looking harem pants she smiled. The smile faded abruptly when she saw the flimsy, five-gored dress that went with them but Yasmeen understood. She’d been to school and knew what it was like to try to fit in.

  The Abbey restaurant had heritage decor with dim lights, and if I wasn’t about to give a speech, I would have truly appreciated it. A band was playing on a raised platform in one corner and I was still wondering if there’d be dancing when Sara found a place for us to sit at a table with some of our Year 11 friends. Danny and Vasa were sitting on the opposite side and Danny gave me one of his special grins as I sat down. Vasa apparently didn’t mind his friendship with me. Besides, she looked too self-assured to bother about what other girls thought of her boyfriend. If she was what he used to call ‘old worldish’, she certainly wasn’t mindless, as he’d made Greek girls out to be that night in our kitchen ten months ago.