SCHOOLING UNDER SIEGE
As Pakistan totters on the edge, its childrens education that has taken the worst hit. Shahrezad Samiuddin describes life under the shadow of bombs post the Islamic University blasts and subsequent threats to schools
Its been three weeks since Islamabad housewife Samira Akmals , 36, three children Maryam 9, Daniyal, 7 and Mustafa, 3, last went to school. Students of a prestigious school located in the Diplomatic Enclave in Islamabad, the kids are just three of thousands of children who are at home while their schools up security arrangements or just wait out the situation, as fear of terrorist attacks grip Pakistani cities. S
chools around the country closed down soon after blasts on October 20 at the Islamic University campus in Islamabad , amidst reports that they were a prime target for extremist militants.
For Samira, the blast at the Islamic University brought home the magnitude of the war hotting up in Pakistans tribal areas. Islamabad has seen many attacks, but the university blast was of special concern because my sister-in-law studies there. The 15 minutes between the time when the news broke till the time she called us, felt like an endless living hell, she says.
While government schools opened shortly after the blast, many private schools remain shut. And those that opened saw thin attendance .
Not taking any chances, some schools have even announced that they are shut till Eid al-Azha , near the end of November.
Living in fear
In fact, many schools these days resemble fortresses. There are armed guards standing near the gates. The walls have become higher by a few feet. Sharp new barbed wires gleam on top. At Bayview Academy snipers stand alert on rooftops behind sandbags while children play below in the playground. CCTV has been installed and armed guards man the school 24/7.
Traffic rules too have changed to accommodate security fears. Senior school students now arrive at different times from junior schools because they dont want a traffic congestion which can be a security hazard. The first few days after the scare in some schools the heads were seen talking to parents and making sure everything was okay. Moreover, you cannot just walk into a school anymore they have a register at the front gate.
Parents, meanwhile, are getting paranoid and do everything to stay connected.
For instance Karachi Grammar School (a very prestigious institution) called the parents for a meeting on the security situation and then took a vote about whether to keep the school open or close it. Later in the day they informed everyone through their website that the school was closed.
At Bayview Academy, a few parents got together and made a list of security measures to be taken. At one school, parents decided to man the gate when children arrived and left, not leaving it to the school chowkidaar.
No socialising
Despite the extreme measures, most parents are worried about the impact this will have on their children who talk about bombs as if they were firecrackers . Even getting to school is quite scary. Cars are being checked all over Islamabad but who knows whats going to come and hit you from behind wonders Samira.
Meanwhile, socialising and simple joys of life have also come to a standstill . Samira has stopped taking her children out altogether. We do takeaway or get delivery instead. At the most, we go to the local market to quickly grab chips and a soft drink and come home, she says.
Even Ali Rizvi, 45, father of three in Karachi, who is relatively far away from the war says the seriousness of the situation hit home when he drove his children to school when it reopened and saw snipers, sandbags and guards. Inside the building the school had installed CCTV and were looking to get wireless sets because what is the point of CCTV without wireless.
Later that evening Ali attended a meeting of concerned parents hastily arranged at one of their homes.
One parent had links with the Intelligence and spoke of the very real threat facing our schools including hostage-like situations.
It made me shudder. Under pressure from parents the school shut for another 10 days to train staff to deal with emergencies and in first-aid , to blast-proof windows, and to put up barriers. Ali plans on sending his children to school when it opens but adds that he will be very worried.
Rizwan Shakoor, 33, a Karachi-based ad agency owner, which has so far avoided the action has also stopped taking his son out on weekends. Saim has been begging me to take him to his favourite play area at Park Towers (a popular Karachi mall). But a neighbour told me his family now takes out the cars from the driveway and tells the children to ride bicycles there instead of going out. Ever since were also staying home. But how do you explain to a four-year old why you cant take him out
Mirror to life
In schools, talks, discussions and even assignments reflect the current turbulent situation. Samira recalls one of the homework assignments of her children was to write an essay on What to do if there is an emergency situation at school, another was on How you should support your country in these troubled times.
{"These troubled times" as if 62 years were calm and prosperous?}
She believes any effort to protect children from whats happening around them is pointless. Daniyal had to use the word savage in a sentence and he came up with The Taliban are savage people, on his own. I have stopped watching TV altogether but Maryam watches news of all blasts and gives me updates. I feel guilty about bringing them up in a world that is so insecure, she says.
{Mohtarma is "guilty" about raising kids in such sunna and halaal environment? She is truly Ahle Kitaab }
Alis children are relatively less affected by the wave of fear but when asked why they were at home, 10-year-old Amna replied, Because the Taliban are blowing up things everywhere, and we dont know what theyll blow up next. When asked who they thought the Taliban were, her younger sister Savera, 5, piped up, They are bad people who destroy countries.
This mistrust of others, living on the edge has now become a part and parcel of life in Pakistan.