Tuesday, April 23, 2019
There are all kinds of rumors about me.
I was told that a video on YouTube claimed that I teach at a school in Sohrab Goth, Karachi. I am not an educated woman and I have never been to Karachi. In fact, I have been living in this house with my in-laws since I got married. Where else would I go?
Naqeebullah had only been in Karachi four months before he was killed. He was still finding his feet there, so he would often sleep at his uncle's house or at a friend's. He had a lot of friends, you see, from the odd work he would do at construction sites.
You must have seen Naqebullah's pictures. He enjoyed getting dressed and taking his own pictures. I would often tease him about how long he took to get ready. I would tell him even brides don't take this long. But he had a lot of followers, or something like that. He would often tell me about them. It would upset me that some of these followers were women.
Naqeebullah wasn't just my husband and caretaker, he was my friend. My best friend. They say such people, such good-hearted people, don't live long. Maybe they are right.
I was happy with him. So, I took take care of his things and of him, in whatever ways I could. For which, he would often praise me in front of his friends.
When he moved to Karachi, he didn't forget me. We would talk every day, and every day he would tell me that he would be home soon. And if I was visiting my parents' house in DI Khan, he would say that when he comes back, we will together go to South Waziristan.
His dream, although he had many, was to open a shop to sell clothes in Karachi. He told me he wanted to rent a shop and dye the clothes himself. Once his business took off, he promised to shift me and the children to the city too.
The last time I spoke to him, he asked for a video of his son. Our son had just started walking on his own, without any support, and Naqeebullah wasn't there to see it. I promised to send one soon. Throughout the conversation, I could sense that he was disturbed. Before shutting the phone, he said that he doesn't know what is happening to him. He can't bring himself to come back home.
Those were his last words to me.
He didn't call after that. He never came to DI Khan or South Waziristan. I was angry, to tell you the truth. But I didn't know at that time that Rao Anwar had taken him away from me.
*As narrated to Razia Mahsood, the first female citizen journalist in South Waziristan.