To Sir… with LOVE

What can I say? Where do I begin? These words have been lost inside me for so long, bouncing within the walls of my soul. Eight months.Long months that went by so quickly. I don’t even know how to string any one of these to complete a whole sentance. I don’t know what these words are. Does anybody? They are laments, and painful tears. They are fond memories. They are childhood visions that are so vivid in my mind. These words began speaking to me slowly on that fateful night. That awful, heart-wrenching, tragic night when we lost you…

 

I got a call from my brother, telling me that my granny phoned and he couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. My uncle had met in an accident on their way back from Durban. What? I asked him, swallowing the lump that had built in my throat the moment he said my granny called him. She tried to call me, but I was in the bathroom. With a racing heart and sweaty palms, I phoned her back. Till this day her voice over the phone haunts me. The urgency with which she willed this dreadful news not to be still claws at my heart and I wish I could make it go away. Even now, after all these months, my arms get goosebumps and my hearts thumps so hard I’m afraid of it bursting out of my chest. She was hysterical. She received a call that my uncle and his family had met in accident on their way home from Durban. She didn’t know if it was true. She didn’t know who to call to find out any news. She was alone. She was afraid. This was her baby boy. My aunty was in Durban, and my own parents were with my unlce’s youngest daughter in Mozambique.

Who do I call? The first person I always call is my mother. But she was across the border and I couldn’t get through. I tried to calm her down. To assure her that everything was going to be okay. But it wasn’t. It would never be the same. I willed myself to be strong for her. My husband made a few calls. I called my Foi. We comforted each other with a sense of hope that everything would be fine. I called my granny back to make sure she was fine. I told her I was on my way to Azaadville. I ran around my house trying to gather children and pack clothes and bottles and socks. I packed socks because Azaadville always got cold at night. I stuffed them into gowns and wrapped them in blankets, and I ran downstairs with a handful of clothes falling all over the place. I ran back upstairs as my husband loaded the sleeping children into the car. I grabbed a bag and stuffed the clothes in. I grabbed another bag and stuffed more things in, I can’t even remember the contents. I almost started crying once, but I willed myself not to.

I finally got through to my mother. They had heard the news, but no one knew anything further. I spoke to my brother. I spoke to my Foi. I spoke to my brother again on the stairs on my way down. Nothing was confirmed but three people were dead.  I sat down in the car and burst into tears. I wanted none of them gone. Was it cruel to hope that the three dead were from another car? My eldest son woke up amid the chaos to ask what was happening. Seeing me in tears, he began crying as well. I knew I had to get a hold of myself. I took a deep breathe and assured him that all was okay. He fell asleep crying in the back seat. My brother called back. The driver of the car was one of three. The passenger. And someone in the backseat. My mind started racing with possibilities. How were they sitting? My uncle!!!!! My mind was screaming and I was trying so very hard not to panic. My granny was alone and she needed me. I whispered prayers. I tried to read Yaseen. I begged Allah to keep them safe. My husband’s uncle called. I can hear his voice as clear as if it was this morning. I can feel the echo of the aftermath as the news sunk in without really hitting me at all. I felt myself slipping away. I handed the phone to my husband. It is confirmed. Aslam, Fatima and Muhammad passed away. Inna lillahi wa inna ilaihi raaji’oon. May Allah grant them Jannatul Firdows. 

 

I relive this night every single day. I accept Allah’s decision to remove these beautiful souls from this darkening world. They are in a better place. It is us who have to live on and try to fill the void. It is his three beautiful, strong daughters who have to go on, every single day in the hopes that they will meet them one day in Jannah. Ameen.

I would like to follow this sad post with the tribute I wrote for my uncle at his memorial, held by his school, Ahmed Timol Secondary.

 

I stand here today with such deep sorrow, my heart is hanging at my feet, for never in a million years would I have dreamt that I have to pay this tribute, and so very soon. My earliest memory of the late Mr. Aslam Khan is of him making me laugh, and my last memory is of him making my own sons laugh. I look back and I can’t think of a single child who has passed by either Aslam, or his wife Fatima, and the child was not drawn to them, or whom they did not share their genuine smiles with. 

My name is Asmaa Khan, and the late Muhammad Aslam Khan was my beloved uncle, my father and my teacher all rolled into one. A heavy task, that only he was able to carry out so honourably. He and his Fatima so generously opened their home to me, He raised me, together with my granny, and guided me as his own daughter for almost 16 years.

You didn’t just teach life science, you taught us life, Sir….

Whatever he did, his mission was to teach through it. Even in the classroom, he never adopted that stern teacher-behind-the-desk-way. He had a way to engage his learners, and put things across in such a manner, that only he could. His teaching style was jovial, though he was stern where he needed to be. 

Let us look back into his life and draw from some of the few lessons he left behind as a legacy. 

Some of you may know that he wasn’t always exactly the ‘model student’ and he never claimed to be. He mentioned it countless times in his many chats to his students. That is why he always included the phrase, “I’m ten steps ahead.” But he was able to turn his life completely around, and use himself unabashedly as an example that there was, and still is hope for those that have slipped through, or are lost and struggling to find direction. From this example, let us take the lesson of hope. Things will turn around, everything gets better, and most importantly, change lies within ourselves. We just have to be willing to admit our mistakes, and be ready to take the first step forward. 

What the right hand gives, the left hand shouldn’t know about. This is another lesson we should draw from Mr. Khan. He gave, even when he had nothing to give. And I am good testament to this statement. There were days when he had no money to fix his cars, but he made sure to drive me to school. There were nights spent in the dark, but neither husband or wife phoned my parents to ask them to collect me because I was an extra mouth to feed. And now, years later, when they had even more, they gave even more, as we are finding out each since their passing on. This wasn’t a mere man. This was a humanitarian and there are no words I have to describe him that will do justice to his qualities.

There are probably a thousand more lessons we could take from the lifestyle he led, but I will leave with one more that is essential in living life. That is passion and dedication. Whatever you do, do it with so much passion that it fills your life with meaning, and as much dedication that you can already envision the end result of 100% perfection and no room for failure. That is why, through Mr. Khan, all those he touched in some way, we are that much better versions of ourselves. Because he was willing to believe in us. He was willing to give us that chance. The isn’t a single teacher who has the passion and dedication to phone the homes of his learners to find out why they were not attending school on that particular day. And drive over if he suspected they were trying to bunk. 

Passion is the powerful force in accomplishing anything you set your mind to, and in experiencing work and life to the fullest extent possible. Ultimately, passion is the driving force behind success and the happiness that allows us to live better lives. And so, when we measure the success of my dear unlce Aslam’s life, we should gauge this success by the amount of lives he touched, and aspire to instil even a percentage of his lifestyle into our own lives. How lucky are we all to have known such a dynamic personality.

Yes! Our family has lost its soul. The community and school has lost a limb, but let this heartbreaking, colossal loss not be in vain. Let us go out there and celebrate his life by trying to emulate the qualities he adopted. 

May Almighty Allah elevate Aslam’s, Fatima’s and sweet Muhammad’s status in Jannah, and may he grant us all the courage to step up and adopt these changes. Ameen.

 

Please remember my family in your duas. Remember my beloved grandmother, my father, my Foi. Remember his three beautiful girls, Sabeeha, Sameera and Yaseera. Pray that one day the pain will subside and Jannah awaits us all, so the link in the broken chain may be mended again ❤

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Words

Broken syllables metamorphosised into pain, rage, love, beauty…
The flick of the tongue and the meeting of lips…
Words are the outlet of soulful journeys and mindless banter
Words are thoughts
They are harsh and healing         
Words are strung together as a barrage of insults to stab the receiver
It is the soothing salve sung out to heal the listener            
They are slithering snakes that slide across tongues and have the ability to crush spirits and destroy lives       
And they are sweet seductions that create melting moments
And they are reverberating sentiments that ignite inspiration 
The second it leaves, the sound it makes lasts a second or two, lingering,
But the impact it makes last forever
Words are the choices we make to voice them or keep silent ♡
(Asmaa Khan: 6/7/14)

Ramadan Kareem to every one of you beautiful souls. May we use this month to spiritually cleanse our souls and hearts and bodies and may Allah accept our efforts and ibaadah. Remember me and my family in your duas 💕

Tribute to the Victim

My dear loyal readers….

Before I continue let me offer my humble apologies for not posting part nineteen today. Today is dedicated to all those victims of abuse!

I sincerely thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to come back, day after day, to read Mumtaz’s story. Thank you for taking the time to comment and sharing your thoughts.

Unfortunately no post will be uploaded today. Today we will have a moment of silence for all those victims of abuse. Those who managed to get away, all those still suffering and trying to gather the courage to reach out and break free, and to all those who are past the agonising pain and unbearable heartbreak…

Remember, dear readers, that somewhere in the world, what I had written because of a hobby, someone is experiencing in REAL LIFE! Someone is getting raped, or beat to a pulp by a father, or husband, or even worse, a mother. And remember, more often than not, these children and women never find escape, they never break free, because they are judged by society, they are afraid. They have no one to turn to, they have no support structure, and if someone does offer assistance, most of the time it lasts mere minutes. Almost the moment they are free, the very people who helped them think they their work is done, they have taken them out of the harmful situation, and leave them to fend for themselves. These poor victims then find their way back in the dire positions they are trying so desperately to flee.

And their abusers knows that they have no true way out! They are helpless. They know that no one is going to save them, so they take further advantage and take the abuse up a notch each time, each day, each hour…

Read out, dear readers, let us remove ourselves from the shell that we have created in our societies and try to make their lives better in any way we can! For those of us that can, help them break free, or just lend an ear for those that need to unload their burdens. And if you can do none of that, then at least acknowledge them and their situations, and pray for them as hard as you can, asking Allah to ease their pain and suffering and remove them by some means from their harmful situations.

Abuse is not only physical. It is emotional and spiritual and mental too. Crushing the spirit and every ounce of hope that the victim may have left. Take a minute to make a dua, say a prayer. Close your eyes and open your heart.

To any victim that may be reading this. Whether you are still going through the abuse or you have left it behind you, I am talking directly to you! I feel for you, I feel your pain, I want to help you in some way. Reach out to someone, even if it just to talk, that is the first step… Don’t be afraid! Allah is always with you. Close your eyes and feel His presence. Talk to Him! Cry to Him! Plead with Him! Believe in Him!

Please feel free to leave your message for the victims of abuse. And if their are any victims out there feel free to share your story. Your anonymity is guaranteed.

Have a beautiful weekend!