Farid Ahmed - Husnas Story: Why I Forgave my Wifes Killer

Shifa Ahmed, Husnas beloved daughter

Memories

My mother played a vital role in the development of the person I am. Although strict, she was determined to ensure that my childhood would be better than her own. She was often sick, but she always spent time with me and was always by my side whenever I needed her. She was also obsessed with my education. My mother did not have the chance to pursue higher education, despite being very intelligent. She wanted the best for me, so she would spend hours making me study and organising extra lessons for me so that I could have a comfortable life later on. She also became very overprotective, especially when it came to my friends. She would rarely allow me to hang out with my friends outside of school, saying, You have all that time at school to be with your friends, and that is enough, otherwise they will learn too much about you. At the time I thought she was being extreme, but I soon realised that spending too much time with friends could make me abandon my studies and slowly fall behind.

My mother never allowed me to go anywhere unless under the eye of an adult (usually her). When she heard that high-school students have to go on camp without their parents, she went out of her way to talk to the teachers and pleaded with them to take her with us on camp. I was heavily embarrassed by this but, being the stubborn person she was, she kept on trying until eventually she had to stop. When I agreed to go on a school exchange trip to Japan, she grilled the teachers about my safety, and she would often joke, I am small enough, so I can easily fit in your suitcase and I can come with you.

The main reason behind her not wanting me to go to these places without her was that she was afraid I might get hurt, or even sexually assaulted because I was a female. Because of all these constraints, I sometimes got frustrated with my mother and felt trapped, and we would often disagree about things, but I knew that she did all this because she cared so much about me.

My mother was also the sweetest person to ever exist. She had a certain charm to her that made people love her immediately, allowing her to hold any type of conversation with anyone she came across. Even if she felt sick, she would always go out of her way to help people in her community. And every day after school, ever since I started primary, she would ask how my day went. For some reason, she thoroughly enjoyed hearing about my day, and she would share my news excitedly with her friends.

My mother was a prankster, too. She loved embarrassing me, and I can still clearly remember the mischievous face she pulled after each prank, her cheeky laughter filling the room. Due to that, she was also a very good mood setter. If the aura of a room felt odd, she would crack a joke that was sure to make everyone smile. She was also very brave, and she always took action on any issues. Her confidence and wits were what gave her the inspiration, on the day of the attack, to take the risk of leading some of the women to safety, which was a phenomenal thing for her to do. There are times when I am amazed at her sheer mental strength.

I have so many other iconic memories of her, but they simply cannot be expressed on paper.

I knew she loved me very much, and I am proud to say that she was the perfect example of what a mother should be.

How did I react on the day of the attack?

During the lockdown at school, I initially thought it was just a drill, so I was rather laidback and I used the time to think about my upcoming science assessment. I got more suspicious when my biology teacher took me aside and said, I just got a call, and the person wanted to let you know that your father is okay. From then on, I felt anxiety creeping up on me. Did something bad happen? I wondered. Why havent I received the same message about my mother?

As we hid in the computer bay, shrouded in darkness with very little light to illuminate the room, I snuck underneath a table and broke the number-one rule of a lockdown, which is not to use your device. I turned on my phone and quickly toned down the brightness so no one would notice. My closest friend crawled in beside me and watched as I nervously opened Google and searched for the Christchurch news. Suddenly the feed was flooded with articles about the shooting, and I dropped my phone. I could feel tears welling in my eyes and my throat closing up as I struggled to breathe.

The first thing that came to mind was that my father must have been hurt somehowhe is a paraplegic and might not have been able to escape. I did not think of my mother at the time, because I knew that she had the ability to run and that she was the type to lead others to safety (and I was correct with that theory). People around me noticed how I was feeling, and they all reassured me that my father was fine; hence the call my teacher had received. I told myself to calm down but, even after our teachers allowed us to use the computers to entertain ourselves, I couldnt help but fidget nervously.

The car trip home was strange. I bombarded my aunt with questions about my father, and she assured me that he was in perfect health. Then I asked about my mother. My aunt kept quiet, and I decided to change the subject as I felt an awkwardness seeping into the atmosphere. I babbled about random topics, but in my head I knew something was not right.

When my aunt pulled up in the driveway, it was clear that something was very wrong. There were many cars surrounding our house and in our driveway. Our door was open, and I saw my father waiting there, as well as some other people who were leaving. Joyous to see my father after being so concerned about his safety, I ran up the stairs and hugged him. His grim face was an indication of what was to come, because the next thing I asked was: Where is Mum?

I saw my fathers jaw tremble, then he broke into tears and said, She is with Allah.

I could feel time stop ticking as a mix of emotions welled up inside of me. Unable to hold back, I screamed so loud that I was sure the whole neighbourhood could hear.

Are you telling me that I no longer have a mother? I asked. No, you must be lying, I repeated, over and over again. I kept on thinking about how I was going to survive without my mother when I depended on her so much.

Realising that the physical bond between mother and daughter had been snapped, I forcefully pried open my fathers arms and ran straight to my bedroom, flinging myself onto the bed, where I cried even more.

So many things were going through my head, but then I heard the faint voice of my mother calling out to me, saying not to worry. I remembered her explaining to me how I should react if she ever passed on. Recalling that memory and imagining her voice helped me to relax. I felt courage surge through me, and I took the initiative to contact my closest friends and let them know what had happened. Obviously, I cried as I told them, but I felt more at ease in my heart. The deed had already been done and nothing would bring my mother back, so why should I succumb to depression and sadness?

I remember my younger cousin running up to me, concern plastered all over her face, so I decided to suck it up and smile. My father, through tears, told me: I will be your mother and father from now on. I had to nod and accept that this was the reality, and that I would have to adapt to my new life, motherless.

The next few weeks were very difficult. I refused to talk much about my feelings or to visit a therapist. I knew that I was capable of handling my feelings by myself. I avoided meeting people, because every time they looked at me in sympathy I felt that they were expecting me to cry in front of them, and I didnt want to do that. Time passed slowly, so I talked to my closest friends and spent hours on my phone, aimlessly scrolling through videos. I also spent time praying for my mother: praying that she is granted the highest level in heaven, and that her life in her grave will be comfortable.