Karachi was full of life in the bright morning of March. Children rushed to their schools while the adults, to their jobs. The roads bustled with motorbikes. The buses shared their opinion of the morning traffic with deafening pressure horns. Amongst it all stood the Jama Umar Farooq Mosque. The madrasa students were pouring in from the front door of the mosque. The teachers were diverting each group to the designated classroom. Preacher Soleiman sat in the office of the president with his packed bags around him. He read the letters received by the organization. Most of which were progress reports from their various groups, while some were condolences letters expressing their sorrow on Sheikh Abdul Haadi's passing. One caught his eye.
"Kate Richardson", the envelope was titled. He felt his heart sink. He ripped open the envelope and took out the letter. The letter was of thanks from the widow of his friend whom he couldn't meet while he lived. He was all praises when he had mentioned Steve in the letter to his family. He had sent the diary to the address mentioned in it, hoping that someone from his family would receive it. The letter at hand told that the house was no longer owned by the Richardson's but a neighbor had taken it on himself to make sure that the family received it. The widow thanked Soleiman on behalf of Steve's two children and herself. She further wrote that the diary only made her children more certain of the one thing they had already known, that their father was a brave hero. The envelope had a small group photograph of the family of four. His six years old son blowing the candles on his birthday cake while Steve hugged him from behind and Kate stood beside him clapping and laughing. The ten years old daughter could be seen just about to set off the party popper. Soleiman felt his eyes well up. He stashed the letter in his personal belongings. His phone buzzed. He saw a message from his friend from half the world away that he had taken off for the UAE. Mustafa had barely evaded an amputation. His mentor had not only forgiven him but also promoted him into the group that travelled the more hostile territories. They had exchanged contact numbers before heading to their homelands. Mustafa had finally decided to give the village another chance. There was news that the Chief had started to open the village and its people to the world and several reforms had been implemented. There was also a rumor that the title of the Shaman had been removed and its powers absorbed by the Chief. It was only a matter of time that it declared its union with some country. Although the mobile towers would still take a year or two, the entrances and exits were hastily being paved. It was still not enough to deem the place safe after what they had been through. It was only an invitation letter from Soleiman's student that had convinced him to contemplate a second visit. The chief had let Bilal and his friends preach in the village and the tribes. Even the ones who didn't convert had altered their ways. Sheikh would have loved it or probably would have insisted to join him. There was a gentle knock on the door. Followed by a "Come in" from the inside. Yaqoob walked into the room burdened with two more bags.
"Is that all of them?", Soleiman asked him. Yaqoob took a moment to count the bags on his fingers. "The red one? Check! The black one? Check! The bigger red one? Check! Broken zipper one? Check! …", Yaqoob went on. He stopped briefly and asked, "The Bag pack?". He knew something looked out of place.
"I did them myself so, Check!", Soleiman said as he scrolled through the phone, clutching the air tickets. Yaqoob left the room in a hurry, trying to think of anything else Soleiman should take with him. Soleiman continued to read through the letters and separated the useful ones from the others. He put the bills and advertisement pamphlets aside. It only took a few minutes for him to finish the letters. Yaqoob knocked again and this time he entered without invitation.
"The taxi is here!", he said as walked inside. He eyed the bags trying to figure out a way to carry the most in one trip. Soleiman tried to calm his friend down but Yaqoob had already pick them all up. Soleiman smiled and put a hand on his forehead as to say, "There is no repairing this man!". Yaqoob saw it and smiled back. The preacher hung his bag pack on his back and walked out of the room. The teachers stood waiting to say their goodbyes. He greeted them back. He walked to the taxi waiting outside the mosque and sat in it while Yaqoob loaded the trunk and the roof with the bags. The preacher made a promise and swore never to break it.