Quratulain Fatima - The Sky is the Limit

 

 

It was the 23rd of March, and I was eight years old. My father entered the room in his Air Force uniform. His boots were shiny and his buttons looked like gold. My little brothers followed in their own little uniforms with gold stars decked on their shoulders. It was the day of Pakistan's annual military parade. They were going to see the parade. I was not. I was sulking. Although my father asked me to join and asked me to come, but I wanted to wear the uniform. He told me, “You can't wear uniform. Girls can't get into the Air Force.” I really wanted to go, but not in my ugly frock that showed my stick-like legs while my brothers looked all happy and plump in their own little shiny uniforms. 

 

Growing up, I was a small, stubborn girl. I had two younger brothers. I acted like their protector. I would chase the kids who harassed them. I would jump up, roll over in the mud and dispense a few punches to teach them a lesson. For a short, sweet while, I held the title of big brother before losing it when my brothers grew up a little and left me out of their fights and games. 

 

We, Pakistanis, love cricket the most, probably after God. [audience laughter] I was an avid left-hander. I played cricket with the boys in the area, because no girl played the sport. So, I was a star cricketer in the making. So, I would put on my trousers and my T-shirt, much to the dismay of my neighboring aunties who thought it was such an ungodly dress for a girl. They thought I was nuts, because I played hockey and cricket with boys, scaled up walls and kept my hair the shortest. 

 

So, now the star cricketer is dreaming. And then, the boys’ captain told her that, “Oh, you cannot be part of the team, because girls are supposed to look nice, learn to cook, and stay silent and not play cricket.” 

 

I really wanted to be a boy, because boys could do anything they wanted to. My father was my idol. We would take long walks along lush green paths, my hand in his and talk about things. I would ask him, “Why can't I get into the Air Force?” And he'd tell me, “Oh, it's for boys. You need to be strong to get in. We live in Islamic Republic of Pakistan, and girls and boys can't work physically closely.”

 

I would only do selective listening. Stronger? That I could do. So, I started running and swimming, and more than often I was found hanging from the monkey bars in the local park. I dreamt of becoming a boy, anything to get into the Air Force. Such was my desperation. 

 

When I was growing up in Pakistan, women only became teachers or doctors and then went on to get married. When I was 17, I decided I wanted to become a banker. Not that I knew anything about banking, it was because it was one of the few options available for women at the time. Banking was my available different. Then, one gloomy winter evening, the kind that makes you sad, my father entered the home beaming. He lit up the room. 

 

He said to me, “Beta,” which means my son, “sit down. I have some news for you.” And then, he showed me this white and black advertisement by the Air Force for the recruitment of women for the very first time, under the orders of the president. He said to me, and I still remember his words that you must have prayed very hard to make them recruit women. 

 

So, I gave the initial test and I passed. But the final selection examination coincided with the date of my banking exam. I was devastated. I thought it's not meant to be. But my father, the believer he was in my abilities, made me write to the Air Force to change the dates. Air Force never changed the dates, but miraculously, they changed the dates and I gave the selection exam and passed it. I passed the medical exam. 

 

But before the training date, I fell violently ill. Doctor could not find anything wrong with me, except anxiety. I was ashamed to admit, but I was afraid. I was afraid to fail. It was the first time I was leaving the warmth and comfort of my home. 

 

The day of the training came. I met seven other girls at the gate of the academy, and a male trainer who was pretty serious. We had a lot of luggage with us and we were very happy. In Pakistan, it is culturally expected that men would come and help you with your luggage. So, we were waiting. [audience laughter] But then, we saw boy recruits putting their luggage on their heads and started running. The male trainer looked at us and said, “What are you waiting for? Run.” And a girl objected, “Oh, we have a lot of luggage,” to which he replied that it was not his headache.

 

We were not at a wedding reception. And if we do not start moving now, we will miss the attendance call of the academy and we will have to do loops around the academy all day with the same luggage. It was how the military academy operated. It did not intend to change for us. So, off I went, dragging my luggage, cursing the day I ignored my father's advice to not take too much luggage. 

 

It was the first time that Air Force Academy was seeing any women. We were told to not speak to the male cadets, because any hint of scandal or romance would jeopardize our chances of completing the training and would even end coming of women into the Air Force in future. So, we, a handful of unsure women, were given the task to clear the path for future women into the Air Force. 

 

Boys were as confused. It was as the status quo of the academy was shattered. Since we could not interact with each other outside supervised spaces, we were suspicious of each other. Five days into the training, I was a classic case of imposter syndrome. Waking up at 04:00 AM in the morning, doing mandatory punishments, tactless life, no makeup, cannot go to home for four months and eating tasteless huge meatballs not so fondly called grenades [audience laughter] was making me question my choice to join the Air Force. I really wanted to run away, but I could not. I could not let the patriarchal structure of military say that women are not made for its rigor. So, I stayed, made friends for life and completed my training.

 

I graduated as commissioned officer in Pakistan Air Force. My father came to my graduation in his uniform, looking tall and handsome. I was in the uniform that was forbidden to me before. And I saluted him. A salute that said, thank you for letting me be who I wanted to be. And he smiled. 

 

First day at base, I had to walk 15 minutes to my office. Everyone at the road stopped and stared at me. They had never seen a woman in uniform. It was as if a UFO had landed and an alien has alighted out of it. I felt naked, vulnerable. It was odd. My subordinates, my soldiers, gave me equal respect as they gave to their male superiors. It was the superiors. They were the problem. They thought Air Force had just inducted women for a cosmetic change. They were reluctant to give me any real work. I had to try very, very hard to gain their trust. 

 

When I was flying officer, I had to work under a supervisor, who was notorious for making advances towards women. During my one year at the base, he inappropriately touched me, made explicit sexual comments and jokes. And one time when I was supervising a war exercise in front of my soldiers, he came from behind, put his hands around me. When I protested, he said, “Oh, it's just fatherly affection,” and gaslighted my protest. 

 

I never reported him. It's not easy to talk about sexual abuse. Being one of the first women came with a lot of pressures and a lot of expectations, the way I fared in my training and in my service made possible for the women to enter the Air Force. I regret that I did not report him. It could have stopped the predatory behavior. 

 

Pakistan's Air Force now holds one of the largest contingents of women officers in the Islamic world, ranging from pilots to engineers to ground support officers. I can proudly and safely say that I and my peer women did well. 

 

On 23rd March 2002, I asked my father to join me on the Pakistan Day’s Parade. I was not a little girl anymore, and I was in uniform. I saw little girls looking at me, at my shiny boots, at my gold buttons, at my blue uniform and dreaming dreams to do the impossible. With tears in my eyes, I stood under the shining spring sun, shoulder to shoulder with my father and saluted the passing parade. Thank you.