Aarif

Aarif the Afghan had just moved over from Kunduz, to Gisborne, NZ. It was hard moving to a new suburb, in a new city, in a new country. Aarif’s town was war struck. There were craters from bombers the size of villas. Aarif and his mother were scouting the city for food, his father in the shelter. That was when they came. They were Rockwell B-1 Lancers, one of the most high tech bomber/stealth planes. They screamed in the sky at the speed of sound with 2500 lbs bombs. The image was still stuck in Aarif’s head, the vivid image of the shelter being torn torn to pieces. So vivid…. Aarif and his mother were just two of the thousands evacuated….

Aarif felt good and safe from the war in a flat in Gisborne. It felt great after walking those hundreds of kilometres to lie down in a bed. They had slept a few weeks in a Church. The Government had provided money, school and a cheap flat. The flat was damp, smelt and there was mold everywhere, but it was better than their old shelter. Aarif was a year five at Cobham Primary School, since he was only nine. He didn’t really fit in at his new school, but at least he had a friend. Hamid, who was from Kyrgyzstan (only 1018 kilometres away from Afghanistan) was nice. But there was one boy who was mean, insensitive and racist. He was called Timoti.

Mr. Walck had studied the language of Dari in college. He was fifty years young; teaching since he was thirty. Every day Aarif would spend time with Mr. Walck and learn to speak English (Aarif only knew a bit). He also had a counsellor, Al. After he had spent time with Mr. Walck, he would go visit Al. He was a young man who prefered to be called by his first name. They would talk about what had happened, with Mr. Walck there as the translator when they couldn’t understand each other. It helped Aarif but reminded him of all the gore and the horrible things that war can do…

Everyday Timoti would discriminate and make rude comments about Aarif’s culture. This was nothing like the war, yet the little things were still annoying. Timoti was a stocky year six who started fights for fun. He was the school bully who had hurt physically and emotionally numerous kids in his time at school. Hamid would protect Omar but he couldn’t always be there like a personal bodyguard. Aarif would report what Timoti was doing to the teachers but they never listened and said, ´He still must be shocked from the war.´ It was little things like this which made Aarif sad.

Aarif thought at last that he had sorted out this Timoti problem. At last the school had noticed Timoti. It was when they were both out in the school courtyard, Timoti with his friends, Aarif with Hamid. Aarif didn’t want to start a fight, or sit next to Timoti. But it had just happened. Timoti assaulted Aarif with a Glock. Cobham Primary School was dodgy. Aarif had to dodge the bullets spraying the wall. But Hamid had been hit, his only friend. His best friend. The teachers saw, and a man got the gun off Timoti. It was all over…..

Epilogue:
Later that day Timoti got arrested for assault. He went to a juvenile prison, probably never to see Aarif again. Timoti got a huge lisp and ended up to be my cousin. Hamid’s Parents were devastated that their only son had been killed in a school assault. Aarif was questioned and later he and his Mother moved to Napier. Aarif led a good life after that and became successful at his school.

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