It’s 4 AM. I barely managed to sleep at around 3. It was a very long day at work.
Phone rang. I answered. “Abdulla, we need you to come back.” No! I just slept. I’m dead tired. “You have to come. It’s urgent.”
What is it that made them wake me up at 4? What is it that made them need me? Am I a soldier or a journalist?
I washed up quickly and left. I opened the application in my phone and made it play the recent tweets on my timeline.
“There was a bombing. Police arrived shortly after the expulsion. Reasons are not clear yet.”
Ya Allah. Another bombing? These terrorists doesn’t have a heart. They kill in the name of religion. They must be out of their mind. Can’t they see the harm they are causing?
I have been covering this for a while. They weren’t satisfied with my work. I started a program to host victims to speak about their injuries. Those are lucky. I hosted parents and friends of some victims who died. I thought that maybe, maybe those terrorists will realize the harm they are doing and they would stop.
I received many threat letters, but I’m a journalist. These letters didn’t stop me from doing my job.
Oh, wait. Someone is waiving at me. What is this person doing in the middle of the street at this time? Let me see what is wrong with him. I opened my window: “Hi, what is wrong? Do you need any help?”
He saw my face. He made sure that it’s me. He shoot me with 5 bullets. One of those bullets came straight at my heart, the same heart that tried to make him realize that what he was doing is wrong.
I’m not the first, nor the last journalist that will risk his life for the sake of positive change.
* This was originally published in Fish N Write.