Living a life in fear

There is a story that says that if a frog is thrown into boiling water, it will immediately jump out, but put Freddy Frog in cold water and slowly heat him up, he will not smell a rat and slowly be cooked alive. The tale is used as a metaphor for the inability or unwillingness of people to react to changes that have occurred gradually, and as of today, there are 190 million frogs blissfully unaware that they are being collectively boiled to death.

It has not been a good week. Earlier this morning (May 7) my phone beeped. A forwarded SMS telling me that the Australians had revised their country’s travel advice and I quote, “Reports indicate that extremists may be planning to attack cafes and restaurants frequented by foreigners in Islamabad, and to attack or kidnap Westerners associated with international schools in Karachi.” Karachi is already on my ‘no visit list’ for security reasons and plans for a Sunday lunch with friends in Islamabad may now need to be changed.

And then there is the really personal stuff — like my wife and family being hounded out of their flat in Rawal Town by their landlord and some of their neighbours for the crime of being Christian. This came within an inch or two of getting very messy indeed, but they were able to (fortunately) find somewhere to live close by. How long it will be before they are in the same position again is impossible to guess, but my guess is that people have smelled blood and will come looking before long.

The week started on May 4 with a visit from an old friend and we fell to discussing fear, especially childhood fears that then feed through into adult life, forever with us.

My childhood was without any fear at all. Growing up in the post-war years in London in a middle-class home that was neither rich nor poor, I played out in the street from my earliest years. There were no worries about kidnapping or predatory paedophiles and if by some mischance I did get lost, then there would be a friendly policeman to take my hand and get me home. (Yes... it happened.)

I struggle to remember a childhood fear, but perhaps polio is the one that comes to the fore. Other than that, a fear-free youth.

No such luck for my friend who recounted a life where fear had been a part of life for his entire existence, as well as that of his family. Their words were echoed in a conversation I had with the principal of a local school on May 6 and gradually, the ingredients for this column came together.

There was a singular moment last year as I stepped out of the arrivals terminal at the Singapore airport. It was so striking that I actually stopped and stood and looked around me — watched by my brother who was there to meet and greet and was somewhat puzzled by my demeanour.

What had stopped me in my tracks was the sudden and complete absence of fear. I no longer needed to have my radar on. There were not men with guns at every corner. People were smiling and helpful. For 12 days, I went naked, fear-free, only donning the fearful mantle again as I stepped out of the terminal back here in Islamabad.

There is a jokey-ironic saying ‘I’m not paranoid, the bastards are really after me’. And they are. And not just me, but my family, including our child, my relatives, some of whom have already fled, my colleagues some of whom have been shot and killed or wounded and anybody else who may be the collateral damage in the event of me and mine getting bombed.

This is not a fantasy on my part; life as a target sharpens the senses wonderfully and I have developed a powerful sense of self-preservation.

So why are you still here, I hear you thinking. Because it is not all bad is why — and you learn to live with the fear. Of course this means I am getting boiled along with the other frogs, but at least we are all in the same saucepan! Tootle-pip!

Published in The Express Tribune, May 8^th, 2014.

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