I Left My Heart in Pakistan

Pakistan…A distant yet close, brotherly country… Lands whose echoes of "e;Jeevay, Jeevay!"e; we have heard since our childhood…The journey of the Hizmet Movement in Pakistan began in 1995 with the opening of a small school in the capital, Islamabad, converted from a villa. Over the 23 years leading up to that unfortunate period in 2018, PakTurk Educational Institutions grew into an educational network with 28 campuses across 10 cities in Pakistan, graduating more than 11,000 students and serving over 12,000 students—along with their families, teachers, and staff.Many people passed through Pakistan in the history of Hizmet:Young men who set out with Hocaefendi's prayers, young women who left right after graduating from university, newlywed brides whose henna had barely faded, and families who, with the excitement of embarking on an adventure, left behind their established lives and migrated to this land with their children…What is remarkable, however, is this: despite temperatures exceeding 50 degrees Celsius, daily power outages lasting up to ten hours, terrorist attacks, armed robberies, the loss of infants, medical treatments carried out under difficult conditions, cockroaches, countless mosquito bites followed by malaria and dengue fever, spicy food, and breakfasts without cheese or olives—not a single Hizmet volunteer in the 18 interviews conducted by Ms. Şemsinur expressed complaint or regret. On the contrary, everyone left their hearts in Pakistan.The saying about Khairpur, the smallest and least developed city where the schools were located—"e;One cries when leaving, another cries when returning"e;—in fact applies to all Hizmet volunteers who served in Pakistan and came to feel "e;half Pakistani."e;There is a common thread in almost all their stories: it is as if God tested them with hardships in their early years there; refined the hearts of those who endured with patience; and then placed love for them in those lands. The people of Pakistan opened their homes, their tables, and their hearts to these teachers; they even entrusted their daughters—whom they lovingly call Quratul-Ain (the apple of the eye)—to them with confidence.On the days when they were forced to leave, the scene was the same in all ten cities where the schools were located: students in tears, parents feeling ashamed on behalf of their country and offering apologies, and dear Pakistanis who, like their ancestors, wanted to give their gold earrings and rings to the people of Anatolia…As this book is being prepared for publication, and as someone who lived in that land for nearly 18 years, I felt this while rereading the interviews of friends—almost all of whom I personally know: I am not the only one who feels as though my own name is being called whenever Pakistan is mentioned.We—those whose paths once crossed those lands—still find each other in the countries we now live in. While trying to take root in new places, we also hold "e;biryani days."e; We do not forget. Even if we tried, they would not let us forget. Our phones ring often, and so do our doorbells. Students, parents, teachers… we continue our conversations from where we left off in PakTurk.And we have a promise:As stated on the PakTurk File website, where these interviews were first published, "e;We know well that we will return to Pakistan."e; And "e;so that we will not be searching for a forgotten history when that day comes, but instead leave behind a legacy from today to that day,"e; I would like to express my gratitude—on behalf of those whose hearts remain in Pakistan—to Ms. Şemsinur Özdemir and to everyone who contributed to this historical record, prepared with great effort and dedication.Ruveyda Arslanhan