Exam and Tragedy

Yemeni mp

 
Ahmed Saif Hashed

In the third year of middle school, Ali Al-Khafif was appointed as the new principal of  Martyr Najeeb School. He hailed from the south, taking over after the previous principal moved to work in the north.

The new principal was kind and supportive. As I was immersed in the atmosphere of the upcoming government exams, with three subjects still awaiting their tests, he delivered the shocking news to me gradually. This approach helped me cope with the emotional burden of the exams while maintaining my academic performance.

He tried to keep hope alive by telling me that my brother had been injured in an ambush but was recovering and that the injury was not serious. In reality, my brother had passed away. The principal’s intention in conveying this news was to shield me from any shock that might affect my mental state during the remaining exams. He aimed to prevent the tragedy from impacting my results, ensuring I would not be overwhelmed by the news of my brother’s death, which had been kept under tight wraps.
At the same time, he intended for me to gradually come to terms with the tragedy, preventing a potential breakdown or significant psychological repercussions when I eventually learned the truth.

The principal was right in his efforts to lessen the impact of the news on my psyche, ensuring it would not affect my exam results while also preparing me to reconcile with the devastating reality.

The truth was that my brother had been ambushed and was rushed to Al-Turbah. It was decided to transfer him to Aden after he received some initial medical attention. Tragically, he passed away that very night before reaching Aden, and he was laid to rest in Al-Aidarus Cemetery in Crater. Did I not say that half my sorrow resides in Aden? Who could tear me away from you, Aden, when my grief, like my joy and love, is deeply rooted in your essence?

The principal succeeded in helping me pass my exams, and even more so, he managed to soften the blow of the harsh truth. 

I completed my final exams of middle school in Al-Turbah, gradually coming to realize the reality of my brother’s death. Yet, the illusion remained strong, aligning with my heart’s desires while my mind resisted this bitter truth that marked my life.

What a tragedy it was! How could I believe the news? In the depths of attachment, we often refuse to accept reality, even when we witness it with our own eyes. It is the love and bond we share with those we cherish.

I completed middle school, achieving a success rate of 78% in my third year. Though this percentage was modest, I felt satisfied with it. With this achievement, I moved on to study at Proletariat School, located along the road that separates Aden from Lahj.

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