You had to drive under an old bridge to get to the school. A real relic of the past, misplaced in the brutalist Islamabad of the 80s and 90s. The bridge opened into a forest split by the road, and then into the city of the dead. The graveyard gave way to the school, obviously built on an ancient burial ground. Unsubstantiated rumours echoed of students finding, on the grounds, bones of people from a land before the city had a name.

This was a time when streams had turtles; the trees, parrots; and the bushes, fireflies.

Another relic of the past was the military-style morning assembly, lining up all students for the anthem.

Exotic animals unfortunate enough not to have crossed the split road would end up at assembly, for students to marvel at.

Then the war in the Balkans broke out, and someone ran over Yugoslavia.

And then, one day, at assembly, there were children.

Refugees of the Bosnian genocide.