I was there.Words of angst, not accomplishment, for anyone in London on Saturday night. This is my story:
I arrived in London on Wednesday, to spend the English summer covering cricket. There's plenty of it, with the Champions Trophy, the Women's World Cup and four Tests between South Africa and England, Saturday was my first game, between South Africa and Sri Lanka at the Oval in south London. The match started at 10.30am and, given the nature of the job which involves writing multiple stories, attending and transcribing interviews and shooting and sending videos, there were a handful of us still in the media box after 9pm.We’d had a long day and decided to stop at a pub called Beehive, 200 metres from the grounds and about 100m from Vauxhall Station, on our way out to unwind, and watch the second half of the Champions League final.
Pieces of medical equipment and possible people's belongings left on London Bridge after the terror attack in London. Picture: Xinhua
Four of us met at the pub, where we saw several familiar faces, including some security personnel, who had been working at the Oval that day. The Beehive was buzzing and we we all having a good time. Soon after Real Madrid won, people started leaving, the televisions were switched from the football to a news channel and we were among the last there. We were on our last sips, discussing what may swing the British election with the local in our otherwise South African quartet, when we saw the news. A “major incident,” had occurred at London Bridge. There were police on the scene and fatalities. Our local mate decided it was best if he left soon because he may be affected by road closures on his way home. He took an Uber and told us the prices had already surged. He advised to leave as soon as we could.The three of us were staying in two different hotels within walking distance of the pub and soon set off. We agreed to let each other know once we’d reached our destinations safely and because we weren't going to see each other for a few days, I suggested we make more regular contact. I proposed a 12-hour “check-in,” roster and the mood lightened because the other two thought it was a joke. It wasn’t. Save for the sounds of distant sirens, the streets were fairly quiet on our way back. There were a few people doing the same thing we were – getting home. I noticed two woman in hijab and immediately felt guilty for noticing their cultural clothing. About halfway back to the hotel, I started to cry. I wasn’t sure why. I sensed it was a mixture of anxiety, anger and helplessness. I let the emotion out because it felt more normal than keeping it in. By the time we reached the hotel and turned on the television, two more incidents occurred, one in Vauxhall, where we were. This came much closer to us than we had realised. The details were not immediately clear and it has since transpired that the Vauxhall occurance was unrelated. At that the time it didn’t matter. Soon messages from colleagues came in. The SuperSport crew were safe, the South African team was safe, some of our media colleagues had already left London and didn't even know what had happened and they were also safe. We let them know we were safe but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared even though I know the fear means the terrorists win. The fact that sun came up the next morning means they don’t. Yes, even in London, the sun came up. It’s been bright and warm every day since we arrived – only four days – though there was a definite chill in the air today. It was quieter on the streets than it has been but that may have more to do with it being Sunday than anything else. There were still people in cafes, there were still dogs being walked and shops to go to but something felt different. I sensed it every time I looked into someone’s eyes. Each stare seemed to last a little longer, as though we wee trying to work out which of us had lost something last night and which of us had gained, as though we were trying to convince each other of our own bravery even while showing our own fear.Concerned friends and family members checked in, including a neighbour who spent yesterday at London Bridge before flying home to Cape Town. She left London at 5pm. On social media, I saw that people in Vauxhall had opened their doors, offered their homes and cups of tea to anyone who needed it. I felt as though there was some hysteria I had missed and I was both grateful for that and humbled at peoples’ willingness to help. I sent a message to the colleague I’d made the 12-hour pact with, though I had forgotten about the agreement. I had left my adapters at the Oval and wanted to see if he could fetch them when he went there. He asked me if his reply counted as his 12-hour check-in and I smiled to myself. Perhaps we will just find reasons to stay in touch twice a day. My next move was to get to Marlybourne Station to take a train to Birmingham. My Uber driver was of Middle Eastern descent, married to a Welsh woman. His son is a policeman whose shift ended at 2pm yesterday. The son was not called back to work but his friends, who were on the 2pm to 10pm shift, were asked to stay later. The driver wants his son to be armed so that, “if someone with a knife comes at him, he can empty the magazine on him.” He spoke about police in other countries, the United States, France, Lebanon and Egypt, who have weapons and wondered aloud why the British police could not work the same way. Though the driver admitted those places have also come under attack despite the armed officers, he still wants his son to have an option. It was hard to argue with him. It’s his son on the streets, not mine.
Police attend to an incident near London Bridge in London.
It was more difficult to accept his next point – that the attackers’ entire families must have their citizenship revoked and be deported to wherever they can trace their roots to, irrespective of where they were born. “If these people come here and can’t obey the laws, I don’t care how long they have been here, they should be sent back to their countries of origin and those states can deal with them,” he said.
Fundamentally, I disagree with that but I wasn’t sure today was the day to say so. I lost interest in the conversation when there are, “there are specific no-go zones for tourists and even for locals”. Instead I thought of how I have come from that place that the driver made sound like a war zone to a place that is supposed to be safe, yet I feel I am not.
There must be other people who share that sentiment but not all of them are saying. When the Manchester bombing happened and one of the English journalists asked the South African team manager why it a professional sports squad are more willing to stay in the UK after something like this than they would be in say, Pakistan – who have not hosted international cricket since 2009 when the Sri Lankan team bus was shot at – the answer seemed only to emphasise the essence of the question.
“If this had had to happen in any other country in the world, that would be the first question people would ask: is the tournament at risk, is the series at risk?” Mohammed Moosajee, South Africa’s team manager said, before confirming that South Africa were comfortable to stay on in England, that they had not even thought of abandoning the tour and that they had decided on defiance instead of deference in the face of that threat.
“I don't think that as sportspeople, we should allow ourselves to be held to ransom because otherwise you won't have world events and you wont have touring teams.”
He’s right. None of our lives should be held to ransom. None of us should stop doing what we usually do, stop walking where we usually walk, stop thinking as we usually think.
We also can’t stop feeling what is perfectly normal to feel in this situation. For me, it’s an unusual amount of fear. I am scared the next time I walk around a city centre, someone might drive a vehicle into me, or stab me or even gun me down. I am scared because I don’t know if the world has come up with a way to defend me or anyone else against these random and horrific attacks. I am scared because I can’t see a way for this to end.
At the Starbucks in the train station, I overheard a woman on the phone. She had gone to watch the Champions League final at a pub in Borough Market and it sounded like she just missed being caught in the attack. From what I gathered, her and her partner had “sneakily left,” without saying goodbye to all their friends (I didn’t quite get why) and when they later tried to make contact with them they did not get replies at first. “We thought they were cross with us for leaving but then when we heard from the again, they told us they were locked inside the pub. They closed all the doors and kept people inside.”
She had also had a theory about the way the attack was planned. “They timed the attack to finish with the football. They knew London Bridge and Borough would be busy because everyone would be coming out of pubs and on the road.”
Her reasoning is sound and it’s also chilling. These incidents are carefully planned and chaotically executed. We are all in the firing line. Train-station woman was still on the phone when I had to leave so any chance of a conversation was impossible. But I did manage to catch her eye and I could feel myself giving her a sad smile, as though I was trying to say, “I’m sorry for what your friends experienced. I hope they are alright and I hope you can stay strong.”
The last thing I heard her say was something about guilt that she had left and others had stayed. So often, we blame ourselves for things we absolutely can’t control perhaps because that is our only way of attempting to fight back. Everything else is just false bravado.
It feels good to use words like, “we will not let them win,” but do we really believe it? I don’t know anymore even though I am guilty of doing exactly that. “We will beat them with love,” I wrote in a Tweet because it felt right. Now that I've had a few hours, I’m not even sure I know what that means.
I think it means that we’ll carry on, we’ll work, we’ll go to another pub, we’ll smile, we’ll laugh, we’ll live as much as we can. But I know that there will be times when I’ll be anxious, when I’ll be suspicious, when I’ll be scared. And I know that’s okay as long as it’s only sometimes.
* Firdose Moonda is a cricket writer for ESPN.
** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Media.