April 10th, 1988, remains one of the longest and most difficult days of my life, much like it was for other citizens of Islamabad and Rawalpindi. Late on Saturday night, I had returned from Bahawalpur after visiting my parents. As I prepared for work the next morning, I was mentally bracing myself for a long day, knowing I’d be facing a backlog after a few days off. It was a typical bright spring Sunday, but by 10:00 a.m., this pleasant day had turned into a nightmare for the citizens of the twin cities.
At that time, I was working at Allama Iqbal Open University in the H-8 Sector of Islamabad. Around 9:30 a.m., I was in the second block of the university building, chatting with Professor Nazir Siddique in the hallway, when we were startled by a loud explosive sound and accompanying shockwaves. These were the peak days of the 1980s proxy war between the USSR and the USA. Due to the 'blessings' of military dictator Gen. Zia and his military establishment, Islamabad had become the center of CIA and ISI activities supporting militants as part of the proxy war against the USSR. As a result, terrorism was rampant in both Pakistan and Afghanistan.
Right after the blast, one of our colleagues, a British national, approached us, asking about the explosion. Professor Siddique calmly remarked that it seemed we weren’t safe there. The British colleague quickly ran towards his car. I jokingly told Professor Siddique that the blast seemed distant, perhaps in Pir Wadhai (the Rawalpindi public bus stop), and that he had scared the poor man unnecessarily. I then returned to the library building.
Moments later, we heard another extremely loud explosion, followed by a series of blasts. Rushing outside, we saw a mushroom cloud in the sky from the Faizabad side. I noticed a few people with cameras heading towards the roof of the IET (Institute of Educational Technology) building next door, eager to capture footage. Until then, we had been guessing the proximity of the blasts, feeling relatively safe. But within minutes, the situation deteriorated as missiles and rockets of varying sizes began raining down on us from all directions.
Panic set in as everyone ran for their lives. I quickly went inside the library to grab some personal belongings and headed towards the second block. On the way, I noticed buses leaving the university. I went inside the building to look for my wife, but she wasn’t in her office. When I came back outside, all the buses had left, and very few people remained in the university compound. A few coworkers and I took shelter behind the first block of the university, thinking it was the safest place to be since the rockets were coming from the Faizabad side.
I remember one of my colleagues, RoohUllah, who was with me, was extremely terrified, praying to Allah for mercy and forgiveness, and crying for his life. I was worried about my wife, who was in the last trimester of her pregnancy, making her particularly vulnerable in this situation. Suddenly, we heard a university driver shouting that he had space for one more person in his van. RoohUllah urged me to take the seat, but I refused, telling him I was going back inside to look for my wife. Someone else quickly ran towards the van, and it drove off. RoohUllah, looking distraught, asked me to pray for our lives, and then loudly continued asking Allah for mercy and forgiveness.
To calm him down, I teased, “RoohUllah, if you hadn’t committed so many sins, you wouldn’t be so afraid of death.” I was referring to a side story—just a couple of months earlier, RoohUllah had taken a second wife, and I had been teasing him about how he had treated his first wife and that he should seek her forgiveness. This only made him cry louder, asking how I wasn’t scared of death. I told him that in a situation like this, where rockets were flying and exploding all around us, the best we could do was stay calm and hope it would be over soon.
The horrifying noise of rockets filled the air, which was thick with the smell of gunpowder. About a hundred meters from where we were standing, there was a bridge over a rain stream. Someone mentioned that it might be safer to shelter there. As we were about to move towards the bridge, a large rocket hit it. We decided it was safer to stay where we were and await our fate.
After a while, as things quieted down, we began the long walk home since there were no other means of transportation. As I entered Saidpur Road in Rawalpindi, I encountered a chaotic scene. Traffic was jammed, with some people trying to bring the injured to hospitals, and volunteers were struggling to control the traffic and make way for those in need. There was complete chaos on the roads, with no signs of police or any government authorities. Still, nobody knew exactly what had happened.
On the way home, I picked up my wife from my in-laws’ house. When we finally reached home, we saw that a rocket had landed in our neighbor’s backyard, damaging part of the house. Fortunately, it hadn’t exploded, and no one was seriously injured.
Later, the news revealed that the explosions had occurred at Ojhiri Camp, a military ammunition depot located in Faizabad, Rawalpindi. According to official reports, 103 people died, including ex-federal minister Khaqan Abbasi, and over 1,100 were injured. The Ojhiri Camp, situated in the middle of a crowded area, was being used by the ISI (Pakistan’s spy agency) to store ammunition for Afghan militants fighting the proxy war against Soviet forces in Afghanistan.
On April 12, 1988, Prime Minister Junejo appointed a five-member inquiry commission headed by Gen. Imranullah. He also formed a five-member ministerial committee to investigate the tragedy, including Qazi Abdul Majid Abid, Mir Ibrahim Baloch, and Malik Naeem Ahmad Khan, with Aslam Khattak heading the committee. However, Gen. Zia was unhappy with this development and wanted an inquiry by men of his choice. This created further tension between the PM and the president, ultimately leading to the dismissal of the Junejo government and the dissolution of the assemblies. There are various theories about the Ojhiri Camp disaster, but the absolute truth remains unknown. Like many other tragedies involving military generals in Pakistan, this one has also been buried, with no one held responsible.
BBC Urdu / Zafar Malik
https://www.bbc.com/urdu/pakistan-56690189
The Ojhri Camp disaster — who’s to blame?
https://www.dawn.com/news/1237794
https://youtu.be/0z_zBmvnG9M
