A teacher’s account: The first three minutes after the aircraft crash

Classes had just been dismissed. There were seven or eight children with me in a classroom on the second floor—most of them eighth-grade students. Suddenly, there was a deafening noise. At first, I thought it was thunder. But the sky was clear which is why it didn’t make sense.

Soon, I saw flames erupting from a nearby coconut tree. Before I could process what was happening, fire began spreading across the balcony and other parts of the second floor. Smoke filled the air, it was becoming impossible to breathe.

The room I was in was on the west side of the building, at the far end near the restroom. When staying inside the room became unbearable, I took the children to the washroom for shelter. Then I suddenly remembered—at the far end of the balcony, there was a small iron door, usually locked. That day too, it was locked. But the door’s metal was thin. I realised there was no way to break the wall—but if I could break the door, maybe we could survive.

Standing between life and death, I had to try. The boys, the age of my own child, were paralysed with fear. I could not even look at their faces. They just kept screaming, “Save us! Save us!”

I did not know how I would break the door. Kicking it a few times did not work. Just then, I saw a boy running toward me along the balcony—his shirt was on fire. “Sir, save me,” he begged. When I grabbed him, the flames nearly burned my hands. Time was running out. I told the boys in the washroom to pour water on him while I tried to break the door.

I kept kicking the gate—relentlessly. I do not remember how long or how hard I kicked. I just knew I had to break through. Eventually, I managed to bend and break enough of the thin iron bars to create an opening just wide enough for a body to pass through. An adjacent mango tree grew right up to the door. A few boys climbed down using that. Soon, people outside began climbing the tree to help the rest of the children escape.

From the moment of the crash, to the washroom, to breaking the door—it all took around three minutes. But those three minutes felt like an eternity.

It was only after I reached the ground that I realised an aircraft had hit our building. Until then, I had not even considered the possibility of a plane crash. I remember hearing no sound from the aircraft’s engine—just two loud explosions. One from the crash itself, and the second likely from the fuel tank exploding.

The two-story building that was struck houses the Bangla version classrooms on the ground floor and the English version on the second floor. I was on the second floor, which has 12 rooms—girls’ classrooms on one side, boys’ on the other, along with a lab and teachers’ room.

The plane struck directly in front of the staircase, on the ground floor. Fire spread rapidly. School had been dismissed around 1:00 pm. As per routine, the girls had left first. Most of the boys had also exited. There was another teacher with some students in a room near the impact point on the second floor. As far as I know their room was engulfed in flames first.

When I reached the ground, I saw two bodies, but they were crushed beyond recognition. It was hard to hold myself together. The children’s condition—anyone could imagine. As I was coming down, I saw a girl in a burqa running, her clothes ablaze.

The boys who were with me all got out safely. Some had breathing trouble from the smoke and heat; a few may have gotten minor injuries while climbing down. I heard that the boy who came running to me with his shirt on fire is still alive—he’s in the hospital.

When the children climbed out through the door, the fire was dangerously close. We can endure temperatures above 40 degrees Celsius for short periods. But the heat there was beyond human tolerance. Combined with the smoke, it was unbearable.

Had we been trapped for another couple of minutes, we might not have survived. I shudder to think what could have happened to the boys. I saw students—like my own children—burnt to death right before my eyes. Many are now fighting for their lives in hospital beds. A fellow teacher died. Others are gravely injured.

It is a nightmare I never thought I would have to witness. The lives that have been lost will never return. For those who survived—I pray that the Almighty brings them back.

* Md. Sayedul Amin is a senior teacher, English Version, Milestone School and College