When we got married in 2013, Shaniera knew that she couldn’t replace their mum, but she became a support and adviser. Adjusting to life in Pakistan was tough in the beginning, but she adopted the customs, such as covering her hair in public, and she learnt Urdu. I speak Punjabi, too, but she said, “I’m not learning that – one is hard enough!” Loading She’s a huge star in Pakistan now, not because of me but because of her own qualities. The charity work she does with hospitals, the way she deeply considers community service. I travel a lot, so when I’m home I want my wife to be around – and she’s always away! She makes me proud. Motherhood suits Shaniera. Our daughter, Aiyla, is five, and Shaniera drops her off at school, picks her up, takes her to dance and judo, and does all the play dates. Sometimes I have to remind Aiyla I’m here as well! Shaniera’s strength is her passion and determination. If she thinks something is wrong, she will say it and do something. In my part of the world, we might say nothing or just ignore it.

Where we live in Karachi there is a high-end beachfront area called Clifton, but the water is filthy and the beach full of plastic bags, syringes and blood vials. One day last year I was in England for the World Cup, and Shaniera took pictures and posted them on Twitter, calling attention to this, and within one month the whole beach was clean. We go running there. Her attitude is healthy for Pakistan; she’s influencing a lot of people. I’m a lucky guy. I’ve been lucky twice in my life. When this tragedy happened to me – Huma was my childhood love – I thought I was always going to be alone. But God has been kind, given me a second life with a wonderful woman. SHANIERA: I met Wasim over dinner, and we just made each other laugh. We’re from different generations, different countries, but we had something – even though it wasn’t romantic at first. Wasim was going through a hard time. His wife had passed away. It was a sudden illness, and it was tragic. Grief doesn’t subside, it just gets more manageable. We talked a lot about it, and we’ve kept her alive in our family. There are photos of her everywhere. We planted a tree in her memory. We celebrate her birthday. We recognise the anniversary of her death. We talk about the traits the boys got from her. We had a simple nikah [marriage] ceremony in Lahore in 2013. Small and humble. It was

48 degrees, the air-conditioning had broken and my make-up had started melting. I think Wasim got a bit of a fright!

We began living together but Wasim was still overseas 10 months of the year, working, and I had the boys. They were 15 and 12 by then and I realised they didn’t need a friend but a parent. I just made this decision: “I don’t have time to play stepmum. I need to step into this role.” “Wasim is like a balloon. He’ll drift up and away, but always keep that string tied as tightly as he can to his family, and where he is from.” Shaniera Akram I was 29 and had four sisters growing up, so I read everything I could about raising boys. There was no dipping my toe in the water; I had to jump in head-first. I told them, “I love you, I’m here for you, I will defend you.” I was there through toothaches and knee scratches and basketball games. I did the school runs and shopping, and learnt the domestic side of life in Karachi, which has about 16 million people. Aiyla came along five years ago, a little sister for the boys. They love her. She’s the ribbon on our package. Another thing that helped anchor me in Pakistan was my volunteer work as an ambassador for the Fred Hollows Foundation. It allows me to mix with people, get to ground level. The camps, clinics and cataract operations they set up – free of cost – are life-saving. You can see the thanks in their eyes.