As a teenager, I was captivated by the 2004 film Catch That Kid, in which Kristen Stewart and her co-stars escape a bank heist in go-karts. That scene sparked a determination to drive fast, and I declared I would become the first black, female, Muslim Formula One driver. My parents dismissed it as a phase, but I devoured books on cars and studied mechanical engineering at university, graduating with first-class honours.
I was accepted into an exclusive motorsport master's programme that fed into elite F1 teams, but financial barriers stopped me. An unpaid work experience offer at Mercedes F1 had to be turned down, and the course fees of A$50,000 were beyond my means. Needing a well-paid job, I recalled a careers fair where an oil and gas recruiter had promised adventure and a helicopter commute.
I joined as a measurement while drilling specialist, working onshore in the Australian desert and offshore in the Indian Ocean. Hitches lasted weeks or months, with 12-hour shifts that could stretch to 20 when problems arose. The pressure was intense: an idling rig costs a million dollars a day, and everyone waits on you to solve the issue.
Despite the gruelling conditions, I was drawn back by the thrill of flying to the platform, the technical challenge of hitting a target thousands of feet underground, and the isolation. The job offered the adventure and financial reward I sought, even if it wasn't the F1 career I had once dreamed of.
