Future...?

That’s the way with stories, you tell them as you will. My reality is different from yours, as your reality is different from mine. Experiences, nature, and nurture shape who we are. Perceiving similar situations in different ways is human nature, neither wrong nor right, just different. The information I write in this blog is MY perception, not yours, not that of the people who live here, the people who visit here, or anyone else’s. It is unfair, to claim that another’s perceptions are wrong, or to ask for many specific examples during a general discussion- examples are limitless, as they are added to others and transformed in our mind, feelings are added, taken away, mixed in... Having said this, I hope those of you who take the time to read this blog are enjoying it, and maybe even learning something. But always remember, that what one sees or what one hears, what one feels or how one reacts is an individual process, and no one has the right to negate this or your perceptions regarding.

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I am leaving Pakistan in a month and a half.

This is terrifying.

First, I have become very accustomed to the ‘Pakistani way of life’ where the words ‘responsibility’ and ‘competition’, among others hold completely different meanings. Interestingly, I was told yesterday that the difference between our (us gori’s) mentality and the Pakistani mentality is that when we want things, we do them ourselves. We alone take responsibility for ourselves, our wishes, but also for our actions. This is of course a huge assumption, but I will further discuss it because the actual idea was submitted to me from a Pakistani. If you think about it, this makes a huge difference in the course of one’s life, or in the way one lives. Even about the way one thinks about goals or challenges or the pride one feels during times of self prosperity.

This Pakistani mentality might be easy to explain ( …that is, if I am correct in my assumptions). Many, and probably most, live in extended family units. There is always someone there for you, someone to help you, someone to rely on. Individuality, especially for women, is often delegated to a familial status or role. Even as a child, where Westerners have babysitters for nights out, Pakistanis have aunts, cousins or mothers. If you are one of the unlucky ones and aren’t sent to school early on, you could live to be 5 or even 7 years old with very little contact to non-family members. This, in my opinion, makes a startling difference.

The thing I fear most is that I have in some way given in to this Pakistani way of thought. I notice myself depending more and more on those around me, on the family we have become, or those Pakistanis who have helped me in the past, instead of depending solely on myself. I want to make a side note here- of course, since I broke my foot, I needed extra help with everything, and therefore depended on those around me a great deal more than normally. But when I am referring to dependence in this post, I mean that I have become dependent in other ways, regardless of the foot situation. Europe will be a rude awakening. I guess one would call this ‘reverse culture shock’ something I have often experienced when returning to the United States, a country where I may have grown up, but whose ideals, normative culture and mentality differ so much from mine. Europe has always been my safe haven, a place where I feel comfortable, where I feel at home.

As of yet, I have very little idea of what I will do once I return ‘home’, or even where I will go…? Berlin, Vienna, Amsterdam, London…? The options are in some ways limitless, thanks to the glory of ‘fortress Europe’ and the almost grail-like Schengan passport that I hold in such high regard. I do however think that I will remain in Europe for some time. Africa and South East Asia may be calling my name, but they aren’t calling that loudly yet. Give it a year, or three, or five...

The ‘where’ also greatly depends on the ‘what’. What will I do? Actually, what do I WANT to do? The confusion and panic is spreading so rapidly around my soul that I have made multiple layers of ‘back- up plans’. Go back to school? Study what? Do yet another internship, but where? Find a proper job, but how, and am I even really ready?...

Currently I am looking for any interesting opportunities (this is a hint to any of you out there reading this….). Having written many applications, and received very few responses, I can only hope that once my current internship at Punjab’s UNDP shows up on my CV, the course will run more smoothly…

At the moment I am in immersed in the application and lobbying process of the European Commission’s in-service training programme. This would be best case scenario, and I hope that everyone crosses fingers, toes, eyes (thanks Em.) and any other appendage imaginable…in hopes that I am selected. Some of the roles and goals of the Commission’s Directorate Generals’ make me drool. Especially those regarding Immigration and Gender, these two fields being the ones I have spent the most time working with.

While thinking about the longer term future, I am also thinking about the shorter term future. Stefi and I are planning to take the land rout back to Europe. There is train leaving from Quetta in Baluchistan to Iran on the 1st and 15th of each month. We intend to catch this train, probably on Feb 1. We will travel through Iran, stopping in the likes of Ishafan, and Tehran (and probably others) per bus and train only…no cheating. The only cheaters exception may be a flight from Tehran to Demascus or Beirut…as traveling through Iraq is absolutely not an option (see BBC’s article on Wednesday’s bombing in Baghdad…). From Syria, on to Lebanon (or vice versa), and then through Turkey…this trip will be amazing. A last adventure before immanent return. We expect to take at least a month (or probably 1-1.5 weeks in each country).

Exhaustion and yet also refreshment will greet us upon arrival in Europe, and so will the probable realization that we still don’t know what to do or where to go…

I hate to make this the longest post in history, but there is one more thing I must mention. The most important thing. The thing that has kept me here for so long, and pulled for my return:

The people I have met in Pakistan will create the biggest hole in my heart. The realization that I may never see these people again breaks me...Pakistan has taught me love and even hate, it has taught me never to trust, but yet to find trust in unusual places. The country has introduced me to a level of kindness I have never before seen, opposing, it has also introduced me to hate, the likes of which I have never experienced, based on prejudice, propaganda and often upon religion. These combinations have created a colourful, and often exciting swirl of experiences to place in my cache, ones which I can draw back upon and learn from at any time.

In one and a half months, the journey begins…I will keep updating until then, and hope to make future posts a bit less boring, a bit more ‘future-positive’...

Eid Mubarak

On Eid we were welcomed into the home of a Pashtun family living in Lahore. The house, though modest, is clean, comfortable and well kempt with its concrete walls, many balconies and old city mentality. After many 'Salams' and 'Eid Mubaraks' (or Eid greetings) we were led (I hopped, grunted and was finally carried) up the narrow steps to the balcony where the slaughtering was to occur. The open air, with sunshine filtering through Lahore's ever-dusty winter sky, made for an almost romantic and rather settling experience. Each member of the family (usually male) who earns money and can afford it is obliged to buy, and slaughter an animal. Although it is becoming more common to hire a slaughterer as it is not necessary to slaughter the animal yourself. The types of male animals that fall under the catagory of Halal, and are suitable to sacrifice include the Goat, the Sheep, the Cow and the Camel. The cow and the camel are usually reserved for extended families as the cow can be divided into seven parts, and the camel into eleven, while the goat and the sheep are divided into three each.

The six animals whose lives were to end that morning to commemorate prophet Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son in the name of Allah were calm as ever, enjoying their last meals, and entertaining the children. Even as the first animal was laid down, prayed over and finally slaughtered, I was surprised to notice that the demeanor of the remaining animals had not changed in the least. One by one, the blood flowed from their severed necks, following the strict Islamic rules concerning halal meat, the animals were skinned, the meat was seperated and finally sent down to the women whose responsibility it was to divide the edible into three equal shares. These shares are distributed among family members, friends and the poor. It was interesting to note that very soon after the slaughtering had begun, doorbells throughout Pakistan began to ring in unison, beggers and the poor expected their rightful share.

As I was given my first morsal of the recently sacrificed goat, I learned an important life lesson: I don't really like goat.

Eid is a three day celebration, and although most animals are slaughtered on the first morning of eid, the smell of death hung heavy in the air throughput Lahore for the remaining days. Even now, I can conjure up this smell from memory. Maybe it will never leave me.

Between the three of us goras we took aroung 150 photos of this morning. I will spare you, your stomachs, and the hole these may burn into your memories and will only post the most "tasteful" of the bunch.

A special thanks goes to Safder and his wonderful family for inviting us into such a personal and special celebration. I know we will never forget this experience.

The little ones, watching.

Sheep. Much happier than I would be at that point...

Did you want some Chai with that death...?

Sheep; 5 minutes later.

These past months have been a swirl of colour and confusion. Stress and love and sadness, all wrapped into a whirlwind. I finished my internship with Pakistan's largest natural gas supplier, and decided, that after 6 months, I needed the salty taste of pork, a glass of wine from my father's cellar, and a motherly hug. As such, I found myself on the other side of the world, prepared for a whole different kind of adventure. On the North American continent we enjoyed the following flavours:

• The wedding of a fabulous friend.
• Shopping (for everything).
• An almost calamitous single engine airplane experience- piloted by my father.
• Lunch at the World's first Chicken Wings restaurant in NY State.
• Continuing on to a fantastic time spent in the Niagara Falls.
• Meeting a class comrade in Toronto for Canadian Beer and Poutine.
• One day, hardly enough, spent in Manhattan with my favorite Austrian (male).
  

In continuation, we headed to Europe. Once in the EU, the whirlwind became stronger, pulling us in deeper, as it was more and more difficult to escape its grasp, we knew we could only fight it by dousing our selves in beer, cheese, wurst, and all around happiness:

• A day in Brussels, meeting with a happy (not flying) Dutchman.
• 3 days in Amsterdam, succumbing to our hangovers, and laying around, par usual with the love of my life, M.
• What was supposed to be a 4 day trip to Berlin, ended up being a 4 + 6 day trip, as my grandfather planned his demise perfectly in accordance with my schedule...
• This left only 3 days in London. Three. Days. Is. Not. Enough.

The morning of our departure, S. and I had a slight feeling of illness...by the time we got off the Tube at Heathrow airport, we were full on ill. Trying, of course, to hide the fact from any airline official, due to what we assumed would be threats of H1N1, we got into the Pakistan International Air (PIA) que. We were determined to introduce swine flu to Pakistani's, as their love for swines left much up to the imagination. When we entered PIA's area, we were asked about eight times whether we were in fact in the right que, and if we in fact knew where Lahore is, and in which country. As terrorist activities in Pakistan had increase substantially in the past month, we were as of yet still slightly unsure of our imminent return. We decided that if we were asked a ninth time, whether we 'shouldn't be in the que for a different airline', we would run across the hall where we had already spotted a Japanese Airlines flight boarding for Tokyo.

Alas, no other inquiry was made into our proposed destination, and here we are, back in Pakistan. I have been in this country for one month now. I have left the house only twice. Now, I know what you're thinking; bomb blasts and militant fighting in front of my door, sweltering heat, mosquitoes and death at ever corner, oh the horror. (Un)Fortunately this is not the case. I broke my foot. I am going to implement the famous 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy here, and just continue on with my story. Well, actually, sitting at home for a month is fairly boring, and there really isn't much to tell...

Friends have been extremely supportive, and S. has been taking care of me like my mum would. Amazing, really.

On Tuesday (The World celebrates Eid this weekend) I will go to my first day of work. I am nervous, as most are on their first day, I am also nervous, because it will be my first time leaving the comforts of my home with crutches, and with the hope that, on this particular day, the elevator at work will be functional, both in the morning and in the evening.

Wish me luck.
I will update after the weekend, as Goats, Sheep, Cows and Camels will be slaughtered for Eid throughout the Muslim world, and I reckon, this could be fairly interesting....

Harappa, Murree and the like.

Well, the power wasn't out for 17 days...I've just been a combination of hot, lazy, and busy (how embarrassing...).

For your viewing pleasure, I have posted more photos of the past months (soon, I will even write another proper blog entry....but don't hold your breath...).

What's left of the ancient civilization of Harappa.



You will notice that I am obsessed with doors, walls, and the like.



Again.



Monsoon season, obviously, has not yet begun.



Sugarcane fields.

The long-awaited proof that I actually went to Harappa...

During a wee trip to Murree (in the mountains of NWFP),
a spice and nut shop...full of love.



Cousas, Cousas, Cousas!!!


Oh yeah, I do live in Pakistan, after all...
(Boy was I surprised when I sat down...)

For some reason I am unable to add more photos to this post, as such, I will continue in the next.

In continuation, more photos from the past months in Pakistan:

Smoke circle seen in the sky above the attack

The only way in which to describe the moments prior to the above (and below) photo is by describing the fear, the heart beat, the realization and the devastation. These photos were taken minutes after the May 27th Suicide Bomb Blast in at the Rescue 15 building in Lahore. Coincidentally, my workplace is just a short 500 meters distance from the site of the Blast. For me, the seconds (which, of course, seemed like minutes) during the actual explosion were soul shaking, heart fluttering, madness. I can only recall gripping my desk, as if thinking that the floor would surely fall out from under me, the window panes exploding around me and with eyes-wide, stumbling to say 'was that a bomb...?'.
For me, a gori in Pakistani clothes, the most awful realization of all was the quickness with which the excitement died, and the unsettling calm which followed, almost as if nothing had occurred. As my hands were still shaking, colleagues were typing. As my heart beat again slowed to the norm, coworkers were discussing the balancing of accounts.
Pakistanis are amazing. This country has been through so much in terms of violence and pain- Pakistanis understand that blasts and guns cannot be given too much heed, as attention is exactly what the Taleban want.

Ignorance is bliss. Or, rather, ignorance is not acceptance.

The smoke hovering in the sky, seconds after the blast. The blast site is just behind the white building.

Formal event at LUMS:

The three Germanic speakers (Felix, Laura, Matthias)

Lovely Hadiya and I.


Sahiwal and the Countryside: Desi Life.

Sorting chillis.

Bangra dancing...these kids can dance like I've never seen before!


Village home.


Safder drinking some pure, clean water...


Drying corn.

I'm having trouble with my internet connection, and expecting a power outage soon....ah the joys of Pakistan.
These photos above show the varied contexts of Pakistan...the fear and terror to the beauty and purity of the land. I will add more photos of my time in the country side and in Harappa (the ancient civilization) in my next post. (When the power goes back on).

Time has passed...

Since the first post, about 3 months have passed. I do not have the time, nor the will, to write follow up posts for each and every interesting event which may or may not have occurred. For this reason I have decided to document the activities and adventures of the past months with photos and short descriptions: (click on any photo to see it bigger)

Preparing for the wedding...Matt just bought a new Shalwar Kameez. He comes running out of the room..."Umm, I think I bought the wrong size...??!?!". Ha!

This is the first wedding we went to. The bride is made to look like a doll, and is not allowed to laugh, let alone smile, during the ceremony. Societal rigidity, even during celebrations.

The beautiful fabric of my 'fancy shalwar kameez'.

Matthais and I at the wedding.

Wagah Border:

During a short trip to Wagah border.

Wagah border (with India). Notice, gender segregation, even here.


The closing of the border ceremony. A great opportunity for guards to grunt, stomp, shout and spew their hatred for India. Fabulous...


Pakistani Guard. Wagah Border.

Short video showing the border guards.


A Trip Around Lahore:

The minad-au-Pakistan staute.



Badshahi Mosque, Lahore.

Me, In front of Badshahi Mosque.


Lahore Museum


Mosque


5 times a day, this tower belches out Azan.
Allah Akhbar, there is only one God...


Safder; my guide through Pakistan...

Lahore Fort


Mosque with Safder (hot feet)


Big Mosque!!


Mosque!



More to come in the next post: Sahiwal and the countryside, Multan, ect.

First Month in Pakistan

Asalamalaikum!

With the cusp of my first month behind me, I think it is about time to tell you all of my recent experiences in Pakistan. Upon my tardy arrival in Lahore, a cheerful crowd of AIESEC’ers, who welcomed me with posters declaring my arrival, open arms and cheerful faces, thankfully greeted me. The fact that I was almost 4 hours late, had me experiencing moments of panic during my flight- thoughts of arriving in Pakistan alone without any idea of where to turn, kept me occupied during the 2.5 hour flight from Dubai to Lahore.



As AIESEC Lahore, is based in the elite Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS), I spent my first days within the LUMS bubble of a well kept campus, continuous electricity, air conditioning, and highly educated people. This time gave me ample opportunity to slowly acclimatize to the idea that I was now living in Pakistan (something which probably, even now, hasn’t quite sunk in yet).

Lahore is a city of atleast 10 million inhabitants, divided thoroughly into areas based very much upon socio-economic factors. LUMS, and our current apartment, are located in the Defence Housing Authority (DHA), possibly the most prestigious place to live in all of Pakistan. With armed guards on each corner, wide streets, green grass, large homes, and neighbourhoods named after letters of the alphabet (ie A-block, B-block, C-block, etc…) it is easy to forget that poverty, lack of education, and gender inequality make up the majority of Pakistan’s some 172 million inhabitants. The reason I mention this, is because it is surprisingly easy to forget that one is in Pakistan at all, if one keeps well within the limits of the DHA…

Although it may sound rather ridiculous, my first important order of business upon arrival in Pakistan was a trip to the ‘H-block’ textile market. With clusters of stores filled with a heart racing overabundance of colourful fabrics, these stores cater solely to the female shopper, on her quest to find the perfect material for the newest addition to her collection of shalwar kameez. Once in these stores, it is difficult to subdue the feeling of complete sensory overload, as store attendants shove fabrics covered in multi-coloured stripes, flowers and patterns into one’s face, all the while attempting to outbid each other with prices and names. Thankfully, I had a trusted female companion, who knew the process of shopping for the perfect fabrics all too well. After 45 minutes, filled with picking, choosing, looking, locating and finally bargaining, we headed to the nearest tailor. He then turns these swaths of fabric (3 pieces for each shalwar kameez) into proper shalwar, kameez, and dopatta. Within a week, a great sense of pride filled me, as I sauntered down the lane, in my very own, outrageously multicoloured and patterned shalwar kameez.

As a women living in this Muslim country, it is not compulsory to cover my hair. It is however, highly recommended, or even completely necessary in some instances. When visiting a mosque it is expected that women cover their hair, and remove their shoes (just as it is completely necessary that men uncover their hair). I also find it a form of protection from the stares of some, to cover my hair in certain situations- especially when leaving the protection of the DHA or in rural areas. And I always carry my dopatta, or long rectangular piece of fabric, for the instances when I do feel it necessary to cover hair, or skin.

I suppose I should address the principal reason for my trip to Pakistan; work.
As a ‘media affairs and public relations’ intern for the nationalized Sui Northern Gas Pipelines Ltd (SNGPL), I am responsible for the creation of the monthly newsletter, and partially responsible for the creation of this years’ Natural Gas Conservation Campaign. I work in a small team of about 7 people, all are open, friendly, helpful and extremely curious about my culture, upbringing and whether I am the ‘biased, xenophobic, violent, heretical and taboo- filled, archetypical American’ as the Pakistani’s see it. They have quickly come to identify me, simply as, ‘the German’.

Even with an apartment in ‘T-Block’, DHA, we are not protected from the electrical load shedding, heat, mosquitoes and smells of Pakistan. With an average of 16 hours of electricity per day (give or take), I find that the electricity continuously goes out at precisely those moments when one would need it most. This, I suppose, is nothing more, than the common ‘Murphy’s law’.
In Pakistan, in the summer months (which means March to November), it is HOT. Hot, as in, 45 Degrees C in the SHADE. Maybe you can imagine how hot it is inside our (as of yet) non-air-conditioned home. The only adjectives I could use to define this ever-increasing heat are ‘stifling’, ‘suffocating’ and ‘seething’- the alliteration was unintentional, I swear. Although everyone here tells me, that the long sleeves and pants covering one’s body ‘help’ with the heat, I am inclined to disagree completely, vehemently even, and often have the feeling of actually melting while walking down the street. I have become prejudiced against any sort of outdoor physical activity between the hours of 9:00 and 22:00, unless, of course, it is for a trip to the ice cream store. I even find myself dreading weekends, as we have air-conditioning at work.

With our first trip outside of Lahore, Matthias (Austrian housemate) and I, had the opportunity to go to Kasur, considered a ‘small town’ despite its 1 million inhabitants, located on the Indo-Pakistani border where Sufism, and Matt’s boss, were born. Before entering Kasur, we went to the outer-laying village where Matt’s boss has some family, we visited their home, made of mud, greeting their children with 'Asalamalaikum', a greeting from God, and drank the hot, sweet, milky chai so common to Pakistan.
Kasur proved to be a swelling city, full of people, motorcycles, rickshaws, bikes, cars, peddlers, beggars, small shops, beautiful mosques, and delicious eateries. After savouring the area’s delicatessen, fried fresh-water fish, I covered my hair, removed my shoes and entered the hot open spaces of the local mosque. I am again, and again, surprised by human kindness, not only having been permitted, but actually invited to enter the ‘male-only’ portion of the Mosque, to view the institution's pride and joy, some 1,000 year-old articles of its founder. Upon leaving, I was gifted a beautiful deep green wall hanging, with Quranic verses, written in beautiful, and colourful calligraphy.
Outskirts of Kasur.
Cows in front of traditional painted trucks, Kasur.

With continuous speak about the Taleban’s threats, the PPP’s inefficiencies, murders, rapes, and inequalities, it may be hard for some to believe that I have only encountered kindness, curiosity, and heart warming welcomes during my time here. I look forward to experiencing more and more of this rich culture, these wonderful people, and Urdu, a language which I hope to learn in the coming months.