George's VSO adventures

Saying goodbye

2010-10-03T09:50:00.000-07:00

One afternoon during my last week at AWWD, Tabassum came into our office with Sumita (our lovely office assistant). Sumita proceeded to lay out three empty water bottles in front of Tabassum. I looked on in bafflement, slowly turning to understanding, as Tabassum tucked her dupatta closely around her face, closed her eyes and lifted up her hands, murmuring Arabic under her breath. The three bottles of water were placed so she could feel that she was praying in the correct direction, towards Mecca. In spite of the telephones ringing, conversations, and people walking in and out, Tabassum was entirely focused on her prayers. For a couple of minutes a corner of our office was filled with peace and devotion.

It is these moments that I will most miss – the unexpected and unadulterated, if transitory, window through to another’s world and life. AWWD’s community workers have been open and genuine with me, inviting me into their homes and lives, with no expectation of anything in return except friendship. I know that they have given a lot more than I have given back: if ever I am disgruntled or complaining of life back home, I will think back to a beautiful blind woman living in atrocious conditions, unable to see but able to bring joy and a smile to those she meets, who has experienced the darkness of life that I can scarcely imagine, but who is herself a light to those around her.

Although at times I did find Kolkata as a city fairly difficult, frequently needing the (comparitive) peace of my room to recover, there can be no getting away from the fact that I will miss it. Kolkata is a passionate city: with so much humanity squeezed together in such a relatively small area, it vibrates with life. In spite of the huge divide between rich and poor, and the exclusion of many from the riches the city has to offer, it is relatively safe (with the substantial exception of the driving). I could walk through the slums with little fear of robbery. And it is a city with significant religious and ethnic diversity, of which Kolkatans are justly proud. With a 40% Muslim minority, Christians, Jews as well as Hindus, in the last few decades Kolkata has not seen the religious violence that has affected other parts of India. Lakshmi, a Hindu, could lead Tabassum, a Muslim, freely through the streets.

So, I will miss the children from my street running up to shake my hand every time I walk past; driving through the city in a taxi - the varied scents of the city wafting through the open windows: smoke, drains, fried food, flowers, and incense; popping over to my local fruit stall and picking up a few mangoes for 50 Rs…. No, I am not going to look back at my time here through rose-tinted spectacles: the brutal reality of life in Kolkata for many of the disabled women I met effectively prevents me from doing this. And so I will have no easy answer for all those who ask me, on my return ‘how was India?’

Before I left for Kolkata I visited some Christian friends who mentioned the following verse. This has had special meaning for me throughout my time in Kolkata, so it seems appropriate to end this chapter of my life with this verse, but at the same time looking to the future:

‘I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them, and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them’.

Isaiah 42: 16

Advice for the unwary British traveller in India

2010-10-03T06:07:00.001-07:00

'When are you planning to leave Kolkata?’ Judith, fellow VSO volunteer, asked me tentatively during my last week at work. My first thought – what did she mean, planning to leave?! I was definitely leaving, flights booked, tickets printed out, parental pick up at Heathrow confirmed, on the 7^th of September. She continued, ‘I’ve just got a nice little message from the American consulate saying there is an India-wide strike starting at 6 am on the 7^th September until 6 am on the 8^th. They are suggesting American citizens don’t travel at all in West Bengal that day. The airport may be closed.’

So, initial decision – whether to laugh or cry. Deciding on laughing (albeit slightly hysterically) my mind wandered over all my travel plans that had gone awry over the previous month. Was I simply unlucky, or was this all part of the Indian experience? Here follows a brief summary of travelling stresses:

1. Floods in Ladakh damaging 80% of the main city’s infrastructure and the runway, two days before we were supposed to fly there.

2. Power cut at 4 pm on Friday afternoon, lasting the whole evening, just as I was trying to book bus tickets and hotel for a hurriedly re-planned holiday on-line (before flying to Delhi early Saturday morning).

3. When we did manage to get bus tickets from Delhi to Dharamsala (in the foothills of the Himalayas) my friend, who I was travelling with, and I were surprised to find that the bus didn’t leave from central New Delhi. This would have been (relatively) easy to find. No. Rather our bus tickets were from, I quote, a 'petrol pump' on a random road the other side of the city. There is no way we could have found it by ourselves, but luckily we had a very nice taxi driver who not only found the correct petrol pump, but also waited around with us during torrential rain, asked around to see whether we were in the correct place, found that we weren’t, and drove us a further 15 minutes up the road to a narrow and bumpy side street, at the bottom of which were a few coaches. He then asked around to find out which was our coach, and so we finally managed to collapse into our seats, fairly sure that we were heading to Dharamsala and not Manali, Simla or any other place in India (nothing would have surprised me by that point).

4. The overnight bus journey to Dharamsala was actually OK and I even slept a bit. This was not the case on the return journey. Unfortunately I pretty quickly started feeling sick due to the steep and winding mountain roads. Then unfortunately, I somehow managed to start hyperventilating (or something) and ended up being completely unable to move my hands or arms, which was really scary. I panicked and demanded that the whole coach stop, it’s funny that when you are feeling so ill you want to die all self-consciousness flies out of the window.

5. So, when we arrived in Delhi the next morning neither my friend nor I were at our best. We had train tickets from New Delhi to Jaipur for that afternoon. However, key lesson I had learned: don’t take anything or granted, and triple check everything. On triple checking the tickets, then, I found that the train didn’t actually leave from New Delhi station, which is what the ticket implied, but actually Old Delhi station, which was a lot further away. I also received a text stating that the time of the train had changed, but not saying to what time. It was then we realised we hadn’t left enough time to get to Old Delhi station given torrential rain, consequent lack of taxis and major traffic jams. So we gave up, and decided to enjoy the delights that Delhi had to offer instead.

6. I managed to fly back from Delhi to Kolkata without any problems.

I realise the above may have given the impression that I didn’t enjoy my holiday, which actually wasn’t the case. When we did manage to get to Dharamsala, it was very beautiful and peaceful (particularly compared to Kolkata).

Unfortunately it was the monsoon season, so it was fairly cloudy and rainy, but we managed to do some cooking lessons, plenty of shopping, and a hike up to 3000m (which, given my complete lack of exercise for the previous six months, I felt was quite impressive). We stayed in McLeod Ganj, which is also known as Upper Dharamsala, and where the Dalai Lama and the exiled Tibetan community live. It was interesting, if shocking, talking to Tibetans and hearing their stories. Many had escaped Tibet over high mountain passes, some suffering from snow blindness or frostbite, and now cut off and unable to return to their families. There were many Buddhist monks, and we visited a few monasteries where monks were busy debating the intricacies of Buddhist philosophy: when they feel they make a sound point they stamp their feet and clap their hands.

McLeod Ganj is very much on the tourist trail, and was a very different experience both to living in Kolkata and to visiting the mountains in Pakistan. It was clearly set up to receive a high number of tourists – there were many coffee shops, and it was even possible to get mozzarella cheese (incredible – it’s almost impossible to get even in the huge metropolis of Kolkata!). The hotels, even the budget ones, were nice, with hot showers and comfortable beds. While I enjoyed the experience, it isn’t one I would really like to repeat. Many tourists like to talk about experiencing the ‘real’ India. While I don’t think this is a tenable concept, given a country of 1.2 billion people and 72 languages, the hotels and restaurants of the tourist centres set up to cater for the needs of rich westerners are about as far away from the experiences of 90% of Indians as is possible to get. It seemed to me many tourists expect western standards of comfort and luxury with a little bit of exotic culture thrown in. I even felt I was treated differently as compared to living in Kolkata: particularly in Delhi whenever I stepped out into the street I felt like I had a big notice pinned to my back: ‘tourist is ‘ere: please scam or rip me off’. There were redeeming features of Delhi though – the Jama Masjid was beautiful, as was the Red Fort.

So, my advice for an unwary British traveller in India: travel with an Indian who knows about the intricacies of the Indian transport system and can deal with scams!

And as for my trip home, well I was able to alter my plane ticket from Kolkata to Delhi to fly out a day early, so I spent a day in Delhi before flying home. While Kolkata was absolutely bought to a standstill by the strike (80 flights out of the airport were cancelled), Delhi was hardly affected. So it ended happily (for me) after all.

Rakhi, Ramazan, and a 'normal' Kolkata day

2010-09-07T02:05:00.000-07:00

One of the things I will really miss about Kolkata is the fact that I can get out of bed at 8.30, then leave my house at one minute to ten and still arrive at the office on time. It’s great! Office hours are from 10 until 6 (but actually the day for me doesn’t start properly until after 10.15, when Sumita brings the chai around). I spend most days in the office, and I have been working on three main areas: reporting, information management, and communications, which I will now explain in detail. Those interested can read on, others of you skip to para 4 (smarties may be available for those of you who read on).

For many small NGOs, their project work is their area of expertise, but they have few resources (time or money) to put into aspects of organizational effectiveness – tasks like reporting, documenting their work, or monitoring the impact of their activities. These tasks – particularly reporting for donors - are often viewed as chores rather than an exercise that will benefit the organization. So, my first objective has been to develop a reporting system which will enable the organization to analyse and learn from their work, and also fulfill the requirements for donors. The first stage is the daily reporting for the field workers' project activities. The organization needs to know how many visits they have done, what problems they have come across and their achievements. So I worked with the team developing a format for them to capture this information. Simple, I hear you say. Well, yes. And no. Most of the field workers are disabled women from the slums themselves, which is wonderful and what the organization is all about, but some have not completed primary school, and most did not complete secondary school. Developing a format that they were happy to use and which captured the necessary information, therefore, was actually quite challenging, and involved many discussions. We will see if it will actually be used….

The next level was collating this information on a monthly basis, to assess whether the team has met their targets. This involves collecting both quantitative and qualitative information – for example how many girls are undertaking tailoring training, but also what kind of problems the community workers faced when going to the hospital. And then the information from this can be used in quarterly monitoring – to see whether we are achieving the indicators of success established when the project was designed. It has been quite fun (really!) designing a whole system from scratch - everything was done on a very ad hoc basis before. The reporting has linked closely with my work on information management – it is necessary to be able to store the information systematically so the organization can access and use it!

The other major area I have been working on has been communications: helping the organization publicise their work through developing communications materials and a brand identity. The individual stories of women with disabilities involved with AWWD challenge the endemic stereotypes of WWD, illustrate their capabilities, and the challenges that they face. So I have developed a series of three communications materials based on the stories of individual WWD – a series of posters to grab people’s attention at events, an introductory leaflet explaining about AWWD and the work we do, linking this with brief stories of some of the WWD, and finally a booklet of case studies, based around certain rights (eg the right to livelihood, the right to education) and how WWD have claimed these rights. As you can probably imagine, one of the best parts of my work was visiting some of these women and hearing their inspiring stories.

So, on this ‘normal’ day in the office I spend the morning working on these types of tasks. I have a few options for lunch: often Judith and I go to the local Barista (coffee shop), which is rather expensive, but does have a wide variety of chocolate milkshakes, and is air conditioned. We have to take an auto rickshaw down our crazy road for 3 minutes, careering past lorries and taxis and hanging on for dear life. This deposits us at the crossroads, where we have to somehow navigate across the road without being run down, and then down a footpath dodging past sleeping dogs and motorcyclists who think that driving down the pavement is a good idea. Or Judith and I go to a Chinese restaurant opposite the coffee shop, which does good veg chowmein. Or, sometimes I go with some of the field staff to our local ‘hotel’. This is rather an unusual hotel: it is situated by the side of the road, has wooden benches and plastic sheeting for a roof, and a plate of rice, dal and veg costs 10 Rupees. The food is actually good, if I ignore the ants crawling across the table and don't sit on any rusty nails.

After lunch, on this 'normal' day, all the community workers arrived in the office because it was Rakhi: a festival where sisters celebrate how wonderful their brothers are. Yes, really. Sisters give their brothers pretty bracelets – sometimes bits of string, but sometimes ornately patterned. Now, however, the festival has expanded, and friends give each other bracelets as a sign of affection. Also, one girl told me that it is a good way of warning off guys who are too interested: if a girl gives a guy a bracelet it shows him that she considers him as a brother, and nothing more! I asked whether there is any festival where brothers celebrate how wonderful their sisters are, but apparently not. So, part of this afternoon was spent tying bracelets on each other and eating Bengali sweets that the girls had bought in.

When the day finished at 6 I walked home, past the kids flying kites at the side of the road. When I walked into my place the girls doing a tailoring training course were still there, and were seriously eyeing my bottle of cold water. For it is Ramazan at the moment, and these girls had fasted all day. I also had bought with me some of the sweets we had had in the office, so I sat down with the girls on the cement floor, and they broke their fast with sweets and cold water. They also wanted to see photos of my family and home: they could not believe that my parents house had a separate bathroom, kitchen and dining room. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea showing them.

Evenings chez moi aren’t such fun, and usually consist of reading, writing my blog, collapsed on my bed due to the heat, going stark crazy because the fan is squealing again, or watching one of my 6 DVDs that I had bought with me (again!). But actually, I am usually too tired from working and from the heat to do anything constructive and lying on my bed is the best option. And so ends a normal Kolkatan day.

Floods

2010-08-29T23:26:00.000-07:00

Ladakh: the Buddhist part of Indian Kashmir, and apparently one of the only parts of India not affected by the monsoon. According to Lonely Planet, it receives about as much rainfall as the Sahara desert. Imagine our surprise then, when, two days before we were due to go there was torrential rain causing mudslides: 80% of the infrastructure of the city of Leh was damaged or destroyed, and 150 people were killed. So we had to quickly change our holiday plans. More of that in another blog entry. But I can’t talk about floods and strange weather patterns without mentioning Pakistan, although I am almost at a loss to know what to say. This time two years ago I was in Ghizer, in the mountains of the Hindu Kush enjoying the beauty of the blue skies unaffected by monsoon rain. Now I am getting emails from friends in that area saying the roads are destroyed, there is no clean water, little power and little food in the markets. And even friends who are in areas not flooded are struggling with inflation. I have never felt so powerless to be able to help friends in trouble.

The media have been highlighting the slowness of international aid in comparison with the extent of the need – the Secretary General of the UN has said that more people are have been affected than the tsunami, the Pakistan earthquake and the earthquake in Haiti combined. It is thought that international aid has been slow because of concerns about terrorism, and, combined with this, possible misuse of aid (although the UK public have been one of the most generous donors). I have read several good articles arguing that because of the negative image Pakistan has, the crisis has been viewed first through the lens of the threat of terrorism, and then as a humanitarian catastrophe, which has affected the response of the international community and therefore is compounding the suffering of those affected. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/8931886.stm
http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2010/08/19/why_doesnt_the_world_care_about_pakistanis The vast majority of Pakistanis - those who have lost everything in the floods - have not only been victims of terrorism for many years, but now are trying to survive and keep their families alive. The Pakistan that I remember is not constituted solely by corruption, Islamic extremism and terrorism: it was the most beautiful place with the most hospitable people I have ever visited. Not only is the suffering that they are experiencing heartbreaking, but it is even worse that this is compounded by such a negative image. These are some of my memories of Pakistan:

To finish – here are some things my friends have been emailing me from Pakistan: ‘all the bridges are gone, there are many communication problems’, ‘may God help us get through it all’, ‘there is no water, no electricity, no food available in the market and life is miserable. The flood has swept away most of our beautiful lands’, ‘our country is being pushed back to the stone age’.

To donate to support the DEC appeal: http://www.dec.org.uk/.

Monsoon!

2010-08-11T07:25:00.000-07:00

There have been several clear signs that it is the monsoon season, in addition to the almost daily bouts of torrential rain and massive thunderstorms. It now takes approximately three days to dry my clothes, several clothes have started sprouting a variety of types of mould, and my walls are now a lovely mottled pink colour - darker where there is damp. I can't really decide which season I have liked least - the intense heat before the rains, when prickly heat was the order of the day, or the humidity of the monsoon - after it has rained going anywhere is like wading through a steam bath. But apart from these few minor inconveniences (as well as the increase in number of rats and cockroaches due to drains being flooded) the monsoon hasn't really affected daily life as much as thought it would. I've only had to wade once - I don't think it has been as heavy here as usual. So life is going on pretty much as normal, I'm still bewailing my significant hair loss due to anti-malarials, drinking frequent chocolate milkshakes, and negotiating the Kolkata traffic with a shudder. The most exciting occurrence of the last week has been the discovery of a street food stall opposite my house where I can get a paratha (fried chappati) and vegetable curry for 8 Rupees. That's about 10 pence. That even puts the chicken chow mein I was getting for 23 Rupees in the shade. So as you can probably conclude, my attempts at Indian cookery have come to an abrupt end!

The last couple of weekends I've been meeting up with other VSO volunteers for mutual emotional support, a little bit of grumbling, and touristy sessions, which has been great. The other saturday we decided to go to Babu Ghat - I had read that it was by the river, so I thought it would be a nice calming place with a little river breeze, perfect for a saturday afternoon stroll. But, actually, it is a gathering place for Hindus, so at the entrance was a seething and jostling mass of Indian men and women, some ambling around, many sitting around ornate statues of Gods and Goddesses decorated with brightly coloured and beautifully scented flowers, the smells mingling with the many incense sticks. We made our way past all these people, hoping not tread anywhere that would cause religious insult, and made our way down to the river. Well, or we tried to, but it was very muddy, so decided instead we would take in the view from the top. Hundreds of men, women and children had come here to bathe in the Hooghly, and were splashing happily across the mud and submerging themselves in the river. Some boys were diving off the rusty hulk of a ship near to the shore. We took in the view for a while, enjoying the people-watching, but then Debs mentioned that it was a bit like staring at people going for a swim in the sea, so decided perhaps our staring should cease.
We thought we would walk up to the flower market, as that is also by river. Unfortunately there was no riverside path, so we had to walk along the main road. And not only is Babu Ghat a special place for Hindus, it is also a main bus station in Kolkata, so the road was fairly busy. There was also a pretty constant succession of porters with huge weights on their heads coming from Howrah station. So all in all walking down the road was quite an intense experience - checking behind to jump out of the way of careering buses and motorcycles, diving out of the way of porters who didn't look like they could change direction even if they wanted, and avoiding open drains and urinals. And all in the glaring sun - it would be an understatement to say after 10 minutes I was a little sweaty, drenched would be the correct term. We walked past an expensive hotel, one that is actually floating on the river, and decided to go and have a look at the menu - less to see that and more to benefit from a couple of minutes of a/c. We walked in and immediately felt out of place given our sweaty-ness, but in the restaurant they invited us to sit down, and gave us free drinks of salt lemon soda - this was the first free thing I had been given in India, and it was perfectly timed! After this rejuvenating drink we felt more energised to walk to the flower market, which is under the Howrah bridge, and is where the Kolkata population buy their flowers for puja, or prayers. By this time it had started to drizzle, so we got onto the bridge and were able to stand in the rain staring down at the craziness below - the packed street lined with stall after stall of bright pink, orange, purple and yellow flowers contrasting oddly with the black and blue plastic sheeting. Men with huge baskets of strings of orange and yellow flowers on their heads jostled their way through the crowds, and every so often a small van barged its way scattering everyone to either side. And walking through the market was an experience for all five senses - the dampness of the drizzle, the pushing and shoving and beeping of horns, wafts from the scents from the different types of flowers - it was great. And I think this is first market I have been to where I didn't buy anything, tempting as it was!

Bits and pieces

2010-07-16T05:45:00.000-07:00

I thought that things reached a new low on the rat front the other day: there was a half eaten rat outside my front door. It literally was half eaten, but I won’t go into gruesome details for you. But then yesterday I was talking to Lakshmi and Tabassum and I realized actually I have nothing to complain about. It is monsoon season at the moment – although the rain hasn’t been as torrential as I expected there is still enough of it around. And in the slums this means flooding – Tabassum says it sometimes the water comes up to her waist. And with the flood waters the rats come out. I came across Lakshmi laughing with another girl in Bengali, and I asked what was funny. It was this: Lakshmi lives in a one room house with 7 people and one bed – so she has to sleep on the floor, with rats running around. She can’t sleep, she can’t cook, she can’t keep things dry. All she can do is laugh about it. And for Tabassum - when the shacks flood there is no place to cook so they have to cook on a shelf above their bed. Some people in their slum shelter in a primary school when things get too bad, but there is never space for Tabassum and her family because three of them are disabled. I thought I was beyond crying, I thought I had reached a subconscious level of acceptance of the poverty here, but how can I accept this? What can I do? These are no longer just work colleagues, they are friends, and I am powerless to help them in any substantive way. Kolkata is really challenging some of my most basic beliefs – it is not possible to always be the good Samaritan, the extent and level of suffering means that in many cases I do have to walk on the other side. But then, more positively, it never ceases to amaze me the tenacity of the human spirit, and the way the girls are able to continue living and smiling, even in such awful circumstances.

There have been two telling bits of news in the last week related to India and poverty – the first is that an Oxford research report has concluded that 8 states in India (including West Bengal) have in total more poor people than 26 of the poorest countries in Africa. Unbelievable. And almost on the same day it was reported in the Indian news that DfID may significantly reduce aid to India. They cite the reason as being the India’s substantially growing economy. Why has India’s wealth not trickled down to people living in circumstances that can best be described as inhumane? Why can I sit in a rickshaw next to a girl using an Iphone and drive past a little boy suffering from diarrhea on the street, as he has no other place to go?

I didn’t mean for this to be a really depressing blog, because actually I have been more positive recently. I have less than two months to go, so I am trying to relish every minute (well, as far as that is possible with the heat, humidity and rats) as I know I will miss it when I am back home. And, after 3 months of living here, I am finally becoming more comfortable with Kolkata as a city – I am enjoying wandering around the market after work now instead of getting stressed about being run over etc. And I am going on holiday soon to Ladakh!!

I will finish with some things I have learnt in the last couple of weeks:

- how to slam the door and assertively walk away from a taxi driver who shouts at me insisting I pay triple fare (as well as learning ‘I may be a foreigner but I am not a fool’ in Bengali and Hindi)
- how to hold a conversation in three languages (I speak in English, someone whose mother tongue speaks in Bengali, and someone whose mother tongue is Hindi speaks in Hindi, and we all kind of understand)
- how to work in an organization when at one point only 2 other people spoke English
- where to get good food – there is an expensive restaurant down our road which we went to the other day – we all ended up with swollen and itchy feet due to MSG. From now on I will stick to the outdoor fast food vendor – at least if I get ill I’ll know it is because of good old dirt.
- h ow to deal patiently with bureaucracy (keeping my temper when I have to fill out exactly the same form twice, with exactly the same information that the official already has in triplicate in front of him. Once I had filled it out he ticked my answers, obviously making sure that the colour of my eyes (yes, really) and my father’s name hadn’t changed since last time.

A haven of peace, ponds and palms

2010-07-05T00:46:00.000-07:00

It felt very much like a ride at a theme park: an Indian jungle adventure. I was sitting in an auto-rickshaw, tightly squeezed between two Indian ladies, being alternately shaken up and down and lurched from side to side as the auto crashed its way down a mud and brick jungle footpath. Lush green vegetation, palm trees, bamboo, and banana trees encircled our route, and we could almost see the steam rising, so intense was the humidity: it had just stopped raining.

Twenty bone-shattering minutes later and we had arrived at the end of the auto-navigable path. Where there was no brick, the monsoon had created a muddy swamp of a path, so we had to continue on foot. A couple of minutes later, however, and we had reached our destination village. Behind a pond, where women were squatting cleaning their pots and pans, were a cluster of houses, some made out of mud, and some out of a combination of bamboo, plastic sheets and brick. I had to pinch myself to ensure I was really here, it was so like going back in history, or walking into a museum on rural life.

In spite of the beauty of the area, the whole situation spoke of intense poverty. Houses made of mud, women cleaning kitchen implements in a pond, a 45 plus minute walk to a road: life must be hard. And for a woman who was unable to walk for much of her childhood: the challenges must have been almost unimaginable. We were here to meet Moumita, who had suffered from polio as a baby. For many women, such a combination of circumstances would result in absolute dependence on her family and isolation within her house. Not so for Moumita. She was introduced to me as the only woman in her area who had completed higher secondary school, who had graduated, and who now was studying for a Masters in Social Work. Up until the age of 15, her mother had carried her to school – first to her primary school, and then the 45 minute walk to the main road where she caught an auto. But in class 11 she was introduced to AWWD, who were able to provide her with callipers. These enabled her to walk comfortably, thus changing her life: she was able to continue her education.

I had come to AWWD’s rural office to interview girls for some case studies, and Moumita was not the only inspirational lady I met. Deep in another part of rural west Bengal, after a 30 minute walk meandering through lush green fields I met a proud proprietor of a village shop. Niberdita can’t walk at all: she can only get around by crawling. It is difficult to imagine a more challenging set of circumstances - being unable to walk would be unbearably difficult in any situation, but living 30 minutes from a road in a poor rural area - the mind boggles. But Niberdita is living with dignity and determination, and greeted us with a beautiful smile. AWWD had provided her with a loan, which enabled her to expand a shop, so now she is selling all sorts of groceries. She says: 'I meet with many people every day and this is very interesting. I cannot go outside and I cannot stay in the home alone. But now I can meet people who come to my shop'. And Sikha too, can’t walk. She gets around using a hand operated tricycle, which she uses to get to work - an hour journey either way on the awful mud and brick footpaths. And she has not missed an AWWD monthly meeting, even though to attend them involves a 12 kilometre journey in either scorching sun or torrential rain, depending on the season.

It was an immense privilege to meet these women who have faced challenges I can't even imagine, yet are still smiling and have an impressive zest for life.

I stayed for a week in the rural office in a little village called Subhi, which was really wonderful (apart from the toilet, a point to which I will return to later). The office had two bedrooms, so I slept there, as did several of the field staff. Every morning when I stepped outside I could see lush green fields, cows, palm trees and lemon trees. That was wonderful.

However, the whole village could also see me as I made my way blurrily to the bathroom, (which was actually four walls and a roof which contained a few buckets of water), which was less wonderful. And I don’t know whether you have ever had to use an outdoor toilet in a monsoon, situated next to a pond and with no light, but I wouldn’t recommend it. What made the whole situation even worse was that often at night dogs would prowl around, and I had nightmares of being trapped inside the spider-endowed toilet with yapping dogs outside, or venturing out and getting rabies. Neither of those untoward events happened, thank goodness, but it did make life that little bit more interesting.

One wonderful lady cooked for us in the evening. At first I tried to help, but I was obviously superfluous, and often ended up observing and writing notes in my little book instead (don’t expect wonders of Bengali cooking when I return, however, as I tried cooking tonight. The end result was a soggy green mess with bits of charcoaled garlic. Not quite the effect I was intending). All food was bought fresh – there was no fridge. We used to chop up the vegetables on the path outside the kitchen (complete with ants crawling around). But the end result was absolutely delicious: there were invariably three dishes and rice: how Mina managed to do this with only two gas hobs I do not know.

Another noteworthy aspect of life in rural West Bengal was both the variety of the types of transport available, and their capacity to expand to take an ever-increasing number of passengers. At the bottom is the lowly bicycle – you may assume that a bicycle can only take one person, but you would be mistaken. I espied a bicycle carrying four people, although admittedly one of them was child. One person was pedalling, one was sitting on the crossbar, one above the rear wheel, and a child balanced precariously between them. The next step up is a bicycle attached to a wooden platform on wheels. This platform is designed to carry a vast variety of items, from bricks to people. One evening when we were coming back from the field six of us clambered on to one of these wooden carts and one guy cycled us back to the office, which took about 30 minutes. Slowly meandering through the lush green West Bengal countryside was a wonderful experience for me, less wonderful for the cyclist though – beads of sweat were standing on his forehead. He did boast that he could take a max of 8 people on this crate. Below is a picture of one of these bicycle crates just visible below a rather large load of hay:

The next step up is the motorcycle: there were a fair few of these whizzing down the narrow lanes with little regard for pedestrians or animals in the way. And a similar form of wooden crate could be attached to the back of a motorcycle, which seemed to be able to take about 20 people in total. And a level above this contraption is the auto rickshaw. It was not uncommon to squeeze 5 people in the back and 5 in the front, plus a couple hanging on to the back for good measure:

And then there are the vans, which seem to be able to squeeze an ever expanding number of passengers. The picture below is of a van where the field staff wanted me to hang on to get home (it was rush hour and there were few options). As adventurous as I am, I downright refused to do this. Not only would it be difficult to hang on, but the buses come down the narrow roads at tremendous speeds, often passing other vehicles with only inches to spare. Being squished between two vehicles would not be a pleasant way to die.

Anyway, I won’t end on that less than cheerful note – I will say that experiencing this for a week: re-energised and motivated me to better deal with the craziness of Kolkata traffic.

A day out with the girls

2010-06-14T23:22:00.000-07:00

Standing outside Linton Street Post Office gave me a good vantage point on which to gently muse on life and the busy-ness of passers-by (except when interrupted, fairly frequently, by young men who delighted in shouting out ‘hello lady’). With that name it sounds a typically British place, but in fact it couldn’t be more Indian. From the family sleeping on the pavement through the mid-day heat, oblivious to the flies swarming around them, to the young man standing idly by his sparkling new motorbike, the street encapsulated much of Kolkata life. For a while I stood by an old man and his wife who were making pakoras – they had got a small-scale production line going, scooping out big clumps of dough and dumping them in a pan full of sizzling and spitting fat. The end result looked quite appetising, but I couldn’t help pondering on the cleanliness of the man’s hand, and decided in the end to desist. Opposite this old man and his wife was a sparkling air-conditioned shop, selling, among other things, Cadbury’s chocolate, pepsi and Colgate toothpaste.

This street is also an entrance to Park Circus slum, and I was waiting for Tabassum and her sister Tarranum. Tabassum is a community worker with the Association for Women with Disabilities, and she had arranged a picnic by the river for some of the disabled girls from her slum. Tabassum is also blind.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a grubby little girl give me a cheeky grin, and then grab the hand of the older boy she was with and pull him authoritatively away. I smiled back. It was a couple of moments later, when the little girl turned round to look at me again, that I realised that it was Tarranum’s daughter. And the boy she was with was Tabassum’s brother. And it was a moment after that that the full realisation hit me: here was a five year old child leading a blind seven year old child alone on a 20 minute walk through a Kolkata slum, to meet a foreigner. And let me tell you that little girl was absolutely fearless. She confidently led both me and her uncle down the streets, guiding him past the motorbikes that came zooming close by us and other hazards endemic to the streets of Kolkata’s slums. When some older boys shouted out to her (I don’t know what they said) she went up and whacked one of them on the arm, albeit with her cheeky grin. And when walking past a cow she gave its rump a big whack as well. I gave the cow a wide berth.

We reached Tabassum’s shack with no other untoward event, and I was welcomed by the big smiles of both sisters decked out in sparkling shalwar kameez. We had arranged to meet at 3 o’clock, and I was spot on. It was not until 4 o’clock that the girls actually turned up, but I didn’t mind; it gave me time to talk to their mother in broken Hindi, and be fed a paratha and burger-y thing.

Once the other disabled girls from the slum arrived we walked together up to the main road, and hailed a taxi. We were a group of 10 people (with two children), so I assumed obviously that we were to be getting two taxis. Not so. Tarannum, I and Tabassum’s younger brother squeezed into the front seat next to the driver, and the other seven somehow managed to fit in the back. Being squeezed between a surly Indian taxi driver and an over-excited young boy, with my right leg twitching every time we drove up too quickly up to traffic lights, did not make for the most relaxing of journeys. However, we got there in one piece and piled out of the taxi, and I was able to breathe in the cooler river air and take in greenery and open spaces. Millennium Park was a welcome break from the craziness of Kolkata’s streets, and we all enjoyed ambling along the footpaths looking at the views across the river. I had been told that this was to be a picnic, so I came prepared with snacks of pasties and cakes. I seemed to be the only one who had brought food however, and meditated on the thought that perhaps Indian picnics don’t include food. The girls seemed happy enough to dig in to what I had brought though.

After having our fill of cakes I expressed a wish to go on the river, and Tarannum said that we could get the commuter boat across to Howrah station and back. This was definitely the best spent 10 Rupees ever. We all clambered on to this rusty hulk that had definitely seen better days, elbowing our way past hundreds of commuting men. The hulk slowly chugged across the river, I could say into the sunset, but unfortunately it wasn’t quite the right direction. We did chug our way past fishermen drawing in their nets, but also past huge rusty wrecks that seemed to be decomposing mid-river. Evidence of the decay of modern industrial ‘progress’ side by side with a still-thriving centuries-old way of life: interesting. At Howrah station the hordes of commuters pushed and jostled their way off the boat, and very few people got back on it for the return journey. We chugged our way back across the river, enjoying the cool breeze and twinkling lights of Kolkata.

Once the trip was over, the fun did not come to an end, however. We made our way to a mini theme park, and as the girls wished to sample the delights of one of the rides I let myself be talked into it. I was pleased to exit with my head still attached to my spine: I can’t imagine what Tabassum must have felt, not being able to see what she was letting herself in for. However, the girls obviously enjoyed it as they wished to go on the big swinging boat: I declined this pleasure and took on the role of official photographer.

After this we made our way to the exit, and before all piling into another taxi we partook of a Kolkata delicacy: pani puri (or something like that). It was very strange, once tried I don’t feel the need of trying it again. It was a fried UFO shaped object, inside which the street hawker puts a dab of something like mashed potato (not able to see clearly due to it being at night) and some bitter liquid. Hmm.

Very rarely are the girls able to get away from their slum, which made this day all the more special, although it was tinged with sadness for me. These girls probably wouldn’t have been able to afford even these simple pleasures had I not been there. One of the girls, who has a curved spine, took me gently by the hand, and then said to me ‘what must these people be thinking about us?’ A revealing comment from someone who has had stigma attached to her for her whole life.

20 million missing women

2010-06-07T23:09:00.000-07:00

How do you count 1.2 billion people? The Indian government are working on this precise issue at the moment: 2011 sees the next census, where not only is every single citizen to be counted, but all over the age of 15 are going to be given an ID card. The mind boggles at the extent of the work and challenges involved. Not only are there the challenges of collecting data about all citizens, including migrants, Muslim women in purdah, and those living in huge slum colonies, but there are also perplexing difficulties concerning what questions should be asked. Whether caste should be included has been a hot topic. On the one hand gathering such data would be used to inform government policy for the disadvantaged – the pragmatic viewpoint is that caste is evident in Indian society today and therefore the government needs data so they are as well informed as possible. On the other hand, by including the question the government are perpetuating the issue of caste and caste distinctions, and through this are giving it more credibility when many believe it should be obsolete in a modern India.

Another important question, and more pertinent to my work, is whether there should be questions on disability. In theory, of course the government needs to know the extent of its disabled population. However, in practice the question has not always been included, partly because it is very difficult to frame: how do you define disability? How do you define whether someone is visually impaired – whether they wear glasses? There was no disability question in 1991, but a question was included in 2001. However, the question was inadequately framed – it did not include all forms of disability, and the census enumerators found it difficult to recognise when to define someone as disabled. According to the data generated by the 2001 census, 2.1% of the population are disabled. The UN estimates, on the other hand, are around 6%.

This means that 20 million disabled women were not counted in the last census. This is 20 million women who have been invisible in government policy for the last 10 years, who have not been taken into account in the allocation of resources or budgets.

It is therefore crucial that the government gains a more accurate picture this time round. Not only does this necessitate a more accurate framing of the question, and training of the census enumerators, but it also requires disabled women to stand up and be counted. It is thought that last time round many disabled women were unwilling to be counted due to shame and the stigma associated with disability.

To address these issues AWWD arranged a census seminar with disabled women, people from other NGOs, and government officials. The Census Commissioner for West Bengal and the Disability Commissioner both came and spoke about what their respective departments are doing about the issue, which was very positive. Disability groups have been more involved in the framing of the question this time, and it is likely they will be involved in training census enumerators. Now we need to spread the word among disabled women to stand up and be counted.

Elections!

2010-06-06T22:59:00.000-07:00

There can be no doubt that it has been election season in West Bengal, and it is equally clear that Indians have embraced democracy wholeheartedly. In the last couple of weeks Kolkata has become, if possible, even more colourful, noisy and vibrating with activity. I was wrong to assume that the area in which I am living is a Communist Party stronghold though, – the Trinamul Congress (TMC) party have made significant inroads with their own flag providing activities. Now, each shop and building not only has several red and white hammer and sickle flags, but also the green, white and orange flags of the TMC party. It seems I myself have divided loyalties, as both a Communist and a TMC flag appeared overnight outside my house. The TMC has one up on the Communists (CPI (M) as they have a huge flag suspended between two buildings and hanging above the street. But, then, on the other hand there is a hammer and sickle in fairy lights near my office. And it is not only the flag business that has seen such an exponential rise in activity in the last few weeks. The loudspeakers down every street have been in use almost every evening, with men (and a few women) exhorting people to vote for them (well I think this is what they are saying, not too sure on the precise content given they are speaking in Bengali). It is clear though that as the evening wears on the speaker gets more and more frenzied. Loud music is also played, and processions and rallies have been noisily evident as well – drums, cheering, that sort of thing. Thankfully there must be a ban on rallies after 10 o’clock, but even so, four hours of almost continuous Bengali exhortations has been slightly too much of a good thing, particularly as the lack of glass in my windows has meant that I have been unable to significantly reduce the volume of noise.

The actual elections were last Sunday, and I stayed in all day as I wasn’t too sure how tense the situation would be. The headlines in the newspapers the next day said how peaceful it had been – most previous elections had seen ‘bombs and bullets’, but these had thankfully not been evident this time (except for one instance when a policeman had started shooting at someone).
The election results came out on Wednesday, and it was expected to be tenser. Judith and I went out for lunch: the situation didn’t seem very different from normal apart from a number of young men covered in red paint zooming down the streets on motorcycles, and a greater police presence. Other parts of the city saw hundreds of people come out en masse: it was an overwhelming victory for the TMC. My area elected a CPI (M) guy, so apparently it is predominantly Communist. I haven’t been aware of particular tensions when walking down my street, but then I am a foreigner and blissfully unaware of what is happening underneath the surface. Interesting times.

Another visit to the hospital

2010-05-20T21:21:00.000-07:00

‘Do you need any help?’ I called out to Tabassum – not an unusual question for me to ask when someone else is preparing a meal. What was unusual about it this time was the fact that I had to crane my head over the edge of a bed to ask Tabassum, who was sitting underneath the bed chopping away at some onions, with a pot of rice boiling away by her side. Under the bed was the only available space in their tiny shack to cook – the whole width of the shack was taken up by their bed, and outside was a narrow alleyway; no space there either.

Such cooking conditions are fairly unusual in themselves. But Tabassum is also blind. She cooks by feeling and hearing. She feels whether the pot is in the correct position above the stove: how she does this without burning her hands is beyond me. She must hear when the water is boiling and it is time to add the rice, and feel how to take the lid off the saucepan. To witness such triumph over adversity; seeing how she continues to live her life even in the most difficult circumstances was emotional enough. But following from the day we had had it was almost too much.

I had met Tarranum, Tabassum’s sister earlier in the morning, and she walked back with me to their home. She introduced me to her five year old daughter, who was a cute little bundle of energy, and who hardly stayed still long enough for me to take a photo.

Tarranum is just nineteen years old. She lives with her husband’s family outside of Kolkata. Each morning at seven o’clock she leaves her house with her daughter and catches a train into the city. She drops off her daughter at nursery, and then makes her way to her family home where she helps Tabassum with household chores; this is necessary as her father and brother are also visually impaired. Her mother is currently visiting another married sister in Jaipur, whose newly born daughter is very ill. At ten o’clock every day Tarranum leads Tabassum out of their home and into the narrow streets, visiting other disabled girls in the area, helping them attend medical appointments and leading self help groups. It must be exhausting work, doing so much walking in the blistering heat, and with frequent power cuts. Work often doesn’t stop until 6 o’clock, when both girls return to their home and continue with household chores. Tarranum and her daughter do not reach their home until 10 o’clock at night.

When I arrived at their place on this particular morning Tabassum was sitting under the bed, eating her breakfast of rice. Breakfast over, our first stop was the home of a seven year old disabled girl. She is unable to sit or to stand, and is deaf and dumb. When we arrived she was lying on a piece of material on a cement floor. Her grandmother sat her up and supported her head, giving her a cuddle. Then she looked at me and said ‘what to do?’ I was utterly powerless to do anything to help or to say anything that would provide any comfort.

Our next stop was even worse. We walked into a tiny room, and at first I saw only two elderly people lying asleep on a bed. But then I noticed a teenager sitting on the floor, staring vacantly out into space, sweat standing out on her forehead, and dribbling. She clearly looked ill, and from what I gathered from the conversation she had been ill for some time. My limited Hindi was really a problem, as I could not understand why she was not in hospital. I think they said that it was expensive and that the government hospital was too far away. At this point the girl stretched out her hand to me, she seemed distantly aware that a stranger was in her home. She then put her head on Tabassum’s lap and started crying, clearly in a lot of distress. I rang up the Director, to see what she advised, and she said that we should go to hospital. Nighat could hardly walk, and in the blistering sun trying to get to a taxi was just awful.

I don’t really want to think about the emergency department at the government hospital, it makes me feel sick. There were crowds of people outside jostling with one another to get a ticket in order to be seen. When we did get a ticket we went into the emergency room where there were three beds. Well, not really beds, they were wooden planks with a rusty gas cylinder at one end. I tried not to look. We then jostled with crowds of other people to talk to a doctor. The doctor gave a cursory glance over the papers we had brought, took a look at Nighat, and said that she could not help. We should have brought her in 15 minutes earlier, as the correct department closed at two o’clock. It wasn't an acute case, so there was nothing I could say that would be any help. We had to bring her back the next day before 2 o’clock. Tarranum said ‘government hospital is a name only, no treatment, no nothing. We always go and are told to come back.’ So all we could do was to struggle with Nighat back out of the hospital; we decided to see if a private doctor could help. He referred us to another doctor, so with a girl who was in a lot of pain, we caught a bicycle rickshaw. This private doctor saw her fairly quickly and prescribed some medicine, but I didn’t really know whether this would help at all since it was clear she should be in hospital. When we came out of the private doctor Nighat could not walk – she had to be carried into the taxi. By this time I was feeling terrible, angry at the hospital for not being able to help, and at the same time feeling so guilty that I had dragged this sick girl out of her home on what turned out to be a wild goose chase. We got Nighat back home, and I just wanted to sit down and cry.

Although it was after 4.30 Tabassum still wanted to cook me lunch, so we made our way back to her home, where she sat under the bed and started chopping away. Although I was really not hungry after the terrible day, it was one of the most delicious meals I have ever had. She cooked rice with lady’s fingers, and a meat curry.

I heard a couple of days later that the family had taken Nighat back to the hospital, and she was going to be seen by a senior surgeon, so hopefully the visit to the hospital wasn’t such a wasted effort after all.

Sad news from Pakistan

2010-05-16T22:04:00.000-07:00

Recently I have heard from some friends in Pakistan who all come from Hunza, in the Karakoram mountains in the Northern Areas (now Gilgit - Baltistan). A couple of months ago there was a big landslide which blocked the Hunza river and has formed a huge lake - 11 miles long and more than 100 metres deep in some places. This has destroyed part of the Karakoram Highway which has disrupted trade between China and Pakistan, and from what I understand some of the more northerly villages have been competely cut off. The water level is rising every day and is threatening to submerge the beautiful village of Gulmit, from where many of my friends come from. And if the lake breaches the dam, which is thought to be likely once the seasonal rains begin, 30,000 people downstream could be affected. The army are currently building spillways, so pray that this is successful. Hunza really was the most beautiful place I have ever visited, and the people among the most friendly and welcoming. It has stuck in my mind as a kind of shangri-la, not only because of the beauty of the place, but also because of the commitment of the people to tolerance and serving others. The village has an exceptionally good school and people have a real commitment to education. But in addition to this, many of those who worked in MIED came from this village and were committed to improving the education in other, more disadvantaged parts of Pakistan.

Photos of the area around Gulmit, I think much of this is under water now, and a Gulmiti house which we stayed in:

Link to the BBC website: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/8685515.stm

A round up of the week's news

2010-05-14T02:27:00.000-07:00

A cockroach in the kitchen and a rat in the drain are manifestly NOT what a girl needs when she comes home tired late from work. It is a mark of how immune I have got to my living conditions that I just muttered a brief ‘oh dear’ rather than running screaming down the street. Although I might have had the option to move to another place further away, I decided not to: balancing rats and cockroaches against a daily hour commute in Kolkata traffic, I decided to take the rats. Not sure if this was entirely sensible, but so far I haven’t lost my sanity. What has been more annoying recently have been the number of mosquitoes – what with their bites and a nice prickly heat rash it looks like I have a severe case of measles (but apart from these minor inconveniences, Kolkata is a wonderful place to live!)

Last weekend all the volunteers in Kolkata met up at someone’s home, which enabled me to have a snoop around someone else’s living conditions. I think I may have pulled the short straw – although her place was basic, she has tiles in the bathroom, glass in the windows and natural light, all of which I am without. But enough moaning, the volunteer cooked the most amazing dinner, so much so that I am going to describe it in loving detail to you (cooking is not one of my strong points, and at the moment I am surviving off fruit and toasted cheese sandwiches, which is now beginning to pall). So, she had cooked a total of three delicious dishes plus rice: dhal with banana, tomato paneer and chicken rogan josh.
And all this with just two gas rings. I am now slightly ashamed that I haven’t ventured beyond warming up a tin of baked beans….

Kolkata as a city

2010-05-14T02:23:00.000-07:00

‘India’s cities house the entire historical compass of human labour, from the crudest stone breaking to the most sophisticated financial transactions. Success and failure, marble and mud, are intimately and abruptly pressed against one another, and this has made the cities vibrate with agitated experience. All the enticements of the modern world are stacked up here, but it is also here that many Indians discover the mirage-like quality of this modern world.’ Sunil Khilnani, in his book ‘The Idea of India’ has beautifully captured the contradictions, the sheer breadth of life, but also the all-pervasiveness of suffering and exclusion at the heart of life in Kolkata. Ambedkar said over 50 years ago: ‘in politics we will be recognising the principle of one man one vote and one vote one value. In our social and economic life, we shall, by reason of our social and economic structure, continue to deny the principle of one man one value. How long shall we continue to live this life of contradiction?’ And now, 50 years on, India’s economy is one of the largest growing in the world, yet on my way to work I walk past children who aren’t going to school, men and women washing themselves in a muddy pond, and men straining against carts loaded with bags of cement, pushing it down a busy road.

A hospital is a place where the value a society places on a human life can unconsciously be evident. I had the misfortune to visit a government hospital in Kolkata the other day, as the lovely woman in charge of our office has been admitted. There were rows of people lined outside, some of them lying on sheets and obviously pretty well encamped there. I don’t know whether they were family members visiting or whether they were waiting for admittance. We made our way up to the third floor, and walked down the corridor – remove from your mind visions of white sparkling walls and floors smelling slightly of disinfectant. I saw stray cats wandering around, and the smell in the area around the toilets was foul. In the ward itself there were about 50 beds; the mattress was about 5cm thick on a wooden board and that was it. My friend had seen a doctor, and had been told the next time she would be seen would be in 6 days; in the meantime all she had to do was to lie on this paper thin mattress and struggle with her pain. But on the plus side she did say that the food was good.

Kolkata has several very high quality hospitals, but the elites that are able to afford these hospitals must live in and experience a different city to the vast majority in Kolkata. The air conditioned shopping malls and offices are a world apart from the bustees, and the two worlds are mutually exclusionary; I am sure that many of the elite have no wish to see first hand what life is like in the slums, and the poor are excluded by security guards from the shopping malls and cafes. It is almost as if there is an insurmountable glass barrier between the two worlds. Perhaps I am being too negative – I have met some people from the richer classes who are working in the NGO sector, but they have told me themselves that this sector is not a popular one in which to work; people want jobs in IT, finance or business.

But I am forgetting another part of the city: the old colonial area. I visited this with two other volunteers a couple of weeks ago. It was relatively peaceful with far fewer people around, but at the same time it was slightly strange seeing such physical evidence that the British were actually here. I visited the cemetery for the East India Company: India definitely got its own back on the British, there were so many graves for people who died very young, and many children. It was quintessentially British, but at the same time surrounded by lush tropical forest: very strange. I definitely would not want to visit at dusk…..

AWWD's field workers

2010-05-13T04:12:00.000-07:00

AWWD’s field workers are women with disabilities who come from the slums, and who epitomise the challenges that disabled women face in Kolkata. Every time I meet with them my heart aches – they have faced difficulties in their lives that I can barely imagine, yet they are so brave and cheerful.

The other day I was sorting through some papers with a community worker – the papers were profiles of all the disabled girls and women in her slum. With an exclamation of delight she pulled out her profile, which was two years old, and she asked me to read it as it was in English. Two years ago all she wished for was to complete her education and to ‘learn a little stitching’. The idea that, two years ago the only opportunity open to this beautiful and capable individual was to learn a little stitching made me want to cry.

Imagine an alleyway between buildings so narrow that only one person can pass down it at once. Imagine that there are open drains, it is unpaved, and rubbish adorns the sides. Welcome to Park Circus slum, Kolkata, and the home of Tabassum, AWWD’s blind community worker.
Every day Tabassum is led by her sister through the alleyways of her slum to meet with other disabled girls, to take them to medical appointments, to encourage them to join the self help group, to disburse loans, support the women in their businesses and to help them receive mobility aids. I am following Tabassum and her sister through this slum and I find it difficult to negotiate the open drains and unpaved streets, but Tabassum deals with it all with an unwavering serenity and cheerfulness. I ask Tabassum whether she enjoys her job, and she gives me a big grin. I think that’s a yes then. I then ask why, wondering whether she would talk about having gained self confidence, or that she was doing something very worthwhile. No, she is much more practical than that - she frowns and says ‘money is a big problem’. The families in these slums have no security and are living from hand to mouth, literally. Her family make shoes: Park Circus seems to be the shoe making centre of Kolkata, and I walk past piles and piles of shoes at different stages of preparation: young boys were sanding down rubber for the soles, cutting out heels, or sticking on the last sparkly finish to brightly coloured sandals.

Tabassum was not always blind, and is well educated – but in the last years of her schooling her eyesight started to fail, and in the end she was prevented from finishing her education. Her dream of becoming a teacher collapsed. Just two years ago all that she could hope for was to get a lowly paid and menial job as a cleaner, and even then she was harassed by her employer due to her impairment.

But two years on from her job as a cleaner and not only does Tabassum work tirelessly with disabled women in her area, but she has also attended national leadership training, and is a leader within her community for disabled women. She said that: ‘I have now new hope to bring more light not only to my own life but also to others’

The Association of Women with Disabilities

2010-05-09T22:58:00.000-07:00

The Association of Women with Disabilities was established in 2002 by its current Director, Kuhu Das, who herself suffered from polio as a child. She founded the organisation by herself in a small village outside Kolkata called Subhi, with no external funding, no electricity, a small hut, no nearby toilet and initially not even a bed (she used the table as her bed). She tells me that she has quite a few stories from this time, which I can well believe. (Some of them include rats and snakes so I won’t cover them at the moment.) The focus of the organisation was on supporting disabled women, particularly helping them to access the services that they needed. This project continued to expand and obtained foreign funding.

Three years ago she moved back to Kolkata to start a project for disabled women in the slums, and a project running national and international leadership training programmes for women with disabilities. Both projects have a rights based approach: as I mentioned in a previous article disabled women are among the most powerless people in India due to the discrimination they face for being female, disabled and poor. They and their families and communities are often completely unaware that they have rights and responsibilities; they are more often considered a drain on resources and incapable of an education, earning money, or being a wife and a mother. Nearly all the girls I have talked to so far on my trips to the slums have said that they suffer from teasing and harassment when they step outside the house. Because poor disabled women suffer from such prejudice and discrimination they have been almost invisible in both the development agenda and to government policy. Until disabled women join together with a unified voice to raise their profile and claim their rights there will be no substantive change. Therefore AWWD works at the local, national and international levels to address these issues and to provide disabled women with a voice.

At the local level AWWD identifies women with disabilities, and helps them understand their rights and fulfil their capabilities. For example AWWD field workers help take disabled women to get a disability card: this enables the women to travel on public transport for reduced cost. AWWD provides loans to enable the women to start up a business: this not only provides them with some extra income, but also builds their self confidence and self esteem. AWWD workers also form self help groups so that women can come together to talk about their problems and to recognise that they are not alone. This is a major step: the vast majority of women said unprompted during a survey that since the intervention of AWWD they feel more confident and happier mixing with new people and going to new places.

And from these women AWWD identifies those with leadership potential, and runs national level leadership training programmes, to enable women to come together to work towards a common cause, to explain their rights and to give them tools to claim their rights. These women then go back to their communities to advocate locally on behalf of disabled women, but also they are part of networks to influence policy on a larger scale. And also AWWD has run regional training programmes for disabled women from countries across South Asia. They have also participated in international conferences (concerning the Conference on the Elimination of Discrimination towards Women, and the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities) to make sure that the needs of women with disabilities in South Asia are heard.

You may well be wondering what my role in AWWD is, as I am ashamed to admit that my job has hitherto not made an appearance on my blog. I am not relaxing and enjoying the general ambience of Kolkata, I am a Knowledge and Information Management Advisor. Yes, it is not the most exciting of job titles, but add the spice of working in India and there is never a dull moment. Take, for example, the relatively simple task of buying some hanging files to go into a filing cabinet. Given the fact that we already had a filing cabinet, I assumed that buying files for it would be a relatively simple task. Hah! After two weeks of searching for them from within the huge western style shopping malls, to the ramshackle old buildings piled high with books, notepaper and ring binders on College Street, to trawling through hundreds of internet sites, I finally admitted defeat. This painful occurrence took place after a couple of hours of wandering from ramshackle old building to ramshackle old building on College Street, hopelessly waving my picture of a file to a vendor surrounded by tottering piles of folders, waiting while he makes frantic phone calls to his stockist and then moving miserably on when he shakes his head. It seems that India has jumped across the stage of using cardboard files right onto plastic. Anyway, I compromised onto the next best thing, and fingers crossed that is currently working OK.

And language is also another, shall we say, entertaining challenge? AWWD routinely works in three (and sometimes four) languages. All written reports for donors are in English. Bengali (or Bangla) is the mother tongue of some of the community workers, and they cannot speak much English. But the mother tongue of the Muslim community workers is Hindi - they often studied in Urdu medium schools, cannot speak much English either, and to complicate matters further some of them seem not to be very confident in Bengali. And, to pile on the confusion, some of the Muslim girls are happiest writing in Urdu and not Hindi (they have different scripts). So before team meetings there have been intense discussions about what language the meeting will be conducted in. It is helpful for me that some of the girls are happiest speaking Hindi because it means I can communicate a little with them and practice my Hindi. But when it comes to talking about information management I am definitely in need of an interpreter. And my very limited language skills have proved problematic at times as the girls speak so fast I can’t understand what they are saying. Last week I was talking to one girl and I think she said that her father had died, but I couldn’t be sure – it was a horrible situation and I didn’t really know what to say (even in English, let alone in Hindi).

As to other news: there was a flying cockroach in my room the other day. I am sure it was a flying cockroach, I will have to google it to check that there are actually such things. Anyway, I sprayed it liberally with poison, which turned out to be a slight mistake, as the poison rendered my room uninhabitable for the next half an hour. And on stepping outside I spied a rat scampering its way down my drain, and at that precise moment the electricity cut out, due to a monumental thunderstorm. Not such a great combination of events really: no light, a rat on the loose, a room full of poison and heavy rain. I therefore shut and bolted my door closest to the rat, and sat on my bed with a torch at the ready, every so often stepping outside to breathe in deep refreshing breaths of fresh air. Thankfully the power cut didn’t last very long. Nerves were in a little bit of a frazzled state after that, and I lay for a while on my bed thinking happy thoughts about beaches and sunshine and flowers.

Kolkata traffic revisited, strikes, and the hammer and sickle

2010-04-27T23:55:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I spent FIVE hours stuck in Kolkata traffic. I had thought it would be a good idea to get two things done in one day, and hence travel twice into the city centre, once in the morning and once in the evening. After all – the journey to church on a Sunday morning only takes 20 minutes – how bad could it be? Hmmm. I am now significantly older, wiser and more jaded. I had considerable time to reflect on this mistake yesterday, so here follows my learning that I hope can be of use for any unwary traveler in Kolkata:
a) Don’t travel anywhere in the city on a Monday morning
b) Ditto on the evening before a city wide strike (because you will encounter the rest of the city urgently getting somewhere)
c) If you do find a taxi journey during sunshine hours unavoidable, make sure you have with you:
- A large bottle of cold water (and possibly ORS as well given the amount you will sweat (or glow if you are a lady)
- Calm and soothing music on your MP3 player
- A blindfold (so you can be blithely unaware of the chaos around you)
- Smelling salts (to revive yourself after particularly close ‘close shaves’.

This is how traffic moves in Kolkata during the rush hour – about half a mile before a junction is a jam. The taxi driver drives up as fast as possible, slams on the brakes and beeps the horn (no doubt in the hope that the stationary traffic will magically get out of his way). He then creeps forward into a space that you thought would be impossible (ie on the pavement, between two buses, or in the face of oncoming traffic), stops, and beeps the horn again for good measure, and turns the engine off. The traffic lights, in the far distance, turn green, and there is a sudden cacophony of sound when all the drivers beep their horns and engines are turned back on, revved, and we speed forward all of 5 metres. The traffic lights turn red again. We stop. This continues five or more times until we are at the head of the queue, and can see the problem. Even though there are traffic lights, traffic from all four roads has got entwined together, with each driver trying to creep forward as far as possible and not allowing anyone else through. And it is not only cars. There are hand rickshaws, cycle rickshaws, pedestrians, lorries, trams and men pushing carts loaded with bags of concrete. This chaos gradually sorts itself out, and the lights turn green again, and we speed forward, and I sit back, relax, thinking off we go finally. But no, 5 seconds later the brakes are slammed, and we have reached the tail back before the next set of traffic lights. There are considerable numbers of traffic lights between my house and the city centre. And the closer to the city centre we got the more fractious and irritable got the drivers, so the noise levels significantly increased, as did the number of close shaves.

So, an hour and 15 minutes after stepping into the taxi I step out again at my destination, as limp and as sodden as if I had just run a marathon. I had arrived at the Foreign Registration Office, to pick up my registration documents. My visit actually took all of 5 minutes, as all I had to do was to pick them up. I had a fortifying cold sprite and pasty, thinking I would let the traffic clear a bit, and then fought my way to another taxi. Even at 12 in the afternoon, the traffic had not cleared, and it was over an hour later that I stepped back out at the office again.

Enough for one day, I hear you say. Well, yes. But then Judith and I were meeting the other VSO’s for a meal at a nice restaurant, and I thought that the traffic wouldn’t be too bad in the evening. Yeah, well, it again took one hour and 15minutes to get there – we spent half an hour getting down one side street…

But the restaurant was beautiful – it was on the ninth floor of a hotel in New Market and we sat outside in the cool breeze enjoying the sparkling city lights. Unfortunately not for long. The city lights seemed to be going out in one direction – there was a wave of blackness coming over. A power cut? No, there was a huge gust of wind (and I mean huge – chairs were knocked over) and the air was suddenly full of grit. Everyone staggered inside and stared in amazement at the now bucket loads of rain coming down. Can you believe after a month of being here, with not one drop of rain, the one evening we decide to have a meal in an open air restaurant there is a torrential thunderstorm. But I shouldn’t complain too much, as apparently the temperature dropped by 13 degrees in just one hour. It was cool! A mere 23 degrees at 9 o’clock at night. And just before we left the rain stopped, and we were able to get a taxi without much problem. My optimism that our journey back home, at 10 o’clock at night, couldn’t be too bad, was profoundly misplaced. It took over an hour again of beeping, and inching forward, and we were both profoundly thankful we got home without hitting anyone. There is a city wide strike today, so I guess everyone was trying to get everything done before that – there can be no other conceivable explanation.

Once we reached the street where I live there was another surprise: outside every house and stall there hung a red flag with a hammer and sickle. Apparently I live in the Communist party stronghold of Kolkata. The building opposite Judith’s flat has pictures of Stalin, Lenin and Marx on it! At that time of night, and after such a tiring day I have to admit that I did start freaking out slightly – people were saying that the strike was linked to the Maoists who were demanding the release of two prisoners. But actually that wasn’t the case, and the strike in Kolkata is to do with rising food prices. But it is all very confusing.

So today there is no transport at all – no trains, no taxis, no flights, nothing. But I could still get into work, living as I do within walking distance.

Disabled women and the slums

2010-04-20T22:20:00.000-07:00

It takes a certain amount of courage to step out into the streets of Calcutta, when even the simplest actions like crossing a road can be life endangering (I have witnessed three accidents so far). But for a blind woman to step out into the streets takes courage in a completely different league. Yesterday I walked home with Tabassum, a blind community worker with AWWD; she was not born blind but became blind as her family could not afford the necessary $300 for medical treatment. She is not able to see whether there is a bicycle coming up silently behind, whether a motorcycle is driving directly towards her, whether there is a parked car or a dog in her path; I jumped around wincing and squawking, ‘watch out’, ‘take care’ like an overprotective clucking hen. However Tabassum walked with a serenity and complete trust in her (also disabled) friend, Lakshmi, who guided her with confidence around the multiple hazards endemic in Kolkata street life. But the physical hazards are not the only things that Tabassum has to face, stepping out of her house.

India has a disabled population roughly equivalent to the population of Great Britain. To be a disabled woman living in the slums is to push at the boundaries of marginalisation, poverty, and powerlessness. For most Indian women, their role in life is set out to be a wife and a mother, but for many disabled women this is culturally not deemed to be possible. They are therefore dependent on their family, often considered a drain on resources, and stigmatised by society. In a survey undertaken by the Association of Women with Disabilities (the organisation for which I am working), only 3% of disabled women in West Bengal have completed secondary education, and in Jharkhand 70% were illiterate. Disabled women are much more likely to face abuse and domestic violence, and they are often subject to verbal and physical harassment on the streets. So not only do these girls have to face the daily trials of living with their impairment, but they are also stigmatised, teased and subject to deeply entrenched prejudices.

By stepping out onto the streets Tabassum and Lakshmi are challenging these endemic stereotypes and negative images, which takes considerable courage. Through their actions daily they are making a powerful statement: ‘my life is worth as much as yours, I can achieve what you can achieve.’

Saturday morning saw me waiting on the edge of a vegetable market in the blazing sun for Pinky, a friendly community worker. I was to accompany her on her field visits to disabled women. Pinky herself lives in one small room with her parents and two brothers in a slum area, and is orthopaedically impaired. AWWD supports disabled women in the slums through forming self help groups, providing money so girls can continue their education, providing loans so women can start a small business, and teaches them of their rights.

It is difficult to find words to describe the living conditions in these slums – ‘Dickensian’ springs to mind. The narrow streets were packed with bustling activity, not too different to the area where I live only slightly more compact and intense, with an intricate criss-crossing of hundreds of electricity wires above us. Each slum is different and has its own character. In this first slum I visited the streets were lined by two and three-storey houses, complete with colourful saris and shalwar kameez hanging out of the windows (and on the electricity wires), damply fluttering in the breeze. We entered down a narrow alleyway: it was pitch black and smelt of damp: like entering a cave. I felt my way through until I came into a small indoor courtyard, where there was a pump, puddles of water, and chickens clucking around. There seemed to be innumerable small rooms leading off this courtyard, some where whole families were living, and some rooms which were hives of industry. Small boys were making gaudy gold hand bags, and in one room 20 or so young boys looked up at me as I walked past, the room full of colourful bits of material. I wanted to shout out ‘child labour’ in protest, but carried on walking past, my complete inability to do anything to help them starkly apparent. We climbed up some steep, black and narrow stairs, Pinky with some difficulty due to her lame leg. At the top was a narrow corridor, and a seemingly constant succession of people appearing out of the blackness, squeezing past me, and disappearing just as suddenly. Outside each room was a small stove: burning hot coals underneath and boiling dal on top. Three of us squeezed into the nearest room, two of us sat on the bed which took up 90% of the space, to talk to Saira, a disabled girl. Saira’s sister, mother, and various other interested bystanders stood outside, every so often giving the dal that was bubbling away a stir.

It is difficult to imagine how anyone could cope living in these circumstances – in the dark, with six or seven people in a room not much bigger than a small-sized UK bathroom, and with no water or toilet. But as a disabled girl, Saira must face challenges beyond belief, and not only the indescribable difficulties of daily living. She showed me marks on her leg where she had had successive operations. She also said she didn’t like going outside because of being teased and harassed, but with a smile said she has got more confident since she has been involved with AWWD, and likes going places now.

And this was no one-off case. I then met Saeeda, an older lady who had lost her leg in a fire, and who looked at me with dead eyes. Her life was now confined to sitting in the one roomed house, preparing food for the family and comforting innumerable children. We then visited a family where there were three disabled girls. The first sister we spoke to couldn’t walk at all, was obviously in pain even sitting down, but still greeted us with a beautiful smile. She has had the same operation three times by a bogus doctor as the family could not afford to send her to a properly qualified doctor. We spoke to her sister next, who also had a beautiful smile, and was also disabled. She was all of twenty years old, and had been married for three years. She introduced an eleven year old girl as her daughter: I was initially fairly bemused by this, but she then explained that she was her elder sister’s child, but she had adopted her as her sister could not afford to look after her. I don’t know what to write in conclusion. In one way I think I have subconsciously distanced myself from it all, I can’t take in so much suffering all at once. It shouldn’t be like this: so many of the girls are disabled due to poverty – from polio, from accidents, from poor medical treatment, from malnourishment.

A week of discoveries

2010-04-19T01:09:00.000-07:00

Last week I made several interesting discoveries. I am writing this listening to an instrumental version of ‘Abide with me’ gently pervading its way through an air conditioned café, and at the same time happily imbibing a chocolate milkshake. Yes, I have found a barista café quite close to where I live, and it is currently using up a significant proportion of my allowance. There are four different types of hot chocolate on the menu, and innumerable wonderful milkshakes. And they don’t make me sick. Bonus. But, on the other hand, one milkshake costs about the same as the average daily wage that people earn in the slums, so it is difficult justifying wasting so much money. Hence I am going through a difficult internal struggle, and may have to sadly reduce my daily chocolate milkshake intake, and keep it as a luxury….

And last week I finally ventured into the ‘big city’ all by myself, to go to church. I was able to go to the same church that I went to when I was here four years ago – it is run by Emmanuel Ministries, with whom I volunteered. They run many amazing projects, including informal education for slum children, several children’s homes, and work with HIV positive women. It was wonderful walking into the church again and being greeted by so many beautiful smiles, and hearing that the work is going from strength to strength. I volunteered in an informal education project in a slum, and apparently, about 80 % of the children now attend formal school, and so they may be able to bring the project to a close in a little while – fantastic! And I was able to meet some other ex-pats, so no longer feel as alone in this big city.

And my final discovery was a different side of India, one that I had never experienced before. On Wednesday evening I and Judith (the other volunteer) were invited out for dinner with an investment banker and his wife. Their house was in central Kolkata, and to describe it as ‘rather large’ is quite an understatement. His wife runs an art gallery, so the air conditioned rooms were stuffed full of wonderful paintings and sculptures. When we went into dinner there were four different dishes, and the servants were summoned by a little bell to bring us the food. Wow. Both the husband and the wife were incredibly welcoming, and so friendly – it really was a great example of Bengali hospitality. But during the taxi journey home we drove past rows and rows of men sleeping on the streets, some in huge pipes that were being laid as part of a new sewerage system. Apparently some Bengalis get frustrated with the abiding way that the image of Kolkata is linked with abject poverty; many say that it is the cultural capital of India. And indeed it has a rich cultural history and a current thriving cultural scene. Maybe its poverty now is no worse than the poverty of Mumbai, or Delhi, or Karachi. But that doesn’t make the daily confrontation with such suffering and exclusion any easier, or any less unjust.

Since writing the above I have made another, very unfortunate discovery. Last night on a trip to my bathroom a rat was staring up at me from the drain. On my birthday!! I can cope with many things but rats are definitely not one of them. Help! There is a possibility that I may be able to move in a couple of weeks, so really hoping that works out….

Around and about in Kolkata

2010-04-12T22:15:00.000-07:00

Thousands of people work and sleep in the area where I live: not only are small houses squeezed on to every available inch of land, but many also sleep on the streets. And everyone knows that I am here: Judith and I are the only westerners in this area, so to say that we stand out is a slight understatement. But not so many people have talked to me yet, apart from the children, although I’m trying to say ‘namaste’ to all I catch staring at me, and to smile at the women. Unfortunately most people seem to speak Bengali rather than Hindi, and when they do speak Hindi I am sure that they mix many Bengali words in, which is definitely the reason I am finding it so difficult to understand!

My accommodation is down a little alleyway off a rather busy road. At the head of the alleyway is a pond where the locals wash their clothes, themselves, and where the children happily splash around: a haven of peace in the otherwise frenetic city. The road is like any other road in Kolkata – an overpowering mixture of dogs, children playing, street vendors, men pushing cartloads of fruit, bicycle rickshaws, auto rickshaws, cars and buses. There are no traffic rules here – each is for their own. That means that people drive as fast as they can through the narrowest of gaps, and there is no concept of hazard awareness or planning ahead, so they drive straight up to a hazard and then beep their horn. Riding a bike or motorbike down the road must be like playing dodgems, swerving to miss a pedestrian here, a dog there and a cartload of fruit here. It is impossible to walk on the pavements as they are taken up by dogs sleeping, open drains, and the small stalls, so walking down the road entails looking behind every so often.

There are dozens of little vendors very close to my accommodation which is great for buying bottled water. I bought some bananas the other day, though, and there were strange hard black stones in them, which rather successfully put me off from doing that again. But to buy anything more than this I need to go into the centre of this area. To get there we have to catch an auto rickshaw, which entails standing on the edge of the road in the blazing sun, wincing at the frequent near misses and waving at all the auto rickshaws until one stops and you can clamber in. We then go careering dangerously down the road, overtaking slower vehicles with absolutely no regard for any traffic that may be coming in the opposite direction, until the intensity of the traffic and people incredibly increases, and we have reached the market centre. This is a little more upmarket than where I am staying, as there are larger shops as well as the road side stalls. It is a major junction, which is almost impossible to cross unless you step boldly forward and hold your hand out firmly as if to say: watch out you crazy drivers, pedestrian here. The pavements are full of mangy dogs, children playing, men washing, men working, women sitting and chatting, open drains: the streets really are the centre of life (and death and decomposition given the amount of rubbish.)

A couple of minutes up the street is a large supermarket, and it may be a cliché, but stepping in really is like stepping in to another world. It is air conditioned, it sells any number of western goods, and all items are marked in price: there is no haggling here. There is a restaurant and it is possible to get fish and chips and pizza; this may become my haven when the heat and frenetic activity all get too much.

And this is as far as I have ventured so far – the centre of Kolkata is about a 45 minutes to 1 hour journey away in blistering temperatures and crazy traffic. I have yet to experience that particular pleasure.

Apart from the pond at the head of my alley, I can’t think of any open space in the vicinity where I work and live. Every conceivable bit of land is filled with street stalls, houses, and plastic covered shacks. It is a funny thought that I am surrounded by so many thousands of people who have such different lives to mine: the women who run roadside stalls and who pack up their wares and move on every single day; the men who have to cycle people in their rickshaws in this blistering heat; the men who push cartloads of their wares down the middle of the street being narrowly missed by taxis and motorcycles; the women who sort through rubbish separating the paper from the rest, day after day. Even sitting in my bug filled and basic accommodation, I am immensely privileged, and it is not fair. Yesterday a boy came up begging: we started talking and he asked me where I was from. When I replied London, he got very excited and said ‘tomorrow I go in a plane’, and zoomed off down the street pretending to be a plane. For me, flying is normal. For him, it is but a dream.

VSO Part the Second: India. The first week

2010-04-08T00:38:00.000-07:00

So, ladies, I have discovered a foolproof, albeit fairly painful, way to a flat stomach – simply visit India for a short time in summer. Or it doesn’t even have to be summer – today’s balmy spring temperature in Kolkata reached 37 degrees, and a mere 29 at night. This means that, a) it is too hot to eat, b) you are too exhausted to contemplate either cooking or going outside to forage for food, and c) if you do manage to eat more than a simple banana you are likely to get sick. Don’t get me wrong, I am very happy to be back in the craziness of Kolkata, but it has been much more of a shock than I was expecting, mainly due to the heat (and being slightly ill).

I spent a mere two days in Delhi after arriving, supposedly for in country training and orientation, but myself and another volunteer actually arrived in time for the new volunteers farewell party. A new batch of volunteers had arrived at the beginning of March, and they were just ending their four week training – as a short term volunteer VSO let me come out later, and initially I thought it quite funny that we arrived for the farewell party. I have now realised that it wasn’t such a good idea – two days hasn’t given me enough time to acclimatise and adjust or to get all the necessary information and advice from VSO. I didn’t want to spend longer in Delhi though as I preferred to have the company of two other volunteers on the 20 hour train journey to Kolkata.

There followed the second strangest Easter weekend I have ever had (the first being in Islamabad, when I went on visits with new volunteers to sites relating to all major world religions except Christianity (a Sikh gurudwara, the Buddhist remains at Taxila, a Hindu temple and a Mosque). Anyway, this Good Friday we caught the train from Delhi to Kolkata. Travelling on Indian trains is no doubt one of the great un-missable Indian experiences, but while I can now wear the T-shirt I’m pretty sure that I don’t want to repeat the experience. We’ll fastforward through the craziness of Delhi traffic and arrive at the point of lugging 6 months worth of (previously considered indispensible) items in an incredibly painful rucksack up a steep flight of stairs. The crowds of people made Waterloo rush hour seem like a walk in the park, and the sauna levels of heat did not make this unwanted physical exertion any easier. It was necessary to keep a tight grip on handbag and laptop, and an eye on the volunteers in front of me – I felt that if I lost them I would disappear in this swamp of seething and sweating humanity. But, once having reached the right platform, and vowing to bring nothing but a change of underwear next time, things looked a little brighter. We could collapse in the midst of our mountains of luggage and observe the thousands of others scurrying about their business. In the half an hour we were waiting on the platform there were announcements for two other trains to Kolkata – the mind boggles at the number of people who want to brave the 20 hour train journey that they have to lay on three trains within one hour. Half an hour before our train was due to depart it chugged into the station. Before it had even stopped the thousands sat waiting on the platform jumped up and started jostling for position, trying to find their carriage. The train is so long that, as we were sat in the middle of the platform, we couldn’t see it’s either end.

Once the enterprising passenger has pushed and shoved their way to their correct carriage there is the subsequent jostling for seats (or berths) within the limited space of the train corridor. As most people seem to have a lot of luggage, and there are six people in each small compartment, the overwhelming impression is one of claustrophobia. When at last I found my berth there was a row of Indian men sitting on it. The thought that I would have to share this tiny compartment with strange Indian men overnight was not pleasant, but thankfully some of them left, and an Indian family remained with me. Unusually they were very quiet, and didn’t try to make conversation with me at all, which to my frazzled brain was initially quite welcome. I managed to squeeze in my luggage under the berth, and locked it with my padlock (other volunteers had emphasised to be very careful with luggage, and keep all valuables with me at all times, which entailed the happy experience of taking my laptop to the toilet with me.)

Notwithstanding the confusion and chaos that boarding the train entailed, it departed on the dot of 5 o’clock, its scheduled time, and soon after departure a guard came round with a snack for all passengers. And later on in the evening a hot three course meal came round for everyone – no mean feat when there must have been thousands of people on the train.

Unfortunately I wasn’t able to see out of the window so soon retired to my top bunk and escaped from the claustrophobia of the small compartment and the stares of the Indian family into a Phillippa Gregory book. Sleeping was interesting, as I was wedged in between a highly inadequate rail preventing me from falling out, my handbag and my laptop, and the train often gave jarring shakes. Unfortunately the Indian man below me snored rather loudly, a problem the other volunteers had said was rather common, but out came the earplugs, and actually I didn’t sleep too badly given the air conditioning.

The friendly guard came around at 6.30 am with chai, and then at 7.30 with breakfast. Needless to say I slept through both – the point of getting up so hideously early when the train didn’t arrive till 12.40 was beyond me. The morning actually went by quite quickly, as I struggled down the narrow corridor (complete with laptop and handbag) to see the other two volunteers who were sleeping in a compartment a little way down from me. I also went outside the carriage to have a look at the scenery of Bihar – the state through which we were travelling and one of the poorest in India. It was very dry, but there were a large number of electricity pylons.

Impressively we arrived into Howrah station 10 minutes early. I waited until most others had got off before heaving my rucksack onto my back and stepping out into Kolkata and the heat. Lost is the best way to describe how I felt standing on the platform with hundreds of Indians pushing past in both directions. I didn’t even know which way to go to the exit as both the train and the platform were so long it was impossible to see either end. Thankfully the other volunteers appeared out of nowhere, and then Judith, the volunteer who is currently working at my organisation, came to meet us.

Apparently 1 million people pass through Howrah station in one day, which I can easily believe. The heat, sheer numbers of people, announcements and frenetic activity do not make it a place for the fainthearted. Getting a taxi wasn’t easy either, and involved stringent bargaining from Judith, before I sank happily back into the relative comfort of an air conditioned cab.

Judith took me to the office to meet the Director of the organisation for which I will be working, and I managed to smile weakly and shake her hand, but it was clearly evident to all that I was in severe need of a shower and a sit down, so Judith then took me to my accommodation.

The most diplomatic way of describing my accommodation is ‘basic’ and ‘close to nature’. It is clearly in a fairly poor part of Calcutta, that looks little different to a slum, and I have one room with a bed (and a garden table and chairs), and a separate kitchen and bathroom. The floor is concrete plus dirt around the edges, and the doors don’t close properly. I have to go down a hallway to get to the bathroom and kitchen. Don’t visualise a UK style carpeted corridor hung with pretty pictures though, this one has an open waste water drain, concrete floor, and hundreds of cobwebs. The bathroom also has its fair share of dirt and cobwebs, although I do have a shower, and the kitchen again is not of the most modern variety.

But, having said all this, I do have a fridge which is a life saver – being able to store food and cold drinks is absolutely necessary in this heat. I also have a clean cupboard to put my clothes which can be locked to prevent ants and other creepy crawlies from entering, and a new gas stove and cutlery. So, in conclusion I have to be thankful for what I have got.

The bathroom unfortunately has dark and cobwebby corners, with who knows what is lurking there. The next morning as I was taking a shower the largest spider I have ever seen (the size of a dinner plate, no exaggeration) scuttled from somewhere. I screamed, grabbed my towel and ran, but then gathered all my courage together to get rid of it. And the day after, as a preliminary to a proper cleaning, I heaved some water at the corners. This was a mistake. It unearthed a large family of cockroaches, complete from small children to monstrous grandparents, which all came scuttling out. I spent the evening running after them with poison, turning my hallway into death alley. I didn’t use the bathroom at all that night, and only gathered my courage to sweep away the corpses the next morning. Now, when using the bathroom, I cautiously open the door and peer into all the corners with my torch, and have the bottle of poison ready. At the weekend I think I am going to have to take my courage into my hands and give it a proper clean, but who knows what I am going to unearth…. The same will have to be done for the kitchen, I haven’t even tried cooking yet due to the dirt, being ill and being exhausted. So I am currently surviving off coca cola, which is an ideal diet given that it is cool, not going to make me sick, rehydrates me, and has enough sugar and caffeine in to keep me going through the day.

Which way?

2010-03-21T05:49:00.000-07:00

A few old articles I wrote about Pakistan:

Which way? A twelve hour car journey up the valley of the Indus through bandit country, or a 12 hour car journey over 13,000 foot pass on an uncompleted road, described as ‘risky’. It was five o’clock in the morning, I was sitting in a car in Mansehra, a town in the North-West Frontier Province of Pakistan, and my companions expected me to decide our route to Gilgit. At that time of the morning, either going up the Karakoram Highway through Indus Kohistan or crossing the 13,000 ft pass seemed not much short of a death wish.

‘If we go by the Karakoram Highway we should hide you under the luggage through the areas close to Swat’.

Also unable at that time of the morning to discern a joke, and a joke too close to the truth for comfort, I therefore plumped for the ‘risky’ route, over the 13,000 foot Babassur pass.

Gilgit is divided from Islamabad by several obstacles: the physical barriers consisting mainly of the gargantuan granite mountains surrounding the valley of the Indus. This has been surmounted by the Karakoram Highway, otherwise known as the Pakistan-China friendship highway stretching all the way from Islamabad in the south to Kashgar in China. However, there are certain social obstacles meaning that the Foreign Office website currently advises against the Mansehra – Gilgit section. Battagram: scene of armed attacks against aid workers, Shangla: next to Swat of Taliban fame, Indus Kohistan: bandits, and finally Chilas: tribal country. Not your average Sunday trip out. The intrepid traveller should not give up hope though, there are two other ways to reach Gilgit from Islamabad, the easiest is flying. The mere 45 minute flight takes you sailing over the dangers. However, it is dependent on weather conditions. On one memorable occasion my colleague took a flight, flew all the way up to Gilgit, circled the city and then flew all the way back, unable to land because of weather. He rang me at that point, when I couldn’t desist from laughter. However, the next time I heard from him was three and a half days later after a journey consisting of landslides, flat tyres, and driving rain, and my sympathy was more forthcoming.

The third option, then, was the Babassur pass route. In theory, this should be a lot quicker than going up the KKH as it is more direct, straight up rather than following the rather circular valley of the Indus. And in a year or so I am sure that it will be quicker. When we took it, however, it was still in the process of being built, the majority of the road surface therefore consisting of some combination of mud, rock and water. However, the beauty of the places we drove through amply compensated for the length and discomfort of the journey.

We hit the mountain roads a little after dawn, almost quite literally as soon there was a landslide covering the road. This didn’t daunt either of my trusty companions who jumped out of the car with unreasonable energy for that time in the morning, flexed their muscles, and shifted a few big rocks. While I was more than willing to help I discovered that moving rocks while keeping a scarf wrapped over ones head is next to impossible, so I took the role of photographer and shouter of encouragement. There were a few tense minutes when the 4x4 tried to climb over the rocks that remained but that was successfully achieved and we were soon on our way again, passing through Balakot. This area had previously been a centre for tourism given the lush green hills and lakes, but then the 2005 earthquake had struck. The evidence was all around us in the NGO signs proudly stating the projects they were implementing, in the collapsed buildings still visible, the tents, and the poor state of the road which was fighting a loosing battle against continued landslides and massive puddles.

Although the supposedly stunning views of the Kaghan valley were dampened by insistent rain, I felt much more optimistic about the journey after breakfast of fresh fried trout by a mountain stream. Unfortunately we didn’t have any fishing rods, but we stopped at a usefully placed tent by the side of the road which doubled up as a café, a bedroom for two boys, and inadequate shelter from the howling gale outside.

There was one tense moment when we were stopped due to a landslide in process. We could see rocks scattered across the road and rivers of dust marking their recent journey high up the mountain. However, after a quick ‘bismillah al-Rahman al-Rahim’ (In the name of God, the merciful, the almighty) the driver revved the engine, careered around the rocks in the road, and we waved cheerfully goodbye to the other cars patiently queuing up in a most un-Pakistani like manner.

We had a lunch at Naran, a well known tourist spot famous for glaciers, green hills and a so-called lake of fairies. On the map a proper road was marked up to Naran, after that it was just a dotted track. Given the states of the roads we had been on, I wasn’t particularly sanguine about what was to follow. But happy surprise – there was a proper road for quite a few kilometres. After that, things went steadily downhill (while travelling uphill). In places there was no road at all and we had to pick our way around mud and boulders, and work out which general direction we should be heading, difficult as we were often the only vehicle on the ‘road’. We were reliant on the memory of one of my companions who had travelled that route three years previously, and nomads out wandering with their cattle. We gradually climbed to 4000 m, and passed cattle with coats on, and houses made out of stone, the women’s shalwar kameez flutering in the breeze being the only splashes of colour in an otherwise grey and green landscape. We had to negotiate ‘bridges’ consisting of bits of metal balanced precariously on the edge of the bank. I preferred to get out and walk, unsure of whether a) the bridge would take the weight of the car, b) whether the driver could avoid driving off the edge, or c) whether the whole thing would just slide of into the river. Such obstacles successfully surmounted, we reached the top of the pass, overtaking huge great road making lorries incongruent in the otherwise deserted landscape. The top of the pass was cloudy, freezing and grey, lightened by some of mum’s amazing chocolate brownie.

The descent into Chilas was marked by views of stone houses perched on the edge of the mountain dotted in between tiny fields built into the mountain side. Chilas is a conservative and tribal area. People openly carry guns – we drove past someone with a Kalashnikov, as well as gun towers. My companions reassured me that conflict in this area was limited to inter-tribal warfare rather than attacking random strangers. I took their assurances at face value, the blueness of the skies after the grey of the pass making acts of violence unimaginable in my mind.

While over the pass I had been dressed in two jumpers, a fleece and a heavy shawl, and a Starbucks hot chocolate wouldn’t have gone amiss. However, once down in the forty degree heat of Chilas we were back to drinking car –warmed bottled water. Chilas seemed to look exactly the same as how I remembered Gilgit – the grey mountains rising steeply decorated with slopes of scree. However, appearances can be deceptive; I was warned not to remove my headscarf and to keep a low profile given that this area was that much more conservative than Gilgit, even though they were just a two hour drive from that city. The road between Chilas and Gilgit is marked by hot springs, Buddhist carvings, the place where the Karakoram, Himalayas and Hindu Kush meet, and a sign saying ‘warning – ambushes possible’ chalked on rock. We stopped at three of the above places, the fourth I think I was the only person to see and didn’t insist on closer inspection.

I was pretty shattered by the time we reached Gilgit, so I don’t know how the driver felt. Although he probably didn’t have a license (I didn’t quite like to enquire) he was one of the most accomplished members of his profession who I have ever had the privilege to meet.

A future brighter than an orange?

2010-03-21T05:45:00.000-07:00

With a skip and a jump the little girl came panting up, pointed to her bare feet, and in voluble Punjabi and with expansive signs explained she had run down the litter strewn and muddy street to say hello, or rather ‘a salaam a leikum’. My relationship with the street children in our local bazaar in Islamabad had definitely progressed from the time I had bought a group some oranges, precipitating an unfortunate free-for-all by the side of a speeding highway.

Street children are not usually the first thing that comes to mind when thinking of Islamabad. Described as ‘twenty minutes outside Pakistan’, Islamabad is a city of big houses, dual carriage-ways and expensive shops. But Islamabad’s planners of the 1960s ignored the possibility of any urban poor, so squeezed in-between the central bazaars are the katchi-abadies, the slums. A five minute walk separates the expensive boutiques of ‘Supermarket’ from the narrow unpaved streets, open drains, cats cradle of electricity wires and litter strewn channels of 100 Quarters. Irreconcilably divided by money and power, yet the two worlds meet on the streets of the bazaars where children run around shouting and begging. The worlds also meet in the city schools. None of the katchi-abadies have their own schools; children attend general government schools. But in a country with among the worst educational records in Asia (female literacy stands at 36%), children from the katchi-abadies are at a high risk from the vicious cycle of dropping out of school, working on the streets, drug abuse and unemployment.

‘We didn’t get support from home so couldn’t keep up with the standard of the class’. A conversation with a group of older boys throws some light on the reasons for the high number of children dropping out of school here. And a comment which came up time and again in conversation with community members: ‘because we are not educated, our children are not educated’, and ‘we are uneducated so our children cannot survive in schools’. These community members have put their finger on the heart of the problem. If adults are aware of the importance of education they can prevent their children from begging, ensure they attend school, and support them in their school work. Dropping-out due the expense of uniforms or books, because children have no legal papers, because they need to look after younger siblings or their families need money all come down to the root issue that parents are unaware of the pivotal role that education plays in kicking a downward spiral of poverty.

This recognition from within these communities that they need to encourage their children’s education is a significant first step. The Mountain Institute for Educational Development (MIED), a local charity, runs Non-Formal Education (NFE) centres in the slums, helping children who have dropped out to regain a standard sufficient to re-enter formal schools. MIED’s NFE teachers, themselves from the communities, work tirelessly walking from door to door talking to parents, exploring with them their concerns about education and encouraging them to enrol their children in the centres. Just a few people from within a community can be a catalyst for change: last year more than 200 children graduated from the NFE centres into formal schools.

So, for children who live with their families but may work or beg on the streets, adult awareness-raising is crucial. But as in most developing countries, many boys leave their rural homes to earn money in the cities, and end up living 24/7 on the streets. There are no reliable statistics available for the number of children living on the streets in Pakistan, although some estimates put the number as high as 1.2 million. Nadeem works in a car workshop in a town in the North West Frontier Province. The death of his father left him the family’s main wage earner, forcing him to leave home and an education for work. He now earns a meagre 30Rs (30p) for each punishing 14 hour day. Rural government primary schools do little to attract boys like Nadeem to the opportunities of an education in their home villages. Rural schools are sinking under the combined challenges of teacher absenteeism, collapsing buildings, rote learning, corporal punishment and no resources.

But there are glimmers of hope. A community member in a village in Chakwal in the Punjab said proudly that all children from his village attend the local school: ‘education is good whether it is for males or females. The real thing is consciousness – it should be in everybody’. Such a view is the result of three years community mobilisation work by the field staff of MIED. And deep in the Karakoram mountains, five hours by treacherous road to the nearest city and subject to perishing cold winters, was a flourishing school. With a computer lab, museum, and science lab it could rival schools in the developed world. Run by the community rather than the government, families routinely spend a significant proportion of their annual income on education. What is the secret of their success? The Agha Khan Education Services has been promoting the cause of education in this village since 1946. Change hasn’t occurred overnight.

Except a few smiles and free oranges I could do little to help the little girl in the bazaar in Islamabad or Nadeem directly. There is no quick answer to the educational challenges for street children; any comprehensive solution cannot be divorced from the wider situation. Adult education and improving schools in rural areas will have an immeasurable impact addressing the root causes, albeit in the longer term. Change is possible: we need to take the current plight of street children as a kick-start for action.

Notes on reintegration in western society

2009-01-05T08:34:00.000-08:00

'Emotional rollercoaster' aptly describes the journey I have been experiencing these two weeks back in the UK. Laughing and crying over the cheeses at the local supermarket, admitting to an unsympathetic till person at a newsagent that I had completely forgotten how to put money on my phone, and sitting with my head in my hands at Epsom station listening to the same lady repeating the same announcements that I hoped I had forever escaped from. The list goes on. But first let me explain about the cheese counter - all I wanted was some plain English cheddar but the sheer number of cheeses available completely bamboozled me, and then in desperation I reached out to whatever was nearest and grabbed crunchy cheese'. Well, I don't know who in their right mind would want to eat crunchy cheese, but I guess there must be some market for it from the broad range of palates in Epsom.

Reintegration back into UK society requires remembering the following concepts:

(a) punctuality: trains leave on time, particularly when you are late (conversely, arriving particularly early for a train will almost certainly ensure that it will be late). Pakistani notions of time and punctuality need to be quickly forgotten in these circumstances.

(b) friendship between the sexes: hugging a male friend outside does not require you to sheepishly look over both shoulders to ensure that such outrageous behaviour has not been seen by any passers by.

(c) individualism and conformity: reconfigure your ideas of western individualism by standing in any town high street and counting the number of people wearing blue jeans and black coats

(d) western technology: having spent a year reminiscing about how great English technology is, it can be a bit of a shock to realise that reminiscences may have clouded reality. For example, central heating may be great, but its expense precludes its frequent use. Therefore, the use of several jumpers and fleeces inside the house is as necessary in the UK as it is in Pakistan, where gas heaters may be less heat efficient but at least they are cheap and easy to use, and therefore used.

(e) language: the frequent use of 'Inshallah' is unnecessary and not really understood by the general British public. And a quick return to the English vernacular is recommended to avoid confusion ('text' instead of 'sms', 'toilet' instead of 'washroom', 'study tour' instead of 'exposure visit'....'

(f) gentlemanly behaviour: there is a need to realise as quickly as possible that men do not always offer to carry ladies bags here, therefore building up arm muscles again is a must. That way it is possible to avoid embarrassing situations like struggling down Oxford high street with two heavy bags and being overtaken by old ladies with zimmer frames.

And finally, there is a need to realise that some things about British culture may never be understood. Why some girls think it is a good idea to wear tiny tiny skirts with tights in temperatures below freezing will forever escape me.

A bundle of anecdotes

2008-12-08T08:34:00.001-08:00

I have made the momentous decision to leave Pakistan, and will be back in the UK in time for Christmas. It was a very difficult decision to make, and I will miss everyone here a huge amount (particularly all the wonderful people at MIED). But I won't say any more about that now or I will start crying (again). (Although I am very much looking forward to seeing everyone back home!)

So now I know I am leaving soon I am becoming nostalgic and seeing things differently. Here follow a few anecdotes that have struck me recently. The main themes about these anecdotes are goats and travelling (puzzled?!) Read on

I travelled by Pakistani bus between Chakwal and Islamabad the other week. It was an experience, to say the least. When I first got on I really didn't see how we could fit as I had to squeeze past quite a few Pakistani men and then was confronted with a whole bus load of bearded men staring up at me. But as I was a woman and clearly a foreigner I was given a seat at the front. Five minutes later we stopped again and I thought it must be to drop people off - no more people could fit. But I severely underestimated the capacity of Pakistani men to squeeze (and the bus to expand?). More and more people got on until the men standing around me formed a little tent above me - it was rather claustrophobic and if I hadn't been sat close to a window I would have had a full blown panic attack. As it was, it seemed that the bus was a legacy from the British and coupled with thoughts about crazy driving and drivers on drugs I was almost ready to clamber out of the window to freedom. But I forced myself to carry on sitting down (albeit with dire thoughts about my own funeral.) Every time we stopped more luggage was thrown on the roof - they can't have had time to tie it down, gravity must work differently here. As soon as the luggage had been thrown up the bus started moving and the luggage guy clambered down the outside of the window, along the side of the bus and inside the door. The whole experience became even more surreal when there were shouts of 'bakra aa raha hai'. I know what bakra means but it didn't twig what it actually meant until a goat squeezed past me. Then jingle bells started playing on someone's mobile phone and I had to pinch myself to make sure I was still awake.

All in all it was a relief when we got to the bus station in Islamabad. It can be quite a performance entering Islamabad by road now, there are many police with guns standing behind barricades and a large majority of vehicles are stopped and searched. Often there are travellers praying by the side of the road right next to the gun towers.

Back on the subject of goats, it was Eid a couple of days ago, and there were many goats and cows tethered outside peoples houses in Islamabad. (This Eid is when Muslims celebrate the willingness of Ibrahim to sacrifice Ishmael). When I walked into the kitchen on the morning before Eid there was a rather large goat peering around the kitchen door. Again had to pinch myself, not something you expect to encounter bleery eyed and half asleep.

And then that night there were two more goats tethered outside my bedroom window. The next morning I was playing hide and seek with the kids and hid behind my curtain. I looked outside and there was a goats head staring back at me. But I really enjoyed Eid, it was wonderful celebrating it with the Director's family, it was like Christmas with kids running around excitedly and loads of food!

And on that happy note I will end for the moment.

2008-11-23T06:51:00.000-08:00

One of the things that struck me in Chitral was how different people's lives have been to mine. I really wanted to hear people's stories and learn what life was like in a mountain village, particularly from the older people who must have so many interesting stories and witnessed such change in their lives. Sometimes it was frustrating not being able to ask people questions because of the language barrier, but while I was there I grabbed Asif and asked him to translate an interview with his mother. I wanted her to tell me what she chose and what she thought was important, so I didn't ask many questions at all, but just listened to her story....

She first started talking about her childhood. When she was very little she remembered playing with dolls as with many little girls, but she also remembered playing with the cattle! The dolls she had were all handmade and beautifully embroidered. When she got older she started helping her parents with domestic work, particularly cooking and sewing. Embroidery was very important - mats, coats, and even entire bridal dresses were all embroidered and then sold. The cost of a whole bridal suit was one ox. Everything was either grown or made themselves, and very little was bought in the bazaar. People did not really use money.

She had an arranged marriage, and had never seen her husband before the wedding. She made all her clothes and suits herself before her marriage. She said that she was very happy to get married, and she had a very caring husband and family with whom she got on well. One story she remembers from early in her married life was some robbers from Swat who came and stole five of their families horses. Her father in law went to meet the robbers in Swat and held a big community meeting and asked the robbers to return the horses. There was such a culture of respect to guests and her father in law was so popular that the horses were returned. One had already been sold at the market in Peshawar so they returned the equivalent price in money. But then horses were stolen a second time, and again her father-in-law went after them, but this time he met the robbers in the mountain and was fired at. A battle took place the whole day, but in the end the robbers ran out of bullets and accepted defeat. He was thanked by the police for this.

She remembers when Pakistan became independent. A national guard was formed in each village and they went around shouting 'Pakistan Zindabad' (long live Pakistan!). Some of those who were against Independence were socially boycotted - she remembers that one woman was forced to ride around the village on a donkey as a punishment. When Independence was declared both men and women came out to celebrate. She said that although people were illiterate it was celebrated with great pomp and show.

She has seen may changes in her village. When she was younger, everything was handmade, there were no vehicles but people used horses for any travelling. She used horses to travel between her parent's home and her husband's home. Then she started travelling in jeeps, then landcruisers, and now there are buses. First they were using lanterns for lighting, then gas, and now electricity. Another thing that has changed is awareness about the importance of education. Although she didn't have an education all her children are highly educated, and all grandchildren go to school.

'Now I am 71 and everyone likes me and I like everyone. People respect me because I am of a first religious family. My door is open to everyone, and they can all eat here. I like smiling faces very much.'

Life in a Chitrali village continued

2008-11-21T06:29:00.000-08:00

Here follows a continuation of my description of life in a village in Chitral, in the mountains in the far north of Pakistan. Chitral is in the North West Frontier province, bordering Afghanistan and Swat. But I will remember the hospitality, generosity and friendliness of the people I met for the rest of my life. I stayed with a colleague for two weeks over Eid (the festival following Ramadan).

The houses in the village are mainly traditional, made out of wood, mud, water and stone. Many are built into the side of the mountain. A few times I was accidentally walking on house roofs rather than the mountain / fields, and the only way of telling was the smoke furling out of the chimney!

In an interesting juxtaposition, some houses had satellite dishes fixed to their roofs. Twas very bizarre sitting in Asif's very traditional house in the middle of the Hindu Raj mountains and watching a French film channel and German news.

The traditional houses usually have a large boundary around them, within which there are three buildings - the actual family house, a guest house and the cattle shed. The surrounding land is used for the animals. The guest house is usually a modern building, light and very colourfully designed inside. This really emphasizes the importance that Chitrali families place on entertaining guests well. Asif had built his guest house that I stayed in, and it was beautiful. In contrast the family houses were very traditional. The entrance was usually narrow, small and dark, and then you follow a small and dark corridor and enter the main room - which is the living area, the kitchen and the sleeping area. In the centre is the wood stove which provides all heating, hot water and where all the cooking is done. Around the stove is the sitting area where we have meals, and around that is the sleeping area. Whole extended families of ten people or more live in these houses. Eating with Asif's family was a real experience and very atmospheric - children, parents and grandparents were all crowded around the stove, and fresh meat, chappatis and vegetables were served on a cloth on the floor. Often we were eating by gaslight because the village hydro-electric power plant had broken.

The houses are very strongly built and withstand the frequent earthquakes in the area. Asif showed me a house that he said was over 600 years old. It was also designed so that it could withstand attacks from Nuristani bandits. Within the house the corridor was complicated, narrow and dark with sudden turns to put off any attackers:

The main room was well hidden at the back of the house.

Interesting aspects of local history are passed orally down the generations. For example, when we drove over the Shandur pass Asif showed me a stretch of land where he said that the people of his village met and welcomed a British force under Colonel Kelly. They welcomed the British because they did not like the Chitrali rulers against whom the British were fighting. I have since read that Colonel Kelly led a force of troops from Gilgit over the 12,000 ft Shandur pass in deep snow and impossibly difficult conditions to relieve a British force being sieged in Chitral city. I visited the fort in Chitral where the British were being sieged for several months. Unfortunately the fort is tumbling down now.

Two final observations remain: education was considered very important in the village. There were about nine primary schools for boys and girls in Asif's village alone, and some of the children walked eight miles a day to attend a particularly good school. And secondly, people in the village obviously collaborted a lot so that basic services could be provided in the village. Government interventions were not much in evidence in the village at all - most of the schools were community or NGO run, one road had been built by the community, and there was no electricity provided by the government. So, supported by an NGO, community members were busy building a new hydro-power plant which I visited.

Life in a Chitrali village

2008-11-15T07:02:00.001-08:00

Imagine towering masses of barren rock stretching high into the deep blue sky. Impossibly steep slopes of scree reach from the top of a mountain to the bottom, with a light dusting of snow at the top. Fields in the valleys are brown as it is autumn and after the harvesting, but many poplar and birch trees are turning yellow. Fruit trees are beautiful hues of red and gold. There is a river running through the valley, the roar of which can be heard miles away as everything else is so quiet. Streams meander down from the mountains, the water sparkling and dancing in the sunlight. Traditional mud and stone houses, blending into the landscape, are scattered between the fields and golden trees. There are no roads. At night it is pitch black, the sky is a carpet of stars, and the absolute silence is all-enveloping. Snow leopards, ibex and bears prowl in the mountains. Welcome to Baleem, Chitral.

People in Baleem are almost completely self-sufficient – they grow their own wheat and maize for flour, vegetables, beans, and they have yaks, goats, sheep and cattle for meat. They make their own clothes, and carpets out of wool. The food is incredibly fresh and delicious. Breakfast is usually local maize bread eaten with butter, cream or cottage cheese, freshly made.

All families in the village own land used for crops, trees and pasture. Although land is divided between sons, generally all farming is done by the one big extended family, and the produce is eaten by the whole family. All the houses have big stores, where they keep food over the winter. While I was there, people were visibly preparing for the long and hard winter. Crops were being dried on the top of the houses,

yaks were beginning to be slaughtered, men were walking through the village carrying huge piles of grass for the cattle. Women were cleaning the wheat, preparatory to sending it to one of the many flour mills.

These mills are small huts built over fast flowing streams, where the water turns a stone, grinding the wheat and turning it into flour. People pay one shovel load to the worker at the flour mill for each sack of flour. Because the winter is so hard and long, families can do little more than eat and sleep, and try to keep warm! Now however, it is usual for some people to come to Islamabad. As well as owning land, many of the men move to cities to work, and many of the women work as teachers.

About 80% of the villagers are Ismaili, and 20% are Sunni – there are nine (!) Jammat Khanas in the village, and one mosque. But there seems to be quite a lot of inter-marriage – many of Asif’s family are Sunnis. People’s families are huge. I lost track of all Asif’s relatives I was introduced to, and quite quickly. Asif would say: and now we are going to visit my wife’s sister’s mothers brother in law, married to the person we met yesterday. I was reduced to smiling and nodding, although things got a little awkward when he tested me on the people we met…. It even took me a while to get the hang of all his family that lived in his house – four brothers, their wives and many beautiful children. The people I met were very proud to be Ismaili – many people said to me that the area was peaceful because it is Ismaili. And people were exceptionally friendly – everyone we met, almost without exception, greeted us with a salaam and a smile, and I was invited into so many homes and served with so much food. I really do not know how I can repay such generous hospitality. I hope I am doing so slightly now, by spreading the word at how amazingly generous the people of Chitral are.

The village is a lot more liberal than I expected. Women and girls walk feely around the village and valleys, often doing hard work. They greet and shake or kiss hands with men – it is traditional here for younger people to kiss the hand of older men or women as a sign of respect. The houses are always open for guests. Women can be the head of the household if they outlive their husband. Then they are consulted on all decisions related to the running of the household and greatly respected. But many of the girls and younger women are very shy, especially with a foreigner.

Everyone speaks Khowar, (also called Chitrali). Chitrali is spoken through the whole of Chitral, surprisingly enough, but also in parts of Ghizer, the neighbouring district in the Northern Areas (only accessible over the 12,000 foot Shandur pass). Many of the younger children and older people speak only a very little Urdu, and no English, which caused problems some times. When visiting one house, with the whole family from tiny baby to great grandmother staring avidly at me, I tried vainly to make conversation. And so I asked the old lady: apka naam kya hain (what is your name, in Urdu). She answered: ‘jam’ which is ‘good’ in Khowar, obviously not having understood a word!! The whole family burst out laughing, and conversation didn’t really flourish. The area is so isolated that the older people haven’t needed Urdu in their lives. There is only one phone in the village, electricity only at night, and seven hours in a painful jeep ride to the nearest city. Even now, for example, most of the people ignored the new daylight saving time introduced by Islamabad, and worked on the old timings.

To be continued …..

A window onto culture at the roof of the world

2008-11-06T08:06:00.000-08:00

This entry is a brief interlude in my Chitral story. Never fear, the next stage will be written very shortly, but in the meantime one of my colleagues (Tayib Jan) has written an article about traditions in the Wakhi culture. The Wakhi people come from the Wakhan corridor in Afghanistan, which is a narrow stretch of land between N Pakistan and Tajikistan. But Wakhi people now live in Afghanistan, Pakistan, China and Tajikistan, in the Pamir region. Nearly all Wakhi people are Ismaili, and their language is very similar to Persian. The following article is about their traditons and culture, particularly within the family. I really wish he had given it to me before I went to Chitral, as the culture there is quite similar, and according to this I made some fundamental errors. But never mind....

'Childhood, youth and old age are natural phenomenon, but they are also socially constructed and mean different things in different societies. Generally, for the purposes of gauging human development, stages are classified as beginning, early childhood, middle childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, middle adulthood and late adulthood. There are not age limits as such set internationally or nationally at what age we are young and at what age one gets old. It has more to do with the cognitive abilities and working capacity or physical activeness. Some people used to say that when the hair turns gray one becomes old, but today even very young children have grey hair. Socially it can be measured against more or less experience; a synonym for being knowledgeable against being naïve or novice. When youth assume that the old people are ignorant of the demands of time, or when old people think that the youth has a little know-how of the world and its complexities, cracks can develop in society.

Many societies and families have long traditions of authority in which most decisions are made by the elders. If the tradition of accepting the elders is deeply inculcated in the youth the system moves very smoothly. Otherwise, issues of disagreement escalate and on occasions turn into serious revolt. In some cases children have tried to get rid of their elders by sending them to old age facility centers or used some other innovative brutal ways. In other cases the youth have tried a simpler way of just ignoring them despite of the age related requirement that the need to be in some company at least for few hours a day to share the wealth the knowledge they have stored from childhood through youth and to the old age. Some old people are smart and lucky enough to find their grandchildren as their friends. They talk to them and love listening to their experiences and reflect on how much the world has changed.

The Wakhi older adults are good models of vigor and zest. Some people live to ripe old age, as my own grandfather grew as old as 120 years. There are some social factors attached to energy that boost their morale because they feel honoured in the society. In this paper I am going to talk about the titles used for them, decision making, and position at home, dinning, dancing and walking. This paper will not only help the honorable visitors of the Wakhi homes rather it will also allow our own youth to remind themselves of the traditional values of our society. I am aware of the fact that their will be commonalities in other traditions such as Brushaski, Shina, Khowar, and Dari but I will focus on Wakhi so that I do not confuse people.

The Wakhi elders can be called “Mapair”, “Akabeer”, Moye Safeed” or Akhasqool”. Mapair and Akhasqool have the same meaning as old man. Therefore people do not use both these words as they have negative connotations. Akabeer (wise man) and Moye Safeed (white haired man or women meaning experienced). But the most common word used is “Puop”, which means grandfather. The beauty of this title is that it is not necessary that a person needs to be a real grandfather to be called pup. All old males are called pup and while meeting them the first time after a long absence it is necessary to kiss the back of their hands. In return the pup will also kiss the back of your hand. Old ladies are called “Kumpir” meaning old woman and “moum” meaning grandmother. Old women are normally called mum whether they are really grandmother or not and it is an obligation to kiss the back of their hands while visiting them.

The elders of the family, whether male or female, make most of the decisions at home. The decision-making process is mostly participatory and based on common understanding. In the case of marriages, Wakhis are moderate as the boys and girls decide to whom they should marry. The process is carried out through informed consent of the family, especially with the elders.

The elders sit at the most honorable and reserved place in the traditionally built homes. The man sits on the right side and the woman on the left. Nobody else can take their position no matter whether they are head of state or the wealthiest person. The guests, however, can be offered to sit in their places but it is normally considered a good attitude to let the poup or moum sit in their position and the guest sits beside them. In the same fashion the rest of the house is divided into second, third and so on ages. If a person is really naïve it is said he/ she is so simple that “does not know how to sit or stand”. One needs to be really careful in visiting a Wakhi house to avoid taking somebody’s place. The youngest (no matter how educated or having good social status) gets a place in the “burj” means corner in a fully packed house. Relaxing your feet towards somebody or sitting in a way that somebody is at your back is the rudest act.

Food is normally served at a fixed time and at particular place, called the Neekard in the traditional houses. The sheet that is spread on the floor to put the food on is called “Destorkhon”, which is the same in Dari and Persian. It is generally a clean piece of cloth or plastic sheet and people sit around it. When the food is served every body waits the eldest of in the group to start first and other people follow. One of the people takes a full roti called “Shapeek” and offers it to others to take. In such situation one takes a small piece and thanks the person who offers it. Wakhi eating style is very formal, the host will keep on suggesting taking more. Sometimes when this is done by the host puop the situation gets serious! The puop suggests eating more food and can keep on loading your plate with meat or rice. In this case simply ignoring the offer or rejecting it is unacceptable behavior which is really rude. The young are supposed to keep a speed that they finish later than then elders. One can not stop eating until the elders are finished eating. When a person wants to take water he/ she offers others to take it first. In most of cases it is politely rejected by thanks “Schobosh” or “shukriya”. After the food everyone offers prayers for the host and the family who served them. The puop prayers in Wakhi are, for example “May God fill your house with riches”, May God bless all your family” and a lot or more which will be another topic of my writing.

Wakhi, especially men, like dancing but it is very well developed social activity. If somebody wants to see the hierarchy of age in a family or in a bigger clan one should see the dancing line. The line goes from the eldest to elders and to young children. Everybody in a dancing team should follow the team leader who is the most senior person in steps, body movement and speed. The whole dancing team will salute the eldest in the audience before, during and after the dance which lasts 5 to 10 minutes. To show respect the audience encourages the dancers by clapping. Crossing the elders to take the lead, taking a longer time, breaking the row, deferring the elders’ footsteps or standing at the wrong position is really impolite.

Wakhi people like walking, and the landscape where we come from means that we need to walk. Walking in the Wakhi tradition is really difficult - there are some complexities and formalities related to it. The Wakhi elders usually lead the walking and they keep the same hierarchy while walking in a line. This does not mean that whenever the Wakhi walk they walk in a line, but it has something to do with the landscape. There are a lot of narrow walking tracks spread all over the area so people are compelled to follow narrow windings.

Some people might think these are just symbolic but there are tokens of respect attached to all these rituals. There are no certain criteria by which respect can be measured rather it is day and night. The presence of light is called day while the absence of it is night. The same is the case with this semiotic representation of elders’ respect.

Kafiristan!!

2008-10-24T03:16:00.000-07:00

Chitral is delicately balanced between Afghanistan and Swat, in the Hindu Kush mountains. Given this (interesting?) geographical location I had a major internal struggle over whether to go with a colleague, who had invited me to stay with his family over Eid. But both the Foreign Office and VSO said the area is peaceful, so I didn’t give in to fear and boldly went to a place where many other foreigners have been before.

After arriving in Chitral, after a mere 45 minute flight, I had to go to the District Police Office so I could register as a foreigner. After that surprisingly quick process, we started on the journey to Kafiristan – the Kalash valleys. The Kalash valleys are famous because the people there are the only non-Muslims in a large area. They have their own very different religion and traditions, and it is thought that they are descendents from the army of Alexander the Great.

The journey was quite incredible – the mountains were huge, the valleys green, and the road was, well very bumpy, to say the least. I thought I was getting used to mountain roads, but at some points this one was completely gauged out of granite rock – huge tons of rock seemed to be hanging delicately over the road. Plus, we had a normal car rather than one built for such roads, which clattered considerably, so I was rather worried about the state of the tyres.

As we got closer I felt more and more guilty that I was going to gawp at people like they were museum exhibits. But actually when we got there the guy I was with, Asif, had friends there – he seems to have contacts everywhere (used to be a politician!!). So we met his friends, who made tea for us, and then we were shown around the village. Walking around the streets was wonderful. It seemed to an outsider to be a gentle and slow rhythm of life – women were walking around carrying produce, chatting in the streets, kids were playing, and everyone smiled and greeted us.

The women’s clothes were colourful, intricately designed and made, and very beautiful. But it definitely wasn’t a village untouched by modernity - there were adverts for pepsi, and signs basically saying ‘NGO x woz ‘ere’. I really didn’t like that, it was like the NGOs were taking ownership over the village, and saying ‘congratulations to us, we’ve bought these people into the modern world.’ But at the same time I was told about one Kalash woman who had started her own NGO. And the Kalash people obviously hold very closely onto their culture. When women give birth or menstruate they go to a special house where men are not allowed. If a man goes beyond a certain line he has to pay a fine of one goat.

One thing really shocked me – Asif pointed to a particular direction, and said – walk three hours in that direction (admittedly over rather a large mountain), and you get to Afghanistan, Nuristan, and Taliban central. (Behind the mountain in the photo: Afghanistan).

I couldn’t take it in that I was so close to such a dangerous area, yet the Kalash valleys were completely safe and peaceful. I assume that the nature of the villages is very similar in Nuristan and Kafiristan – remote, mountainous, similar crops being grown, life dictated by the seasons. But how can villages so close to each other geographically have people with such a different attitudes to life, cultures and traditions?

In a second village we visited we went to the graveyard which was fairly disturbing, as they used to have open graves (not any more). As much as I tried not to look, I could still see bones in some of the old graves. After Asif met someone else he knew, we started on the long drive back to Chitral, but the excitements of the day were not over. When we got back into mobile phone range I got some texts from VSO saying that Islamabad airport had been closed and all flights suspended due to a bomb scare. It must have happened just after we left. I’m ashamed to say that I had another major panic attack. But I spoke to my parents who have completely changed their tune from saying get on the first flight back to the UK, to saying: oh just enjoy it. So I will, and decided to postpone worrying about how to get back until the time came.

We stayed with Asif’s brother in Chitral. Chitral city is quite conservative – there were no women in the bazaar, so I slightly stood out, even though I had my head covered. Even Ismaili women, who I stayed with, completely covered their face when they went out, and would not venture out without a man, even though in their village they were a lot freer. I was wondering why Chitral is so peaceful given its proximity to Swat, Afghanistan and some tribal agencies. Chitral city itself is mainly Sunni, as it lower Chitral, but upper Chitral is mainly Ismaili. However, there is quite a lot of inter-marriage between the sects. A couple of years ago when there were Taliban incursions into Chitral there were large and peaceful protests. In Dir at the moment, which borders lower Chitral and Afghanistan, the Taliban are making incursions, but citizens are taking matters into their own hands by forming militia. The other week four Taliban were caught in this way. And lists of known Taliban are published and publicly displayed.

The day after Kafiristan we embarked on the six hour journey to Baleem, Asif’s village. Asi kept warning me it was going to be a long and difficult journey, and I thought I was prepared after yesterday. However, we travelled in a local form of transport, so people were packed in like sardines, and several men were on the roof.

I was lucky enough to be in the front seat, but sat next to Asif with barely room to breathe. The journey was stunning though – we could see Terech Mir, the largest mountain in the Hindu Kush range, for a long time which was amazing, especially when the sun was setting. Although Asif had repeatedly told me that Chitral was green (in security terms – it was completely safe), when we got to one village he casually mentioned that this was where Osama Bin Laden’s left hand man was killed, and it was his cousin who killed him over a land dispute. I only managed a weak smile in response to that.

When we got to the village it was 11 o’clock at night, pitch dark and freezing cold. There were no roads in the village, so we had to walk about 20 minutes to reach Asif’s house. When we got there though Asif showed me to his own guest house! I was so tired I went almost immediately to sleep, to the comforting sound of the call of the jackal.

A round up of the last two weeks

2008-10-09T07:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning I was in Chitral and there was a small earthquake – the house I was in shook slightly. Yesterday afternoon I was in Islamabad and there was a sudden huge clap of thunder and I almost jumped out of my skin. This morning I was in the office and there was a big bang and the doors and windows of the office shook. Another suicide bomber.

What can I say? A return to Surrey looks quite tempting now? But Chitral was unbelievably beautiful and peaceful. The people were so open and friendly and I was treated with such hospitality and generosity it almost reduced me to tears at one point!

But I should backtrack slightly. The last couple of weeks have been fairly eventful, so I’ll start where I left off last time. First of all, here follow my experiences of Ramazan:

- someone at the office offering to go out and get food for me, and then coming back and producing some biscuits from UNDERNEATH his (rather sweaty) kameez
- jumping about a metre high whenever someone comes into my office and I am surreptitiously trying to eat something
- exchanging a conspiratorial wink with the cook whenever I go to get some water or food from the kitchen
- being brought some toast and apple after work by the Director’s 12 year old daughter who was fasting
- getting progressively more bad tempered as the days go on and I can only manage to eat a few biscuits during the day
- witnessing the beginning of a fight between two men in a nearby markaz at the end of the day
- sitting and watching food waiting for the call to prayer so we can start eating iftar (at sunset)
- going out for iftar at the viewpoint over Islamabad and eating a large amount of iftar food (samosas and fruit) and then having to eat a full dinner of curry
- when in Chitral jumping a mile high during a siren sound exactly like the Second World War air raid warnings. After looking up into the sky unproductively I realised it was the sign to start eating
- no power cuts!! (which, after Ramazan, have again restarted)

Secondly, here follows an entry that I wrote two weeks ago but delayed in uploading it because I was away in Chitral. Be warned, I was not happy two weeks ago.

'I have usually tried to be entertaining on my blog, which has often meant I have focused on the positive things and not when things go wrong. But I am now close to despairing. The security situation is spiralling out of control. The news is getting worse and worse every time I look at the BBC website. Pakistan shooting at US helicopters, BA cancelling flights to Pakistan, the High Commission advising against all non-essential travel to cities in Pakistan…. I have never personally felt threatened the entire time I have been here, and I have met hospitality, openness and friendship that has greatly exceeded my expectations. But now the news gnaws away at me leaving a constant feeling of insecurity every time I go out of the house.

And to add to that, last week I was rather angry at the actions of certain INGOs, and now I am just completely disillusioned by the entire development industry. First of all there is no accountability of donor organisations to local NGOs – because donors have the money they have the power, so can basically act as they wish. This has led to actions which at best can be construed as highly unprofessional – decisions delayed for months for no apparent reason, reversed decisions. The rhetoric of ‘partnership’ and ‘working together for justice’ that pervades all INGO literature and promotional material seems to be hypocritical.

Secondly, the whole system is unnecessarily complicated – a lot of money comes initially from big government donors (USAID, DFID, CIDA), which is channelled through INGOs based in the developed world, which then reaches local organisations on the ground. This leads to unnecessary complications as each different donor has different reporting requirements. It also leads to uncertainty and delayed decisions for the organisations who are actually working with the ‘poor’. Bureaucracy can take precedence over actually bringing change.

And finally, the system means that organisations working in the same field are reduced to competing for scarce resources, which leads to professional jealousy and competition rather than working together to combine expertise. It is not like there is not enough work for everyone.

The one hope for this country that is spiralling out of control is education. So I am unbelievably frustrated that the un-professionalism and bureaucracy of donor INGOs who, in their own rhetoric should be ‘bringing hope to the poor’ is threatening a local NGO that is not corrupt and has a real vision and commitment. If I compare MIED with some of the horror stories from other NGOs – senior management forcing employees to return half of their salary each month, absolutely no work being done and lying to the donors… MIED’s staff is so dedicated and committed – many have told me that they are sticking with MIED through all the uncertainty, even though they have been offered much better paid jobs elsewhere. And a few have said that they will work for MIED without pay if the worst came to the worst.

But today I agreed to extend my contract until the end of December. Why? Well, the events of the last two weeks still have not entirely extinguished the spark of hope that change can occur and that justice will be done.

After writing this I went away on holiday for two weeks, but that entry can wait for next time. It will be slightly more cheerful (with a few fab photos....)

A (normal??) day in Pakistan

2008-09-21T08:10:00.001-07:00

This morning I woke up stupidly early for a Saturday morning as we were running a reflective workshop, so I had to get to the office to organise things. The workshop was to learn from and review our Early Childhood Care and Development project in Seren valley, which had to close because of the attack on Plan and their subsequent withdrawal from NWFP. Although our 100 ECCD centres and 2500 children are now without a donor, many caregivers are running the centres without being paid. This illustrates the depth of commitment and change that has taken place in the communities.

But anyway, that wasn’t the point of the session, which was to review the whole project, decide what lessons we had learnt and any recommendations for future ECCD projects (particularly relating to sustainability). Quite a tall order for a Saturday when people were fasting. I was seriously wondering how feasible it would be to run an intensive session when people can’t eat or drink, and on their day off. But I was really impressed with the commitment and interest that people showed. It was a definite learning experience for me - we had to cut a lot of sessions because of time issues. Also, I was facilitating one of the groups, which wasn’t exactly one of my strong points. By the end of the day I still wasn’t able to cope when groups of Pakistani men talking loudly in Urdu completely went off on tangents for 10 minutes and ignored what we were supposed to be discussing. Oh well.

So the session finished one and a half hours late, and 5.30 (ye Pakistan hai). We then waited for two hours for Iftar – the breaking of fast. I was able to catch up with people from Mansehra, hear about all the people who I haven’t seen since February, and who I wasn’t even able to say goodbye to. I caught up with someone who was shot twice in the attack on Plan, and heard about what some people have been doing since February. One guy is working in Peshawar with an NGO supportig schools in FATA – I will be writing in more detail about this later as it was a really interesting discussion. (The western media equate Pakistan with FATA with terrorism, so it was really good to hear about dedicated and committed individuals who are working to bring long term change in what must be one of the most difficult areas in the world.)

At the Azaan (call to prayer) we all congregated on the roof of the office and started eating Iftar – fruit, drinks and then samosas. There were even some doughnuts. It was a beautiful sunset, and very peaceful sitting there listening to the call to prayer coming out from all areas of the city, eating and watching the sun go down.

After that the men who wished to prayed on the roof, and then we had a proper meal – chicken biryani.

Twenty minutes later a huge explosion reverberated around the whole of Islamabad, 50 people died and the entire Marriott hotel has been destroyed. When will this end?

A short swim in the Hindu Kush

2008-09-11T07:47:00.000-07:00

So Phander…. A small village in the Hindu Kush, five hours from Gilgit, seven from Chitral, and very close to the world’s highest polo ground, Shandaur. What does a village in the Hindu Kush look like, I hear you ask. Well, when I first saw Phander we drove over some terminal moraine and looked down on this large valley which was green with poplar trees and gold with the crops ready for harvesting. The mountains were huge and barren, some were just appearing out of mist and others were bright with sun. The river was a most amazing turquoise colour. And to cap it all there was a rainbow stretching over the whole valley. Talk about a little bit of heaven.

The Phander valley:

The first evening there we met some people who had worked in Mansehra and who were now working at the MIED girls college. They offered to take us on a 20 minute walk, so three hours later we were looking down in the pitch black at the twinkling lights of the village below miles away. OK, so I exaggerate slightly – it was actually a really fantastic walk. Part the way through I was silly enough to ask how people actually walk up the side of the mountains when they consist of scree and are almost vertical.

So one of the guys born and bred in the Karakoram offered to show me how – twas exceptionally scary just going up off the path a little bit and walking on such a steep slope, the Scottish Highlands seemed tame in comparison. I was literally crawling crabwise (slightly inelegant but survival seemed more important).

I survived, and we walked up to a small peak above the village. It was a really bare landscape – people were telling me seriously about witches and things, and I was scoffing, but I can understand how such legends develop in such a vast, inhospitable landscape, particularly because we were out there after dark. So we got to the peak just as the sun was setting, which was beautiful. I was slightly concerned with getting back down again though, looking down at all the vertical slopes below me. But we got back to recognisable footpaths before complete blackness, and thereafter we had to go very carefully down narrow lanes and through fields of crops. To pass the time the guys, who were from different parts of the Northern Areas, were teaching me the word ‘donkey’ in their mother tongues – Khowar, Waqqui, Shina and Burusheski (there were quite a few donkeys around, I don’t think it was a personal reflection).

Walking through the village the next morning was really interesting – there were many women and only a very few men at work in the fields doing the harvesting by hand with scythes. We went to a local NGO where the community are thinking about setting up a second girls college in a nearby village. My co-worker had told me the previous night that we were expected to run a session building the capacity of the Education Committee. The thought of helping to run a session where the participants spoke in Khowar, then having to translate to Urdu and then into English made my blood run cold, so I sat quietly at the back. It was interesting though, especially seeing how enthusiastic the community members were to start their own girls college.

One of my gallant protectors had organised lunch for us at his sister’s house, which was a traditional house over a hundred years old. As a woman, I was able to meet the women of the house, whereas the men had to stay in the guest room. The heart of the house was one large room used as a kitchen, living room, prayer room and bedroom. There were beautiful wood carvings on the wooden pillars, and the roof was very intricately designed. There were seven pillars in the house to represent seven key figures in Islam. There was just one wood stove where the woman did all the cooking.

I just could not believe it when they bought out rice, chappattis, two meat dishes and a vegetable dish for about ten people. How it was possible on one stove I do not know, and it all tasted delicious, particularly as it was cooked over wood. The women of the house did not appear at all though – it was the younger men who bought us the food and served us, and none of the family ate with us except the father. The family eat after the guests.

After that, as Phander is famous for fishing, one of my travelling companions got hold of a rod, so we went down to the river. Both my protectors had assured me before that they were well practiced with fishing, so I was expecting a good haul. Hmm, half an hour later they were saying that the rod was a big problem. I had a go as well, but with no more success, so then I became more interested in paddling in the freezing cold water. I had more or less decided against swimming as it was so cold, but then I slipped on some mud. It was rather embarrassing – all the women doing washing on the other side of the bank and the kids were laughing at me, but then I showed them the true grit of the Brits and actually swam (in full shalwaar kameez). It was flipping freezing, so I didn’t last long, and then ran back to the hotel with a see-through duppatta draped delicately around my sopping wet shalwaar kameez. Back at the hotel, facing a shower where the water seemed to come straight from the glacier, I did have a moment of homesickness, but that was only transitory.

The next instalment will be coming shortly…

To Gilgit and beyond.....

2008-09-02T02:06:00.000-07:00

When I was leaving the UK I knew that I would be going up to the Northern Areas once back in Pakistan, which made getting on the plane at Heathrow a whole lot easier. Even so, whilst I was sitting at Heathrow I was going through all the cities it could be worse to go to than Islamabad – Baghdad, Kabul, Khartoum, and then I got stuck on the capital of Somalia (Mogadishu). But I cheered up when I got on the plane as I was upgraded! I never thought that happened in real life.

Anyway, the trip up to the Northern Areas took three days, and I went to a village called Phander between Gilgit and Chitral, where MIED has a girl’s college and runs some ECCD centres. We left Islamabad one day, spent overnight in Mansehra (don’t worry parents, was perfectly safe). We had to leave Mansehra at 5 o’clock the next morning, at which time I wasn’t at my best. It was dark and raining and I was told that there were two routes to Gilgit – either the Babasur pass or the Karakoran Highway. My two trusty companions told me we could go by the Babasur pass if I felt like taking a risk – otherwise we could go by the KKH and they would disguise me under luggage. Hmm, I think (hope) they were slightly joking. But at that time in the morning either seemed little short of a death wish and the idea that I was capable of making a decision which route was laughable. Anyway, my companions decided to go the ‘risky’ route over the Babasur pass. We hit the mountain roads a little after dawn, almost quite literally as soon there was a landslide covering the road. This didn’t daunt either of my trusty companions who jumped out of the car with unreasonable energy for that time in the morning and shifted a few big rocks.

There were a few tense minutes when the 4x4 tried to climb over the rocks that remained but that was successfully achieved and we were soon on our way again. I felt quite remarkably better after a breakfast of trout by a mountain stream, and it all seemed like an adventure again. We had breakfast at a tiny café / tent in the rain. There were two boys asleep in bed in the café / tent with a howling gale outside, which reminded me that I didn’t have things so bad really.

The rest of the morning up to the Babasur pass was a whole lot better. It was a spectacular route through the Kaghan valley and up to Naran, it was just a shame it was raining. The roads continued to be bad though, I couldn’t count the number of landslides and lakes we had to pass through. We had a lunch at Naran which is a known tourist spot, but then we really hit the unknown. On the map a proper road was marked up to Naran, after that it was just a dotted track. Given the states of the roads we had been on, I wasn’t particularly sanguine about what was to follow. But happy surprise – there was a proper road for quite a few kilometres. After that, things went steadily downhill (but going uphill!) In places there was no road and we had to pick our way around mud and boulders, and work out which general direction we should be heading. We gradually climbed to 4000 m, and passed cattle with coats on, camels, and houses made out of stone where families spend the summer with their cattle. We were practically the only vehicle on the ‘road’. We had to negotiate ‘bridges’ when I preferred to get out and walk, though that was almost as scary. Unfortunately it was really cloudy when we got to the top, and it was completely freezing. I had been v intelligent and bought a fleece with me but my two gallant protectors were shivering slightly. But we did have some of mum’s amazing chocolate brownie at the top of the pass. When we got over the top we started descending into Chilas, which is quite a conservative and tribal area. It is one of the areas in Pakistan where people openly carry guns.

The road got a whole lot better, and it took about three hours between Chilas and Gilgit, but we stopped at various places on the way to see a hot spring and some Buddhist carvings. We got to Gilgit a whole lot quicker than going up the KKH as the road was so much more direct. It was really an amazing journey – we went from being absolutely freezing through Babussar to about 40 degree heat in Chilas, through an area destroyed by the earthquake, a tourist attraction, 4000m mountains, an area so conservative and tribal that they still have gun towers in use, past ancient Buddhist carvings, past the point where the Hindu Kush, Himalayas and Karakoram mountains meet, and finally the bustling city of Gilgit. I have to say I was pretty shattered after that, so I don’t know how the driver felt.

The next instalment (trip to Phander) will soon follow….

2008-08-26T07:39:00.000-07:00

‘I believe if we want to bring peace, education is a strong vehicle and a tremendous tool to initiate this. Why? Because it increases knowledge, develops skills and moral values. If we get this richness inside, this shouldn’t lead to violent behaviour because it brings an internal peace, and the internal peace leads to external peace in the society. So let us grow more seeds for education, wherever we can’.

Many people have a vision how to bring peace, but how many of us would follow this vision to Afghanistan? The interview that follows is with a lady who worked in Afghanistan for a year. It is almost exactly what she wrote:

Can you say a little about your background?

My name is Safida Begum. I come from the Northern Areas of Pakistan – Gulmit, Gojal in Hunza. I studied till grade 10 and moved to Karachi for further studies. After BA (bachelor in science) in 1987, I joined my school as a head mistress / head teacher (HT). I was the first HT within the Aga Khan Education (AKES) system among more than 50 male HTs. It was an interesting experience, where some of the colleagues were very good to me and were supportive while others tried to ignore me, as I was not considered important. However, the management was supportive so that was a huge encouragement for me to struggle for myself and for others’ future.

I kept on working but I did not enjoy it because I did not have proper management, academic and social skills and experience when dealing with students, parents and communities. I used to try to get ideas and support from men because many of them were educated and were working in different organisations. However, everyone was not so keen for women’s participation, so people among them used to disappoint me but I appreciate those who were so much supportive to me.

Luckily, Jonathan Mitchell as general manager joined AKES in 1990s, and initiated an improvement plan for local capacity development though the English Language Training Programs and then sent a group of potential candidates to the British Council Lahore for further training. The trainers John Trood and Mrs Trood from UK, played a key role throughout the process and further identified three (02 men and myself as a woman) as Master Trainers (MTs) to work with VSOs.

When we returned back from Lahore 6 VSOs (Volunteer Oversees Services) from UK also joined AKES as trainers. So we three local MTs worked with them to bridge between the foreigners and the locals to enhance the capacity of local teachers and develop our own language and methodological skills though the Language Enhancement and Achievement Program (LEAP).
However, then I got a scholarship for an M.Ed program at the Aga Khan University – Institute for Educational Development (AKU-IED), Karachi. The medium of instruction at this institute was English as it is affiliated with the University of OISE Toronto, Canada and Harvard University. Yet, it was a smooth transition for me to cope with the program because of the language development.

This program changed my whole perspective, thinking and reflective skills. I understood myself and my professional needs, and professional needs of the local teachers, HTs, and the whole education system. Moreover, it broadened my perspective and I looked at education as a holistic approach, rather than teaching subjects and passing examination through rote learning.

We as a group of AKU-IED graduates returned back to our area and served at the Aga Khan University - Professional Development Center North (AKU- PDCN). So I served for 8 years, which provided me the opportunity to share my learning with different stakeholders e.g. teachers, HTs, Education Officers / supervisors from AKES, Government and Private sectors through different programs such as Whole School Improvement Program (WSIP), Educational Leadership and Management Program, Mentoring and other needs based programs.

The head of the AKU-PDCN’s practical support and mentoring boosted us up to a different level. Similarly, the academic, physical, moral and emotional support from AKU-IED enabled us to cope with the local needs and gender issues. I enjoyed my work and became a change agent for the area, where I helped to make differences in lives, and the above mentioned people made differences in my life and colleagues. So I gradually developed more confidence, motivation and curiosity for learning and sharing. Therefore, I got international exposures such as International Research Scholar at the University of Kansas USA and recently, went through a three weeks successful training on ‘Peace Building’ from American University Washington D.C.

In a similar way, many of my colleagues from Northern Areas (NAs) went through the LEAP program to enhance their English language skills and opted for M.Ed program at AKU-IED, successfully completed and now serving at leadership roles. Moreover, few of them completed / completing their Ph.D degrees.

The purpose of explaining all this is to demonstrate how change can be initiated and sustained through capacity development of local people. Moreover, I would like to acknowledge the contribution of the people in their leadership roles in our area, their strategic thinking, positive direction and vision and contextualised actions generated stimulation for learning. Thus, leadership makes a big difference, particularly, if the leaders have good professional understanding and professional approach to change.

What were your motivations in going to Afghanistan?

It was a stimulation and motivation to serve the poor communities and sow some seeds of motivation to lead to education.

Where were you based?

I was working in Badakhshan province and was based in Sheghnan, a place that remains closed for 9 months that shrinks life pattern but the border crossing points from Tajikistan side, enables to bring a momentum in life to survive within the traditional system.

Can you briefly explain what you were doing?

I was working as a Professional Development Advisor (PDA) for Badakhshan (BDK). We were three PDAs based in three provinces (Bamyan, Baghlan and Badakhshan). We concentrated on local capacity development. We were working in 62 government schools (that increased to 82 in 2008) in BDK, partnership schools with communities, district education, provincial and ministry of education and the Teacher Training Colleges (TTCs) for in service teachers. We had 62 teacher trainers in all three provinces, where we were training them and they were giving training in schools and communities. The Local Training Head closely worked with the PDAs for the Leadership and Management Training in five districts of BDK to train the school HTs.

It is a huge province with lack of infrastructure and facilities so the process of change can be very slow. But my experience with working with these stakeholders was a significant part of a positive change of their thinking. I got a lot of appreciation from the trainees for developing their capacity. At the end of every training, the participants demanded more support and professional help. This indicates that people do want to improve their education and their environment but they need skilful people to understand their particular needs and deal according to their level of understanding. I think it is important because they seemed to be taking change as a change of religion and culture because they are innocent people and they are misguided for various interests and conflicts. Therefore, they need mentoring in a positive direction to support them to enhance their knowledge, increase their skills and improve their attitudes for a positive change in their communities and societies.

However, my experience also showed that the local leaders need to access the training centers so they could establish that nothing is against their religion or culture. Once they are satisfied with the trainers’ approach, they (local leaders) become the change agents within the communities because it enables them to link with their cultural values and talk positively about the initiatives.

Did you meet the Taliban!?

I do not know whether I did or not - I might have met them because I was working with many Mullahs. Initially, they had a different attitude when talking to me but when I worked with them, linked educational theories with their practical lives, and Quranic and Islamic values, they were more interested. Similarly, I am a friendly person, when I dealt with them friendly and politely, they behaved in the same way. So believe me, my heart beats for their positive remarks and their caring attitudes. I got a lot of respect during the training programs. My impression was that the Mullahs are not bad, rather they are shown bad.

How did you find being a single woman in Afghanistan, and particularly being a woman in a senior position?

Initially, it was quite difficult because the people and the staff would treat me as a woman, with whom they could never disagree or speak with, and they would keep me isolated. But I was a professional woman so I had to talk, agree or disagree in a friendly manner. When I talked some would listen to see what I say and whether it makes sense for them or not, while others would always just disagree for the sake of disagreement because I was a woman. It was quite disappointing situation but gradually, I understood the culture, the tradition and the people, who are positive and negative. So gradually I developed relationships with people around me, who were everything for me in that isolated place. I talked, shared jokes, listen to their stories and experiences and shared my experiences so that helped me to cool down and focus on my tasks. However, the Regional Education Officer (promoted to training head) became my mentor, brother, friend, colleague, and learner. I learned many things from him and he learned from me. We were good sister and brother. I realised a local person’s support enables you to feel at home but you need to develop that trust relationship within the person and within the community through your honesty and hard work. They are needy people and you are taken as a leader so you need to prove your ability to help them and satisfy them with your work. If you are able to do that then, they become your protectors and well wishers.

Did you feel afraid at any point?

I was afraid at the beginning because I had a different image of Afghanistan. I was scared of going to the traditional toilets as it was outside of the guest house but gradually, I realised that it was a peaceful area so I was not scared but I made arrangement to stay as a paying guest with a family so felt more protected.

Once I travelled alone with the local people in a local transport from Sheghnan to Faizabad. Though I was scared inside but showed a lot of confidence. However, the people were so good to me that I cannot express the feeling. I remember, once the older person gave me his ‘shall’ when he felt that I was cold. He also set in front of the seat to protect me. Similarly, when we were crossing the pastures in the mountainous region at Shiva, the local people stopped our van, requesting to take one of the injured people (who fought and got injured) to Faizabad but these people refused saying that they have a woman guest so they cannot take him.

Have you got any encouraging stories about the role of women in Afghanistan life?

Women are protected very well according to the culture and traditions. The local men in leadership positions, who were liberal, were trying to encourage women to participate at the Mothers Literacy Centers and educate their children. They were giving my example that she has left her children at home and have come to serve us to you should take it as an excellent opportunity and benefit from her experiences. One of the Commanders in a district motivated the HTs in the leadership training to allow their women to attend the Mothers Literacy Centers and the conference on Primary Education. He also suggested that they should play a key role in enhancing girls education by motivating and educating their communities.

How does the education system in Afghanistan compare to Pakistan? Are they facing similar problems?

It is difficult to compare two countries. Pakistan has come a long way and has developed mechanism and infrastructure for students to get education from Nursery to higher education so students have choices for their careers. However, Afghanistan remaining under war for 30 years, has lost everything. So there are gaps at every stage of human life from intellectual capital to social, emotional and moral so it will take time to establish an infrastructure and a support mechanism for students. But the international organisations have been playing a key role to fill some of the gaps in supporting the Government of Afghanistan. It was wonderful to notice a comprehensive National Curriculum for schools and the Teacher Training Colleges (TTCs) was developed by international consultants according to the current needs of the global village. It is a huge contribution for the country if it is implemented in the same way. I think that Pakistan does not have that kind of comprehensive national curriculum.

Do you feel optimistic about Afghanistan’s future or not?

I am optimistic about the change could happen in Afghanistan but it will take a lot of time because people of Afghanistan are very much scattered from each other socially and emotionally. They are lacking connectivity and harmony among themselves. So instead of thinking about their country, they go for ethnicity that creates conflict among them that hinders their progress.

Is there anything else you would like to tell people in the UK about your experiences in Afghanistan?

First of all I would like to thank people from UK and USA, who made differences in my life, my people and my area. Then I would like to request people to think broadly and act locally. It means, whoever, goes to these kinds of conflict zones, it is essential to understand the culture, the tradition and work with communities to give them ownership. Facilitate them to enhance their capacity and work with them as a critical friend. It helps to be part of the culture and the critical view helps to understand the needs and work skilfully to satisfy the communities as clients. Once it is done, there is no way that those innocent people will forget you. It means you are in their hearts and minds all the time to follow your partway. So if someone gets that, for me, that is a great achievement and satisfaction in life.

English and Pakistani reflections

2008-08-21T04:08:00.000-07:00

I do apologise for not having updated my blog for a while, unfortunately I have been having a few internet issues. First I got a virus on my computer in Pakistan, then I went home and with quite astounding stupidity managed to put the same virus on my parents computer (making a quick exit back to Pakistan advisable). Then when back in Pak I still didn’t have internet on my computer and then toddled off to the Northern Areas for a week where yaks were more in abundance than computers (apparently, though I didn’t see any). So, after that long apology and list of excuses, here follows what I wrote in the UK. But stay tuned, as they say, to the blog in the next couple of days cos I’ve got loads more exciting stuff in the pipeline – an interview with a lady who spent a year working in Afghanistan, a story of reconciliation and forgiveness in a village after an honour killing, and of course more insightful and deep comments about life in Pakistan (maybe?!). What follows is what I wrote in the UK:

So, I’m back in the UK again, for a two-week holiday. The main reason for coming back was my friends wedding, which was beautiful. But the extent of vacillation in making my mind up whether to come back had seriously never been seen before in the history of, well, history. I eventually decided I definitely would come back, five days before the flight, (after deciding I definitely wouldn’t) when I got a virus on my computer, thought I lost 8 months work and diagnosed myself with all stress related and heat related disorders in the medical handbook so helpfully given to us by VSO. (I am reminded of Three Men in a Boat – I know I didn’t have housemaid’s knee, but as for everything else….Seriously, my hair started coming out by the chunkful, and I was getting fairly concerned. The following comments on it really didn’t help my stress levels: a) is radiation causing it? and b) if the whole hair falls out it is not likely to grow back). But you’ll be pleased to know that my computer was restored to its former glory by a wonderful VSO volunteer to whom I will be forever grateful.

I did feel slightly guilty in coming back, for several reasons. I felt slightly like I was running away from my problems, instead of facing up to them. And also that was complicated by a feeling of guilt that the people I work with are unable to jump on a plane to get away from the heat, the gender inequalities, and the constant tension due to terrorism.

When I arrived back a week ago I could not get my head around the fact that a mere eight hours can make such a difference to everything – to my life, to the whole world, to what I can eat, where I can go, what I can do. Everything was different – on the surface everything looks different, and underneath all cultural values and world views are completely different. It was a shock seeing women walking around by themselves in short skirts, a surprise seeing churches again, so many new cars on the road, - nothing has changed in the UK but I was slightly mixed up…

But now I have decided that it was good coming back and having a break. I’ve been able to clear my head and to think things through, especially about why I was getting so stressed. I was really losing my tolerance level and my ability to see things through another’s point of view. I was looking at aspects of Pakistani culture from a typically western point of view (all the negative aspects of arranged marriages, all the restrictions due to gender etc etc) rather than trying to understand aspects of the culture that are completely alien to western cultural values from a Pakistani point of view instead. It really doesn’t help in my efforts at world peace and challenging barriers between the East and the West (on a minute scale) if I conveniently forgot that some (definitely not all) Pakistani girls are happy to have arranged marriages, and arranged marriages come from a long heritage of serving the family rather than the individual focus in the west, and there might actually be some negative things associated with the rampant individualism of the west.

I’ve been doing some reading as well as thinking since I’ve been back and realising that trying to understand another culture is like peeling an onion and the layers get more intricate and complicated as you go, and it is neverending! (hope you like the metaphor). I and other VSOs are often asked for help from people like how to get a UK visa, people looking for jobs in INGOs, that sort of thing. We were thinking that people just wanted to get to know us because they wanted something from us, we were just being used. But I am slowly realising that this is how things work in Pakistan, that contacts through family and friends are the prime means through which people get jobs, run businesses, politics is accomplished and actually the whole way the country runs. And I am also realising that people never say no to a request for help, as it is seen as shameful. I thought that the best way to deal with requests was to be honest and to say that I can’t help, but Pakistani’s were quite surprised by my response, so now I know why. And difficulties can be caused when ideas about shame / honour take precedence over being honest.

And I’ve been thinking through how to respond to the amazing hospitality that I have been shown. I have to be able to reciprocate it in some way, but given the level of my cooking skills that is not really an option. I did come up with a cunning plan – to fill my suitcase with my mum’s amazing chocolate brownie. Surprisingly enough mum didn’t seem as enamoured with my plan as I did, but I’ll work on her….

There are things I know I find difficult to implement personally about Pakistani culture because they are so alien to the way I have been brought up. For example, I still cannot just go around to a person’s house without an invitation – I feel like I could be intruding no matter how many times people tell me that it is an honour for them to have guests. And between friends, ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’ are not said – not having to say sorry implies that friends forgive each other unreservedly, and not saying thank you implies an expectation that friends would serve one another. But I find this very difficult as I have to show gratitude when people do things for me.

I am thoroughly enjoying my time back in the UK, the wedding was so lovely, and it was been great catching up with friends and family. And I really have been thoroughly enjoying the vast range and quality of English food. I knew I wasn’t eating very much in Pakistan but I didn’t realise the extent of my hunger until confronted with the choice inside my parents’ fridge, and the difficult decision of where to start. It took me six days to eat so much my stomach was painful after every meal, but then I realised I got over it when I was defeated by two weetabix for breakfast. Unfortunately I didn’t really have the excuse that I needed feeding up as I didn’t actually lose any weight in Pakistan (due to the amount of fat in the food) but I justified my drooling over a baguette at Kings Cross and taking large amounts of time deliberating over menus by making the most of the opportunities available to me. Especially with pork. I had a temporary set back after the following comment from my brother ‘I do so admire people who can set aside their principles for the sake of their stomachs’ on my reaching for a sausage, but I fully intend to rediscover my vegetarianism on my final return to the UK. I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t like Pakistani food – that wasn’t the problem. The problem was cooking for myself as it was so hot and there were so many ants and I was so tired (I can really sense your sympathy). I usually ended up having noodles or baked beans on toast for dinner. Got a bit fed up in the end. (BTW baked beans were available in my local shop but not any more – I think I was the only person who bought them in several years, and the shopkeeper greeted me like a long lost child and sold all his remaining tins to me in one go). Anyway, perhaps that is enough about food now.

So, I’m going to go back (hopefully) having rediscovered compassion and tolerance, but I am also going to go back more realistic. Although the culture seems to get more confusing the deeper I go, I have to realise that some things I will never fully understand, and some things that I can never accept, but I can do my best to empathise and try to behave without causing offense. It is a privilege to be there and to learn more about this (infinitely confusing) society.

Village life

2008-07-12T02:55:00.000-07:00

So, I was thinking the other day that reading my blog must be a little bit like reading a postcard (especially the last entry). I really don’t like getting postcards – my dislike was founded last year when I got one from a friend whilst I was going through dissertation struggles over the summer – it wasn’t great reading about her holiday on the beach in Mallorca when I was stuck in the house from dawn to dusk over a hot computer. So, I’ve decided instead of always writing about myself I will interview some people so that you guys can get more of an idea of what life is like for Pakistanis.

The first girl I interviewed is about my age, but has had a completely different life to me. She grew up in a village in Hunza. I won’t mention her name to protect her anonymity, but we’ll call her Ayesha.

I was very interested to find out what life was like growing up in a village in mountainous Pakistan (particularly because I’ve just been watching ‘Lark Rise to Candleford’ – talk about nostalgia for an idyllic and lost rural past).

And one thing I clearly gathered from her was that things have changed in her village a lot since her childhood and traditions are being lost. This was exemplified by a lively argument between her and a few other women from Hunza during my interview about the exact nature of some of the festivals. This was only twenty something years ago. Even then the village was opening to the modern world – the KKH was open and foreigners were not unusual.

So, let me take you back to a village twenty-something years ago in the Northern Areas. Agriculture is the main source of income – her family was in agriculture, and had fields, goats, sheep and cows. It was the family that looked after the fields – there was no tradition of employing labour except when doing big works. There were no tractors, but things were done by hand, and with oxes. Animals lived in the houses with the families in many cases. Ayesha remembers enjoying giving the oxes food like dough and chapatti in the house – it made the ox very happy!

Now, oxes are no longer used at all now because of threshers. It seemed like she has mixed views regarding the influence of the modern world in her village. Beautiful traditions are being lost, but at the same time it must have been hard work. Apparently cows were used for threshing – someone had to hold a dustbin and run after the cow to catch its urine. Funny, but actually very hard work, and such a waste of time.

But in other respects this was clearly not your typical traditional rural and timeless Pakistani village (if there is such a place). Education, even twenty-something years ago was concerned of paramount importance, and a significant proportion of people’s income was invested in education. Now, three of her sisters have Masters degrees. And there were relatively liberal views – girls were not stopped from working, and there was a more relaxed attitude towards gender than in much of Pakistan – it is traditional with people from this area when they meet to kiss each others hands – very surprising for a country where it is unusual for men and women to even shake each others hands.

There were two major festivals that she told me about – Tahum and Cheneer, and both were based around the agricultural cycle. Tahum celebrated the beginning of spring. People cleaned their house and made traditional food, which was shared within the village, particularly among the elders. They went to the Jammat Khana early in the morning to pray. The Jammat Khana is the Ismaili mosque and centre of village life.

Cheneer was celebrated before the harvesting of the crops. There were slight arguments about what actually happened, but it seems that in the morning they first went to the Jammat Khana, and then went to the field and cut five pieces of wheat. Some of the wheat was tied on to the ceiling on a pillar. All the family members came together to grind the other bits of wheat and it was then put in some milk, which the elders drank.

Weddings are the other festival of great importance in the village. The nature of weddings varies from village to village, even within Hunza, and it seems like weddings are very simple in this village. Very unusually, the girls do not take a dowry with them to their new home, only a few items from their father’s house, and a few clothes. As part of the ceremony the bridegroom brings some suits of clothes for the bride. The bride is dressed very simply compared to other Pakistani weddings – there is no gold, and little make up. The actually wedding ceremony takes place at the Jammat Khana, where it sounds like it is similar to the Christian wedding – prayers are said, verses from the Qu’ran are read, jewellery is exchanged (although it doesn’t have to be rings) and the bride and groom are asked the ‘I do’s’.

On the seventh day after the wedding the bride returns to her father’s house with some chapattis, and this is when she can take implements and one piece of furniture from her father’s home to her new home.

Everyone in this village is Ismaili, and Ayesha is clearly proud to be an Ismaili. Women are able to go to the Jammat Khana to pray, and in the village they often go daily. Inside the Jammat Khana people pray and learn from the Imams, but it also a place where community affairs can be discussed. Ismailism is very tolerant; the Aga Khan is really respected and he interprets the Qu’ran and provides guidance on how to live as an Ismaili. Key messages that Ayesha told me are to respect your culture, make bridges with other communities, respect diversity and pluralism, fasting is not only a matter of not eating, but your whole life should be fasting from sin and evil. The main thing is to respect human beings – first of all, people are human.

The north...

2008-06-25T23:04:00.000-07:00

Hunza must be officially one of the most beautiful places in the world. I can’t really describe in words how beautiful, so here are a few photos that will make you very jealous:

We stayed in a house in a little village with the following view from the back garden:

The house was surrounded by potato fields, it had a view up to the glacier, and on one side was the Hunza river:

The scenery was so awesome it definitely reminded me how small we are....

We stayed in a house belonging to a colleague at MIED, and he warned us it was basic. I have seen some basic Pakistani houses, and had mentally prepared myself. But when we walked into the house my friends and I just stood there with out mouths wide open. It was one of the most beautiful houses I have ever seen – it was a traditional Hunza house, with the sleeping area, living area and eating area all in the same room – the whole area was carpeted and cushioned. The roof was wooden. It is difficult to describe, but here is a photo, with a baby in it (twas v baby friendly).

One day we walked up to a glacier, my first glacial experience :) It was fairly surreal being close to a huge block of ice and being too hot. I got completely sunburnt that day. Apparently the glacier has shrunk considerably this year, so we couldn’t get past the moraine to walk on it. We also saw another glacier which had recently caused a flood destroying the road and fields of crops. When we got back I read in a national newspaper that UNDP are analysing the shrinking of these two glaciers as evidence of global warming.

It was really lovely experiencing village life even just for a couple of days – like getting glacier water out from a pump when the taps didn’t work, and walking past women I knew working in the potato fields. Walking around the village was lovely – in contrast to Chakwal where people just stared here everyone said asalam aleikum and smiled, there were women wandering around, and I didn't feel like I was breaking some unwritten social rule by walking outside by myself.

Many people from MIED come from this village, so we were made really welcome. One day someone came to cook for us, their family and many other people from the village as well, and we all sat around a gas lamp (power cut) eating fresh potatoes and spinach from the fields. And another day we went to visit a different family and arrived at 9.30 in the evening as it was quite a long walk. They weren’t expecting us, but they even cooked a meal for us! The wife was incredible – she was looking after 5 kids (not all her own), teaching in a local school, cooking a meal for 3 strangers and making us welcome in her home. The people in this village really were among the most friendly and hospitable that I have ever met.

I was with two friends – a married couple and their baby. It was actually really great travelling with a baby – he coped better with the heat and the altitude than the rest of us! He was a great ice breaker, and Pakistani men loved him! Quite a few times random strangers came up to us and kissed him – slightly bizarre but we got used to it.

So I’ve decided to buy a house there and grow my own potatoes and cherries. Forget coming back and getting a proper 9-5 job in London.

Islamabad again

2008-06-09T05:54:00.000-07:00

Last week I bid a fond farewell to the hostel in Chakwal and moved to back Islamabad. I was really sorry to leave (except the ants, but I have an inkling that problem isn’t just restricted to Chakwal). Life in the hostel had been interesting and fun, and the people there so friendly. But I am happy to be back in Islamabad again - I'm not living in the guest house as I did before, and now MIED has their head office here. And I can walk to work – the freedom!!

The last few weeks in Chakwal were very interesting. As I mentioned before, I was helping out in an evaluation of one of their projects, which was great. I really enjoyed doing the field work and seeing some of the work that MIED had achieved – particularly new school buildings, running water and toilets are available in nearly all of the schools now. And talking to the communities was great – some of them were so motivated and had raised thousands of rupees for their school’s development. In one community until recently the only water they had was from rain and natural pools. The animals drank and swam in it, and the community used it for drinking. But 3 months ago the government built a pipeline to the village. And in May the community organised themselves to build a link from the pipeline to the school 3 km away. It took them a week to achieve this! Completely brilliant. Who says development is all about dependency and handouts?

Then after the data collection we started work on data analysis and writing up the report, which we achieved in mega quick time because of the need to move to Islamabad. I don’t think an evaluation report has ever been written so quickly (but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t of very high quality!). I and the guy I did it with enjoyed doing it so much that we are now on the hunt for more evaluations….

Unfortunately Plan has decided to pull out of Mansehra completely, which leaves us with a major funding crisis. We will try to find new donors for our projects, but it is all pretty stressful. We are working with over 20,000 children in Mansehra so it will be gutting if we have to close all the projects. It seems that many INGOs are coming to the final stages of their support in the earthquake-affected regions, so I don’t think it is going to be easy. But there is still huge need in those areas – most schools in Balakot are still operating out of tents. And we are running 100 ECCD centres for the very young children in two valleys – we can’t just leave them.

This is going to be a completely new phase for MIED, as with all the previous projects it was the donor who approached us, rather than the other way around. The only slightly relevant experience I have is writing the funding rejection letters for Tearfund – so I know exactly how to approach donors to ensure that they WON’T give money, but how to do it so they will….?! Though I had a networking opportunity the other day – someone from the Northern Areas was on our balcony and noticed someone else on a neighbouring balcony also from the Northern Areas. They established through a loud conversation that both offices had Europeans working there, so we were invited around for cold drinks. It was an INGO and they knew all about MIED and our work, and even said that they would have been happy to work with us, but they are leaving the country next month. Grrrr.

So life is kinda interesting. I’m going to the Northern Areas next week with some friends who I haven’t seen for ages, and their baby, which is v exciting!! I can’t wait. But on Friday we got a security email from VSO saying not to arrange any travel early next week as we might have to hibernate. Hmmm. Also I’ve left ALL my cold weather clothes in Chakwal and I don’t think the temperature at 3000m is going to be exactly the same as Islamabad. Talking of which, it has been so hot that the front of my Ipod has melted. Anyway, I’m trying to develop the Pakistani attitude: kya masle hai? Ye Pakistan hai, sab chalte hai. What problem? This is Pakistan, everything is possible.

Daily life in Chakwal continued....

2008-05-21T07:45:00.000-07:00

I realised I might have come across as slightly cynical in my last blog entry (probably a result of the heat), but I am really enjoying my time in Chakwal. Things have been very interesting recently as we are doing an evaluation of the impact that MIED has had in 30 schools here.

And I am really enjoying living in the hostel as well. We make our own entertainment in the evenings, which involves quite a lot of singing, and some dancing. Group singing is slightly problematic as the only song I have in common with the others is Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. But I’ve also been able to conclude that VSO have had a lasting impact in Pakistan – a lady currently at MIED used to work with VSOs in the Northern Areas several years ago. And the other night she came out with ‘Peter Piper picked a pack of pickled peppers’ that she remembered from them!! Pretty good. And the other people in the hostel were so helpful and good to me when I was ill – running around and getting mineral water and things. It is a really lovely aspect of Pakistani culture that when someone is ill everyone really helps and puts themselves out.

And I’ve been slowly getting to know different areas of Chakwal. There is an old train station quite near our office – a legacy from the Raj. It is used for cricket matches now. Shopping for basic food items is interesting – there are many many tiny shops scattered around – some of which just sell a few vegetables, but others of which have quite a variety of things. And a woman owns a small shop very near the hostel.

Chakwal district is very varied and beautiful – there are the plains where crops are grown, particularly wheat. And there are also the mountains which are very dry – you can easily see the sandstone which is all different colours from deep red to yellow. Driving around to the different schools during the evaluation has meant I have seen a lot more of the area. Some photos of Chakwal:

Cricket at the old railway station.

Having a few problems getting up the hill. I was very sorry that it was completely culturally inappropriate for me to help push.

They managed the hill fine though!

Walking to a school through a town in Chakwal district (I can't remember its name!)

Rain!!

Pakistan for the uninitiated:

2008-05-14T06:08:00.001-07:00

Causes of confusion between Pakistan and the UK:

In the UK when you flash your lights to another car it (usually) means please come on. Whereas in Pakistan people flash their lights when they want to say ‘everyone, out of my way, coming through at high speed’. So when a car overtakes it flashes its lights at any oncoming cars expecting them to swerve onto the side of the road, never mind any passing pedestrians, cyclists, donkeys or fruit stalls.

When people say you are looking smart, it means you are looking thin. On the other hand, if someone says you are looking healthy, the ultimate compliment in the UK, here it is a polite way of saying you are fat.

When making a phone call the ringing tone in Pakistan is EXACTLY the same as the engaged tone in the UK. When I first came I put the phone down a fair few times before I twigged.

And at Chakwal’s main traffic junction there are four roads and ONE set of traffic lights. That is not one set of lights for each road, but just one set of lights. But life continues and people manage to travel in an out of Chakwal daily. Ye Pakistan hai. Sab chalte hai. This is Pakistan. Everything is possible.

Let me now up date you as to my culinary efforts. The war against the ants continues. I put down huge amounts of ant powder so now my cooking is complicated by that, the ants, the fact that the surface is a lovely mottled grey colour so I can’t see where either the ants or the ant power are, and several more dead hornets in the sink. I’m seriously considering admitting defeat and eating with the others. Don't get me wrong - I really like Pakistani food, but they eat at 9.30 every evening which is too late. And I have to say eating chappattis three times a day sometimes gets a bit much. And I’m actually trying to be vegetarian again as when we were travelling down the motorway the other week I saw a travelling cage with many chickens in, and it was truly horrible. The chickens were hanging out of their cages which were so small they couldn’t move, and some of them were already dead.

In my last blog I omitted to explain anything about Chakwal and where it is. Well, it is a town about the same size as Mansehra in the northern Punjab, two hours south of Islamabad. In other respects it is completely different to Mansehra though. It is much more of an agricultural town – you can always see farmers coming in with their donkeys and crops and things. And there is a lot of ‘urban agriculture’ – behind the hostel there are fields that previously were used solely as rubbish dumps, but have recently been ploughed. And I think I am the only foreigner here – people stare a lot, whereas in Mansehra because of the earthquake they were used to foreigners. And finally, Chakwal is HOT. It is so hot, the kind of heat I haven’t experienced before. The hostel attracts heat like a greenhouse – it is one level with a flat roof, so the sun beats down on the roof all day and then radiates the heat all night so my room is like an oven the whole time. The fans are very good at moving around hot air. But it is even worse when the power goes off (at least 4 times a day) because of the energy crisis. I thought it was bad in Mansehra when I was reduced to sitting in the dark staring at a gas fire in the evenings, but it is infinitely worse here when the fans go off. The other night I was so baked that I went out on the roof and tried to sleep. Sleep escaped me but the stars were amazing. But I decided not to do that again cos I counted 43 mosquito bites the next day. And now, amazing people in the hostel have got a water cooler working in my room which is the best invention known to man.

And yesterday there was rain! I tell you, I have never felt that happy about rain before in my life. We were walking home from work and I got completely soaked. The rain drops were so big, and the bizarrest thing – some of it was hail!! And at the same time the puddles were hot because of the heat from the pavement. And also, I now have the foolproof way how to get rid of colds…. I caught a cold on Friday (don’t know how in 40 degrees of heat, but I still managed it). So all day yesterday I was snivelling away, and then got completely soaked in the rain, and then had to sit for half an hour in soaking clothes waiting for someone who had run away with our keys. (I was steaming in more sense than one!!) But then my cold went!! Don’t get it (probably this is a case of don’t try this back home - might not work so well….)

On Sunday I was able to get to a local Catholic church. It was good though I didn’t understand a word. The church was held in a room which was brightly decorated with streamers and things. The music was great - two women sat at the front and sang and there was a harmonium and drums, and the church was really full. There is also a Protestant church in Chakwal so I’ll give that a go soon (not that the language problem will be solved at all by doing that). Re language, I’ve decided heat affects the brain so it is impossible to learn a new language when it is over 40 degrees.

2008-04-30T08:57:00.000-07:00

I've just put up loads new photos on the flickr site, (though they are slightly mixed up between snow in Oxford and the heat of Chakwal...)

Chakwal...

2008-04-28T10:02:00.000-07:00

It is exactly six months to the day that I came to Pakistan! And life is still full of surprises, especially life in Chakwal.... I am living at the MIED hostel with one other girl, and the guys’ hostel is next door. Let me tell you about the meal I cooked for myself this evening to celebrate my six months anniversary. It was the first meal I have cooked in our kitchen, and first I had to clean (well, completely sterilise) the place. Here is a photo of my kitchen pre sterilisation (as you can see it is a bit short on the appliances side of things).

Among other pleasant things I found a dead hornet in the sink, and the place was black with grime. But I enjoyed it (something very satisfying about cleaning.)

MIED have kindly managed to bring for me some of the things I had in my kitchen in Mansehra, so I had saucepans and plates and things. But unfortunately the ants had found them before me, so they required thorough cleaning before use as well. There is only one fridge, and that is in the boys’ hostel, so every time I needed butter etc that was a trek around to the other house. I needed butter cos earlier one of the drivers had bought some cooking oil, but it is in a plastic bag! So now I need to find a bottle to pour the oil into. Anyway, I made a really good meal of fried potatoes with a tomato sauce, and thoroughly enjoyed eating it. But then when I came back to do the washing up there were hundreds of ants (maybe a slight exaggeration). So I went on the warpath – it wasn’t a pleasant sight. And then, finally, I had to go and ask one of the guys what to do with the rubbish, and imagine my complete horror when he chucked it over the wall. I have to say that I didn’t react particularly well - I couldn’t quite articulate my feelings in Urdu and the guy didn't speak much English. I can’t believe that they just throw all their rubbish onto the empty ground next door. But there is no rubbish collection here so there is nothing else they can do. The rubbish situation was bad in Mansehra, but at least they had bins that were emptied sometimes. What can I do????? Any suggestions gratefully received. (The photo is of the rubbish outside our house with a friendly next door neighbour.)

As I have been here six months now I thought I was getting used to Pakistani society. But things still have the power to completely shock me. For example, the other day I was talking with some girls and we walked past a building that used to be a cinema. I started to get excited and asked whether there was a working cinema in Chakwal now. Imagine my excitement when I heard that there was! But that excitement was short lived – apparently it is completely culturally inappropriate for women to go to the cinema, even accompanied by men. One of the girls said that she would like to go to the cinema just once in her life. So girls, next time you do such a normal thing as going to the cinema just think how lucky you are.

The attack on Plan has affected many things in Chakwal. The other day I went to a meeting with all the Plan partners and it was about working with communities and how to behave appropriately and deal with cultural norms. But then when we got back to the office we had to wait for someone to come with the keys. The girl I was with said I should wait in the boiling hot car because of cultural norms. Hmm. I have to say I refused, even though we had just been in an 8 hour session about how to behave appropriately. I’m finding it quite difficult to figure out how much to adapt, and when to draw a line. I am finding things quite culturally restrictive at the moment, more so than when I was in Mansehra. I can’t quite work out why as I’m not in the North West Frontier any more. I think it might partly be to do with having been at home in the UK for a short while. And also people are worried about my security so they are being more careful. The attack on Plan has changed things – the girls say that they are more careful with the way that they deal with the men they work with now. Some people here think it is not acceptable for women to work in NGOs.

So, all in all it is an experience. I went to Islamabad this weekend, and went up to Abbottabad on Saturday to collect my things. But unfortunately Corry and I had so much combined stuff between us that my things didn’t fit in the car, and so they are still in Abbottabad! So my possessions are scattered there, a few in Islamabad, and the rest here in Chakwal. I don’t know where I am going to end up – things are still very uncertain. It could be any of those three places. But anyway, I was able to see Corry’s new place in Islamabad (she is based there now, and working at VSO and another NGO). It is amazing! I was going to put up a photo of her living room and compare it to mine, but I have decided against it because I have just about got over my jealousy. When I volunteered, I didn’t expect to have every luxury, and so it shouldn’t be an issue that things in Chakwal are more on the basic side. And the people I am living with are really lovely and so helpful and welcoming, it makes things a lot easier. So anyway, here are a few photos of where I am living now:…

The spectacularly placed open drain centrally underneath our front door. Visions of dropping keys and laptops down there......

The living room at the girls hostel. OK, can I let my jealousy show through slightly and say that Corry (and two other VSOs) have TEN sofas between them.

The roof of our house, right next to the roof of the Mosque. Notice the loudspeakers - the first call to prayer is at 4.30 am. But also notice the lovely sunset and gorgeous view from our roof...

back home!

2008-04-17T02:56:00.000-07:00

It was incredible how quickly I slotted back into my life in the UK – I remember sitting on the plane and daydreaming about what things I would buy when I finally entered Waitrose again (humous, coleslaw and cheese). But when I did get there, I had already turned into a usual shopper, trying to get round as fast as I could to leave as quickly as possible.

I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me when I sat on a south-west trains service at Epsom station again, as it used to be my second home. Let me tell you, that did not last very long – just until someone started talking very loudly on their mobile in an otherwise silent carriage, and I rediscovered my commuter persona and exceedingly low annoyance threshold.

My first day back was slightly surreal – the sense of freedom when I went for a run was amazing! (But don’t ask how far I was actually able to run after 5 months of no exercise. My excuse was that I couldn’t actually run on the common as it was so muddy). And it was great to go to church without a sense of fear, even slight, that I could be blown up. Needless to say it was great seeing my family and friends again. And I experienced all types of English weather possible – howling wind, hail, snow, rain and even a little bit of sun.

I did face a few problems that I didn’t foresee. For example, what to say when people asked ‘how is Pakistan?’ Should I go with the truth: attack on an NGO near where I worked, evacuation, more threats, uncertainty, fear…? I tried that a couple of times but given that it was the ultimate conversation stopper I switched to the vague: ‘good, the weather in Islamabad is nice at this time of year..’ with a weak smile. Needless to say, this didn’t apply to all you lovely people who already read my blog. Re that, another VSO volunteer has put on her blog a list of people who obviously don’t read it because they keep asking her how it is going. I won’t resort to such a list of shame yet, as it would be topped with a member of my own family (my parents asked me yesterday to make clear that it wasn't them. So that leaves......?!).

Anyway, so now I am back in Islamabad again, with mixed feelings. It was almost worse saying goodbye to people this time round than before. My brother managed to avoid a tearful goodbye by threatening mum with a snowball (who cowered behind the wheelie bin), chucking it, and then making a quick exit on his bike. That’s the way to go.

Easter!

2008-04-11T01:36:00.000-07:00

So, I’m running slightly behind on updating my blog as have been in the UK, and had a few other things to do there than writing. So, I’ll carry on from where I left off (Easter), and fill you in on my UK travels at a later date.

Here is a question for you: how many sites from different world religions is it possible to visit over one Easter weekend in an Islamic Republic?

Answer: sites from ALL the major world religions! On Good Friday VSO arranged a trip for all the new volunteers (they came out two weeks ago) and evacuees (me and Corry) several hours south of Islamabad to the second largest salt mines in the world. We were able to go on a little train right into the middle of the mine and it was so beautiful:

So I hear you wondering what has this got to do with world religions? Well, nothing, but after that we visited a Hindu pilgrimage site – the second holiest Hindu site in Pakistan. The site is mentioned in the Mahabharata – an ancient Hindu text, written 300BC.

I know the building at the front looks slightly like a Norman fort, but I don't think it is!

The next day we visited a Muslim shrine – it was very beautifully decorated inside with piles of rose petals, tinsel and photos of Islamic holy places.

Then on Easter Sunday I managed to get to church (after much stress as High Commission advised against it). I’ve never been to a church before where I had to walk past a police cordon, armed guards and a body and bag search. Quite depressing given the meaning of the celebration of Easter.

After that VSO had arranged another trip to Taxila. This is a very famous archaeological site with remains from from the Buddhist era through the time of Greek influence when Alexander came through as well as Moghul and Hindu relics. To be honest, I got thoroughly confused as to the history as it encompassed such a long time period but I (maybe) will research it and then provide you all with an in depth and incisive analysis (!). But it was great seeing the Buddhist remains – we visited a Buddhist monastery 2000 years old, and it was really interesting seeing the tombs with Buddhist art as well as the Greek influence.

And in the same afternoon we also visited a Sikh gurudwara which is also a very important pilgrimage site as it has a copy of their holy book – the Granth Sahib. We walked through some water and past a big rock with a hand print on of Guru Nanak. Sikhs believe that he stopped part of the mountain being thrown at him with his hand. Also, they believe that by walking through the water by this rock they they can wash away their sins.

In Taxila, there was a Buddha with a hole in the stomach, and Buddhists believe if you put your finger in there and pray then it will heal your bodily ailments. I felt quite holy after such a religious day, especially on Easter Sunday.

So, I wish I could end with some pearl of wisdom all about the different religions, particularly relating the experience of walking past armed guards into church, but I can’t think of anything clever so will leave it by saying that I feel very blessed to be here and have had such experiences (except the armed guards)!

Gilgit 2

2008-03-24T01:44:00.000-07:00

Happy Easter everyone! I hope that you all had a joyful and peaceful celebration. I’ll leave an account of my Easter weekend to the next instalment, as I realise it has taken me quite a while to continue the Gilgit story. This was partly due to writers block (in other words laziness in my case) and partly there has been yet more uncertainty because of a bomb in an Islamabad restaurant. It is not good as Islamabad usually has high surveillance, and it was specifically targeting foreigners – this is the first time that foreigners have been a target since 2002.

Anyway, I’ll move from that depressing note and back to the Gilgit story… The reason I went there was because I was with an MIED team who came for training at the Professional Development Centre of the Aga Khan Education Services. The Aga Khan is the Imam of the Ismaili sect of Islam, and he has had a huge impact in this area through the Aga Khan Development Network, of which AKES is part. The Professional Development Centre provides training for people working in the education sector – members of NGOs, teachers, head-teachers and government officials.

The Northern Areas of Pakistan are very interesting – they are in a crucial geopolitical position – on the east they border India, to the north China, coming round there is a few km next to Tajikistan, and Afghanistan, and then to the south the North West Frontier Province. It is so surprising how liberal parts of this area are given the conservative nature of their surroundings. The literacy rate is considerably better here than in the rest of Pakistan, and it was not unusual to see groups of young women wandering around, which is so different to everywhere else I have seen in Pakistan (except Islamabad). A major contrast to travelling up on the KKH through Indus Kohistan where there were no women around.

The first day we were in Gilgit we went on a field visit to Hunza, which is an area about three hours north of Gilgit on the KKH, and so beautiful! First we went to a school and met members of the community and mothers. The women were happy to speak out and tell us of their experiences and how they contribute to the running of the school. This was so inspiring as I hadn’t yet been to any community meeting where the women spoke out in front of the men. In addition, a woman who had had no education spoke about the importance of early childhood care and education, and why care is so important for children of this age. It really shows that attitudes can change towards the importance of education and particularly female education.

Then we drove to Karimabad – we went past Rakaposhi, one of the highest mountains in the world, but I couldn’t see the top because it was cloudy. We were able to visit the Baltit fort in Karimabad, which is a 700 year old fort that was the home of the ruling family of the area. It was influenced by Tibetan culture because one of the Prince’s married a Princess from Baltistan, and it does look slightly like the Potala Palace (not that I have seen that!). It was really interesting seeing where the family had lived for hundreds of years – the kitchen with huge stone pots and blackened ceiling due to centuries of wood burning, the jail and the private rooms. The Mir of Hunza donated the building to the Aga Khan to be conserved and restored.

The rest of the week in Gilgit I participated in the training course at PDCN, which was really excellent. I learnt a lot about problems with the education system in Pakistan, and theories of school improvement. The training centre was amazing – the trainers were really enthusiastic and couldn’t do enough to help us, the views were stunning, and the buildings very well resourced. I was even able to read the Economist!

I flew back, as there was a consensus that going back by road was a little too risky following the attack on Plan. It is meant to be a really spectacular flight, and taking off between the mountains was amazing. But then, you don’t need three guesses – I felt a little sick and so couldn't enjy the views to their full extent.

I could say that I have been run off my feet in Islamabad, but that would be rather a major embellishment of the truth. Don’t think that my whole life here is one big long exciting adventure – most of my time in Islamabad has been spent eating, sleeping, reading and watching DVDs (and a bit of shopping given that all the clothes I had with me when I flew from Gilgit were suitable for a Himalayan winter, and now it seems like a tropical summer). And doing some work.

The other day we went up to Mansehra so I could collect my things. It has been about a month since I have been there, and it was really depressing packing everything up. The last time I was there was for one evening between being in Islamabad and going up to Gilgit, and I remember thinking thank goodness I am home. Before the elections we had to pack up all our things in case of evacuation from the country, and I was certain then that we wouldn’t be leaving. Now, I realise that anything is possible, and situations change within a minute. I’m definitely learning not to take anything for granted.

Anyway, I am coming home for a bit in a couple of days Inshallah so would really like to catch up with as many people as possible!

Gilgit

2008-03-07T01:24:00.000-08:00

There is a real phase at the moment among Pakistani girls of sending encouraging and prewritten text messages around. This is one I received earlier:
‘BEAUTIFUL people reflect ALLAH in their lives. They think his thoughts, speak his words and love without reason. May you remain a beautiful person always!’
These gems of grace make me smile and are part of the reason I want to stay in this beautiful country even when there is unbelievable human brutality.

We still do not know why Plan was attacked, but it was well planned and their target was clearly an International NGO, which just changes everything (as NGOs have not previously been a target in this area). The Director and another MIED guy came down the other day and it was really great seeing them – they seemed quite optimistic for the future, which is good. But they both went to the Plan Office after the attack so it was harrowing talking to them. No decisions have been made yet, so it looks like I’ll be in Islamabad for a little longer. The uncertainty has been bad – it was horrible saying goodbye to MIED people in Gilgit and not knowing whether I am going to see them again. And I am not going to be allowed back to Mansehra so my life there is at an end.

But anyway, that is enough misery – I want to tell all about my trip to Gilgit cos it was so amazing and I want to make you all jealous! The journey to Gilgit is up the Karakoram Highway (the name is slightly misleading, don’t imagine a motorway, imagine the smallest and bendiest mountain road you’ve ever been on). But anyway the road takes you up through Battagram (where there have been bombs against NGOs), through Besham (outlying region of Swat where there is army action) and Indus Kohistan (tribal and bandit country). Pretty exciting (though was slightly nervous before going)! The road was built throughout the 1960s and 1970s as a partnership between China and Pakistan, as it goes all the way from Islamabad to Kashgar in China, and it is also known as the China – Pakistan friendship highway. It is 1300km long and one person died for every kilometre in its construction because it goes through such treacherous terrain, particularly the valley of the Indus.

We were meant to leave at 6 in the morning but we actually left Mansehra about 7am. The first part of the journey up to Battagram passed in a bit of a haze cos I was still quite sleepy. But we had breakfast in Battagram which woke me up. Battagram in many senses looked like a normal Pakistani town, but the one major thing that stood out was that there were NO women on the streets. It was a town full of men.

So after Battagram we joined the river Indus at Thakrot - it was very exciting seeing the Indus for the first time. We followed the Indus up through Allai, which was breathtakingly beautiful.

MIED had a project in Allai but I wasn’t allowed to visit (Allai is next to Shangla where there is army action). The project has been completed now though. So we carried on up through Besham, another town with no women around. We stopped and I got off the bus to stretch my legs hoping that I wouldn’t stand out (seeing that so many people have told me I look Pakistani and I had completely covered my head). But as there were no other women around I did stand out slightly!

We then carried on and passed into Indus Kohistan. This was a huge area – we spent the best part of the journey travelling through this area – it must have been about seven or eight hours. The scenery was spectacular – the road was cleaved out of the hard granite rocks that towered above us, and on the other side there was a steep drop to the river Indus.

We stopped off for lunch at Dasu, the major town, and then a couple of hours later for chai in what must be known as KKH style service station. There was a wooden construction with people selling tea, some wooden beds for exhausted drivers to collapse on, and a stream had been diverted where people could wash their hands and faces. I wandered off a little bit and a little boy came up to me and started talking to me. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, and told myself he must have been speaking Kohistani cos I would have definitely understood had he been speaking Urdu :). But one of the guys from MIED came up and said he had been asking whether I was Muslim, and he said yes. But the little boy said I couldn’t have been as my face wasn’t covered. The boy can’t have been more than 6.

Driving through the towering rocks at dusk was kind of spooky – with the lengthening shadows and the mountains and granite rocks close all around us it was really quite a threatening landscape. But we still had miles to travel after nightfall, and I was disappointed because it meant that when we drove past Nanga Parbat (one of the highest mountains in the world) and the place where the Karakoram, Hindu Kush and Himalayas meet I wasn’t able to see anything.

We finally got to Gilgit at 11 o’clock. The little coaster had done us very well and it was only towards the end when we stopped for a break it wouldn’t start again and had to be pushed a little. We then had dinner at about midnight at the centre in Gilgit and I was shattered.

So, that ends the epic trek up the KKH. Adventures in Gilgit and Hunza, as well as the reason why I went to Gilgit, will follow shortly…….

2008-02-26T21:50:00.000-08:00

I realise that I have been very lax in updating my blog, so the other day I was starting to plan what to say – all about my two trips to Islamabad, the elections, and my visit to Gilgit (where I am now). But two days ago there was an attack on the Plan Pakistan office in Mansehra, and four people died. A group of men attacked and shot people in the compound and the whole office was burnt down. The people I am with are completely shocked. I can’t believe that this has happened. We don’t have any clue why Plan was attacked.

Corry has been evacuated to Islamabad, and I will be going there after leaving Gilgit. What is going to happen now – with Plan, MIED, and VSO security advice, is very unclear at the moment.

The mountains of Gilgit take my breath away every time I go outside. It is odd being in such a beautiful place and trying to reconcile this beauty with such human brutality.

Balakot

2008-02-08T07:32:00.000-08:00

Two years ago there was apparently only one buildings left standing in Balakot town – this area was the epicentre of the earthquake. MIED is starting a new project in schools in the district, and last week I went with some of the team to two schools. The team were conducting a baseline survey – gathering basic information such as the number of children in the schools, whether the schools had any buildings, how many teachers etc etc. It is very difficult to write about an area where thousands of people died and which was completely destroyed, but I will do my best.

The town itself is only about 40km from Mansehra, but where we went was an hour and a half beyond that into the mountains. The place was breathtakingly beautiful. We left at 7.30 in the morning and it was a completely clear day so driving up to the snow-covered mountains in the sun and the morning mist was wonderful.

We stopped for a much needed cup of tea in Balakot as it was so cold. But because I was travelling with two men it was inappropriate for me to enter the restaurant, so I had to drink my tea in the car. It was the first time I remember thinking that my gender has actively stopped me from doing something in such an overt way, and it was a little odd.

What does a town look like two years after it was completely destroyed? Well, in Balakot itself it seemed that many of the buildings had been rebuilt, although there were still quite a few tents and temporary structures. But we drove past a school and one of the guys I was with told me that over 200 children had died in that one school. It is clear that NGOs have had a huge impact in this area - the whole place was overrun by every NGO and INGO you could possibly think of, as well as numerous NGO signs - announcing what projects they were running, the duration, how much it had cost and the number of beneficiaries. But further into the valley and the more inaccessible areas there was less evidence of NGO activities. It is catch 22 that the those communities which are most inaccessible are often the most in need.

The road beyond Balakot town was indescribably bad. When we were in the town I looked up and saw this tiny path meandering along the side of the mountain with a sheer drop down of I don’t know how many hundred metres. Unfortunately it was the only road around, so along it we went. There were landslides every couple of metres. Although the road had been paved at some point, now most of it was covered with compressed debris. Actually, I preferred the areas that weren’t paved because the driver was forced to be less enthusiastic with the accelerator. In areas parts of the road had just collapsed down the mountainside. Early on I decided it was a choice between spending the whole journey with my head in my hands, or just going with the flow, so I was able to look down the mountainside with a degree of composure, and my right leg twitched only occasionally.

I can’t imagine how the people live there – the mountainsides were scarred with landslides, but dotted between the landslides were houses perched on the edge, literally. And this whole area has been designated a red zone by the government because of earthquakes, and they are trying to dissuade people from living there. But people are unwilling to move because their families have been there for generations.

An hour and a half later we reached a little village and heard that there was a landslide further up so couldn’t drive to the school. After much deliberation we decided to walk around the landslide and then hire a local vehicle to take us to the school. I thought that the road from Balakot town was bad, but it was nothing compared to the minor road to the school. It was very steep, bendy, narrow, unpaved and we drove over countless of other landslides And the vehicle was pretty basic as well – the door didn’t close properly, but there were artificial roses hanging in the front so at least it looked pretty.

When we got to the school it was a collapsed building. Two years after the earthquake. I found it quite shocking – there were piles of rubble, a cupboard still with paper in it and blackboards with writing on. Just to add to the whole depressing aura I almost tripped up over a horse’s skull.

It was the school holidays so there were no children, but we were able to get the necessary information from the teacher. Apparently they do have a UNICEF tent where they can hold the lessons.

Then we had the journey back again. We stopped off at the same restaurant in Balakot for lunch, and the men invited me in this time. I was very puzzled as to why I could enter the restaurant this time, but I soon found out – I had to go and eat my lunch separately in a family room. A corner of the restaurant had been boxed off, and when I entered there were two other girls in there. All the Britishness in me rebelled at the thought of interrupting and joining two complete strangers in the middle of lunch, but they were lovely and we had an interesting conversation – they were also NGO workers. It was an Afghan restaurant, and the food was really good. The men eat Pakistani style but not sitting on the floor – they sit on the tables.

So, that concludes my trip to Balakot.

How many people can fit in a car?

2008-01-31T05:00:00.000-08:00

Last weekend (19th and 20th Jan) was a little bit boring as we had to stay in most of the time because of Moharram (festival that sometimes has got a bit out of hand in the past). But the house was sparkly clean by the end of Sunday. On Monday the Director said that he was leaving in an hour to go to Chakwal and would I like to come. So I went, as things weren’t so busy in Mansehra – most of the teams are busy at the moment in running teacher training programmes. The Director said that he was going with his family, and there was a space for me in the car. That was definitely based on Pakistani definitions of a space rather than English. There were nine people in the car altogether, although three of them were fairly little – three people plus the driver in front and then five in the back. It was quite a fun journey actually, and not too painful. I thought that nine people in the car was pushing it to its limits, but when we arrived in Chakwal we met two more people for dinner, and then gave them a lift – 11 people in a normal sized car!! Pretty impressive.

Anyway, I have to be very complimentary about what I write about Chakwal as they are reading my blog there now :). Actually, I had a really good time – I spent one day in the office looking at the website and talking about reporting issues, and the other day I was in the field at a PTA meeting at a village school. The school was very impressive, and there was a very active PTA. Their achievements really illustrate how successful communities can be when they are mobilised to take an interest in their schools. The community themselves had organised the building of a water fountain, rebuilding the school roof, putting in toilets and building a boundary wall. They had provided unskilled labour. The meeting that I was attending was aimed to renew a school development plan – to put forward ideas as to what they want to achieve in the next year. Some children were involved, as were parents, teachers and community members.

When I got back to the office there was a meeting, and at the end the Director said something to me in Urdu. Key learning point: don’t just smile and nod when I don’t understand. I found out later that he said to me that we were leaving in 5 minutes. Ooops. I hadn’t even packed. Oh well - that was the quickest packing I have ever done. We had a five hour journey back again, and we got back about 9.30, and were then invited out to a meal for someone’s birthday, which was really lovely. As an aside – Pakistani cakes are REALLY good (mainly because of the amount of cream in them).

The rest of the week was quieter. We’ve had good examples of using our initiative recently due to lack of resources (good for the CV?). First, our tin opener broke – so here is a photo of Corry opening a tin with hammer and nails.

Second, and it is very gutting, but my violin bow broke. So, ever resourceful, and after a failed attempt to get hold of some super glue, I mended it with blue tak. Can’t say that it sounds quite perfect, but I can get a bit of sound out of it. And we didn’t have water for a day and hot water for a few days after that. It was very painful getting up in the morning and knowing there was no hot water – it is SO cold in the morning (and I am wearing four jumpers during the day). Even when I sit in front of the gas heater I can see my breath. But the cold is a good excuse to eat a lot. And I know a lot more about how my gas water heater thingy works now.

Since writing the above I went to the hospital on sunday again for a service and one of the doctors plays the violin and offered to lend me a bow! Woohoo No more bluetacked bows for me.

Slums and mountains….

2008-01-19T00:11:00.000-08:00

Last Sunday Corry and I went to Islamabad as we had to renew our visas. So much for all the horror stories about bureaucracy and red tape – it only took about five minutes! (though I think that VSO put in all the hard work before we arrived). So we had the large part of two days in Islamabad – I have to say that this did involve some shopping. But on Monday I was able to visit the Islamabad office of MIED – they have two projects working with Christian communities in the slums. They run ECCD centres for children aged 3 – 6, and non-formal education programmes for children who for whatever reason haven’t been going to school. The purpose of the NFE centres is to enable the children to be mainstreamed back into the formal education system. Last year I think over 200 children returned to school after attending the NFE centres. The major reason children aren’t attending school is the illiteracy and lack of awareness of the parents rather than absolute poverty. People were telling me that it is not unusual for families to have TVs in their houses! I visited an NFE centre, and I was really impressed. The teacher comes from the community and was very young, but had proper well-organised lesson plans and the kids were all involved in their work.

The team works mainly with the Christian community because they are particularly marginalised. I was surprised by how large the Christian minority is. Also, when we were travelling to the centre one of the people I was with pointed out someone sweeping the streets and said that they were Christian. I found it quite shocking that they could tell someone’s religion on the basis of the poverty of their job.

So, that was the slums part. Now we come to the mountains again! I went on another field trip to an earthquake affected valley, with (a different) ECCD team. They were holding workshops for education committees. These are the community groups who are taking over responsibility for the running of their ECCD centres. For most of the morning I was with a mother’s meeting – there were about 7 mothers there, and they were discussing what their responsibilities should be. This is a pilot project as there are only five mothers committees, and MIED are assessing how successful it is to get the mothers involved. All the other education committees consist of men. But I was impressed on the basis of that meeting – the mothers were all participating, and were bringing up problems they were facing, such as caregivers not turning up to work. The women were all illiterate, and the meeting was conducted in Hindko rather than Urdu, which meant it was almost completely incomprehensible – though one of the girls did translate for me some of the time. The meeting took place in an ECCD centre which was full of the children’s work and decorations made out of milk cartons and things. But it was completely freezing and there was snow outside. There was a wood stove inside, which itself is a mark of successful community mobilisation – the members of the community themselves each give a portion of wood so the place can be warm for their children. But there was no funnel so the room was incredibly smoky. And the walls were made of mud which the rain was washing away in places.

I also went briefly to the male workshop that was being held separately. This was conducted in Urdu (which illustrates the extent to which men have more education than the women). I asked the men whether they are pleased with the work of MIED and there was an immediate response - they all said yes and nodded, which was impressive. They said that their children are more confident, have better hygiene practices, they know more about their religion and are getting used to attending the centre regularly. I also asked them what the main challenges were – there was quite a list like improved building structures, better ceilings, having gas fires. They are all really reasonable requests, but the problem, as always, is the budget. On the one hand it is great that the demands are coming from the community themselves rather than ideas being imposed by the NGO. But unfortunately apparently they thought I was from the donor (quite reasonably I suppose cos I’m a foreigner). I really don’t know what they thought when they listed all their requests and I just smiled and nodded and didn’t make any response (to be honest most of it was in Urdu so I didn’t really understand at the time anyway.)

It took about 2 and a half hours to reach the centres, and the roads were often little more than mud, and washed away in places. There were six people in the car so on the way there I had to sit with another girl squashed in the front! I am slowly getting used to Pakistani methods of driving, and am not clenching all my muscles and grinding my teeth at every near miss – I would end up with awful headaches and no teeth. And plus Pakistani drivers are very well experienced in near misses and have a very good understanding of the width of their car.

We were invited to lunch with a health worker who lives in the community. They lived in a traditional building made out of mud, with no windows, no boundary wall. We all sat round a wood fire, and had a lovely lunch of corn bread and spinach curry.

And in the evening I was invited round to dinner to the family of one of the girls in the ECCD team. It was great – the family was sooo hospitable and cooked lovely food. And not only did they cook a wonderful meal, they also said it was traditional for them to give presents to guests when they first come in their home! So the gave me a beautiful shawl and some lovely jewellery. The generosity of people here is completely amazing.

2008-01-11T08:34:00.000-08:00

Well, here is an interesting juxtaposition of technologies – I am writing this blog entry on my lovely still-quite-new laptop by candlelight, as there has been another power cut. Pakistan is a land of interesting contrasts, although the rich / poor divide is not as in-your-face as in India (well not in Mansehra anyway). For example, I was thinking earlier that although I can get many of the same products that I can in the UK – Colgate, Pantene, Cadbury’s etc etc, it is practically unheard of for a woman to go and buy these things in the bazaar by herself. Another contrast: although on the news there has been so much about violence and riots, when we witnessed an accident the other day (a car tyre rolled off the back of a truck and hit a shop window completely breaking all the glass) everyone was completely calm. Thank goodness no one was hurt. But there was no scene, or shouting or anything – just a quiet agreement as to who would bear the cost. I really don’t think that that would have been an average response in the UK.

But anyway, I’ve just decided that using my laptop by candlelight isn’t such a good idea as I’ve spilt candle wax on the screen (not quite sure how). We are having an average of four power cuts a day at the moment, and it is getting rather frustrating. Particularly at the office, when we are trying to write reports and most of the day the power is off – my laptop only lasts for about an hour which isn’t great. Not only that, there are three printers for the whole organisation, and the internal network has been completely decimated by viruses. I am (slowly) learning not to get stressed about deadlines when other people don’t, and there is nothing that I can do anyway when there is a power cut. But problems with the computers are very difficult – one guy had written a report and wanted me to read through it, but his USB drive was not working, and he did not have access to the internet nor a CD writer so there was no way of transferring it from his computer. Problem.

But things aren’t so bad, really! The weekend after the death of Benazir we had to spend three whole days inside the house. I have to say that I was starting to go slightly crazy by the end of that time. I have never been so happy to go to work as I was on Monday morning! But things were OK in Mansehra (although there was an unpleasant occurrence in Abbottabad, apparently). Things seem normal now, although things may change in the run up to elections. Tuesday was New Years Eve, and I went to the girl’s hostel for a meal. We actually started eating after midnight as we were doing the much more important thing of trying on new shalwar kameez and make-up. It was great fun. But then I had to work the next day. I can’t really remember much of what happened then – I was a tad tired.

I have had interesting adventures related to my stomach last week. I had lunch a few days with the girls in the office. The first day they said that they had something that many foreigners liked, so I thought that would be OK. But then just as we sat down they amended it to say that some foreigners liked it. ‘It’ turned out to be cows and yaks feet in curry. The next day I asked what the dish was, and they said beef. I thought that would be fairly safe. But it turned out to be liver. And the day after I asked what the meal was and they said mutton. But it was actually sheep’s stomach. I have to say that I drew the line at that and didn’t eat any. Well, two positive things can be said about these experiences: first that I couldn’t have caught bird flu, and second it is a variety on having fried bread and cheese for lunch. Actually, I really enjoy having lunch with the girls and it is lovely that they welcome me. And I’ve eaten a bit with them since these experiences, and one of the girls’ mothers is an excellent cook!

The past couple of days have been interesting as I’ve been writing a proposal for an extension of MIED’s child rights programme in Mansehra district. Before I came I didn’t think I would be writing a proposal and logical framework analysis within a day for each. Advance planning doesn’t seem to happen here really, which is something I definitely have to get used to, and learn not to worry about! But I know a lot more about the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, and rights-based approaches to child development now. The UN passed this convention in 1989, which outlines certain basic rights for all children no matter their situation: for example the right to education, the right to adequate food, the right to play, the right not to labour. Many of these rights are clearly and comprehensively infringed here, so MIED’s child rights programme is working in schools with the children introducing activities and games so that they know what their rights are. The particular proposal I was working on was to extend a project in two centres for disabled children: to ensure that they have adequate facilities so the children can reach their full potential, to challenge attitudes to disability in the communities (many disabled children do not attend schools, and are treated as a burden on their families resources), and to train the teachers in child rights to ensure that these children’s rights are not infringed. Before I came I was a little wary of rights based approaches but I am now a convert – it is different when you come across children who are picking through rubbish when they should be in school, and when teachers are not even bothering to turn up to teach but are still taking salaries. If children and their parents are aware of their right to education then they are better equipped to hold the teachers to account.

Random thought – my parents sent me Cranford on DVD (which was completely brilliant), and there was a boy in that who really wanted to go to school, but he had to work. He wanted to learn so much that he painted words on the walls of a shed while supposed to be working. MIED have got a fantastic picture with some children who are trying to write on stones with ground-up material and mud and things as ink, but they are still trying to learn. Sad to think 200 years on some things haven’t changed (even if Pantene and Colgate are now available all around the world).

A merry if slightly surreal Christmas

2007-12-29T06:18:00.000-08:00

I showed my blog to two other VSOs over Christmas, and they were rather surprised at how much I write. So clarity and precision are going to be my watchwords, but starting from next week, as rather a lot has happened what with Eid and Christmas and the awful events of the last few days. Plus I can’t really go outside at the moment so what else have I got to do but write?! (well, and clean the house but we all know how exciting that is.)

So, I’ll start with after I left off last time. Exciting / scary occurrence number 1: there was an earthquake. I was woken up in the middle of the night and my bed was shaking, and there was a weird noise. I can’t remember now exactly what the noise was like as I was half asleep. So I’ve now decided to do something about the 3 stiff doors between me and the outside world. But people didn’t mention it in the office the next day. Exciting occurrence number 2: Corry and I went in to the bazaar in Mansehra by ourselves! Actually it wasn’t scary at all – people were very friendly, and I did some haggling in Urdu. I think I was still ripped off, but not completely ripped off as I bought the price down by at least 100R (about 1 pound).

Exciting occurrence number 3: Eid! This is the festival that celebrates Ibrahim’s (Abraham’s) willingness to sacrifice his son, and it is one of the biggest festivals in the Muslim calendar. Many families sacrifice an animal and distribute the meat to the poor to commemorate this. We were invited to celebrate this with two families. I felt a little bit ill when I woke up in the morning, and when I had a shower I heard an odd noise. I didn’t feel any better when Corry told me that the family below had just killed a cow just behind the house, and she had witnessed the whole thing. Another family were obviously just about to do the same, and Corry very kindly invited me to watch from her balcony, but I firmly refused and made good my escape into my room. I was just texting the Director to make my excuses to say I wouldn’t be able to come to witness their sacrifice when his children came round, so I was persuaded. But I hid in their house with most of his family when the goat was sacrificed, and then spent a fun morning with the kids. For lunch we were invited to another MIED staff member’s house, who didn’t live in the township. We had to drive and then walk past remains of various animals. But I felt very privileged to be able to celebrate this festival with his family – it was a very large and friendly family they had many beautiful children. People are so hospitable – they wanted us to stay the night. But in the evening we were invited round to the director’s for dinner again. He has decided against eating chicken, so we had yak meat instead. Definitely another first. I think they ate the goat for lunch. All in all it was a very interesting day, and I learnt a lot more about Eid. The importance isn’t in the sacrifice of the animals, but in the symbolic willingness to sacrifice things that you want for what is truly important.

The day after Eid we travelled down to Lahore for Christmas. It was about an eight hour bus journey. Thank goodness the motorways are good and I wasn’t sick, but it was still quite painful. I’m not as young as I once was and my poor legs suffered. But it was great getting into Lahore. The first thing I noticed was that many women didn’t have their heads covered. And Lahore has a completely different lifestyle to Mansehra – the city comes alive at night (though actually it is alive during the day as well) and most people don’t go to bed til the small hours. This is in stark contrast to Mansehra where there is very little to do in the evenings. And it was warm!

The first day we were in Lahore most things were closed due to Eid. But a colleague of Mary’s (the volunteer we stayed with in Lahore) drove us round, so we saw the Badshahi mosque from the outside and Kim’s gun. But what was very exciting was that I bought a violin! It was quite a random experience. We drove into what was apparently the red light district of Lahore and in the midst of all the people, animals, mud, cats cradle of electricity wires and traffic there were some shops full of musical instruments - mainly guitars, drums and sitars. But one guy had this violin on which I started playing Christmas carols. After a bit of haggling (not done by me I have to say) I was able to buy it and a fab case for about 60 pounds – bargain! It is not the best violin (!) but it makes quite a nice sound, so I am happy. Corry is less so, I think, but she says that she doesn’t really mind (I hope).

Anyway, the next day I was ill. I have to admit that the thought did cross my mind that I had bird flu, as I had a temperature, but I obviously didn’t. It was a bit of a pain though as I was ill for the next 2 days and missed out on visiting the Badshahi mosque and other things. But I was better on Christmas day, which was definitely an unusual experience. First, I didn’t have chocolate during the whole day (but we did have singing fairy lights, so we were able to sing ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ along with the fairy lights). Second, I had a tour of a butter factory. We were invited to lunch with a colleague of Mary’s. The family live above their butter factory, so we had a tour before lunch. Lunch was a bit embarrassing because the mother had obviously gone to a lot of effort to prepare the meal for us, but I couldn’t eat anything more than a bit of rice. They were so friendly, and didn’t want us to leave….. and didn’t want us to leave…. but I was feeling very tired after being ill, and we explained that to them so we thought they were taking us home. But they actually took us to another uncle’s house, who was a doctor – sooo embarrassing!! We tried to make a quick exit explaining that I was just tired, not ill. After a rest we went for a meal to a restaurant just outside the Badshahi mosque. We had dinner on the top floor outside looking at the beautifully lit up mosque. It was amazing, if a bit of a surreal Christmas!

We decided to stay a day longer in Lahore as I hadn’t been well, so we went shopping the next day. I went kinda crazy in the bookshop and supermarket (there were croissants and lindt chocolate!) so the purse returned home a bit lighter.

The next day we said a fond farewell to Mary and Lahore and started the long journey back. The journey back to Abbottabad was fine, but when we got there the taxi driver met us looking really upset, and told us that Bhutto had been in killed in Rawalpindi 15 minutes previously. We went into their office to look at the website, but then I got a text from VSO saying to stay at home till further notice. I have to say I was a little scared at this time given that we were still half an hour from home and had just come through Pindi. But the taxi driver got us home fine, and we were sent round some dinner by the director’s family. I’ve spent the last two days in the house, looking at the news on the internet. It is all too depressing.

Well, my friends, I think that just about concludes my latest epistle about Eid, Christmas, and the current situation. I hope that you all had lovely Christmas’s with loads of chocolate and turkey and Christmas pudding, and the New Year will bring you peace and joy.

More snow, mountains and cute children

2007-12-18T07:57:00.000-08:00

Corry and I went on a field visit into Seren valley yesterday, an area where MIED are doing earthquake rehabilitation in schools. This area was badly affected by the earthquake – it is only tens of kilometres away the epicentre. And the earthquake that I didn’t experience last week – well that was felt here quite substantially – one guy said that the whole valley was surrounded with noise from the vibrating of the metal sheets on the buildings. And apparently last night there was an aftershock.

After the disaster preparedness meeting the other day I fully prepared myself for the cold and wore three jumpers and a coat (though it was a bit of a struggle to get into the coat I have to say). And the people who designed the shalwar kameez obviously hadn’t given a thought to the fashion disaster it becomes when worn with walking boots. Anyway. Actually, we had to walk for about an hour to get to the furthest school, so I got rather warm and dispensed with most of the jumpers (even though there was snow when we got to the top of the mountain!).

We went to a total of three schools and one early childhood care and development centre (ECCD). At the first school all the children were sitting outside on mats even though it was cold and the ground was very wet. I don’t know how the children could learn in this kind of situation. There was a tent but that wasn’t being used when we were there. We spent a while talking to the kids, and then the disaster risk reduction consultant arrived and we walked to the next school, which was a bit of a trek. There was quite a lot of construction going on. Many of the buildings before the earthquake had been made of stones and concrete, which caused so much loss of life. Now the buildings are being rebuilt again in the traditional way – a wooden construction and then a mixture of mud and stones and things in between. Apparently the walls of the traditional building type would fall out rather than in if there was another earthquake. Visiting the area and seeing some of the collapsed buildings really impressed on me how important DRR is. For example, in one of the schools the children told us about the earthquake last week – although they all ran out of the building there was a real problem because the door was so small and there was a big step to trip up over.

The DRR consultant was full of interesting information about the area. There were very few if any international NGOs working in Seren valley before the earthquake, although there were a few national NGOs. He has talked to the villagers and they have said that many owe their lives to the relief that the INGOs bought. It is interesting that just a few miles away in Battagram there is such a different attitude towards NGOs to the extent that they have been targeted. But it is only a few extremists that are causing these problems.

There is a major problem with timber smuggling and deforestation in this area - trees are so important in preventing landslides. We could clearly see on the mountainsides areas where there had been landslides - areas that were vegetated had not had landslides. The forests are partly owned by the government and partly community owned as well. But the communities have minimal rights to use the trees by chopping them down, though I think they can collect firewood. Corruption is a major problem.

At the second school the proper teacher hadn’t turned up – there was only a para-teacher who is employed by MIED not the government. And when we got to the last school neither of the teachers had bothered turning up as it is so close to the Eid holidays. So the children were just playing around. Teacher absenteeism is a major problem because they get such small salaries, and many of the teachers commute from Mansehra every day (3 hours one way). Some NGOs have started providing hostels for teachers nearer were they work, but MIED doesn’t really want to do this as it creates further dependency on the NGOs, and also the teachers have signed a contract and have a responsibility towards the children.

I have to say that it was an amazing place for school, at the top of the mountain with snow and fab views. But the graves of some people who had died in the earthquake were right next to the school – I can’t really conceive what affect that will have on the children.

The most encouraging place that we visited was the ECCD centre, for children aged 3-6. The room was full of low-cost resources that the ECCD team, the care giver and the children had worked on together. For example they had made bags with the children’s names on from flour sacks, and ceiling hangings from milk cartons.

After we came back down the mountain the care giver from the ECCD centre invited us into her home. They gave us a delicious meal of cornbread, a chilli and coriander sauce, and fresh buffalo butter. It was really lovely, and I was very hungry by that time. People are so hospitable and welcoming even when they have got so little – it is so humbling and challenging for me. Their kitchen was next to the woodpile and was basically a hole in the ground with fire in.

More photos:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/21248968@N03/

2007-12-15T22:39:00.000-08:00

Well, let me tell you what has happened this week. On Wednesday there was an earthquake - though I didn’t notice anything at all, but was just told about it – I think it must have been when the door of our office swung randomly open. On Thursday we were told that we shouldn’t go to services on Christmas Day, because of a ‘heightened threat to westerners’. And on Friday we were told that two people have died in Manshera from bird flu. I have therefore slightly altered my lax attitude towards eating chicken (which was that it doesn’t matter as you can’t get it from eating it). But tis very difficult not to eat chicken here – at lunch yesterday no less than three of the dishes contained chicken, which just left a choice of rice (which actually had bits of chicken in) and naan. You may have gathered from this statement that my vegetarianism has gone by the wayside – I still am when I cook for myself, but when I eat out every meal consists of chicken and rice.

But do you know what has put all this security advice into perspective – I heard that there had been a landslide at Worcester Park so all the trains from Epsom to Waterloo have been completely disrupted. I would so much prefer to be here in the land of earthquakes, bird flu and ‘heightened threat to westerners’ than stuck on Raynes Park station in the freezing cold waiting for a train that probably won’t turn up. And, security advice aside, it has been quite a good week.

I was able to get to a service on Sunday at a nearby Christian hospital, and I met some expats for the first time in a couple of weeks, which was great! It was quite difficult to get to – MIED very kindly organised a car for me, and I spent most of the journey there trying to establish with the driver whether he knew where the hospital was – I think he thought it very odd that I was going to a hospital on a cold and rainy Sunday night! Although he kept ji ji (yes) he didn’t actually know where it was, but it was quite easy to find. So that was great.

At the beginning of the week I spent two days in a meeting with Plan, MIED’s main donors for one project, which was really interesting. Then followed a couple of days when I was floundering around not really knowing what to do again. On Thursday it was the Aga Khan’s birthday, so there was a cake at the office, which was really lovely.

I had to work on Saturday again – there was a management meeting in the morning. Key learning point of this week: when a meeting is arranged to last two and a half hours, don’t actually believe it will last that long. I had arranged another meeting with a disaster risk reduction consultant an hour and a half after the management meeting was supposed to end. The management meeting actually lasted about five hours, and I was writing minutes and it was so difficult to concentrate that long. I was actually very grateful when people did start speaking in Urdu as it meant I could switch off for a little (though it may mean there are a few gaps in the minutes :) The DRR meeting started half an hour late, and lasted about two and a half hours as well, but it was very interesting. Plan are encouraging us to ‘mainstream’ (typical development word) disaster risk reduction into all aspects of the projects, so this means including DRR in the curriculum and in all training that teachers are given. The aim is to develop a ‘culture of preparedness’ so that in case of a disaster people know what to do. In the Northern Areas there are village committees, and places where stores are kept, and people are trained in first aid and search and rescue. If this had been the case in NWFP and Kashmir before the earthquake a lot of lives would have been saved.

Anyway, there is a power cut and the computer battery is about to go, so I’ll finish here.

A variety of new experiences....

2007-12-09T03:20:00.000-08:00

I was able to go out into the field last week, in Mansehra district. We only travelled about 30 minutes from the city, which is very close compared with many of the other schools (some staff travel 3 hours one way to get to their school daily). Anyway, it was just like stepping back into history. The houses were all made of mud, and dung was drying outside in the air – it is used as a fuel because the village didn’t have gas. We went into one house – the animals are kept outside, and then there was a courtyard, and then I just saw one large room with a number of beds.

It was great being able to visit the schools – we spent most of the morning visiting the government boys primary school. There was one teacher and I am not sure how many kids – maybe about 50. There were two groups – one of the younger children and one of the older children, both sitting outside. The first task that the teacher educator from MIED did was to sort out the classroom. It was being used as a storage place for the construction materials for the boundary wall, so was full of long pieces of wood with rusty nails sticking out. I spent most of the morning sitting with the younger children, as the person from MIED and the teacher were concerned with the older boys. The children were lovely, but so poor, and it was hard work given my lack of Urdu, their almost complete lack of English, and I was basically giving them a lesson having not prepared anything. The children all had notebooks with UNICEF written all over them, which I really didn’t like because it immediately defined the children as being recipients of aid. The school was completely open, so had a continuous stream of donkeys, goats, and cows coming through, as well as villagers who were very hospitable and gave us tea and snacks. Some of the women came up and talked to me but I didn’t have a clue what they were saying. It is particularly difficult because the villagers first language is Hindko, not Urdu, so the children were learning both Urdu and English in the school.

We then went on to the girls school. I was pretty shattered by that time. The girls were a lot shyer than I expected – if I asked them a question they giggled and hid. Three age groups were sitting in the same classroom, so the teacher basically had to run three lessons at the same time. It was very sad because some of the girls who had graduated from the school came back to visit, and they are not able to continue their education as there is no girls secondary school in the village.

I thought that that day had given me enough experiences to last the week. But no – the rest of the week threw quite a few challenges as well. The next day I had to check through and edit three reports – a key learning point is to ALWAYS ask when the deadline is and to clarify who to give the feedback to. Oh well. Then I had to try and understand a monitoring document that was incredibly confusing. The next day I went to a meeting at the Plan offices about this document, which was very interesting. The meeting started off in English, but by the end they had moved to Urdu and my brain was completely frazzled. And the day after that I had to facilitate another session with a team about weekly reporting – it was quite difficult because several people introduced completely new topics and so I didn’t know how far to stick to the topic or move onto another one if they wanted to. Also, half way through that meeting I had a horrible thought that I should have been at a different meeting, so I spent the rest of the time worrying. What an idiot.

Corry went to Islamabad for a VSO meeting on Thursday, so I was by myself for the weekend. But people have taken pity on me and so I have been fed by the director’s family for the last 3 evenings. His children are great, and on Saturday afternoon (after I had checked through the monitoring document again) we went for a drive around Mansehra – it was great seeing the views and getting a bit more of an idea of the area, and was v fun with 5 lively children. But people work SO hard here. The director and many others have worked every weekend since I have been here. There are so many people’s lives and jobs depending on the success of MIED.

The other evening the director and his children started telling me about their village in the Northern Areas. It sounds like a completely different world – to England but also to Mansehra. Their family numbers over 100, and it is not unusual for more than 20 people to live in the same house. Last week several of his brothers slaughtered yaks, which will give them enough food to last the winter. They don’t have gas or electricity (they cook over wood stoves), and can store the meat outside in the snow. It is -10 there at the moment! They showed me some photos of a family wedding – part of the ceremony is for the bride and bridegroom to cook chapattis together – but if the chapatti breaks that symbolises that the wife will have dominance over the husband! The photos of their village look completely stunning, and I cannot wait to visit that area.

Anyway, hope that all your Christmas shopping is going well :)

Snow...

2007-12-02T05:03:00.000-08:00

Well, I officially welcomed in the advent season yesterday by singing Christmas carols loudly in the shower, and then building a snowman! Yep - one of the guys from the office took us to a village in the Murree hills, which has just had its first snowfall of the year! It was very exciting and beautiful, and I made a wonderful snowman. I didn’t actually realize that we were going into the mountains, so I got a bit cold, but what is a little discomfort compared with snow and mountains :) The photo is taken from Nathaigali, the village that we visited.

I spent most of last week in the office. Corry and I have been talking to more members of staff about MIED (continuing our introduction to the organisation), but I have also started some proper work, particularly dealing with documents following from the closure of one of their Battagram projects. They are still running another project there, and the team returned there late this week after being withdrawn because of security. One of the guys showed me photos of the area and it looks absolutely stunning – rivers and mountains. But then he said that just over the hill was Shangla where there is a military operation. I might wait a bit before I visit :)

A couple of evenings last week I went to the girls hostel for dinner. Before I came to Pakistan I expected to find it difficult to meet many girls my age, thinking that most would be married and have families. But it is great having the girl’s hostel so close – about 8 women live there and they are all around my age. The dinners have been fab – they cooked lovely food, and have started teaching me to sing and dance Pakistani style. They also wanted me to sing them the theme tune from Titanic (and worryingly enough I remembered some of it!). But I am still getting used to cultural norms and expectations, particularly gender related. The other night I was walking back with some girls, and we went past MIED’s male hostel, and one of the guys was standing outside. I was introduced to him, and then he asked us in for a cup of tea. I said I didn’t mind, and then all the girls started laughing and dragged me away saying it was completely culturally inappropriate for women to enter the male hostel.

More random things I have noticed about Pakistan:
salt in tea is truly disgusting (though the one time I tried it I may have put a bit too much in)
on the subject of food, loosing weight seems to be almost impossible – we only have a saucepan and a frying pan, and my lunch usually consists of cheese between 2 pieces of fried bread (no toaster), and mayonnaise (ran out of tomato ketchup). Dinner often some mixture of fried potatoes and fried veg. Exercise I have done in the last month: 0. But at least I can get weetabix here, so can feel virtuous for at least one meal in a day (though I’ve started adding nutella with it and it is so good)
It seems that half the office comes from Chitral and the other from Gilgit, so banter about polo occurs quite frequently. But the other day they started talking about playing polo on donkeys – I really don’t know whether they were being serious but there was a lot of laughter. On the subject of donkeys apparently there is a donkey contest in Karachi that takes place every year, but I am not quite sure what it involves
Seatbelts non existent in spite of appalling driving except on motorways, where there are police to make sure that people use them, despite motorways being wide, empty and straight in stark contrast to all other Pak roads!! (have been in 2 accidents already, tho parents don’t panic as v minor. One took place right outside the military police (!) and was fine and the other was when we were stopped and someone drove slowly into us (quite skillfully really)).
It is imperative that I know exactly where my torch is in my room, as the last four evenings there have been electricity cuts and there has been much moaning and stubbed toes. There was a big thunderstorm the other night and the electricity went off for the whole night and the following morning, so work was fun with no light and no computers. (And no heat as our gas heater had broken as well)
Rain is exactly the same in Mansehra as in Epsom – v wet and cold, though it seems to have been greeted with pleasure by many people as it gets rid of the dust, but personally I prefer the dust
In spite of where we live and work being NGO central (with 65 NGOs in the space of approx 1 square mile) in total we have only seen 3 other westerners walking around the township, and when we’ve been out of the township I haven’t seen any

More photos:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/21248968@N03/?saved=1

Once again, thank you so much for your emails, it is great hearing your news. Take care and enjoy the beginning of advent :)

Photos!

2007-11-26T08:16:00.000-08:00

Here is a variety of photos from my first 2 weeks in Mansehra:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/21248968@N03/

2007-11-24T07:27:00.000-08:00

Well, I can’t say that I have ever lived in a state of emergency / military dictatorship before, but it is not quite as exciting as it sounds. Practically, its major effect has been that we haven’t been on field visits in NWFP, but that is due more to militant activity and army response than the state of emergency per se. But I’ve been trying to make sense of the political situation, which is extremely complicated. Most of the Pakistanis I have spoken to are well informed about the situation, but opinions differ: whether military action in Swat is a good thing or not, whether Musharraf has been a successful leader, how people should respond to the state of emergency…

The Pakistani printed press is very interesting, particularly in the diversity of opinions that it illustrates. I have added some quotes below to illustrate some of these opinions. It is quite surprising that there are such outspoken criticisms of Musharraf, particularly given that some TV channels have still been banned by him. All the quotes below are taken from the Dawn News, 20 November.

‘The threat to the state’s stability and integrity, the safe-guarding of which, as President Musharraf has rightly affirmed on the past, is the government’s overriding duty, comes not from civil society, involved in the struggle for democracy, but from the insurgency mounted by extremist militants.’ Mahdi Masud

‘Western style democracy may be good for educated and responsible individuals but for a nation of 160 million ill-disciplined and uneducated individuals, most of whom still living in the stone ages, this reading is nothing more than a farce; one size does not fit all.’ Q Kazmi

Dr Israr [religious scholar] expressed his concern over a dangerous situation caused by what he described as ‘polarisation between extreme forces of secularism and the force of the people demanding enforcement of Islamic Shariah law in the country’. …He said that it was not possible to surpress the movement by use of military force. The only way to solve the problem was to take Constitutional, legal and evolutionary measures for the enforcement of Islamic Shariah’.

‘When peaceful youngsters today see unarmed lawyers, rights activists and politicians being roughened up, humiliated and arrested for demanding what the Constitution guarantees them, they add their voices to the emerging new consciousness against dictatorial rule. The crackdown on those who believe in non-violence as a means to pursue their political ideals and a right to a decent life contrasts sharply with the tolerance the regime has shown towards those who have taken up arms against the state, all in the way of God, and to subjugate the people to their own narrow minded, puritan interpretation of religion… The state’s furious response to the civilised way of registering protest exposes the gap that exists today between a modern public sensibility and the medievalism inherent in autocratic rule’. Murtaza Razvi

As to my opinion – I am not sure! I find it difficult to understand why Musharraf introduced emergency rule when the problem does not come from the vast majority of the population, but from a fringe where the army was already engaged. I don’t know whether military intervention in Swat is a good thing – it is clear that civilians have been adversely affected, but militants cannot be allowed to gain control and disrupt life so much for the ordinary population. What is clear is that the problems have had a long history – America is particularly to blame as they were the ones who initially armed the Taliban in their fight against the Soviet Union in Afghanistan during the Cold War. Any long-term solution is not going to come from military intervention. It really emphasises the importance of education – education enables people to climb out of economic poverty, it challenges people to think rather than to uncritically accept dogma, it broadens horizons and promotes tolerance and understanding of other worldviews.

All the Pakistanis I have spoken to are upset by the way that Pakistan is portrayed in the international media solely as a breeding ground for terrorists. My overwhelming impression of Pakistani people has been one of welcome and hospitality. For example, when we came back from Chakwal at 10pm the other night after a 5 hour drive and a long day in the office, our director still invited us in for a cup of tea, even when he had to get up at 6 the following morning for a 3 hour trip to Muzzafarrabad and hadn’t seen his family for days. That is hospitality way beyond the call of duty I think!

By the way, I’ve just looked at the foreign office travel advice for Pakistan. Bad idea. It makes it seem like I am in danger of a sudden and very painful death. But the one gleam of hope that I took from wading through the whole depressing thing was that although the UN have withdrawn expat families from the whole of the NWFP, they have not done so for Mansehra and Abbottabad, which are still considered safe. Good to know.

2007-11-23T07:41:00.000-08:00

I think that I have really fallen on my feet working for MIED – I have only been here two weeks but it seems to be an amazing organisation. Someone said when I first arrived that it is like working for a big family, and I have experienced friendship, encouragement and warmth from all the staff members. I have been really impressed with the director especially, who has done everything in his power to make things easy for us, and also seems to be a charismatic and highly respected leader. I have got the impression that MIED is very well thought of, and they have close links to the government and international organisations. They have been funded from a number of international donors, including UNICEF, Save the Children and the Canadian Development Agency, and I think that they didn’t even apply for funds, they were just asked to do the work. They are also a pioneering organisation in terms of their values and vision – the director said that they are an organisation that looks for diversity, accepts it and then encourages tolerance and pluralism. They work with Christian communities in Islamabad, which is unusual I think for a Muslim organisation as the Christian communities are often marginalised and persecuted. They are also pioneering in Pakistan in terms of the way that they work – focusing on participation, facilitation and openness to new ideas rather than being hierarchical and prescriptive. The staff who work in the schools are not there to monitor, assess and criticise the work of the teachers, instead they are there to facilitate the teachers and encourage their development. There is a big difference.

For the last three days I visited MIED’s office in Chakwal in the Punjab, which was fab. I have really been made to feel welcome by everyone in the office. Most of the people who work in Chakwal live in a hostel and eat all their meals together – so it did seem to me to be like a big family. The other night they organised a party Pakistani-style – it was a rather random but fun experience! Everyone in the hostel got together after dinner and started dancing. But apparently it was completely culturally inappropriate for the girls to dance, even in such a liberal organisation as MIED, so us girls sat around cheering the guys on. It was a bit surreal to see big and bearded Pakistani men dancing around gracefully. But twas great fun, and although I found very odd that the girls did not dance, the director did his best to encourage us (I was not persuaded!).

Coming to Chakwal has really illustrated how diverse Pakistan is. Chakwal is significantly more liberal than Mansehra – playing loud music and girls watching men dance would not have been possible in Mansehra at all. We were able to walk around in the bazaar after dark – although there were still loads of Pakistani men staring, I felt safe and there were significantly more women there than in Mansehra. Conversations with some of the staff members have also illustrated Pakistan’s diversity. One girl said that before she worked for MIED she lived in the Northern Areas and was always scared when coming through Mansehra. But she also worked in Battagram, which is even more conservative than Mansehra – so much so that MIED and Care International (MIED’s funding agency for this project) have now withdrawn all female staff. There was a bomb that targeted Care in Battagram fairly recently.

One of the benefits of being in a more liberal area of the Punjab is that we were able to go into the field. I had such a good time – I am so fortunate to be here! We visited two schools in rural Punjab – it took about an hour to get there along roads that at some points were little more than dirt tracks. It was great to be able to catch glimpses of rural life along the sides of the roads – there were many donkeys and even camels. The first school that we visited had 80 pupils, but only one teacher as the other one was ill. But the children were great. Apparently, when MIED started work there 2 years ago the children were so shy and unconfident that they hid when the team visited. Now, I saw the girls stand up and read and sing poetry with such confidence. I also was able to play some games with them, and had to be a fish and cook chicken among other things. As in Calcutta, I was humbled by the generosity of people who have so little – one girl gave me some beautiful bangles from her and her mother. Some other children made me a hanger for an artificial red rose. We also visited another school where MIED had built a toilet block, introduced running water, and mobilised the community so that they built their own boundary wall.

I have now got internet at home, so will be able to email etc more easily! People at MIED installed a new operating system on my computer, which unfortunately completely removed windows vista and my documents/ music / photos. I did back most of them up, so hope they will still work :) But it was worth it as we now have unlimited internet access.

2007-11-19T03:39:00.000-08:00

I forgot to say in my last blog a very embarrasing experience I had to undergo on my first day at MIED. They had arranged morning tea with cakes for us, which was lovely. But there were about 30 people standing around staring at me, and I had to do the usual introduction thing, which was fine. But then Corry (the other VSO with me) and I had to each cut a cake holding hands with a member of staff, like a wedding cake! But what was even worse was that after that the staff member fed me some cake! I was really not expecting it, so ended up with cream all around my mouth and hundreds (maybe that is a little exageration) of people staring at me. And they took photos.

Random things I have noticed about Pakistan:
- people have salt in tea (I haven't tried it yet)
- there is tinsel on graves
- a cock does not crow only at dawn, but at regular intervals from 3.30 am to mid morning and possibly later (though this may not be specific to Pakistan)
- we can buy baked beans, nutella and cupasoup from the local shop!!
- education is considered very important - when we visited the neighbours we had to give a precise account of all the years we have spent in education before we gave our names!!
- people are incredibly generous - the neighbours went to an awful lot of trouble preparing tea for us, and then they didn't really eat anything and we had to eat loads! Twas v nice food

Regarding security, I feel safe in Mansehra, though we have not ventured out of the township by ourselves yet. The township is the area where all the NGOs are based. But MIED field staff were not able to go into the field last week or this week because of militant activity in the area north of Mansehra. I was wondering how on earth MIED finds out when militants are active, but they get updates from the local police. It does seem clear that militant activity is spreading through the North West Frontier Province - first in Waziristan, then Swat, then Battagram and Besham, which are just north of Mansehra. Also, they have withdrawn the VSO volunteers from Peshawar.

I have been having a lot of meetings with staff at MIED, which has been very interesting and I have a lot better idea of how they work and what their aims are. They have three main programmes - a School Improvement Prgramme (SIP), Early Childhood Care and Development Centres (ECCD), and a Child Rights Programme (CRP). SIP works in government schools improving the teaching, training teachers, encouraging student participation and improving the curriculum. There are many problems in government schools in this area - teachers do not turn up to work, children learn by rote, lack of schools for girls - the list goes on. MIED also provides ECCD centres for very young children - like a nursery school. They started this following the earthquake, and now run over a hundred in earthquake affected areas. The CRP takes as its basis the UN Convention of the Rights of the Child, and works in schools in Mansehra training teachers and students about the rights that children have - for example the right of education. It has been a real privilege talking and meeting with very inspirational people at MIED - we met a girl yesterday who has worked from a tent in Balakot since the earthquake. She also helped respond to the floods in Balochistan earlier this year. I have been incredibly impressed with the Director as well. I was expecting a Pakistani NGO to be fairly hierarchical, but his office is open to all members of the organisation almost all time. The staff are all motivated and passionate about their work, and they work very hard. One guy, as well as working full time at MIED, runs a school with his family on the side!

I had a meeting with Abdul Jahan last week about my role, and feel happier about what is expected of me - mainly writing, proof reading and looking at the quality of the reports, which is great. They might also want me to do some TEFL!

I have finally found out my address, which is the office address:

Mountain Institute for Educational Development
226D Ghazikote Township
Mansehra
PAKISTAN

I think I might leave it at that for the moment. We are going to Chakwal in the Punjab tomorrow for a couple of days, so hopefully I will be able to visit some of the field work of MIED.

Thank you so much for all your emails - it is great hearing from you!

2007-11-14T06:26:00.000-08:00

Well, this is the first time I have had access to the internet in ages, so there is quite a lot to update you on! (It may be quite a long blog!). I left Islamabad on saturday morning - it was quite upsetting to say goodbye to all the other VSOs because we had got to know each other fairly well in such an intensive two weeks! Otherwise I was quite pleased to be leaving Islamabad - we drove past the Supreme Court etc again and it was not nice to be in such close proximity to so many guns and sandbags, although again all the soldiers seemed to be very relaxed. There are huge numbers of guns around - even primary schools have an armed guard, and when we went shopping the other day it was fairly horrible because there were guys with guns outside all the shops.

Anyway, the Director of MIED (Abdul Jahan) said that they would drive us to Mansehra the scenic route, through the Murree mountains, instead of the normal way, and i was very excited about that. But guess what happened when George meets steep narrow bendy roads - yep, I got sick. I had to sleep most of the way and was gutted to miss the beautiful scenery, but at least I managed not to throw up on the Director :) I felt better by the time we reached our house, which is great! it is huge and I have a lovely room. We have a TV and a fridge so aren't exactly slumming it. We also have a guard, which I have found very difficult getting used to. It is horrible to think that he is outside in the cold when we are tucked up warm in bed. But on the other hand he does have a job, and everyone seems to think it necessary (he doesn't have a gun, thank goodness). Everyone at MIED, in particular Abdul Jahan, have been incredibly welcoming and have bent over backwards to make sure that we have everything that we need. The electricity went off for about an hour on our first night, so he rang us up to ask whether we wanted to go out for dinner in the local hotel. Abdul Jahan even leant us his own laptop tonight so that we can access the internet!

On sunday we spent most of the morning unpacking and then were invited round to Abdul Jahan's house for lunch. he has five lovely children, and they took us up to the viewpoint so we could see all over Mansehra. His youngest child is four I think and beautiful - she was doing drawings for me, and is so cute as she was giving herself 11/10 and big ticks! I'll put some photos up in a bit. Anyway, we had a lovely lunch, Pakistani style sitting on the floor in the living room. later that day we went to the bazaar in central mansehra to do some shopping, which was completely crazy. Huge amounts of traffic, staring men, stalls and narrow alleyways with more shops.

I am so impressed with MIED. They work in the field of education, providing teacher training, resources, and other support for government schools in NWFP, areas of the Punjab and part of Kashmir. It was founded by Abdul Jahan in 2004, and has grown incredibly rapidly since then, as they now work in over 2000 schools I think. Many of the people, and especially the management team, are Ismaili Muslims from the Northern Areas. it has been very interesting finding out more about this, because it seems that Ismaili's are quite liberal - most of the women do not wear the headscarf (except in Mansehra which is very conservative and we all have to). The Northern Areas has a very good education system, partly because of the work of the Aga Khan foundation - many of the people at MIED used to work for this organisation, and have moved to the NWFP because the education system here is so much worse. Abdul Jahan was telling us about the Ismaili interpretation of Islam, and emphasising the focus on peace, tolerance and acceptance. I have really seen this even in the few days I have been here, because without exception all the people I have spoken to have been incredibly friendly, welcoming, compassionate and giving. Even if I achieve nothing in the job this year, I hope I will be able to challenge some of the perceptions about Islam in the west.

Yesterday I had a series of very interesting and a few disturbing conversations. The day started off by talking to guy who had spent a year living and working in a tent while responding to the earthquake. i also had a further conversation with Abdul Jahan and some others from another NGO who said that they slept for a whole month in their cars after the earthquake because it was not safe to enter their houses. There were over 2000 aftershocks in the six months following the earthquake. it is difficult for me to comprehend the trauma that people in this area must have been through - a guy was saying earlier that even when his chair wobbles it causes him consternation. And most of the people I am working with no doubt lost people in the disaster. Anyway, after that cheerful conversation the next was on the subject of domestic violence, which I found profoundly shocking. One of the other VSOs had told me that domestic violence is as high as 80% in some areas of Pakistan, which I found very difficult to believe, but then after this conversation, which I won't go into details, it may be easier to believe. After that I started talking to a girl who was wearing a full headscarf covering everything except her eyes. I found that very difficult as I couldn't see her expression at all, so a conversation was hard. But the most cheerful conversation (this time it was really cheerful!) was in the evening when Abdul Jahan introduced us to our neighbour, who is a good friend of his and works for Plan pakistan which is a major donor of MIED. They invited us round for dinner, because a further friend was going off for the pilgrimage to Mecca. The meal was fab, and I'll put a few photos up later. But it was quite surreal sitting down for a meal and talking to a group of Muslim men about Hajj.

There are all sorts of cultural things that it is difficult to adapt to. For example, when to cover my head and when not to. Also, at the meal yesterday I had put on a jumper, fleece and shawl because it was so freezing outside, but then they had a heater on in the house, and I was eating spicy food. But it is impossible to take off a jumper and a fleece while continuing to be covered in the shawl. So I melted.

Even though everyone has been incredibly friendly and welcoming at work, the first few days have been fairly stressful. it seems like I have to create a role for myself in the organisation, which is quite scary, and advise on the nature of their reporting systems. They are treating me like an expert, but I am not exaggeating when I say that a high proportion of people I have spoken to have said that they have 2 Masters. So anyone with expertise in report writing and monitoring and evaluation please email with advice!!!

I think that is enough for now :) Congrats for reaching the end

2007-11-09T07:18:00.000-08:00

Yesterday evening I met three people from the Mountain Institute for Educational Development for the first time (which is the organisation I am going to work for). I was a bit nervous before meeting them (to say the least), but they are incredibly lovely people. We had a dinner last night at the VSO Programme Office, in a marquee outside. It was so beautiful, it was like a wedding venue (there is a link to photos below).

Anyway, I met the CEO of MIED as well as someone from the administration team and a woman who will be my counterpart. Although having been told I'm sure no less than 10 times that men do not shake hands with women in Pakistan, what is the first thing I do when I meet one of the guys? Yep, stick out my hand. He looked a little surprised, but I don't think any lasting damage was done. The girl I am going to work with is LOVELY. Ghulzar, who works with VSO (who is also a star and has taken incredibly good care of us) told me that we look like each other, and she said that we should be sisters. She is the same age as me, and from Hunza in the northern areas, so she is pale with green eyes. She has been a teacher trainer, but now will be working on documentation and report writing with me. That is great cos it will make the whole process more sustainable. I have not laughed as hard last night in months - she was showing Corry and I how to do our scarves so only our eyes show, and was saying that we look like terrorists :) It seems like quite a few of the staff from MIED come from the northern areas (which, surprsingly enough are in the north of Pakistan and are very mountainous and beautiful). I couldn't believe that I was talking with a guy who is from Chitral and telling me about the annual polo match with Gilgit. A couple of years ago I was watching Michael Palin on the TV at the polo match. MIED also work in the northern areas, so hopefully I'll get to visit - they have a project very close to the fairy meadows, which are at the foot of Nanga Parbat, one of the 10 largest mountains in the world. The CEO is also really welcoming and lovely.

I've been a bit up and down about security these last few days. In Islamabad I feel safe when walking around, but then you hear the news..... Some good news is that MIED have withdrawn from Battagram recently because of the bomb there (I think their programme was finishing there anyway). Also, the CEO said that if necessary we could move to Abbottabad, and maybe if the security situation declined in Mansehra the office would also move there. In some ways that is good because there is a fall-back position, but at the same time it wasn't great to hear that things could get worse (though there haven't been any security incidents in Mansehra for the past six months).

Anyway, after boring you with my security concerns I'll just say a bit about Islamabad, because it is a very interesting city, and I am sure you all want to read about it :) It was planned in the 1960s, and has different sectors, excitingly called E, F, G, H and I. These sectors are all subdivinded into numbers from 1 - about 12. So, a park in F-7 is called F-7 park. But, the letters aren't so called because they are nicely alphabetical. No - they all stand for something - E is for the elite area, F for foreigner, G for government, and I for industry (I can't remember what H stands for). Apparently Islamabad does have slums, but I don't think that there is an S area. I can't get over the fact that they specifically planned an elite area - talk about segregation and homogenisation. But I do like Islamabad. Compared with the taxi drivers in Calcutta, they speak really good English, and a few of them have actually known where they are going (but not all, it has to be said).

More photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=28852&l=f7f4e&id=579695659

Thanks so much everyone for your messages. All going well, I'll post next from Mansehra!

2007-11-07T06:11:00.000-08:00

Apart from a few areas where we are advised not to go, the state of emergency has not really affected us that much. Yesterday was a really fantastic day. We had a trip out to visit an education project, to give us more of an idea of the education work of NGOs in Pakistan. We started out by driving to the head office of a major NGO called the National Rural Support Programme. It is one of the largest NGOs in Pakistan, and supports rural communities all over the country to bring about changes that they would like - for example primary health care, micro credit programmes, primary schools, improved farming methods etc.

Our drive to the head office included driving past the Supreme Court, and although there were quite a few men with guns, they seemed very relaxed and were lounging about. So after we visited the head office we went to field office in Islamabad Capital Territory, which is the rural area around Islamabad. We had another briefing session there, and then drove to a rural primary schoool. The drive was fantastic - properly rural Pakistan with very bumpy roads, cows an other animals by the side of the road, and many fields. The primary school we visited was excellent - it was a lot bigger than I thought it would be, with 80 pupils and separate class rooms for each class. After we said hi to the kids the whole village education committee was waiting to meet with us. This was a group of men from the village who take decisions regarding the running of the school. All the female teachers came in to talk to us as well. It kind of impressed on me how important Urdu is as nearly all the conversation was in Urdu. It also illustrated power dynamics, as the people from the NGO and us did most of the speaking, and the female teachers did not say anything. But I found out that the teachers are trained by a Tearfund partner - how cool is that!

I am meeting the Executive Director of the organisation I am working for tomorrow evening, and then we have a day with him on fri, and I go to Mansehra on sat. Tomorrow we have an Urdu test. Great. (But I don't think we get sent home if we fail :)

You can see some of the photos I've uploaded here:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=28603&l=01651&id=579695659

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=28709&l=5b54e&id=579695659

2007-11-04T06:07:00.000-08:00

Well, you don't really expect that when having a short snooze listening to radio 4 on the internet after a hard days sightseeing to suddenly hear that you are living under martial law and in a state of emergency. Not a pleasant thing to wake up to. Especially given that earlier that day we were driving around the area with the Supreme Court and PM's house (and the Red Mosque, which is actually white and rather small).

But if I didn't have any access to the news, I wouldn't really know that anything was going on. Last night we were told to stay in (technically known as hibernating), so what do girls do when living under martial law? - watch Becoming Jane on DVD. It was pretty good. We also tried watching Musharraf's speech on TV but given that it was in Urdu (with a few random but fairly important English words scattered in it like democracy, Supreme Court etc) we had a rather limited understanding. There are no TV stations operating now apart from state run ones (and National Geographic ?! last night) but we have been able to get news from the internet. Although the BBC have said that mobile phone networks are down, ours are all working fine.

Today, we have been at the VSO Programme Office learning to cook Pakistani style. The end result was fantastic (and not very spicy so I didn't have to resort to yoghurt). But the day started by having to go down to the market to buy the vegetables.... A slightly embarrasing experience given that I forgot all my Urdu, tried saying please in Spanish and then tried paying a guy in dollars. Oooops. It was all a little too much for my poor brain, which doesn't bode well for the following weeks when I'm going to have to go by myself. Also, the seller person seemed a little overwhelmed having 6 western women coming up to his stall trying to practice their Urdu, and getting him to respond was like pulling teeth. But we did manage to buy the vegetables in the end.

At the moment the streets seem calm, and our guest house is miles away from any government buildings. We are keeping a low profile and basically waiting to see what happens. Think we might watch a few more chick flicks tonight.

2007-11-02T09:44:00.000-07:00

I have been in Islamabad just under a week now, but it seems like an age it has been so fun-filled and action-packed :) We've had Urdu training every day for 2 hours - bahut dilcasp (impressive huh!). Actually, it has been really good, and I have been constantly surprised at how similar some Urdu words are to European languages - kameez is shirt (like in French) and mez is table (like in Spanish I think!). Anyway, we have also been taken shopping (where I had to buy at least one more shalwar kameez as they are so beautiful (even though I bought about 5 with me). My excuse was that I need at least one with long sleeves. The place we went shopping was a lot more like I expected Islamabad to be - a proper bazaar. Some of the others walked past a shop selling goats heads and brain, but I was spared that pleasure (thank goodness).

In addition, we have had a session with 3 CEO's of various NGOs in Islamabad, who talked about the political situation, which was really interesting, given all that is happening at the moment. I won't give you an in depth political analysis here - you can always email me....

I also have learnt a lot more about the NGO I am going to and the job I am going to do - it sounds excellent. Hopefully I will get to travel round the different projects and interview people who have benefitted and then write it up, as well as help evaluate how successful their projects have been. Aso, the accomodation sounds fab - I am sharing with another volunteer, and we have 2 lounges (!) and a terrace. Apparently it is in the rich area of town, with all the other expats, which will be good security wise I think.

Another important matter to mention is the food. I thought before I came I wasn't too fussy, but after a mere 3 days of rice, chappati and daal for lunch and dinner I had had enough, especially as my mouth seems to be particularly delicate, so I have to drown it all in yoghurt to dull the pain (!). Oh the joy when we had pizza one lunch. Given that I have hardly survived 5 days with this diet, it doesn't bode well for the next 360.... Though most of the volunteers who have been here a while have said tht they have actually put on weight!

I was also able to go to a Catholic church today, which is really good. It was a bit of an odd experience though as it was mainly a Phillippino community and we had some really good Phillippino food after the service! But it was good to go to a place where I could feel at peace.

I am going to be in Islamabad for another week of training, and then off to Mansehra next saturday...

Anyway, i think that is all for now. Thank you so much for your messages and emails xx

2007-10-30T04:09:00.000-07:00

Well, I am finally in Islamabad (and managed to get to an internet cafe!). Things are going well, and I feel sorry for all you guys stuck in rainy England as the weather has been clear blue skies but not too hot (typical British to talk about the weather first). The flight out was OK - thanks to all you guys who had a word with the man upstairs as I wasn't afraid at the airport at all (though a tad upset, but that was inevitable). Unfortunately I got a little airsick (well actually it was horrible) and the advice my wonderful brother gave me before I left (not turning up with vomit down my front) was quite apt, as I was feeling terrible when I finally met the person I am going to be working with for the next year.... (But now we are getting on well)

Anyway, there are about 12 VSO people who are all in Islamabad for the 2 week in country training - a few form the UK but some from Canada, the Netherlands and the the Phillippines as well. The training has been excellent so far, and the VSO porgramme office really helpful and has made the transition easy and exciting. We've had a session about security, which was reassuring, and we have also started having Urdu lessons, which have been really fantastic - I've really wowed the team with my knowledge of saying mera naam Georgina hai. The guest house we are staying in is great, and it is easy to forget that I am in the developing world at some points - it is really luxurious compared with the dingy dirty place I stayed in last year in Calcutta. Islamabad is an odd city, though I don't think we are in the centre, but there are loads of wide fast roads, a lot of green space, and many building sites - not like a typical Asian city at all. Things don't happen on the street like they did in Calcutta - I think Rawalpindi might be more like that.

Anyway, that is all for now, but thanks so much to people who have emailed!