A bundle of anecdotes

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.

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

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

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

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!!

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

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

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

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.....

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….

‘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

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

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...

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.