Catching up...

The following posts are 'catch-up' entries from the past two weeks...

Blog post 1/23/06: Inshallah….

Which means: “God willing…”

“Inshallah in a few minutes we will be landing at Lahore International Airport…” announced the flight attendant on Pakistan International Airways so non-chalantly. ‘Inshallah?’ I asked my neighbor… ‘This is a Boeing 737! There’s no ‘God-willing’ about it, this bird will land!” I demanded… Of course I knew Inshallah was a common part of speech in Muslim countries, but perhaps it was just the beginning of many cultural clashes to come, perhaps many more than in India…
Well, Allah got us down to the ground alright, albeit with a bit of a jolt and bounce routine before we docked at the jetway, and the airport sparkled with that freshly built airport look and smell, making Delhi’s International airport look like a crumbling warehouse well beyond it's prime... and yes, most men here were wearing traditional dress, Shalvar Kamiz, the long pajama top with loose leggings and vest topped off with a woolen vest or jacket, with optional Pashtun-style flat wool cap, or the more decorative Sindhi skull cap. With my slacks and western sportcoat, as formal as i get dressed, I easily stood out as a foreigner, despite my growing beard.
With luggage retrieved and a minimum of security on the way out of the baggage claim(quite surprising considering the unending series of luggage checks, ticket checks, passport checks and patdowns we had to undergo at the Delhi airport) we soon met our Fulbright Pakistan partners and Pakistani SATTP teachers who kindly gave us each a rose, and we were soon shepherded into our awaiting transport. Our Indian teachers were loaded onto a 'Coaster' bus, while Judy, Pat and I were loaded into a small van that would take us to the Pearl Continental HOtel, chosen because it met State Dept.'s standards of security provision. As we drove out of the new airport, onto reasonably well paved and clean streets towards Lahore, through rather posh Cantonments (military housing) with neat and tidy shopping strip malls near the intersections, I still couldn't tell I was Pakistan, aside from the Urdu script adorning the signs. A few km's later we pull into the swanky Pearl Continental and walk into an extravagant atrium lobby (after walking through security screening at the front door) complete with Thai restaurant, upscale shopping mall, gigantic tropical fish tank, palm trees and glass elevators soaring up to the 8th floor, or Executive floor, and as it happened, our floor. Still not sure I was actually in Pakistan, the bellboy pushed open the door to my suite, inserted my card key into the wall mounted key slot, which engaged the power in my room, mood lights flash on, extravagently decorated queen sized bed walkin closet full shower jacuzzi bath bidet marble tiled oak desk hewlett packard flat screen monitor computer internet enabled 26" screen television satellite channels complimentary mini-bar and what song should start pumping out of the stereo as I stroll into this nest of homogenous global executive travel luxury? Why, the Bee Gees hit "More than a Woman!!??" Stunned by this orgy of homogenous global executive travel luxury with a twist of disco, I sat down and turned on the tv, and what is the first channel to pop up on the tv in my first hour in Pakistan? Fox News: George Bush: "Town Hall" Speech at Kansas State University. Where am I? Chicago? Houston? Can't be Lahore, Pakistan... Several free bags of nuts and mango sodas later, I just gave in and savored the luxury, hell, it was paid for! oops, dinner at the Thai restaurant in five minutes...

Oh, a quick bit on the Bush speech and his so-called "Question and Answer" session: Complete Horseshit. Before Q&A began, I was hopeful that it might actual be a real q and a session, with some reasonably critical questions to keep bush on his toes. Hell, here we are with our Teacher Training Project, encouraging critical thinking and questioning of authority in countries where it's not only against tradition, but can be downright life-threatening to do so, yet in one of the free-est societies on earth the GOP/Fox News/Christian Right Corporation has turned our population into a brain-dead flock of sycophantic sheep. And after all, Bush is essentially a lame duck president, he can coast the last few years (just like he's coasted through the first five) and not care about popularity polls, so why not allow a modicum of critical thinking at his public addresses. Not a chance. from the outset the questioners spent their first five minutes gushing about Bush's wonderful policies protecting americans, vomiting up their undying love for him and testifying to his almighty greatness on par with Christ, and then lobbing big fat mushy softball questions for Bush to belt out of his little league park. These willing executioners came up with (or where planted with) such hard-driving questions like how to protect the American Beef industry, how to get support for his failed social security privatization scheme, how it should be every American's patriotic duty to wire-tap themselves and snitch on their neighbors, etc., etc., etfreakingcetera. I was shocked, I was pissed, I was just utterly befuddled as to how dumb and robotic so many Americans have become under this administration. Don't these lobotomized republican patsies realize how much hatred of America Bush has stirred up around the world. It has reached historic levels. Bush has single-handedly made us more unpopular in the world than at any time in our history. Never before have so many people hated us. Well done, well done. That takes a lot of effort, thanks for all your sweat and toil on our behalf George. Maybe it took leaving America to realize how Orwellian our country has become. Inauguration Day in January 2009 cannot come any faster. Allah help us.

1/24/06 – fear and loathing in Lahore…
woke up, got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head…walked to the window and pulled back the curtains to reveal… yes, I’m in Pakistan…. Haze, palm trees, minarets in the distance, the wailing calls to prayer floating on the polluted morning breezes blowing along the old Mall Road...

As I stride toward the front door of our grand hotel, slightly nervous to tarry forth into the land of purity (the literal translation of Paki-stan), anti-american demonstrations and Osama bin Laden, the absurdly tall uniformed guard at the door sees my half-eaten apple in hand and tells me if I eat apples and drink milk I'll grow big and strong. Taken aback by his levity, i barely was able to squeak out a lame repsonse: "Is that your secret big guy?" He chuckled, and so I felt a bit buoyed as i left the warm embrace of the machine gun toting armed guards and metal detectors and undercarriage mirrors and stood on the edge, the edge of the sidewalk along the famous Mall Road, ready to bound across the median-interrupted four lanes of traffic to the grounds of the Government Staff College where our Workshops were being held. Two things halted my progress at the edge of the Mall Road. the Lahori air rivaled, nay, surpassed the foul-ness of the dusty dirty Delhi air. I couldn't believe it, but it was true. It was 9am and the smog was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the smell was a tasty bouquet of burnt garbage, pure diesel, and burning garbage. Maybe it was a bad day, or bad week. Whatever, my lungs were tempered by my week in Delhi, let's just cross the bloody road, ok? Wait, is it possible Lahore traffic is even more reckless than Delhi traffic? crazed auto rickshaw drivers, crazed bus drivers, crazed truck drivers, crazed cyclists, crazed car drivers, all driven mad by rush hour and the mad scramble to claim any open piece of road, lane markers be damned! lanes? there are no lanes in South Asia. Lane markers are a complete waste of paint. It's just a game of poll position and bumper cars and honk your horn ad nauseum. It is a miracle there aren't any more cases of road rage here. I guess that comes from years of living in a society where things have barely worked for years (though they seem to work more nowadays, recently publicized cases of road rage in Delhi point to how people are getting used to things working). I mean to say, low standards. Americans have such high standards for process, order, positive outcomes. when things don't go right, when they go awry, when you get cut off, indignant rage boils to the surface of the average american. Here, it's just life, keep driving, keep claiming your own piece of road or you'll be driven off. and honk a lot.

anyway, enough. bas. our morning meeting with our teachers and the USEFP staff soon degenerated into a mad scramble fest to compile and submit presentation handouts to go to the printer in time. USEFP had to relocate their operations from Islamabad to a small office at the staff college in Lahore, so a bit of dissarray was expected, but it really became a scramblefest to get ready today, especially with the entire afternoon planned for sight-seeing. With our last minute changes submitted, we quickly jumped on the buses (a no-no we later found out from the USEFP director, considering the 'security situation," all govt. sponsored American staff were to ride in the USEFP private car, not on the tour bus with the rest of the teachers.) and our bus crawled through the crowded streets of old Lahore, much like the overcrowded bustling streets of Chandni Chowk in Old Delhi, chaos reigned and traffic crept. Finally we pulled into a cramped parking lot and we exited the bus and walked toward a side street. With my shades on and my german accent ready, I was felt sufficiently on edge to detect any danger, any 'security' compromised street scene. I soon relaxed when we entered a cavernous entrance to a building guarded by an AK-47-bearing security guard. A calm prevailed as we entered into a peaceful oasis from the chaos of the city, a former Havaili, or arsenal, used by the British and turned into a home for the former governor of Balochistan and the grandfather of our USEFP director, Shelale. A marvelous courtyard soon revealed itself, centered around a fountain and several sets of broad and flat cushioned benches. Through the archway to the right was a smaller courtyard and a lavishly decorated parlor, replete with antique rifles and swords, bronze urns, chests, wall hangings, a veritable post-Mughal paradise for the British-Raj era Lahori privelaged class, tastefully maintained in all it's glory.

I posed with my Pashtun teacher friend Itbar, both of us mugging with ancient guns like a pair of wild west bandits, While on the walls were photos of Shelale's grandfather in his prime standing with Pakistani dignitaries, including the national poet hero Iqbal, and the future Quaid-e-Azam (father of the Pakistan nation) Jinnah. then i found the secret staircase to the rooftop.. aha, now that's a view, more rooftops as far as the eye could see, laundry lines, honks galore emanating from the streets outside, the red minarets of the majestic Bhadshahi Mosque rise in the hazy distance. Mr. Sharma and Aziz and I take a few fun photos and they head down as I savor the view, reminding me of my epic walk along the outer walls of Old Jerusalem. Now this is an ancient city, it just reeks of history, of waves of conquerers and empires risen and fallen, of spiced meats cooking on streetside grill for centuries in the same way... speaking of meats, a delicious feast prepared for our group down in the dining room, dusty, crudely taxidermied trophy deer heads perched along the walls gazed upon our majestic feast of dhals and chicken and mutton dishes... piping hot naan, yogurt sauces, mint chutney, a feast for the ages... then too soon we had to shuffle back into the shadowy streets, past staring eyes of questionable intent, and quickly back aboard the bus. damn these state dept. guys make you paranoid.

our bus dives back into the traffic madness of lahore, past the Minar-e-Pakistan, the tower commemorating the spot where the Pakistan Resolution was signed, marking the birth of the partition. soon we weaved through a narrow gate and into a grand square surrounded by high fort gate on one side, the the grand Bhadshahi Mosque on the other, and another grand Sikh Gurudwara (temple) at the other side. We were now at the last nexus of the fallen Mughal empire. Our first stop, a tour of tomb of the Pakistani national hero, the poet Iqbal.. i was heartened to see many pious Muslims praying at the tomb of this great poet. How many Americans pray at Robert Frost's grave I wonder?
soon we are beset by beggars of a most aggressive kind.. "Hut, Hut..." (go away) our guides exhort to these poor souls... I had somehow come to assume there would be no beggars in a Muslim society, that their generous Zakats (alms) must care for all, but in a poor country like Pakistan I guess no amount of charity can care for all... Hell, rich america can scarcely care for all of our indigent fellow citizens...
now a few steps along the main square and up the steps to the imposing entry of the mosque. then, my paranoia, which had started to subside after nearly a full day in Pakistan without bodily threat or harm, coagulated into throbbing ball in my chest as I tried to remove my shoes at the Mosque entrance. ‘are you british?’ i heard the menacing voice of man sitting behind me. my immediate reflex was to turn toward him to check him out and before I could say, "no, I'm american," my internal security guard pulled on the brakes and i merely muttered a "no." Shit, why did he ask that? was he really checking to see if i was a brit, or was he trying to see if i'm american? then out of the corner of my eye I saw him pull a small microphone up to his mouth and say "Check," followed by a few words in Urdu. oh god, i thought, is he al qaeda operative giving the green light for a suicide attack? is he an ISI agent keeping tabs on my every move? chest throbbing, my friend Mr. Sharma pulls me aside and whispers: ‘beau, you see I think it’s best you don’t reveal your identity... just don't say anything..." oh god, i thought, this is it. i'm about to become a scrolling headline on CNN/alJazeera/FoxNews. I saw the mosque as a sanctuary and made a b-line for the inner courtyard.... fear and loathing in the masjid… ok, just listen to the tour guide, get absorbed in the historical facts, forget about it, they won't hit us in the mosque, it's unthinkable... then i did. the grandeur, the calm, the overwhelming sense of peace and humility assuage my fear and loathing, temporarily anyway... capacity for 75,000 faithful muslims praying at once, my god that must be a sight on Eid al Fitr. we walked into the main atrium under the dome, where the ingenious Mughal architects built everything with aesthetics and acoustics in mind. in fact, if you stood in one corner facing the wall and whispered, someone on the exact opposite corner could hear you loud and clear... ha! prehistoric cell phones!! now everyone with camera phones were taking snaps of us enjoying this stunt... a calming stroll about the mosque soon gave way to the fear again. would they be waiting for us? waiting to walk up and pull the pin? i gingerly step through the main gate, pretending to look about in reverence and awe at the filigreed marble work and intricate paintings on the walls of the gate. suddenly a man grabs my arm and I jump around in terror..."Sir, sir" he states as he points at my pocket... my wallet was sticking out and his kind soul was warning me to take care of it... phew... my pulse slows down a bit...

now on to the Lahore fort, a massive complex where Shah Jahan ruled the Mughal roost, coasting into the massive gateway on the back of an elephant, all the way up to the remnants of the royal court where the once awe-inspiring Sheesh Mahel (house of mirrors) stands, now covered by scaffolding as a UNESCO funded restoration project works to restore it's grandeur. Built by Shah Jahan to appease his high maintenance wife and love of his life, Mumtaz. I want to walk on clouds, she proclaimed, so Shah jahan installed a marvelous floor of marble of the striated variety that looks as if one is really walking on clouds... "I want you to reach up into the heavens and bring me a star!" she demanded, and lovelorn Shah Jahan built the Sheesh Mahel, so that when candles were lit in the right places, the reflections in the mirrors gave one the feeling they could reach any star in the room... and also spotted was the site of the royal throne, where the once mighty Koh-i-noor diamond sat entrenched above the Mughal emperor's head, and kindly 'borrowed' by the British emperors 127 years ago, and now it sits cozily in Queen Elizabeth's crown... will it ever be returned to it's home? many south asian politicians claim they will bring it home from the UK, but it may have to be over the Queen's dead body.. our day of paranoia and history concluded around a beautiful banyan tree in the middle of the fort, once lovingly encircled endlessly by the long gone buddhist pilgrims of the region. ahh, just what i needed after my first day in Pakistan... meditation under a Bodhi tree....

off to dinner that night with our group of teachers to a traditional restaurant called the 'Village', but before our bus could leave the grounds of the Staff College, Judy, Pat and I were pulled off the bus by our Fulbright Pakistan Director and told we are not to ride in private cars, buses or taxis as it violates State Dept. security directives... instead we were loaded into the Fulbright-owned SUV and taken to the restaurant with the Fulbright driver. hmmm, what's a more likely target, an SUV loaded with white people, or a big bus loaded with south asian teachers and a few white people sprinkled amongst the crowd? this whole security thing is a bit illogical...

Because of our group arriving so late, some of us were diverted to another restaurant with a massive buffet of Pakistani delights, all kinds of sheesh kabob and karahi meats, a smorgasbord of meats. if India is the vegetarians paradise, then pakistan must be the meat-lovers paradise... the best part was watching the naan bakers roll and flatten the dough, then they reached it inside a giant urn shaped earthen oven heated by a fire underneath and they slapped the doughy naan against the inside of the urn and let it stick on the sides until it came out steamy and toasted, naan perfection.. during dinner i finally got to know nisar ahmed, sher daraz khan and inayat ali khan, from Swat and the Khyber Pass area in the Northwest Frontier Province near afghanistan, they were three of the 'fallen angels' as they described themselves, teachers from pakistan who were selected to join us in washington, but were denied visas for various reasons, usually due to their status as single males and/or having relatives in the u.s., thus posing as a flight risk... This was a shame because I found these guys very smart and passionate, highly educated and very serious about the importance of teaching english in that restive part of Pakistan. Inayat expounded on TS Elliot and hemingway, impressing me with his ability to quote whole poems and passages of american poets and authors. nisar shared the joys of Kashmiri chai, or Pink tea, a very coveted and expenisive style of tea, infused with dried fruits and some spices, very tasty. But just as our conversations peaked and our comraderie gained momentum at the dinner table, our special driver arrived and we had to leave the group standing in the parking lot while our ‘car’ picked up us endangered Americans...

back in my executive suite... withdrew the curtains while Crescent moon hangs low in the night sky, palm trees sway below... now I feel like I’m finally at home in Pakistan…