Asia-Pacific

Pakistan Impression

By Ai Yang (chinadaily.com.cn)
Updated: 2010-07-30 12:39

"It is an enlightened religion. I'm a Muslim but you'll not find anything odd about me. Islam is not a religion that will take you to a mode which makes others find communication difficult."

---Ghulam Hazoor Bajwa, Director General of External Publicity, Pakistan

Arrival

After lengthy hours cued up in the PIA flight, we finally touched down in Islamabad. It was well after midnight when we entered the Benazir Bhutto International Airport, and queued up in front of the custom.

I saw other curious foreign travelers, just like us, obviously landing in the Middle East country for the first time, they were marking this historical moment by taking photos of everything that seemed Pakistani to them – the airport entrance, the female staff with head scarves, and even the clock and their air tickets.

The custom officer stamping passports for my queue was a young gum-chewing Pakistani bloke, who in my friendly view was in need of a shave. He beckoned me forward as there were still a couple of passengers ahead of me.

As I stepped across the line the two strangers in front had a clear apprehensive look on their faces, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong to stop them from entering the country.

"Do you have a pen?" The officer asked me, still chewing his gum.

I handed him my green ball-pen, carefully picked from a dozen of dried-up ones left at home, putting all confidence in this one's workability, hoping that it would bring me lots of wonderful stories from Pakistan.

Casually, the scarcely-bearded chap drew out a piece of used paper, and started writing on the back with my career-depended-on pen. After half a minute, he handed me the paper with a series of numbers and the name "Azam" written on it, and looked up at me. "My number", he said.

So my very first Pakistan impression was marked by something in my head not at all Pakistani – what a bold move to chat someone up! His outright frankness completely drove my tiredness away and I couldn't help beaming. I was however, more amused than flattered.

And I never called him.

Checking in

To cut things short, we didn't get picked up as arranged until after hours of anxious waiting outside the airport, where our distinct foreignness among the locals nearby made us growingly uncomfortable as the night rolled in deeper, and what I knew about this country – pretty much all from the news and you know what that is all about – didn't help ease the worry either (but that feeling soon faded in the following days).

By the time we checked in to the guesthouse, the excitement had well worn off and fatigue crept in. Being "honorable guests" from China, we were of course more than well received by our host. I found the size of my room to be literally, half of a tennis court, if you count the bathroom in that was.

Happily settled down, I decided to first of all take good advantage of the generous bathroom and wash my tiredness away. However, while I was in the middle of enjoying the shower, all shampooed and relaxed, the light went off. I had foam in my hair and water in my eyes, but worse still, I had fear in my head. Here I was in a strange country, standing naked in a more than spacious bathroom with nothing but darkness around, not knowing what at all had happened outside! Quickly I wrapped myself up and felt my way out to the bedroom, and still dripping, I was just about to turn the knob when light resumed. Soon I was assured that it was just a power cut.

Yes, I might have been a bit overly alerted, but there was indeed a second when I feared that it was more than just an electricity problem. But in the following days I soon learnt that actually the country was facing severe energy shortage, with power cuts happening on a daily basis so frequent that people barely blink when lights go off. In fact some public utilities and hotels even have their own generator prepared for moments like this.

Local

Most people we met in Pakistan–Islamabad, Murree,Lahore and Karachi– were friendly. And the women were certainly more open than I had imagined. However, at first my ignorance about the country and its religion had painted a somewhat dull picture in my head, assuming there was more solemnity than liveliness in people's daily life.

I was wrong. The women we saw were beautiful. Their salwar kameez were bright and fashionable, and I often found myself turning my head as girls in groups strolled pass, and admiring at the cheerful colors and dazzling patterns of their clothes. And the curiosity was mutual.

I remember once at a bus station on the way from Islamabad to Lahore, we stopped for the toilet. On my way out I was halted by a grandma, who had begun eyeing me since I entered the bathroom. She placed a hand in front of me with her palm up, smiling. I assumed she was asking for the toilet fare but didn't know how to tell her I forgot my purse as obviously I don't speak any Urdu nor does her English. But then as I was still hesitating, she grabbed my hand and shook it. So she was asking for my hand. The pleasant surprise warmed me up some more despite the already steaming hot weather. As I now recall, most handshakes with the locals, both men and women, young and old, were strong and firm. I could feel their sincerity and confidence when they reached out to me.

But of course, there were also the very, even, ridiculously rich, that we had come across along the way. Their richness radiated through their expensive clothes, branded accessories, well-educated manner, and overall, through their more or less arrogant looks at the not-as-fortunate others, including us. Honestly, I found that a bit intimidating.

Danger

In part of our journeys, we had police cars ahead clearing the way with sirens on, and sun-glassed security guards with "No Fear" printed on the back of their black T-shirts, holding AK-47 around us.

But we never got even close to any hazardous zone. The nearest we ever drove pass was where we saw a road sign showing dozens of miles to Peshawar. Safely packed in our minivan, we saluted at that direction in awe as we were driven further away from it. On the same night, while we were dining in the Marriott hotel in Islamabad with elites from the top-class society, we were informed that a string of suicide bomb blasts, barrages of grenades and automatic gunfire in Peshawar near the US consulate had killed five people on that very day.

Later however, I met someone who narrowly survived that deadly danger. "I was walking pass the American consulate to see my mother in the hospital, and when I arrived, through the window, I saw smoke near the consulate. I was there just half an hour ago."

Waqar Shah, the PIA attendant from Peshawar told me his experience on my flight home to Beijing, where I no longer would be protected by bodyguards. He could have been killed by now had he chosen to visit her mother a little sooner.

"I was very lucky." The 30-year-old told me.

"Yes you were indeed, but Peshawar is so dangerous, aren't you scared of living there?" Amazed, I asked him.

"Not at all." Waqar reassured me with confidence, looking into my eyes with seriousness, he said, "I'm a Muslim, and I believe that if Allah chooses to let you die, you cannot escape. But if he chooses to let you live, there is nothing, nothing," he stressed the word a second time, "that can hurt you."

Strictly speaking I'm not religious, but I was nevertheless, touched by his faith.

Future

Seven day may be a long time to tour a country as a visitor, but definitely a short time to really look in depth and understand with impartiality. But one thing I have accurately learnt is that we are after all, not so different.

Besides, there is more beyond what you see on the television – and that goes with everywhere in this world. While I've watched so many of those bloody scenes in the news, both before and after my trip to Pakistan, I was lucky to not have personally got caught in any of them during my time there.

Again, the closest I have ever experienced in that country, was the aftermath of terrorism – the Islamabad Marriott Hotel. As we abandoned our car blocks away from the grand landmark, and walked through the more than heavily guarded security checkpoints at the gates, entering to a world of the privileged and the prestigious, I just still couldn't imagine how, about 18 months ago, perhaps on a similarly serene evening like this one, the splendid place was reduced to flames and rubble, where over 50 people lost their lives in an instant, and 266 more got injured. Outside, the explosions shattered the ground and left a swimming pool sized crater.

But faster than a substantial scar heals, Marriott reopened after three months. Of course, less than two years on, the number of guests they receive nowadays is significantly smaller.

It certainly takes times to rebuild people's confidence in something that was once severely undermined, nevertheless, it will still happen. I was glad that I had the opportunity to be there, and to see and feel the changes for myself.