Kalash summer and autumn, school project

15 august - 26 sept 05

Ishpata

My heart is beating fast every time that I start my email with this word, I sit in front of my laptop, smiling all over – it means I am back home again, at home in the Kalash Valleys with Sher Alam, Rabichan, Irfan, Taj and last but not least little charming Masran.

The first week we spend in Mamuret (it is called like this by locals, but some city people drew maps changing the name to Bumburet or however they spell it), we means Sher Alam, the teacher; Joseph a guy from New Zealand who also wants to teach English voluntarily – and me. Sher Alam's wife Daktar Gul proudly presents a brand new Piran for me – the traditional dress, handmade, a shushut as headdress (see the pictures) made of kauri shells, buttons, colourful plastic beads and many other things. She helps me to get dressed, shows me everything step by step. From tomorrow on I will have to wrap myself. That’s gonna be interesting. Sleepy as I am every morning I will create a big chaos with all the pleats. But there are always helping hands around. First they will laugh at me with great pleasure and then correct my dress. Finally I take the necklaces – at least 2 kilos of beads and the traditional 5 braids. After an hour I am completely changed to Kalash.
I give her some beads which I brought from Lahore as there is little variety here and every new kind of bead is something very special. She seems to be happy.
We stay for Utchao, the summer festival. Early in the morning people climb up to the pastures and get fresh cheese. I decided to stay in my bed, waiting until the cheese was down in the valley.
For the first time I see the 3rd valley Rukmu. Nice, but I don’t feel this “being home” like in Biriu.
After the festival elections for Naseem and General Counsellor were held in all the 3 valleys. Irfan, the owner of the guesthouse in Biriu and father of my dear Masran also contested, but lost. For a special reason: in Biriu the voting was stopped before the time. Why? Because the election officer was angry. Why? Because the village people beated him. Why? Because the caught him red handed touching their wives. Why? Because he is civil servant and not Kalash which gives him the idea of being superior.
Irfan filed a court case and tries to arrange re-elections. Let’s see. It’s hard to fight against government and it’s servants.
Initially we wanted to leave for Biriu after elections, but the very night a man from Anish died. The message was spread traditionally with gunshots. The customs say, that in the first night all people from the own valley will come, mourn, sing, dance and tell stories of the deceased persons life. The next days the other valleys’ inhabitants come and are hosted by relatives in the 1st valley. So Sher Alam has to play his role as host and we stay 2 more days. A funeral is very emotional, the body is lying on his bed outside, close female relatives open their braids, men don’t shave for 3 days. They talk to his body in a very emotional way as if he was still alive and thank him for all his efforts – in this case a shepherd.
“You did great things in your life, many generations of goats you have kept, you knew all the important things about them, their traces, their needs, their problems. You build the stable in Anish, it is still here after your death and your sons will maintain it further on, so don’t worry. You raised 3 sons who are all important members of our society, well known for their skills and their good character…”
Simple, but moving.
We stay half of the days at festivals, funeral or election offices and the rest at the river, relaxing, having cool baths. Great after extremely hot Lahore City.

It’s like a relief for me after the time in the conservative part of Lahore to have my hair only in braids, not covered; I can wear a dress, talk to all people – men & women, if they speak English. And I can swim in the river – with clothes, but though: swim… for me it’s like paradise.

The longer I am here the more I ask myself, if I would call the Kalash “liberal” even if I just came directly from Europe without spending so much time in Pakistan’s Muslim society before.
Probably not. I used to call everything that I take for granted in western countries “very liberal, they are allowed to do this or that…” But now as I live here, I see the restrictions for women. They are not allowed to walk in certain areas inside the house or near sacred places as they are considered impure. Every month she has to leave her house for Maishali, a special house for women who have their period or who give birth as the blood is meant to be very impure. No one is allowed to touch her except her own child up to 2 years, she’s not allowed to eat meat if the goat was sacrificed at the altar and she wears a wonderful but quite useless dress if one wants to work or walk a lot as I have to do. It’s getting hot very fast as it is black and heavy. And it takes a very long time to get dressed in the morning (the first day I was late for school because I got up just one hour before school start) – but therefore she doesn’t have to cover her hair, has 1 week holiday every month – no duties at the Maishali, even food is brought, she can marry who ever she wants, chat and joke with men and women, walk around the village and scold her husband in front of everybody.

On the way to Biriu my heart starts smiling even more – back home. As soon as the jeep jumps the first meters inside the valley on bumpy roads I feel this peace again, this special kind of peace in your heart – the peace that makes me come back again and again. I even forget the painful threat of flees – until the evening…
Cool and clear mountain water is floating towards us, sometimes turquoise blue or sparkling golden in the late afternoon sun. Women sitting in the shadow beneath trees on the riverside, chatting and herding a few goats. “Ishpata Baba, tabyet prusht?” they shout. “Welcome sister, how are you?”

We store the luggage at our host in Grambat Kui, a small village in Biriu valley and go straight to Bio, the village where we want to build the school. Sher Alam accompanies me as he will to the better part of translation, motivation and explanation. It’s more than one hours walk and I am quite exhausted, gasping like a walrus. After these months in Lahore without sport due to the extreme heat, my few muscles are now completely gone.
Late at night we reach there, no one knew that I would come that very day, but after an hour the village elders are gathering in one room, talking, drinking tea, discussing the plans about their new school.
In Kalash village elders are contacted, if there is anything to decide and so did I for the school project. My first concern is, to give the villagers the feeling it is really there school, their decision, their work. They will have to maintain the building afterwards and therefore they need to like it. I don’t want and I can’t control the project for years. They talk about number of labours, wallers, salary, who will donate manpower or wood and so on. As an organised European woman I had a working plan in my mind, but more than one day ahead planning is not possible. I will rely on Sher Alam’s experience.
At 6am there are really 10 labourers at the doorstep, discussing again about their project. One of them tries to mess everything up. His concern are the teachers, who are after the girls instead of teaching. Sher Alam shows his mediation skills again and calms down the situation.
Finally they start – voluntarily on the first day. Both Muslim and Kalash are working, the school will be for all of their children.

The villagers ask, if 2 rooms are possible. I tell them, I would love them to make 2 rooms, but this would mean they will have to work for quite little salary. I increased my own donation to 800EUR, friends of mine gave all in all 300EUR till now. Should be possible – Inchallah. If not I will have to extend my donation a little more. But 2 rooms are better than one for 4 grades. A latrine will also be there, with running water.
Everyday the wall grows a little higher, we order the windows. “Which size have you finally ordered, Sher Alam?”
“No size!”
“????”
“The carpenters know our traditions, they will bring the right windows.”
“OK, How much will it be?”
“We will know when they bring them!” - Welcome to Pakistan.
Almost every second afternoon I walk up to Bio to see the progress. They are fast. We build a traditional house of stone and mud to avoid the ugly cracks in the walls caused by the frequent earthquakes and decorated will rubbish by the children. They squeeze colourful plastic, empty biscuit boxes and other nice stuff into the cracks.
The only thing we don’t really agree about is the corrugated iron sheet. The villagers don’t want to build a traditional roof as it has to be cleaned in winter and renewed all 5 years. Who will pay? So I buy iron sheets in Chitral. As already mentioned – the villagers must like the building. There are many projects around which are not finished or not used because some „intelligent“ westerner with nice visions wanted to make „his/her“ project, without cooperating with local people. Kalash don’t like that, they don’t use it.

After breakfast I attend classes in Sher Alam’s school – as English teacher. I don’t claim that my English is very good, but if you hear the local “English teachers”, believe me, I can teach…
I enter the classroom of grade 5; have a look at their books, where they stopped in the last lesson. Dolphins. 5 difficult pages about dolphins, their lives, their habits, …
I ask “What is the name of this animal?” pointing at the picture. 28 pairs of eyes stare at me. No idea. Not because they don’t know the name, but because they didn’t understand the question. Students keep learning by heart, they can’t create an own sentence. It’s difficult. We play dolphins; try to make some meaningful sentences. 80% of all lessons are learning by heart. One student standing in front, shouting the text, the others shouting after him.
I find the chapter “In a shop” and try to pull some phrases out of their noses. No way. I run out of the classroom. Dont worry, i will come back. I find the watchman who is also shopkeeper and ask him to open the shop for us. Followed by 28 giggling kids I leave the school grounds, the teachers watching me with expressions like “what’s this crazy angrezi doing now?” Only Sher Alam is smiling. He uses sometimes creative teaching methods with great success.
In the shop they start talking, repeating, laughing if one asks for soap and gets a bulb instead. Everyone has his/her turn; at least they remember the most common phrases in the end.
Sometimes it’s hard for me to explain myself in Kalashamun. I cant tell the students, what I want them to do so I call Sher Alam to tell them, what I want now: answer – don’t repeat; read – don’t stare in my face, there is nothing written on it; find own answers – not always the same ones; don’t hide your mouth behind your hands while talking coz I cant understand….
Usually we go out in the garden, learn basic vocabulary with all classes, colours, numbers, daily life, easy communication. I put them on, behind and in front of the garden door to make “on, behind, in front of” visible and understandable for them and squeeze my self under this wooden door, a laughing group of students around who finally understood what “under” means.
Joseph tries to teach the son of our host what „please and thank you“ is. Our wake up call is usually like: knock the door VERY loudly or just enter the room shouting “wash hands, breakfast ready!” - “Oh yes, good morning to you too!”

Sometimes I stay with Rabijan and Masran in the afternoon, wash my clothes in the cold river – I found out I am not very good in washing with cold water. Especially while washing – or trying to wash – the Piran, this huge pile of black cloth, I never know where to start.
I just let it be soaked in the water if I am fed up with it, lay near the river, read a little, sit in the river and play with stones.
Once I join Rabijan going for Urdu lessons, a new programme for the women. It’s great fun. 14 women, a dozen babies and small children are around, some of them on their mothers arm, drinking milk while mummy is trying to write the new letters with the other hand and a very patient humorous teacher. The “students” behave like real students, spit on the floor, write homework 5 min before the teacher arrives or even during lessons, cant keep quiet and giggling all the time.
In the end they sing traditional songs and dance like in other schools here.
Music is everywhere. A diesel can, a flute, a sitar or a drum emerge from somewhere, people gather, start singing and dancing, one after the other, everyone has his time to show his skills and even the most introverted man or women is a great dancer or singer and will proudly show up.
The only interruption is dinner. Bread, rice, tomatoes and sometimes meat. Meat with everything that was inside the goat when it was still alive. They don’t embowel. With a big axe the cut everything into small pieces. Bones, tendons, veins, gristles, grease… just stay where they were before. The people don’t mind. They would be very surprised about western style of preparing meat. What a waste!!!
After tea they quickly start playing again. Finally even the angrezi has to dance. “nati baba, nati!!” – „Dance sister dance!“ how can I refuse? Not in Kalash society, where women are not asked to dance only because men want to see womens’ bodies moving.
With Muslims men I have to confess got very very careful. Many hotel owners try to invite Europeans for a free room or the local wine in expectation of being invited for a night as “thank you”. I am very suspicious in the last time, it’s hard to distinguish real friends from these notorious people, but slowly slowly I learn…

And I can reject the local alcohol without any problem, as my stomach has decided to treat it worse than tap water from Lahore or my beloved dangerous fruitshakes. It starts complaining at once after a few sips, requesting me to stop drinking the wine or find some salad to use it as vinegar….
But there are many really nice people also in Muslim community – as in every society, the good boys and the bad boys…
Imtiaz for example, who really helped me a lot and proved to be an honest friend and most reliable. Every time I get suspicious now, I just ask him, if this person would try to have a nice story to tell his fellows or if he is a real Muslim, which means paying respect to women, no matter where from (amongst many other positive things!)
Taj is also a nice guy, hotel manager + guide and he loves talking about fairies. They lived side by side with the ancient Kalash and some elders can tell about their own experiences with them. Many say, that some people are here, who can communicate with the fairies – they mean mentally handicapped people who are not hidden in this society but present in everyday life. In connection with this magic world they even have a special status. Also for physically handicapped there is an explanation. The originated from a relation of human with fairies. Usually this would be very beautiful children, but if someone is talking about the relation to the other world, something very strange and bad would happen to him/her or the children.
Taj recites his favourite story: There was one man, the brother-in-law of my great-grandfather, he behaved a little weird, not talking to anybody, always alone in the forests, sometimes he wasn’t seen for weeks. He wasn’t married, so sometimes the villagers teased him. Once it was too much for him and he shouted: “I am already married, to a fairy, a beautiful woman. And we have 4 children of extraordinary beauty. I always stay with them when I am in the forests.” The very next day a shepherd found his body in the forest without any visible sign of murderer. This was the fairies revenge…

Taj is one of the few men to whom I can talk or just joke around. Sometimes it’s not easy, as you might know I love to talk to everybody, but here poor Taj, Joseph, Imtiaz and Sher Alam have to bear me alone. Most of the women can’t speak English and more than the most important things and phrases I can still not translate to Kalashamun with my bad brain. I live in a culture which is most fascinating and very much different to everything else, daily some of my questions are answered, but many more questions turn up. “Are still some Shamans alive? Where is the man who married the fairy? Why do Kalash not wash? Is there any special reason behind this or that action or not? Why is there again no water? What is in my dinner?“
Even for some questions which would be considered quite „easy“ in Western countries, there are different answers, depending on whom, when and how often you ask. “At what time does school end every day? Is dinner ready now? Where do you live? How much salary do I have to give the carpenters?” Everything is constantly changing, like a river. No 100% desicions or answers, not even 51%.

I love this way of living, everything will work out anytime any where anyhow. In Europe I sometimes wanted more people thinking like this. Now I sometimes find myself wishing at least one fixed time per day or week. Then I see the moon rise like every evening, people coming home from their daily work in the fields – if they don’t stay elsewhere – electricity and water is working again in the evening – if there is no broken pipe… 
There is no electricity during the day from the hydropower as the water is diverted for irrigation purposes.

The labourers at school are well motivated, especially as they hear, that we will sacrifice a goat, if the money is sufficient – which I really hope as I extended my budged for the 2 rooms. They promise to work till everything is done and so Sher Alam suggests to sacrify the goat right now, as kind of in-between-motivation because the people are not used to long term planning or thinking. Future is anyway changing from minute to minute . Presence is important, the past is OK, but, well, past.
We find a volunteer who will bring a proper goat. Currently they are grazing at the summer pastures. After 3 days the victim is here, ready to fulfil its destiny.
For the first time I can observe on the spot, how it works here. We decide to sacrifice it near a house, as altar sacrifice excludes Kalash women and all Muslims.
Vegetarians should skip the next lines, I am animal friend myself, but according to tradition one sometimes has to follow the rites.
First cut the throat, wait till most blood is gone (on the ground), chop head off, pull the coat off – like a pyjama - open the stomach – carefully! – take all organs out, lance the intestine just on the veranda – this will stop flies entering the house  - they will stay with the smelling brown soup. Why do they have to do it right there? Another question that noone can answer. Tradition or just half-heartedness? Concerning hygiene it’s terrible!
Then they clean the intestine, one is blowing water from one side to press out everything. Now everything is cut into small pieces with a big axe and all parts are thrown in big pots to be cooked. Meat is usually only cooked here, other methods of preparing are only available from Chitral.

There I go the very next day accompanied by Taj, who helps me to translate as only Chitrali is spoken there, hardly any English, some Urdu but I know the special material which we need for school neither in Urdu nor in Chitrali.
Imtiaz, one of the really good friends here invited me to participate at his cousin’s marriage party. The nights I spend with Imtiaz’ sister in a real bed and hot shower in the morning – luxury pure!! She even washes my Shalwar Kameez which is really clean afterwards. In Biriu I wasn’t very successful using cold river water. I should have been asking my grandmother about tips and hints on washing under old-fashioned conditions, she would have been a great help I guess.
Some stains I just can’t get rid of after some weeks with cold water – hot water is not available. I remember myself standing in the shower in Lahore, desperately hoping for cold water but only 40 degrees pouring down on me.

Chitral seems like a big city, almost everything is available – at least everything that one needs after a long time without facilities – like internet and one piece of chocolate a day. And a variety of food. In Biriu we had tomatoes with eggs every morning and sometimes even for lunch, some beans, onion and bread. Rice is a rarity as are other kinds of vegetables. My stomach started complaining for the first time in my life, due to whatever, I don’t really know. Lack of food, lack of vitamins, rancid oil, many many beans, half cooked eggs, the meat which is washed in river water, dried on the next stone and hanged outside the butchers shop, surrounded by armies of flies till it’s sold or just from the only “maybe clean” dishes or a few sips of local Tara. The water is also not the best, even near the springs there are animals that frequently sh… in the water. The sun dried tomatoes are growing some nice fungi, I hope I am not at home when they find their way to dinner. 
Sometimes and I can feel I lack some iron and other vitamins. I asked a very good man from Pindi about what to do. He knows the Holy Quran by heart. I just know, that a lot of information on food is provided amongst lot of other interesting things. So for this problem I contacted him and he immediately suggested some special food and extra iron supply. He even told a friend of him who sometimes stays in Chitral to meet me and bring me the best available supply. It’s great to know that there are such people around if you travel alone.

But now back to the marriage. A Muslim marriage, the biggest in Chitral. For the first time the functions and dinner are held in hotels. Usually the ceremony takes place at home. But not all traditions are lost, women and men celebrate separated, in 2 different hotel. So all the ladies can enjoy dancing, they wear beautiful Shalwar Kameezes – for Pakistani standards as they love glittering gold and silver on pink or light green background. All in all it looks like a wonderful pot of all kind of colours as they run for dinner which is provided outside in the big garden of Pamir Riverside Inn, a very much recommendable Hotel in Chitral. All are chatting, laughing, dancing – except the bride - Layla. The decoration is way too heavy to move around, like a stone she sits on her throne, as if Medusa in person had cursed her with her bad look... She looks gorgeous, but quite unhappy. Must be very strange to be the only person not to enjoy at your own marriage. Sometimes ladies sit next to her for pictures or chat some minutes, but usually she stays there alone, like fixed with glue.
For 2 times she really breaks the traditions and dances a minute with her husband, which is usually unthinkable. Concentrating on not to stumble with her long, heavy dress but smiling because her new husband is here she lets the others know that if there wasn’t that unhandy dress, she would be one of the best dancers in the hall. Asif, the groom pays 2 short visits and moves back to the “men’s hotel” Tirich Mir View.
Layla is happy, she loves her husband and vice versa. That’s not common here. I ask if the marriage was arranged and expected “yes”, like in 95% of all cases. But stunned I hear “partly, but it’s also love marriage!” They had fallen in love and then asked their parents to arrange the marriage. Lucky them, their families are related and from the same class. Otherwise it might have not been possible.
Our mornings we spend in the “city”, zigzagging through the bazaar. Imtiaz, who is himself working voluntarily for some NGOs donates cement and pipes for the school. Taj comes along to help me finding the cheapest door handles, locks, nails, toilets, corrugated iron sheets and other needed stuff.
After 3 days we return on a heavy loaded jeep, jumping from hole to hole on the very bad roads. I love to sit on the load floor, to the surprise of all men not squeezed on the front seat between some 2 or 3 other women. I learned not to clasp like a monkey on a tree, but sit free and balance myself. I can even read a book there. Sometimes, if a hole is very deep like a jump, my book flies to the other side, but its fun, at least I never lost the book. Some blues always stay as souvenirs of every ride, but usually I catch these vehicles only once a week, so the blues can heal in the meantime.

In Bio the windows are somehow fixed, the walls are almost ready. Soon the carpenters should come to prepare the truss. On the last few days we have some problems with the labourers. They rather want to leave for harvesting pine nuts, a much more profitable business. I thought about this before start of work, but I got the information, that the harvest would only start after 2 weeks from now. But the villagers run for them earlier and earlier every year, to forestall their fellows. I increase the salary a little – as much as I can afford, to keep them here for finishing the work. To loose money because of this project would be a good reason for them to dislike the school, what I definitely need to avoid.
After 2 days the walls are complete, the men go for pine nuts. Further on we only need some 2 or 3 carpenters. Let’s see if this is true!

On the way back from school I take a real bath in one of the small pools in the river. You know what it means to go swimming after 6 months? Really swimming, not just sitting in side the low river? This agravic feeling in the water, I think it’s called “swimming” – I love it. After the long exhausting walk – still, yes! - its like a wonder. But I also like the sweating here. At least I know what I did to start sweating. Not like sitting in front of an Aircooler with streams of sweat running down my body without moving myself.

As every day I again appreciate these small things about which I wouldn’t even think about at home. To live close to nature like here really helps me to see the simple things, the most important ones in live – the ones who are self-evident though many people think.

After some days where I again discovered my love to Masran, the little charming daughter of my best friend Rabijan. We played “hide the button” for 3 hours. She had very creative ideas, which is a big thing for young Kalash girls. You can hear her shouting through the village, laughing, giggling, scolding and at the very same time she takes loving care of her little cousin. At an age of only 5 she seems like his mother.


I could talk and play with her for hours and hours, she knows very well how to teach me Kalashamun as her mother does.
Long time I sit and chat with her while drinking tea, trying to improve our Urdu, her English and my Kalashamun, finally laughing a lot about our mistakes.
Sometimes some tourists come for a day or 2. A Chinese couple told me about a Polo game in Chitral the very next day, so Imtiaz, Joseph and I go there. I had never seen a Polo match and it takes me quite a while to find out, that the goals are changing after every score. But it is great fun. At my Guesthouse I learn, that there will be many events as it is time of Jahsn-e-Chitral. I decide to stay for some more days. Imtiaz is a great guide and seems to like showing me around. Only because I know that I can really trust him I accept. We see the place where the Ibex come every evening to drink at the river in twilight. Another day he takes me to Garam Chasma, a place famous for hot springs and trout. The road winds through a fascinating valley, sometimes the mountains show clearly the stone-folds originating in long lost times when the Hindu Kush ranges started growing up in the sky, some 20 million years ago. Vertical up they stand there, amazing for the viewer. After 3 hours we reach Garam Chasma, where the Ismaeli women are busy washing their clothes in hot water. After chatting for a while I go back down. The only big pool is just being cleaned and would take at least 48 hrs to refill, so Imtiaz arranges the indoor pool of the government guesthouse, where we stay. Until this small pool is filled with the sulphureousesp water, he teaches my – or better – tries to teach me – a card game called “sweep”. I am not a very good student I think, but I believe I love it as soon as I understood all the rules and be able to keep them in my mind. Up to now I learned only very simple games in Pakistan, just for entertainment. This one is something different.
In the pool I try the first time what every Pakistani child knows: blowing up the Shalwar-legs like a pontoon and float in the water. I have my troubles and try to blow up my trousers while Imtiaz is watching me, smiling, laid back in the water with fully inflated Shalwar. After the warm bath I have my evening cigarette outside under stars, late at night I fall asleep, very relaxed. It was a long time ago to have a nice warm bath.

Back in Biriu the last days start. I decide to let Sher Alam go up to Bio alone and stay with Rabijan and Masran. The nearer the day to leave comes, the more I regret to go. Never it happened before that I thought other than only “looking forward to what comes”, even not as I left home in Austria. But now, though I know Inchallah I am back in 2 months, it really hurts.
3 days before leaving a new teacher arrives, a guy from Australia, to increase confusion about Austria and Australia. He wants to stay for 3 months, so maybe he is still there when I return – if the fleas haven’t killed him till then. 

The very next day I walk up to Bio for a last time, handing over the responsibility to Sher Alam, whom I trust a lot. He will do his best to finish everything.
On the way down to Guru Imtiaz appeared and we spend a great evening with delicious food, music, dance and songs. More and more people come and join, louder and louder they sing and play. The events that just happen to you, unexpected and precious – therefore I love Pakistan and Kalash.
Now it is time to say goodbye. My host in Grambat Kui, where I have not been very often as I used to sleep wherever it was getting dark – usually at Rabijan’s place – arranges a farewell party. Many women come to show how Kalash really dance. I try my best, but can’t deny I am not really grown up with it. Though I enjoy free dancing a lot because here it is the only possible place for women as already mentioned, but its worth talking about it again. I love it.

Sayed Gul joins, one of the few women who speak English. She attends college in Chitral, but this evening she is here, shares her comedian talent with us and sings some Pushto songs.
A great evening, but time and again I find myself watching the scene with sad eyes. Tomorrow I will leave these people, the people who gave me peace in my heart and my 24h-smile back. I somewhere lost it in Pakistan, as everyone seems to believe I want to marry or at least a relationship if I just smile at some man, not even intentionally. I stopped smiling got suspicious and a little rude – Joseph would say: “very rude and cold like a stone..!” Maybe he is right, it’s like a protection against all these guys who think European women must be very easy.
Here in Biriu I started smiling again. The only reply here is another smile that makes you smile even more, men as women.
It’s hard to leave them, but this smile will stay in my heart – and I will be back Inchallah very soon.
As it was time to say goodbye to Sher Alam, Rabijan and Masran, tears were rolling down my cheeks. It’s a long time ago, I can’t remember when I cried last, but I enjoyed even this.

Irfan brought me to the main road with his motorbike, I caught a Jeep to Drosh, because Imtiaz had invited me to stay with his family for at least a day or 2. Again I felt this strange feeling having a clean room, a bed, running water and delicious food. They provided a lot of traditional food, a big variety which I was not used to anymore. 2 relaxing days I spend there, playing with the children, talking to the others, writing some unfinished stories, walking through their fruit gardens, a vast land behind the huge house is their own property with private hydropower because electricity doesn’t belong to “everyday goods”, small brooks winding through green grass, a perfect place for children to play, fruits to grow, cows to graze and anyone to walk along.

In the evening we play this card game again, thanks to a lot of patience of 3 Jan brothers I know a little more, but way not enough – means I will have to play a lot if I wanna learn it .

Soon I will leave for Lahore to meet Javed again, spend my birthday there, pick my things and take the train to Karachi, from where I fly to Nepal on October 3rd, Inchallah. I shall meet my group there, take them to Bhutan, cycle across the country for 3 weeks and have a short trek myself afterwards in India or Nepal. Finally back to Biriu… Let’s see what will happen…

Geri paschik (literally translated: see soon - bye)
Enjoy everything and don’t forget to say thanks everyday for all the things we usually never think about. They are not matter of course; they are small presents every single day…

All the best,
Gheri pashik

there are pics on yahoo - they are too much for this blog... if you are asked for a password: acchigom

Kalash autumn

Kalash school project pics