Of projects and shadows in the Valleys

A long long time ago, I can still remember…

Well, first off al I want to clear some confusions from the last blog. I got some mails from Pakistan stating that my descriptions of marriage were wrong. I am sorry for this image. Maybe some of you didn’T get the first email in which I explained, that things are never general, but only for the place from which a person is stating them in his and the mentioned cases. If there are no statistical numbers for a larger area. I have seen these mentioned traditions in Lahore myself, but I have also seen others here in Chitral for example. Women are usually allowed here to take part in the decicion making for the marriage.The husbands family has to pay HER also a certain sum which will be on her own service. If the husband – who will be the official holder of this money – doesn’t give it, she can get divorced without problems.
But now to the recent news from Chitral. I finally got my laptop back and am more or less able to write long emails again.
Many things happened, I don’t know where to start. For example I have a new “malgiri” (friend) now, who follows me all day long. He has a blue Uniform, a cap with a batch and a gun – but no permission to use it.
Right – a personal security guard. He accompanies me because of this Cartoon desaster which lasted in strikes and demonstrations in Peshawar. Not only in Pakistan, also in other countries. I have found some information in the www when it was coincidentially working and spare time was available. The strange action of this Italian minister printing the cartoons on T-Shirts was not really intelligent. We must people always provocate?
Well, as this problem was settled, fights started in the Waziristan Agencies (bordering Afghanistan) I guess you all know more about the details as information is not really easy to get here. (It takes time to open internet pages – a lot of time).
But there is no sign of any of these problems. People ask me what this guard is supposed to do, he is alienating them. When I tell them about the background – thanks to Imran I am able now to do this in Kalash, though with 100s of mistakes but somehow understandable – they shake their heads in disbelieve. “What can he do? Where is the danger? We are all your security guards!” and off we go to play cards, sing and dance.
Well, maybe you think I am foolish, naïve, I should be happy and take more care. But after 6 months here I know a little bit of these people. They fully adopted me, I have a father, a mother, granddad, granny, a sister and a brother, an armada of uncles, aunties, nieces and nephwes. If one – especially of the elders - is not directly related, he calles me “Jamili” (daughter of the clan). Kalash and Muslim, all join this game, which seems to become more and more real. In every Kalash family there are Muslims, many have converted. There are problems, but they are on different levels than fighting or impoliteness.
One of these problems I came to know recently myself.
In the Baishali (women have to go during their menstrual bleedings and when getting a baby) the electricity was gone. The lines cought fire, cables, bulbholders, bulbs, plugs – which all meet on one board here – were destroyed. Fast help was needed, but no money there. What to do? The women sent a child to my house to ask for help, but as I have stayed much longer than expected and in Chitral there is no cash mashine available I am quite short of money now. Another point is, that I don’t want to make people believe I can do everything. I am neither rich nor do I earn anything here nowadays. People loose the motivation to do things on their own. This happened many times here. They are waiting for help from outside, where money seems to grow on trees. Many projects were started here by Ngos, more or less successful. People start to feel pity with themselves, many times they have been told they are not developed, backward, not able to help themselves.
This was one of the reasons why we first asked the village elders when starting the school project in summer. We motivated them to bring wood and work voluntarily for some days each. The awearness should be built that they can contribute a good part of the work themselves. It must be their project, their school in their minds. Otherwise they will not be interested to maintain this building, to be interested in it and it will follow the same fate as other useless projects here – well: good news: the school opening ceremony has taken place, thanks again to all the people who helped!!

Many “VIPs” were present. The Tehsil Nazim, the Education District Officer (or whatever EDO means), the Union Council Nazim and other Nazims and paparazzis. It was the first time that officials were coming to this last village in Biriu valley. They have been quite effective. The sacked the constantly absent teacher – in his absence – and appointed the assistant teacher for the government job, promised 3 more toiletts in the village (Actual state: 50 houses, 1 private toilet and 2 new ones at the school, the rest is using the “big toilet outside”) and they will seriously think about a High School here in Biriu. Nowadays there is one High School in Bumburet for all 3 valleys but no place for students from Biriu or Rukmu. Parents here can’t afford to send their promising kids to a town for education. It’s simply too expensive. I took Sartaj’s (Tehsil Nazim) promise to personally support the application. I will have a lot of chances to remind him while playing cards. He is a funny guy, not a typical politician. He tries to do something instead of putting the money in his own pocket. He doesn't mind walking through mud or driving through snowstorms. In his office white colour trickles from the ceiling, the pipe in the toilet are licking. He just smiles when I mention the severe weather he has to bare even in his office. Snow from the ceiling and flood in the bathroom…
He doesn’t care. Money can be spent in a better way.

But back to the Baishali. What to do? We ran from house to house to collect 5 Rupees per woman. They were proud to contribute a little bit. Soon we had 400 Rupees, the rest I gave. It was not a big amount, but with the message ‘we do it together’ I guess it was a more successful project than the others. Now they realised that they can do things themselves. No one before had the idea to collect small amounts to gain a big sum. Organisation was not really invented here.
But then the problem occurred. Kalash men are not allowed to go to this Baishali, they would be impure. The only possibility is to sacrify a goat to become ritually pure again, but a goat costs much more than wires and bulbs. One young Kalash, Taj Mahmad, agreed to go, but the elders did only allow it under the mentioned expensive conditions. Shah Hussain, a good friend and Moslem (and my “moa” = “uncle”) came along. Taj Mahmad, the only electrician here standing outside to verbally help in case of problems. After 3 hours the thing was done. Just one room remaind without light as there was no hole for the cable. We needed a drill which was another problem. The drill owner, a senior Kalash only gave it if we remove the wooden handle after using it. I asked ‘Why will only the handle get impure, but not the drill itself?’ ‘Because wood is not pure, iron is pure, it will not absorb the impurity in the Baishali!’ I resisted commenting about the ‘purity’ of things to be sold in Pakistan.
So the next we went again. After finishing the work, one women stated that in the second Baishali the wires were also not working.
Again we swarmed out to collect money. 10 Rupees each this time as there are less women using the second Baishali. They were again happy to give.
On the occasion of shopping in Chitral City we took some sick people along who couldn’t afford transport and medicin costs. In Biriu there is a dispensar, but medicine is rare. He is merely able to write down the needed medicin which again has to be brought from Chitral. Since I have started handing out tabletts for headache, diarrhoea and other medicines and bandaged some wounds people come with all kinds of deseases to ask for advice. Some of them I can take to Chitral, just 5 USD per head are needed for transport, doctor and medicine. One of the few good doctors in Chitral is a good friend of mine. I can always consult him if I am not sure about some of my medicines or which specialist to consult for the various patients.
People are simple here. If one can cure headache, diarrhoea, flu, tonsil inflammations and wounds, they think one has X-ray eyes and healing hands. Sometimes I have to argue if I want to consult a doctor first. The point that a wrong medicine can cause even more trouble is not easily understood.
But not only hospital visits and wires were on the ‘to do list’. Anoter project has started to literate the Kalash people in their own script.
Till 3 years ago there was no Kalash script. Some linguists created in cooperation with the National Institute of Languages Pakistan a script which consists mainly of roman letters and some signs for nasal sounds and aspiration. Imran was working with these people and invented a new tailor-made methodology of teaching this very script. He is the only one with this knowledge and now he started to train teachers as well as students and adults . Therefore we need stationary, coverage of running costs etc. We have asked some NGOs for help. These offices also needed to be visited.
And a short visit at Sartaj’s snowchamber and the IUCN office. (World conversation Union, don’t ask me about the sense of the abbrivation.
President Muzaraff promised a package for development of the Kalash people after his visit last year. Now some researches and reports need to be down on actual states, needs and how to implement it best. The IUCN people asked me to comment a little bit as I am living here for quite a while and got some insight in internal things. Kalash sometimes don’t know how to express their needs or which possibilities are available to change or improve something. Let’s see.
A lot of work for 5 hours. Additional I had to check and answere the most important emails – though some were not possible to open. And I finally got my laptop back – in a rather bad condition, but at least I can write and play music – well, the one which is left. Taifoor did a lot and fixed the problem in the best possible way, but lost 6 GB of my music. Well, Pakistan…

I never thought I might get busy here, but these Chitral visits are always much work. The jeep leaves Biriu – if it leaves – at 8am, returning at 3pm with a driving time of 1,5hrs. Imtiaz is always helping a lot, introducing us to the responsible people, assisting in writing the proper letters in Pakistani style, driving us around and just creating situations more comfortable.
At least the present policeman doesn’t bother me too much. Some of the others were rather annoying.
Once I even had to sit at the Internet café and send other people, namely Shah and Imran, to buy foam and kitchen utensils for the Baishali. I hate sending someone if I could do it myself.

This security thing started rather harmless. 3 policemen appeared at my doorstep asking for the registration papers – which I didn’t have. I was told that in winter it is not needed because no tourists are here and so the registration people in the valleys are on vacation – or sit somewhere else twisting thumbs.
2 months no one seemed to mind though I was even talking to the registration officer in Chitral. Now it seemed urgent. We had to leave for Ayun at once, collecting this registration officer and off to Chitral where he opened the office in the late afternoon. Then a small obstacle appeared. I needed the visa and passport copy, which were on my laptop. But this thing didn’t want to work. The originals were in Biriu. SO back again under police custody and returning to Chitral the next morning. After the papers were done I went back as a free person – I thought.
3 days later again 2 police guys appeared telling me I would get a security guard. I refused, writing a paper stating I don’t need him.
Off they went, returning 4 hrs later to tell me I have to sign this paper in front of the police chief in Chitral. Again to Chitral? My dears I have to pay for these trips every time. I will come after 3 days as I have to go anyway then, but not now. They went back grumbling in their beards.
At the following visit I was told that all papers won’t help and I will get a personal shadow.
At the Internet café, where I was generously allowed to wait for my friends who I had sent for shopping I learned about the cartoons. I opened the homepage of my Austrian embassy and saw horror reports and warnings – wrong from the first line. There were demonstrations, yes. Strikes and troubles, but no sign of blown up tourist busses or killed tourists.
Sher Alam, the teacher who helped so much while constructing the school and still lends a helping hand whenever needed was in Peshawar at that time. HE told about destroyed shops, demonstrations, blown up mobile phone shops and teargas. Well, he didn’t really know what teargas was, but he said the army was spraying something when he stepped off a rikshaw. HE slept 2 days, couldn’t see and had headache. A friend offered them shelter.
Then I understood. The registration people were just active now because of these things. All these Chitral visits I owed this Danish painter.
Don’t worry, I still know what is pressfreedom and free expression of whatever opinion, I just don’t like it if this right is used to provocate.
From that day on guards came and went. Some are ok, some are ridiculous. Leaving at night for wherever, following me during daylight even to the toilet.
The actual one is ok, sitting somewhere allowing me to roam the valleys freely. In the evenings he joins us playing cards, singing, dancing and smoking hashish, like almost everyone. It’s common here that everybody is rolling a joint then inhaling it with pleasure. It’s by far not legal, but who cares if even the police chief in his private chamber, judges, doctors and teachers at breaktime smoke too.
At least my guard doesn’t care. So I have a quite free live now.

I will not get bored, that’s for sure. Beside all the projects, patients and family members we run up and down the valley to spread information on the “bird flu” issue. The Pakistani government used to declare Pakistan as Bird flu free. But they forgot to mention, that the specific tests to prove H5N1 (with special weight on the for human dangerous N1 virus) are not available in Pakistan and have never been done. Now it is clear that it is hear after tests have been made in the UK.
The poultry lobby is quite strong here, the put pressure on government by asking for regress payments for the lost business. In a country, where 85% of the annual budget goes to the army, there is not much left for some sick chicken. It’s cheaper to deny the problem. What are human lives in a country where many people are not even registered?
International they are not even existent. The international image has highest priority here. What is happening within the boundaries doesn’t matter as long as it doesn’t affect this image. Especially the USA need to be kept in a friendly mood. They are sponsoring the Pakistani Army.
I had to laugh out loud as I saw Bush and Shaukat Aziz (Pakistani Prime Minister, CNN called him Foreign Minister by mistake – his previous profession) calling out everlasting friendship and brotherhood between the 2 countries. Shaukat expressed the whole Nation’s thanks for financial help in the health and education sector – where money has never reached.
Now there is another movement. An a-week-old newspaper appeared here in the valley reporting the disappointment of Pakistan because Bush has promised much more to India. Should Pakistan always stay in India’s shadow? What a shame! …

Again I am loosing myself while writing. Sorry!

We were on “mission bird flu”. It was not really easy to convince people. Viruses are not easy to explain to people who think only god gives and takes lives. With simple words we made clear where the danger is and how to minimize the risk. It’s almost pathetic to tell people not to eat chicken meat and eggs if these animals are running around everywhere, kids playing with their excrements.
One branch of the strategy, which IUCN suggested, is to improve hygiene and health awareness. I hope it will help. It’s deadly needed.
Washing is not worth a thought here in winter, people spit and vomit inside the rooms on the soil, goats are kept inside, brushing teeth and washing hands is very uncommon. People sneeze in their fingers, smearing it while talking like normal on the next chair or doorframe. Kids play with excrements; goats are slaughtered on the veranda, all contents of intestines spilling out unhindered, penetrating the soil floor. Children without underwear sitting they’re playing with intestines, tendons and head.
Everybody has worms and other diseases, which could easily be avoided if some one cares a little bit. In the Baishali, where babies are born is no running water, goats and dogs are running freely defecating in all corners. For vaccinations of newborn babies one nurse is appointed for the three valleys, based outside and not able to come in winter due to road conditions and laziness. Women and babies die because of unsatisfactory medical and hygienical circumstances.

One of the next things to do is to put a pipe to the Baishali. The pipes are still there - we had more than enough for the school building. Tapes, knees, Ts and other plumber’s tools are in my room. First we had to call the elders again to ask for permission as rumors were spread that it is not allowed to use the only available spring water for the Baishali due to religious reasons.
But everything was all right and we got the permission.
Though I feel like home here, though I can cook the traditional dishes and bread, understand a bit of what is spoken around, wash myself in the cold cement bathroom outside in darkness with a bucket of cold water (which is great fun, believe me!), wash my clothes in the cold river where I also have to go to plait my braids because hair is considered impure and must be done outside the house, I have bread and tea in the morning and at noon, some beans or cheese in the evening and am able to follow other Kalash traditions – the only thing which would disturb me is the Baishali.
A friend of mine lost her baby in the 3rd month. A whole month long she suffered silently at this house not allowed to go to her home because of lasting bleedings. Once somebody took her to the doctor, then again to this disease spreading building called Baishali. 5 months she had problems, now she is fine again, khodayas meherbani. (Thanks god…)
Electricity line and water pipes are a little help, but much more important is to build awareness. Explaining is usually not helpful. Copying is better. I don’t preach, it wouldn’t help. But I wash and clean in public, throw waste into the fire rather than outside as it is common here. Once I picked up some paper saying it should be thrown in the fire. “Why?” I explained about dangerous components (especially in Pakistan) which can penetrate the soil and get in their crops and with this in their food. Another point was that it is not beautiful in a pristine nature like here. The food thing he understood. The simple suggestion: “So throw it in the water, it will neither stay nor get in the soil!”
My answer worrying about other people’ s food remained unheard.
But there are already some kids you don’t just throw and who wash their hands before lunch. Slowly and steady wins the race…
I was talking a lot with London about cleanliness with newborn babies. She just became mother, her face is white because of improper food, she had diarrhea for a few weeks. A Vitamincomplex and iron help her a little bit and she takes a little more care of her baby concerning hygiene.
London is not really a common name; she is rather the only one. People here don’t often hear from the outside world – no TV, no newspaper in their language,…) and are easily impressed. As a result there is a Dollar Khan around, an “Engeneer”, an “Lection Bibi” (her father won the elections the very day she was born), a “Major Khan” and a “London”, to list just a few.

Not all names are that significant. Some I fail to remember time and again. But slowly slowly I know some, I can identify who is belonging to which house and who is just sitting as a visitor (not always easy if 9-10 people sleep and live in 1 room with 20 sitting around), I know the relations of my “relatives” and most of the neighbors – so almost the whole village as one house is built on the top of another and all are close neighbors.
Thanks to the many trips up and down the valley collecting money and spreading bird-flu-news I know the villages a little bit now and all the connecting paths – though it happens sometimes that I find my self on a cliff with no visible way out.
All the sick people introduced themselves and their history, sometimes full of unsuccessful treatments at the province hospital. One child was brought to the doctor after weeklong pain due to an ear infection. The eardrops were lost after a few days, pus and blood was trickling out of the ears for 3 more months. Now she can’t hear properly anymore and still feels pain – after 5 months. The ears were hopeless dirty when I saw her first. After an hour (!) with cotton twisted around a wood splinter and plenty of hot water (which attracted a small crowd) I saw that the ear was still suppurating. My friend, a doctor, gave me some medicine as I explained him the problem saying I don’t have anything in my “medical store”. Now the inflammation is gone, she doesn’t feel pain anymore, but no one knows if she will be able to hear again.
Almost angry I asked the mother, how she can watch her child suffering and bleeding for months without doing anything. With an embarrassed look she whispered that there was no money. Now I was embarrassed. 5 USD are a lot of money for people who are subsistence farmers, producing everything they need themselves. From where and for what to get cash money?
The girl is happy now and tries to make her mother helping her to clean her ears every day. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Why to wash ears if the pain is gone?

Besides all this things which sound more timetaking than they really are there is enough time to sit down in the sun, chat, play with children, knit, play cards or music. Step by step people are coming to tell stories – I understand them only if they talk slow and clearly – but they are very happy to talk and see me understanding it. They have many questions about Europe – how is it really? Many questions are simple, from daily life, some more difficult to explain. “What do u use for heating. Are there wood stoves? What is growing there, are people working on fields? Which animals to you have and what do you eat? Are these people also Kalash? Do they wear the traditional headdress there? How do you celebrate marriages or funerals? What is an insurance? Are your grandparents and uncles living in the same house like u?” Some things are easy to explain, others very difficult. Sometimes I don’t know the proper word, sometimes there is neither a word existing in Kalash language nor the ability of understanding complex systems and certain machines. A pig becomes a fat pink boar without fur providing a lot of meat, the idea of an old people’s home is alienating and what the hell is an insurance? Why should somebody give u money if something happens with your things? And why should I pay monthly if nothing has happened. Sometimes I need the help of people like Sher Alam, Shah Hussain or Imran. They know what is going on “outside” and are able to make them understand.
Then they tell stories. Stories of a Dehar who lived on the mountain ridge and built an own Baishali for his wife and never came down walking or touching other people because he was “onjesta” (pure). He came down hovering over the ground. A Dehar is a kind of religious leader with superpowers, healing power and the ability to communicate with god. He is usually found as a child by recognizing strange powers and will be Dehar for his lifetime. The last one died a few decades ago, there is no predecessor, allegedly because the Kalash culture became impure.
I asked how long ago this mountain Dehar was living. “Bata ne” means “No idea, address unknown.” “How many lives ago?” “Maybe 5 or 7.” “So few hundred years?” “No, he was the grandfather of your “nana” (auntie, she is maybe 35-40)
Time is not really important, 5 years, 10 years, 100 years – a long time. “I will come back” can mean in 5 minutes or tomorrow or in a week. Watches are usually and hour or two ahead or behind – who cares. The sun is enough to know if it is noon or near evening. We don’t need more here.

For me the last days started in Biriu. In a few weeks time I will fly to Bhutan to work there for a few months. My heart hurts thinking of the last day, I don’t want to go, but I will come back in summer for a few weeks and then return to Austria for a month coming back again – if all plans work, what they usually don’t do. Live has a lot of surprises on your doorstep – let’s see what will be there tomorrow!
I am looking forward to have a “home” to stay. I am very fine hear, could feel at home in Biriu, but which the though on my mind to go soon it is different. Travelling is great, I learn much more than ever before in any school, I love the people, the stories, the place. But a “home” is something special.