Chitral - or not???

December 07

In the Eid holidays finally, I wanted to go to Chitral, well-earned vacation which my boss so graciously granted. Gladly I grabbed my things and make my way to Peshawar, where I meet Saida, who had also been to Islamabad. We had planned to leave for Chitral together. As usually in the Daewoo bus I check in my luggage, get the coupon with the reference number, show it when reaching Peshawar, take my bag - is already the last - and then go on to Saida. Tired as I am I fall asleep soon and when I wake up and forage sleepily in my bag for my brush I had to face that it wasn’t there. I must have forgotten it. I search a little more and notice that there are pretty strange things in my bag, which I had never seen before. Very slowly it dawns on me that this bag is not mine, but resembles it in design, size and color to the extend of the same broken zip on the right side.
Then suddenly I woke properly. A terrible thought came to my mind. 5 minutes before departure of the Daewoo bus in Islamabad I had decided to put my passport down in the check in luggage, because I was really tired and afraid that someone might steal it out of my hand bag when I slipped off in the land of dreams. I wanted to keep it safe down there… congratulations…

So off I go again to Daewoo and explain the details and leave my contact and the empty, wrong bag there. The content I take along, to make sure that in case the other party arrives to pick there things they don’t just take theirs and keep mine. With the empty bag I was assured, that in case they called if some luggage was found, the staff at Daewoo would see the empty bag and tell them yes. Would I take the full bag back I might risk that Daewoo staff just tells them that nothing is in the lost and found office. As an additional measure I request the station manager to summon all staff in the office and tell them what happened. To many times now I have seen that the one who knows is coincidentally out for a break, prayer or even holiday and the rest knows nothing and sends applicant away empty handed. Some of you might think now I am crazy, but believe me, I am not… I just wanna be on the safe side and I have seen to many times how it works NOT to be on the safe side.

Well, that cancels my Chitral plans of course. With my stubborn believe in the good in people I believe in a retrieval but as my digital camera was in the bag as well no one dares to give me hope. One would rather sell it and grin at the stupid foreigner.

I picture myself already at the embassy, applying for a new passport and at the police station to get a certificate to show when claiming the regress from my credit card travel insurance.
One could say now, as I got out of the bus my piece of luggage was the last, so my real bag was already gone, and the Daewoo stuff had checked the luggage tag so it wasn’t my fault, but that doesn’t help either. I’d rather have it the other way but get it back…
I just ask myself again - because I do strongly believe that everything has a particular reason, and also has its positive side – where this positive side was now.
I wait for 2 days without a police report in vein just to end up with on eventually that – when it was finally translated contained nothing of use for the insurance except many mistakes. The next step is the embassy which I see with mixed feelings. I have always tried to stay away from Austrians or other expats, as usually the ones I had met just complained about the country and lived their sophisticated lives behind protected walls. I call them up, the answer is a laugh – no, not a joke, a laugh rings in my ears from the other end of the wire. “Haha, no problem, come over. “ Well, maybe this very example of expat is a nice one? I try my luck and am happy that I get clear instructions of what I have to bring for the application and meet the concerned person. If the topic wouldn’t be so bad I’d even call it a nice meeting. So the next day I pick my passport pictures from the photographer, which was a big mess itself as the good man constantly tried to change them with software, smudge the hair, change the color and so on. Finally I could convince him that a passport pic should not be tempered with and size and background color were fine. I sit in a taxi to the embassy, my phone rings. Unknown number. I was about to cut it, because I usually don’t pick unknown numbers as every Pakistani male who is lucky enough to get a phone number of a girl due to what ever circumstances (repair shop, cargo office, snatch it from friends and so on) will then try his best to call, sms or contact otherwise – mostly unwanted contact. So this time out of a hunch I pick it. “This is the Daewoo station manager speaking Miss, we have your bag, everything is inside, also the passport and the camera. Pls come and pick it and bring the contents of the exchanged one.” Hurrrraaaaa

I call Ali in Peshawar, where I had deposited the belongings of those wonderful people and requested him to drive over to Daewoo and exchange everything, as it would take me a while to get there and I didn’t want to let them wait for hours in exchange for their honesty. He agrees and a little while later I get the confirmation, that everything is there.

At that time I sit already at the embassy. Yes, I still went there, just to tell them the good news as I was only 2 min away. I chat a while with Mr. Hamersky there, we are both happy that the paper work is now not needed anymore and in the end he tells me that almost every Friday there is a little meeting and sit-together of friends at his place, I could come over when I felt like. Well, I might give it a try.

In the afternoon I am again at Daewoo, on the way to Peshawar to retrieve my things. It’s a day before the Eid festival and Daewoo had come up with a special policy. Only advanced booking and payment. All seats booked so no chance of a ticket. Normally, the people make a reservation but at least 20% do not turn up or go later, because they have booked several times – Pakistani way – you never know what might come along. So I march up to the local station manager and explain that I really need a ticket now because I have to get back luggage which went missing due to incompetent staff and was found by God’s grace only. I also tell him that I am kind enough not to ask for regress or even payment of this ticket which I would never need to buy if they wouldn’t have been so inapt but I just want a seat. His face expression clearly shows that he is not used to people talking to him like that but finally he agrees and issues me the seat next to the hostess.

Luckily I receive my bag on arrival and am affirmed in my believe in good people. Alas, my Chitral holiday is no longer possible because my boss has not given unlimited holiday, I had been really looking forward to see my Kalash family and join the winter festival, but that’s over by now.
My Kalashmum constantly calls and asks me if I had forgotten them and which strange excuse there is now for my non-appearance. I don’t even wanna pick the phone when I hear the special ringtone of this number… Acchi gos a no… will you come back or not…

Well, a few days I spend with Col Khushwaqt, a few in Islamabad even with friends – Saida’s daughter lives there - Ali's sister - and soon becomes a good friend. One of the Fridays I even visit a party at the Austrians. It is nice to speak German again and learn how others do in Pakistan.
When everything is back to normal - or so it seems - Benazir Bhutto is killed, for a few days everything is stuck, police blocks here and there, shops, banks and schools closed, the martyr is mourned. No one thinks of how much they had hated her. Not that I'm happy or wished her to die, no. Murder is never a solution. But the false regret which shines now from the newspaper pages, just a few days after the same where full of tirades of hatred and accusations is pretty tough. The people are on the road, no difference whether before opposition or supporters. They all want avenge the martyr who just wanted the best for her people.

So again a few days no work, we have a nice New Year's Eve party with Amina, Ali, Sikander and Khushwaqt in the house of Siraj, another son of Khushwaqt. I had brought some Bleigießfiguren from Austria last year and then forgotten about them. This time we have all fun with them. The custom was unknown, but the soothsaying from the resulting figures is always exciting.


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Islamabad - first part

November - December 07

A lot of time has passed, I have learnt something here … I was slightly wrong with my statement that I love Pakistan, now I know, I love Chitral … besides the troubles there, the life in the Kalash to valleys was paradise. Here in Islamabad, oh well, I am rather not the negative type, but there is not a lot of nice things to tell, except the few souls which give me the necessary energy not to just catch an aircraft.
The culture in Islamabad – well, what am I talking… there is no culture in Islamabad. The better part acts as if the western way of life is the one to be followed, everything is so western and "civilized" and is miraculous, everything is available … Nonsense. They have forgotten their own old culture or want to forget it and thus it seems, as if they float somewhere in midair, without roots and, nevertheless, not yet reached. Everything available, Islamabad the western city? One maybe finds a lot here, but only after searching 1000 shops and then with a lot of luck one might somewhere find what he/she was looking for… However, there is not guarantee and only because whipped cream was once in a shop it doesn’t mean it will be there the next day again…
The costs for everything are at least twice as high as elsewhere and especially if the vendor sees a “white face” as they call it, the wanted item will suddenly be astronomically costly. Those white people all have so much money here… haha, I don’t belong to those… I neither work for a western company or NGO but just for a Pakistani organization. It’s fine for me, otherwise I wouldn’t have my visa… My boss has helped me a lot after all problems in Chitral, but slowly I believe that he exaggerates a little concerning his efforts, so that I work for him without complaining about bad accommodation, food and working hours – oh and bad salary of course.
For a while everything went well. For the week-ends I mostly went to Peshawar to see Col Khushwaqt whom I had already visited in Mastuj and who himself is now in the warm South for winter. Sitting in his nice garden with him, enjoying the relaxing feeling and calmness gave me the peace and energy that I missed so much in Islamabad.
In Islamabad the best hours where on Adil’s stud. In the beginning it was quite bad, I knew nobody and sat either in the office or in my room - that is exactly next to the office, accessible even through the toilet. Haha Sometimes I think that if I couldn’t go to Chitral anymore or just with troubles, then I don’t wanna remain in Pakistan. Chitral is the reason why I love Pakistan.

My room is not really the best here, but I have lived in worse lodgings. I have a string bed, a cupboard, a bookshelf, an armchair and a small table. Well, at least my room. I am happy that I have my own key and noone needs to be bothered when I leave the house or come back. The room is on the lower floor of my boss’s house, just beside the office. There is no access door to his private house but one has to get on the street, round the block and from to the front in the house. For 4 days I even had TV, until the new cook complained that he would quit if there is no TV for him, so I give him mine. First I thought we could share it, it should be on an accessible place for both as the cable was long enough to move it from one room to the other, but when I meet friends for some days out of Islamabad I found the TV gone forever from my room. Well, TV has never been my favorite time pass anyway… but I miss to sit on the porch like in the Kalash valley, with clear view on the river from which I also hear the relaxing sound of constant flow during the nights, beautiful nature, life as it used to be, playing card with friends in the evenings or listening to the rhythm of sitar and songs.

In the beginning I didn’t even have hot water here; I had to go up to my boss’s place, but later the boiler started its duty… The walls are constantly humid and all pieces of furniture grow fungus and smell moldy. My mum had given me the nice suggestion, to wash it with alcohol, but very strong one… well… it’s the wrong country for that. Spirit is rare to find and if no one would give it away for cleaning… Then after long long time someone told me that medical spirit was available in the chemist's shops, which I purchased for less than a dollar. No notion whether it has helped, I do not see the pieces of furniture now any more …, however, let’s narrate it step by step. Every day I have visitors - from mongoose, cats, to frogs, centipedes, gigantic grasshoppers, pigeons and an army of insects - the room is not really on the ground floor, rather a little lower even and especially after rainfall those poor creatures search shelter under my wings.
Once a poor gecko had hidden in a door frame - unfortunately, I didn’t see it and closed the door … One day later I had to strip its remains off like a plastic skin.
My boss believes, that because of living with the Kalash for more than a year, I have to feel like paradise here with all the facilities… but for me it is the other way around. I had loved the Kalash and the way they live so peacefully and in harmony with nature. Here in the capital - if I must be here – at least I want to have it a little more comfort. It had taken me quite a while to talk to my boss about that; I am fairly stupid in that behalf. I hate to ask someone for things when he/she had already facilitated me to a certain extend. My friends here tell me constantly that no other Westerner would have spent even a day in that room for working and living purpose but haughtily and confidently (as Europeans are , ha-ha) expected and asked for something else...