to move up and down
3 sheep in pakistan
we are Claire, Hui Huan and Sharifah.
We left on a not so jet train
By Sharifah
So despite all the fore-warning cringes and shocked responses we got when we told our Pakistani friends we were traveling to Lahore via the economy class train, we hopped on board what was supposed to be an 18-hour ride (in theory) at 8am and set off.
Prior to that, we were smart enough to set our expectations to the lowest, just so the reality won’t suck as bad. And it worked!
While the train moved at a peaceful pace, the interior wasn’t particularly peaceful. Let’s just say, if this were Japan, we’d be Geishas multiple times over by now solely for our ability to stop all the men AND WOMEN in their tracks with a mere glance. A woman asked us for a photo with her baby, who even with the absence of teeth and inability to control his drool knew we were foreign. Amazing.
And even more amazing was how I managed to sleep for practically 24 hours. The rocking back and forth on the uneven train tracks was a cradle and my lullaby was the voices of men shouting the products they sell, from ice creams to lassi to fans to portable mobile chargers. I just slept through it all.
The train broke down somewhere in the middle of the journey, a man and his chick (it was an actual chicken! Not a babe. Lol!) climbed on, the electricity was out so it was pitch black at night and some people kept peeking into our cabin to ask for cold water because they must think Chinese people have cooling powers at their finger tips and asked specifically for egg-mayo sandwich because we also own an imaginary sandwich bar.
Anyway, fast forward 27 hours and we are off the train! So air conditioned nation who? We made it without a word of complaint! Good job sheep and co. *throws confetti everywhere!*
Yes, we are doing well! Photo by Sharifah.
thank you.
- Claire
I think it is about time to thank our family and friends for their concern and support.
I got a few “Come home quick!”, “Stay safe.” and other similar words. For those, thank you.
Our school dean and professors were concerned as well and asked what is the risk of us doing our IA here for the next 2 months and consulted us on this matter.
For all the concern, thank you.
All I would like to say is, Murtaza Razvi’s death did not make Pakistan any more dangerous.
Yes, he was the point of contact between the school and the company. Yes, he was like family to us. He was the first person we looked for whenever we had any questions or problems. But his death definitely did not make our lives any more at risk.
If anything, it made me stronger. He always brushed off others’ concerns about us being “girls” and being “foreigners”. The way he brushed them off has always made me feel reassured, somehow.
As for now, we intend to continue doing our internship and to travel around Pakistan, as this is what I believe Murtaza would have liked us to do. I am glad he made this internship possible because through this internship, we the “outsiders” get to know Pakistan for what it really is and not simply for how the media portrays it to be.
For family and friends who are still worried about us, do know that we are doing everything we can to stay safe and so far, everything is okay.
If it is any comfort to anyone, we now have a regular rickshaw wala who brings us to work everyday.
Also, we will FINALLY be exploring more of Pakistan soon! :)
Rest in peace
By Sharifah
When we finally felt the summer heat, our landlord said it rains twice a year in Karachi. Yet, the day Murtaza Razvi died, it rained twice.
And while the sky wept over his passing, my mind played scenes from the times we spent with him. There was always laughter in those memories. He would crack a string jokes as casually and naturally as a person would breathe.
The first stop I made after I landed was his house. The first bed I slept in for 10 hours after a long and tiring time passing through clouds was the one in his house. Words fail to describe the generosity and hospitality he and his family so readily extended to us.
While he remained frank and candid about the dangers of being in Pakistan and added his legendary humor in his words of caution, he exuded fearlessness and composure that always assured us.
I didn’t know Murtaza as well as I would have loved to. I just assumed we would have time for intellectual conversations over cups of chai later. I just assumed we would have the time to agree to disagree after we’ve exhausted our points later. But later never came.
Bad in a good way
By Sharifah
Everyone back home has taken the liberty of assuming my feelings or opinion about this country. Sure, the first few weeks I was miserable, maybe even the first month. I felt betrayed because water is the one thing you depend on for survival and to get things clean, yet here, water is contaminated and was the cause of my almost death by vomiting.
Even though I counted down the days till I leave Pakistan for about 5 weeks after the day I touched down, even though my backbone’s probably permanently slightly damaged from the rickshaw rides, my mouth’s probably going to be forever foul now that I’ve grown accustomed to swearing at anyone who remotely looks like he’s undressing me with his eyes or any event that things don’t go smoothly, even though I’ve gone to work with hair half full of conditioner because the water decided to run out (plus, behind every cloud is a silver lining. For instance, my hair was so much smoother after the conditioner thing), even after all that crap, I’ve never judged Pakistan as harshly as those who are living vicariously through me in the comfort of their air-conditioned rooms, sipping sparkling clean reverse osmosis water like it’s their birthday and driving on the evenly tarred roads of Singapore.
I’ve adjusted to the lifestyle. I know to hold my breath as the rickshaw approaches the Government Girls’ School on the way to work because it’s possibly the breeding ground for skunks. I know to look out for suspicious men. I get to put what we learned from fairy tales when we were kids to practice: Never tell the big bad wolf where we’re going, never take apples from a wicked witch, if you catch my drift, which is more than what you (or I) did back home. But I am no one to judge your experience, the same way you’re no one to judge mine.
The point is, our experience would not be holistic without the misadventures. So I’ve seen a man pull his pants down in the middle of a field to take a crap more times than I would have imagined, so we almost got kidnapped a few times or got our bags almost snatched (happened again just this afternoon, in fact), we didn’t lose, we emerged victorious (or something less sensational). Did you think that the 127 hours guy Aron what’s his full name wanted the boulder to trap his arm? No, but he gained volumes from the loss of a limb. While perhaps my (often over-dramatic, I admit) rants may have been misconstrued as complaints, I speak for all three sheep when I say we’re embracing all the lemons life here has thrown in our direction.
just a little letter
Dear ( ),
I don’t want to sound like a prick and I am definitely not trying to show you how much Pak has changed me or whatever. I am just writing you a letter, filled with my random thoughts, to fulfill my selfish desire of wanting to share what I have in mind.
On the our way home, as our butts were aching from the bumpy ride, we were talking about how much we will appreciate Singapore when we are back. Every bus or train or car or whatever ride will be so smooth! No more aching butts.
Then the random thoughts started butting in…
Just today, there wasn’t enough water for me to shower (and it will just get worse as the weather gets hotter). I know, what’s the big deal right? Scarcity of water.
On random days, people go on strikes due to shortage of electricity and for other numerous reasons.
On random days, rickshaw drivers can’t work and earn when petrol stations go on strikes due to increase of fuel prices.
These are what common folks go through and there is nothing they can do about it.
On a random night, we decided to eat at Mac Donald’s and that was the night when we realized how much a Fillet-O-Fish can cost us. We noticed some guys who were waiting patiently for us to leave so they can conveniently tag along secretly. We had to notify the manager who then notified the police. (OK, IT WAS REALLY MORE SERIOUS THAN HOW I DESCRIBED IT) Our colleagues told us this is “normal”.
On another random night, the rickshaw driver noticed a motorcycle tagging along behind us and he had to get rid of it by going around in circles before taking us home.
When we were visiting one of the villages in Umerkot, a kid’s foot was injured badly and all they could do was wrap it with a bandage (not even properly done). We had a horrible time getting over that incident because he was obviously in pain. But to them, this is “normal”. Perhaps to them, it is just another foot, just another kid, just another life.
One night, two girls fell off a motorbike and we sent them to the hospital. It was my first experience of being in a local hospital and I will never forget that night. There were too many patients and not enough attention. The lack of proper facilities and good doctors is “normal”.
Autistic kids are sent off to witch doctors for cure. Most are not diagnosed. Families who can’t afford proper therapy can do nothing. “There are too many other more important issues to worry about in Pakistan.”
Two nights ago, a police was murdered right outside our office. Definitely “normal”.
Two days ago, nearly 400 prisoners escaped. No big deal man, life goes on.
Lately, we noticed young boys collecting our rubbish and rummaging through the bags afterwards to see if there is anything useful. THOSE ARE THE BAGS THAT CONTAIN OUR SANITARY NAPKINS. (Please bear with me!) I can’t bring myself to look them in the eyes but there is nothing I can do.
The worse thing is, after being here for nearly 4 months, I think I am getting desensitized. A principal of an Autistic school told me, it is normal - desensitization. Child labour becomes part of life. Violence happens. Vehicles get burned. People get killed. Suck it up. Autistic people are used for begging. People are crippled intentionally so they can become beggars. All these become “normal”.
But none of these are “normal”, not from where we come from.
As the rich sit in their cars with their air-con and drivers, their windows separate them from reality. I judge them.
As I sit in the rickshaw, I stare at the child beggars and crippled beggars. I feel sorry for them.
But to think about it, I am no different from those who ignore.
I guess in short, all I want to say is, appreciate and make a difference if you can.
We were simply born lucky, I think - we are not in any way more superior, nor better.
Lots of love,
Claire
P.S. My weird love for Pak continues to grow every freaking day! (:
My love-hate relationship with Pak.
by Claire.
After being here for 2 months, some of you may be wondering how life is like here. Honestly, I am pretty worried about how much I will miss life is Pakistan after June.
Just gonna share my top 7 reasons for loving, or sort of loving, Pak. The hate part needs a lot more posts and explanations.
1. The AWESOME people. MOST of the locals we have met and got to know better thus far are really friendly and loving people who have made me feel like I can actually look for them when we need a helping hand.
2. The rickshaw rides. No matter how much I complain about the rickshaws, I must admit that every ride is an adventure and during the more peaceful rides, I actually just simply go into a reflective mode and start thinking. What I like best about it is that, the same old rides to and from work each day, has never failed to surprise me. Be it the driver himself, the rickshaw itself or the people or things we see on the way.
3. Eating with hands. For some reason, food seems to taste SO MUCH better when we use our hands. Unhygienic? Well, the food is ALREADY awesomely dirty anyways.
4. Pace of living. I love it. We love it. We have time to read, to watch DVDs, to learn new things and to laze around on Sundays (((:
5. Bargaining like a bitch. Somehow bargaining has become a fun activity. We usually end up entertaining the local shop keepers or stall owners with our Urdu. I usually act sooo bitchy BUT in a funny way, or at least I think its funny :/ Making them laugh is definitely a MUST.
Lines I have learnt today and will start to use:
- Beywaqoof may banao (Don’t try to cheat us)
- Tum jhoote ho (You are a liar)
6. Chai (Milk Tea)
7. Ali Umair Jaffery (for being so bitchy and childish ALL THE TIME)
ALSO, our ABSOLUTE favorite phrase for now is: BOHOT ACHA! (VERY GOOD) Works wonders. And it never fails to make us and the receiver of the compliment happy.
For now, I am feeling bohottt achaaa and loving my 2 lovely bitches.
From the 3 sheep, we hope you are feeling bohot acha as well!
rickshaw driver we met #137. swag!
“I miss going to cricket matches on sat/sun morning in a rickshaw with the whole team (11 people) squeezing in 2 rickshaws. I miss the ride and I miss my beloved country.” - Anonymous
see full article on Dawn.com here
Betrayal
By Sharifah
The relationship starts the minute you spot a rickshaw you want to ride on. Out of all the others, usually you have the option, you are attracted to one. You go up to the driver, tell him where you want to go.
“(insert destination here) jaana hai.” The basic Urdu you’re fluent with by now. He says “acha” no matter what and with a swift head motion, he invites you to hop on.
In the spirit of friendship, he tries to make small talk. He says something in Urdu, you don’t understand. You reply in English, he doesn’t understand. You both have a laugh about it.
He fails to avoid the potholes, you forgive him for almost breaking your back. He tries to squeeze through a gap one inch wider than the size of the rickshaw, you trust him.
What a beautiful friendship right?
Then you reach your destination and he puts a ridiculous price for the ride.
That’s when the friendship ends. Don’t nobody try to rip us off!
Burns road by day. (full article by HH on Dawn.com)
“My dear friend! Why would you ever leave that wonderful city of Singapore and go to the slum called Burns Road. I fondly cherish my memories of a holiday in Singapore. Yes in Burns Road the food may be delicious for some. I must say the unsanitary conditions that prevail in Karachi are not worth the flavour. The risk is way too high. I was in Karachi recently and I ate at the recently opened food street near kemari. The place looks clean and boasts of cleanliness and hygenic conditions. Unfortunately the promises do not ring true. I was so sick that I had to be taken to the hospital & given 2 bottles of Flagyl by I.V.” - comments from Ali Ahmad
There are different sides to wonderful, and Karachi is sometimes beautiful in ways Singapore can never be. But yes, occasionally I do miss having a rubbish can every freaking 2m in public spaces … ;) - HH
