Tag Archives: Pakistan

I finished speaking and sat down. I took a long drink of water; public speaking always seems to leaves me parched. The lady next to me turned to me with a sad look in her eye.

“5 years in Pakistan!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “How do you manage to live in such a terrible place?”.

I must have looked as astonished as I felt, because she felt the need to clarify her comment.

“You’re a Christian, and Christians in Pakistan are always living in fear from the Muslims. How do you cope with it?”.

I thought for a second, then replied.

“I cope with it by remembering that what you’ve said is not true”.

I was at an event in the UK speaking alongside other people working with the church in different parts of the world. I had shared a bit about working alongside the church in Pakistan and about what it’s like in general to live there. I had shared some anecdotes of Pakistani life and about what it’s like to live among such hospitable, warm people who go to such lengths to welcome us. I also spoke of the pain experienced by many people – Christian, Muslim, and other groups – in Pakistan as they cope with instability and difficulty. Apparently nothing I said registered with this particular lady, who was more than ready to condemn Pakistan as a hotbed of fanaticism and suffering, despite never having been there.

I am coming to realise that this narrative of a brutal, terrorised Pakistan is more widespread than I had thought. Everyone, it seems, is perfectly ready to accept that the portrayal of Pakistan in the media as a place of cruelty and oppression is accurate, and as so few Westerners ever bother to travel to Pakistan to have this crude stereotype challenged, it obstinately persists.

What really bothers me more than anything else is that Christian organisations are involved. There is no shortage of organisations which exist to support the persecuted church – and yet more often than not, this support goes no further than highlighting instances of persecution and then asking for money. There are Christian organisations out there which directly benefit from publicising the worst things about Pakistan. It’s practically an industry, and it sickens me.

Bad things happen in Pakistan. Of course they do. After five years there I could hardly fail to notice it. Yet by focussing only on the negative aspects of Pakistan and sparing not a moment’s thought for the good aspects – the astonishing hospitality, the kindness, the warmth, the selflessness of so many Pakistanis, the many Muslim leaders I know who go to great lengths to support inter-faith dialogue in Pakistan, the many Muslim friends who call me to apologise whenever Christian suffer in Pakistan, the taxi-drivers who refuse my money on the grounds that I am a guest – when we ignore this side of life we are not being truthful, and we are not being fair.

I spoke to the lady for a few minutes, giving her a few examples of the beauty of Pakistan and of the kindness of its people. She seemed surprised, but happy. Then she added a question which is still resonating with me:

“Why don’t we hear more about it?”.

The Plane to Toronto

May 26, 2016

Snippets, Travel

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I remember the first time I ever visited Canada. I was staying with the parents of my girlfriend, who would eventually become my wife and the mother of my kids, and reading the list of phone numbers attached to the fridge in the kitchen. The list of names struck me. It seemed as though every single surname came from a different country: Adourian (Armenian), Hadjis (Greek), Podbielski (Polish), Yu (Chinese), Santos (Filipino)…on and on it went, a veritable United Nations of personal contacts, polyglot and multicultural, touching almost every nation in the globe from Scotland to El Salvador. I grew up in 1980s Britain so was used to having friends from a range of countries, but never a range this wide, this disparate.

Halfway through the flight from Istanbul to Toronto I was wandering around the plane with a baby strapped to my chest. The other three kids were sleeping, having finally exhausted the entertainment possibilities afforded by watching Tom and Jerry cartoons and pressing the call bell to ask for apple juice. As I strolled up and down the aisles I was struck, again, by the diverse range of nationalities on board: the Pakistani family sitting behind me, the Iranian man in front of me, the elderly Greek lady who beams at me whenever I walk past and insists on patting the head of the baby on my chest. Two rows back, as I pass, I see an Eritrean man asking a Korean for advice on filling out the customs declaration.

I always wanted to travel. Growing up on a small island encouraged this itch to go overseas, to find new places, to leave damp weather and EastEnders as far behind me as I could manage. I went to Bruges, Belgium, and remember staring with bewitched fascination at the departures board in the train station; from here one could take a train to places as exotic as Copenhagen, Milan, Zurich, Paris. The departure screen at Heathrow airport had an even more powerful effect. I was only heading to Amsterdam but handing over some more money and heading to a different gate could see me end up in Mexico City, or Calgary, or Manila. I found it utterly thrilling. I still do.

Perhaps that is the real power of the modern, multicultural world: that cultures that were once separated by oceans and continents are now next-door, down the street, running the local superstore. I find this just as thrilling. The challenges of multiculturalism are far outweighed, in my view, by the benefits.

The plane landed. An elderly lady, either Pakistani or Indian, was waiting quietly by the aisle as everyone filtered past. It turned out she was waiting for someone to help her fetch her suitcase from the overhead locker. I duly took it down and handed it to her.

“Shukriya” she said quietly, “thankyou”.

“You’re welcome” I said in Urdu, and we both went our separate ways.

The Nefarious Western Plot to Stabilise and Strengthen Pakistan

May 9, 2016

About us, Pakistan

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One of the most frustrating things about being a foreigner in Pakistan is that everyone thinks you’re a spy. Everyone. It’s deeply annoying.

Of course, nobody says it to your face. Pakistanis are far too polite for that. When I tell them that I am here to raise funds for an NGO which provides education and healthcare to people too poor to afford it for themselves they nod and smile and thank me – but I have no doubt that somewhere at the back of their mind is a niggling suspicion that I’m doing something else entirely. That I’m not an NGO worker but instead Jason Bourne, or James Bond. The fact that I’m not going to my office in the back of a fancy car but instead am sweating it out on the bus like everyone else doesn’t seem to dissuade them. Maybe that’s part of my elaborate cover.

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A cartoon showing the Afghan Emir threatened by Russia and the UK, both of whom professed to be his friend and ally.

To be fair, their suspicion is partly logical. There is a long history of Westerners meddling in Pakistan, from the days of the Great Game when British spies headed north in disguise to map out mountain passes and to bribe local leaders, all the way through to Raymond Davis, the moronic CIA contractor who shot dead two men in Lahore and bribed his way out of trouble. You can’t blame Pakistanis for being angry about it. Wouldn’t we be angry if a Pakistani intelligence official shot people in Birmingham or Liverpool and got out of trouble by handing over a suitcase of cash to the families?

But to attribute such nefarious motives to every single foreigner in the country is baffling. I know many people who have dedicated their lives – their entire working lives – to providing healthcare and education to impoverished Pakistanis. Doctors who could be earning six figure salaries in the West who spend their days sweating it out in Multan or Tank, saving the lives of people in return for a puny salary. Foreign aid workers who come to Pakistan to administer aid grants from Western countries – immense amounts of money, donated by taxpayers in the West to strengthen educational systems in remote areas – who aren’t allowed to renew their visas and are forced to leave. An entire hospital in the south of the country is on the point of closing because the only doctor can’t obtain a visa “for security reasons”. Quite how an elderly female doctor working in a remote area poses a mortal threat to the stability of Pakistan is anyone’s guess.

Pakistan is a profoundly cynical and suspicious country. That comes from being the punching bag for the world’s superpowers, I guess; it is reasonable enough to suspect the motives of people who have screwed you over in the past. But to tar everyone with the same brush? To attribute the same nefarious motives to every single foreigner who come here? That is simply illogical.

So there’s not much point saying this, since people here suspect everything and trust no-one, but here goes: I honestly want to see Pakistan strengthened, made prosperous, to see its education system improved so that everyone can go to school, to see the economy flourish, to see clean water and power and books available to everyone, everywhere. And you can quote me on that.

Ice Cream, and Time Passing

April 21, 2016

Parenthood

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I try to take the kids out for a treat individually every now and again. With four of them in the house it is difficult to give them individual attention and so, once a fortnight or so, I will take one of them out for what we call Treat Day. The format is predictable: a trip to the bigger of the two shopping malls in our city, where I buy them an item of clothing and then an ice-cream. It doesn’t take much to enthral my kids.

Yesterday it was the turn of our second youngest, only 2 years of age. She hopped into the car singing “Treat Day, Treat Day” all the way to the mall. We parked in the underground parking lot – when the weather is hot, parking in the open is liable to turn your car into an oven – and took the lift up. She pressed the lift button and giggled for joy. We picked out a new shalwar kameez for her – which is to say, she picked out several and I chose the cheapest, least garish one – and she carried the bag out of the store by herself.

We went to the bookstore where she chose a new colouring book, and two others to take home to give to her brother and sister. We went to the supermarket where she bought a lollipop for herself and two more to take home and share out. Then we went to one of the ice cream shops on the top floor. She gazed, open-mouthed, at the array of colours on offer and eventually plumped for a combination of strawberry cheesecake and Nutella. We found an empty table and sat down.

And she stared at her ice cream in awe. The world, for her, seemed to stop in its tracks. I chivvied her along.

“Come on, sweetie, eat your ice cream” I said.

Slowly, tentatively, she picked up her little plastic spoon and transferred a tiny speck of it onto her tongue. She swallowed it and raised her eyebrows in delight. Then she returned to gazing at it in adoration as though the small paper cup was the Holy Grail.

I was getting impatient. I had things to do, shopping to collect, and then I had to get home in time for a conference call. When you’re raising four children in Pakistan with minimal support, life never stops being busy. I tapped my foot impatiently.

And then I felt ashamed. For me, Treat Day was something on the diary to be ticked off before moving on to the next task. For my daughter, Treat Day was a unique chance to be the centre of attention rather than a small, indistinguishable part of family life. This chance to have new clothes and an ice cream only came around every couple of months. I was sitting there checking my watch and tutting impatiently but my daughter was drinking in the moment, enjoying every part of it from pressing the lift button to sitting in the front of the car. When we got home she would recount the story to her mother and her siblings. She would tell her teacher at school about it the next day.

She’s not going to be small forever. One day it will take more than a new shirt and a cup of ice cream to enthral her. One day pushing the button for the lift will not be exciting; it will be an insignificant task carried out by adults, like me, who tap their feet impatiently, frustrated by any delay to their busy, busy lives. The small wonders of life shrivel as we grow. Why should she not pause to enjoy it while it lasted?

And so I sat, and watched, and stopped worrying about the next thing in my schedule. Conference calls could wait. Emails can be answered tomorrow. I stilled my tapping foot, calmed my impatient heart, and focused on my daughter as she transferred tiny specks of ice cream to her mouth, her eyes open with with wonder.

Pakistani Weather Forecast

April 18, 2016

Pakistan, Snippets

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Hello and welcome to your daily weather show, with your host Shazia Mehmud. It’s April now, so time to catch up on the latest weather predictions from our state-of-the-art forecasting centre in Lahore. Summer is coming, so how’s the weather going to look?

First of all, we need to pay attention to a band of low pressure which is sweeping across the country. This will have the effect of ushering in a period of hot, sunny weather across much of northern Pakistan. However, across southern Pakistan, by contrast, there is a band of high atmospheric pressure coming in from the Arabian Sea, which will have the entirely different effect of ushering in a period of hot, sunny weather.

Central Pakistan will see a period of what appears to be hot, sunny weather. In Baluchistan, on the other hand, the weather will be sunny and hot. In northern Pakistan it’s worth considering the possibility that the weather will be hot and sunny, with very hot intervals.

Some readers have emailed in to ask how the weather will be in their locality. Mahmud in Abbottabad, for example, says that his sister is getting married this week and wants to know if the weather will be suitable. Well, Mahmud, we can confirm that the weather for your sister’s wedding will be hot and sunny. Yasmeen in Karachi says that she’s planning a trip to the beach with her family but doesn’t want rain to spoil the day – no worries, Yasmeen, since the weather will definitely be hot and sunny! And finally Nadeem from Gilgit wants to know if he will be able to do his outdoors photography course or if clouds will spoil the day – no need to worry, Nadeem, it will definitely be hot and sunny.

The situation is likely to change in a week or so, when a band of very hot weather will come in from Iran. This will increase the temperatures by, ooh, I don’t know, lots. Seriously, lots and lots. Don’t worry, though, it will still be sunny. Very sunny.

Oh look, a viewer from Multan has just texted in to ask if his team’s cricket match will be able to go ahead next Tuesday. Well, sir, I have only this to say: is it possible for heat to stop play? Or sun? Ha ha, only joking! Although seriously, you might want to check that out.

And now we can go live to our very own weather reporter who has been standing outside the studio here in Lahore to report on our own weather. Zubair, how are things out there? Hello? Hello? Zubair, can you hear me? What’s that? He’s collapsed from sunstroke? Well, I guess that answers my question! Thanks for your dedication to duty, Zubair!

That’s about all for today, viewers. Remember, watch out for hot weather, also sunny weather, and especially very hot and sunny weather, variations of which will be on the cards until, ooh, November. Until then…

Pakistan: Rekindling The Romance

April 13, 2016

Pakistan, Parenthood, Travel

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We were stuck in traffic in Abbottabad. We had turned off the main road onto a side street barely wide enough for two cars to pass. A van was parked on the left hand side and when we pulled out to pass it, another van headed straight for us. He screeched to a halt in front of us. As I prepared to back up, another van pulled up behind us, and another behind him. The van in front of us attempted to back up, but two more vans pulled up behind him. We gazed at each other through our respective windscreens. The engine idled away. In the car seat behind me our infant son started to whimper.

It had been a bad week. The attack in Lahore had shocked us deeply, dragging us into a familiar mood of anger, sorrow, and desperation. The same evening there was a riot in Islamabad. Schools were shut, the buses were cancelled, and the city ground to a halt. We needed a holiday, so we loaded up the car and drove north through the green hills of Hazara District. And now, a few metres after turning off the Karakoram Highway, we were stuck.

The crucial thing, I knew, was not to lose my temper. But this is easier said than done when there are four small children in your car who have already driven for four hours, and when your nerves are frayed to breaking point from the stress of driving up one of the most stressful stretches of road in the country. Pedestrians were filtering through the traffic jam, glaring at us as they squeezed past our car as though we were personally responsible.

There is something about being glared at by a succession of bearded Pakistani men which makes one reconsider one’s life options. What a peculiar circumstance to find oneself in! Stuck in traffic in a town four thousand miles away from my own country, eight thousand miles from my wife’s own country, in the town famous for being the final dwelling place of Osama bin Laden. The men passing our car looked fierce, warlike, with turbans, straggly beards, and default facial expressions of profound grumpiness, as though I had wronged them in a past life.

Surrounded by seemingly hostile people I was struck with a profound sense of not wanting to be there. Of not wanting to be in Pakistan at all, really. A sincere desire to be somewhere, anywhere, else, preferably somewhere with a beach and a succession of cold drinks with little umbrellas in. I couldn’t take it any more. The heat, the traffic, the unrelenting stream of bombs and protests and overwhelming public anger, the caustic and abrasive daily grind of Pakistani life.

Suddenly the driver of the van in front of us clambered out of his vehicle and came to my window. He looked angry. The crowd paused to see what would happen. I took a deep breath, prayed briefly, and opened the window.

He thrust his hand into our car and shook mine warmly.

“I am most sorry for inconvenience” he said, smiling gently. “Perhaps if you move car back just a little bit, we will be able to make progress”.

He moved to the back of our car and encouraged the vans behind us to shuffle backwards. One by one they did, opening up space for us to reverse into. Once his path was clear he got back into his van and drove off. As he passed our car he stopped, held his hand out to shake mine, and thanked me warmly.

“Thank you so much, sir” he said with a simple smile. “Welcome to Pakistan”.

Lahore: Death, After Life After Death

March 28, 2016

God, Pakistan

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Yesterday evening seventy citizens of Pakistan were blown apart by a suicide bomber at a park in Lahore. The death toll will rise. It always does, especially when seriously wounded people are left to the tender mercies of Pakistan’s healthcare system. Many were women and children. Families were enjoying the cool spring weather, taking advantage of a day of rest to push their children on the swings and buy ice creams. It must have been a wonderful time.

Then a suicide bomber parked his car near the gate, next to the swings, and detonated his device. Now those same families are ripped apart; their laughter transformed into screams and terror by means of twenty kilos of explosives and a bag of ball bearings.

Many of those killed were Christians. They, like my family and me, spent Sunday morning at church rejoicing in the glorious triumph of Easter Sunday, when Jesus rose from the dead and conquered death and sin. They, like us, shared lunch with family and friends. They, like us, went out to celebrate in the evening. Yet we were not attacked and they were. The same people who laughed and rejoiced in the victory over the grave are now, themselves, in the grave. Life beat death, and then death came back in the darkness of a bomber’s heart and in the shape of chemicals and ball bearings.

And yet this is not over. After the attack messages started circulating asking for donations of blood for the wounded. A Lahore taxi firm offered free travel to anyone going to hospital to donate blood. People of all religions are united in condemning the attack. The condemnation even united India and Pakistan: the hashtag prayforlahore is trending in India. Hospitals in Lahore are crammed – literally crammed – with people queueing to donate blood. Probably most of them are Muslims. I am crying for gratitude as I type.

Still the pain remains. This is a profoundly beautiful and deeply misunderstood country, full of polite, kind, honourable people – and yet a country bedevilled by violence perpetrated by a minority of deranged lunatics who kill indiscriminately. They target Christians, and Hindus, and Shias, and Sunnis, and the Pakistani soldiers who give their lives to protect Pakistani civilians: they are against everyone, except their fellow bigots.

And yet they will lose. Pakistanis are too good, too decent, too strong to give in to this mass murder. Love will win in the end, though the path to that victory may be littered with more bodies. Life will triumph over death. Easter is not the end, but the beginning.

Garbage, and God’s Love

March 23, 2016

God, Pakistan

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We were sitting outside the Badshahi Mosque in Lahore. A light rain was falling. We huddled underneath a large umbrella and sipped the cups of chai which we had ordered. We needed the warmth from the tea as much as the caffeine, in much the same way that people in England drink tea to dispel the murky chill of February days more than for the actual taste. My son looked around.

“I don’t think God can love people here” he said sadly.

I was surprised by this. My wife and I have made a point of teaching our children that God loves all people equally. This is a fundamental tenet of our Christian faith, and a great number of cruelties in the world can be directly attributed to the mistaken belief that some people are more loved by God than others. I asked him what he meant.

“Look at all the garbage” he said mournfully. “How can God love people when they don’t care for the world he created?”.

I looked around. There was, indeed, a lot of rubbish. Paper cups, empty crisp packets, cigarette packs, crushed juice boxes – the detritus of a thousand tourists was strewn all around the courtyard in front of the mosque. During our train journey to Lahore we had looked out of the window to see immense piles of trash heaped up on the sides of the railway embankments, flung carelessly out of houses and left to fester. It is a part of life in the developing world that we have not yet learned to deal with.

“Well”, I said, “do you remember how Mummy and I told you that we love you always, even when you’re naughty?”.

He nodded.

“We do that because God loves us even when we’re naughty” I continued. “Even when we do bad things, God always loves us. So we should always try to be better”.

He was silent for a while, looking around at the heaps of rubbish strewn around the courtyard of one of the most magnificent mosques in the world. Then he said:

“That’s a lot of love”.