Lessons From The Veranda

The half-way point of my internship found me up-country again. We were shadowing a group of Singaporeans as they attempted to develop products that villagers could produce. The other interns and I had seen most of the communities before. I began to get excited for the next leg of my journey: two weeks with a family in Karachi’s upscale Defense district. 

 Still, I learned a lot that time in rural Thailand. Most of it at the local Cabbages and Condoms Resort.      

After long days of re-visiting villages, I’d sit on the veranda that was the resort’s restaurant. I brought a book along with me: ‘Instant City’ by David Inskeep. The work was fascinating. It examined the science of urban migration through the history and politics of Pakistan, connecting diversity with prosperity. The book laid bare the stories of families as they attempted to rise amid sectarian violence. I read much of the tome with a dropped jaw. It was a gateway to another world.

Then the author sited Los Angeles as the American mess-of-sprawl most like Karachi.  At first I was insulted. This was odd, as I often complain about LA. More importantly, I didn’t understand what he was talking about. True, the demographics of both cities changed as they grew.  But, the LA I knew had no chronic problems with housing; nobody pulled out AK-47’s when there was a dispute. The traffic signals worked, and the stairs were one precise height.

View from the veranda

One of my fellow interns joined me on the veranda one evening. Her family came to the U.S. as refugees, fleeing the Khmer Rouge. They settled in Long Beach. I know this part of LA for an irreverent opera company that occasionally performs in the hold of the Queen Mary. This was not her Long Beach.   

 Her family had to settle one of the poorest parts of LA. There, she told me, violence and overcrowding were more common place. Uncertainty seemed to be one of the few constants. “Sometimes I feel like we have to live with this kind of …fear” she reflected, telling me that it is difficult for refugees to overcome being consigned to poorer areas.       

Unfortunately, there’s not much that can be done about it. I’m increasingly convinced that there is no realistic way to eradicate poverty.  In either city, migrants simply must go where they can find a place to live. Pashtun refugees cannot simply relocate to Karachi’s Clifton, any more than the Cambodians could to Palos Verdes.  The other intern wanted to return to America and find a solution. “There’s so much to do there, first” she said.

I wasn’t convinced. Karachi still sounded worse. People in South-Central LA have basic utilities… or at least I think they do.  One thing was certain: The Los Angeles the other intern described was not ‘my’ LA. Maybe Inskeep’s comparison is exaggerated. Maybe, in a sense, I am living in my city’s own Defense.

The same evening, the Singaporeans joined us for dinner in the restaurant. We began to discuss their country. They agreed that the strict observance of law I’d noticed on my visits were key to the country’s success. It even played an instrumental role in uniting the country, which also used to be somewhat divided along linguistic lines. However, they also told me of some of the country’s relatively more ‘shady’ areas, less known to foreigners. In one month I would see Karachi with my own eyes. But one question remained: Which Karachi would that be?

Night had come and the restaurant staff had long since gone home. I was still seated on the veranda. Whatever my experiences in Karachi would be, I knew they would coalesce to form the beginnings of my own view of the city. In that sense, maybe the two cities are not so different. I rose, and like so many in any neighborhood of either city, looked for the best way forward.