Karachi: In Anticipation of The Unexpected

I got the news that I’ll be going to Hanoi about a week ago. Vietnam will be the ‘big five-oh’. The fiftieth country I’ve visited. It comes less than a month after my last trip from my current abode in Austria. During May, I traveled to Karachi for a few weeks. It was my second trip there.

A different kind of travel

During the two years since my first time in Pakistan I’ve traveled for the first time to many other lands. I enjoyed my most recent Pakistani sojourn more than any others I’ve had a while.  Travel is an addiction. And like any such habit, you develop a tolerance. Once exotic destinations become itinerant homes; where understanding language and culture becomes surplus to transitory requirements. New regional destinations, or even old favorites, become of mild interest. You can’t stop. But, you also get jaded.

The first time I flew to Karachi I was nervous. I knew that the negative media reports through which I’d heard of the city couldn’t be its whole story. Still, I didn’t know what I would find – better or worse. On my second trip, I looked forward to my arrival. I knew I would find the unexpected.  

When going to Karachi, the unexpected can be awesome. I sat next to a group of Karachi’ites who were traveling home. As soon as we’d boarded the plane, one of them asked me for a pen as we filled out immigration forms. His compatriot meanwhile busied himself with opening a large bottle of rum. Pakistan is functionally a dry country. This was their last sure chance for a drop of the true before arrival. As the flight proceeded they badgered the flight attendant for multiple individual-sized bottles of wine. When I asked for a second glass of wine myself they had to go the galley for more. As I waited, one of the Pakistanis shoved a glass into my hand. “Red wine!” he proclaimed. It was public diplomacy at its finest as raised our glasses over the lights of Tehran.

A water truck delivers in Defense

This anticipation of the uncertain penetrates into everyday aspects of life. Pakistan perennially struggles with poor power fuel management and illegal tapping of electric lines. With my host’s generator offline, the power could go out at any time. One must be prepared to go without at all times; you have to use the electricity when you have it. The same goes for water. Most houses in Defense, the upscale neighborhood where I stayed, have a tank which can be filled for use when there is none in the municipal lines. When asking about the cause of such shortages, some of the answers boggled the mind. For example, the water situation is not due to shortage or drought. The trucks which fill tanks in peoples’ homes steal the water from taps on the mains and then re-sell it at inflated prices. The water company seems unable or unwilling to stop this practice. Instead, it uses the theft to justify non-payment of its electric bill. It also accuses the electric company of shutting off power to the water pumps and making the entire problem worse. The electric company justifies the outages by saying that the water company doesn’t deserve the electricity if it is going to allow a large amount of the water to be stolen. The water company uses the continued power interruptions as further justification for not paying its bill. End result: There’s just no water.

Politicians promised to fix these issues while I was in Pakistan two years ago. Today, the same promises continue. But, the issues seem to have gotten worse. Such utilities service interruption didn’t occur in Defence two years ago. 

At the library

   Those born in the Western world often come to expect other regions to adopt trappings of Western culture. The past 30 years have been turbulent for Pakistan. It is perhaps due to this that the cultural influences of globalization seem to have permeated to a lesser extent in Karachi. I came to Pakistan to participate in academic research at University of Karachi’s All India Muslim League archives. Despite KU being a breeding of ethnic extremism, I felt welcomed there. Those who worked in the university’s main library were interested in helping me with my research. They were also insistent about my learning their languages and cultures. In one instance, as soon as one person told me the word for sugar in Urdu, others proudly informed me of the equivalents in Punjabi and Pashto. By the time they were done, I was too confused to remember any of the three. Still, I welcomed the exercise.  

KU's main entrance - always closed

Especially outside of Defense, I was expected to adapt my own habits to a greater extent than is necessary in many other countries. For example, Businessmen from many countries usually choose to dress in suits and eschew their national dress. However, I was told at the university to wear shalwar kameez on Fridays. Still, my identity as a foreigner worked to my advantage. Once, on arrival at the university, I was told to beware of all the “political parties” that were active there. Fortunately, l was neutral as an outsider. Despite the anti-American slogans on the main library’s entrance ramp, the student body seemed more interested in internal politics than they were in me. Sometimes, my neutrality allowed me to get a plurality of perspectives.

In the West, and especially the US, racial tensions remain obfuscated under a veneer of ‘political correctness’. Pakistanis wear ethnic identity on their sleeves. I was often told outright by members of one ethnic group why they felt oppressed, or held other groups in lower esteem. When speaking with a class of US history students, I was asked about race relations in America. I attempted to give as balanced a perspective as possible. Still, it felt odd to frankly discuss the taboo topic in public. Afterword, some Baloch students freely bemoaned what they viewed as national oppression of their province by Punjabis and Mohajirs. Their comments served to begin a civil debate. It was refreshing to be around such directness of opinion.

en route to KU - MQM flags on poles

But, signs of more violent disagreement are everywhere. Karachi is a mega-city of 20 million people. Landmarks become few and far between once you leave the older section of the city. I found the best way of marking the route from Defense to KU was via the flags of its ethnicity-based political gangs:  Start by taking the first highway with MQM flags on the light poles. Turn left onto Airport Road after the over-pass where flags of a Pashtun party dominate. Continue straight until a left at the cloverleaf that green black and red tri-colors mark as PPP turf. After the second MQM overpass you’re almost there. This ‘political visibility’ is not evidence of a vibrant civil society.  My host’s accountant, a proud Mohajir, told me that once one formally joins any of these parties, his days of life are numbered.

Karachi’ites seem used to the violence. At times, they seemed to expect it. They even admire it in a weird way. The city can effectively shut down due to violent political conflicts. When I asked one journalist about the possibility of a shutdown due to planed PTI protests during my stay, she seemed amused. Basically, informed me that said party is largely made of educated classes; apparently, they don’t really know how to protest.

My host told me about his bad habit of ignoring bomb threats when driving through the city. There are so many, he reasoned, that you sometimes just have to ignore them. He seemed to think of it the way that many in large American cities think of muggings: The threat is always there, but it will never happen to you. In Karachi, armed muggings do happen all the time; especially on public transport. Many told me that they are constantly prepared. For them, it isn’t a question of ‘if’. It is a matter of ‘when’.

Reason for my return

Upon arrival in Pakistan I was greeted by the chaos of Karachi and the hospitality of its people. From our 4:00 greeting at the airport, to my host’s welcome dinner at Karachi Boat Club, I felt honored to have arrived. As my time In Karachi drew to a close, many felt honored that I’d made the trip. In tourist destinations, visitors are sometimes automatically disregarded as little more than annoyances with deep pockets. In Pakistan, I got the feeling that I’d already been remembered as a guest. On my last day, I recounted with colleagues at the university how I’d come to know of the archives on my first trip to Pakistan along with a journalist family-friend. One of them got excited. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “The mass-communication student and a foreigner! That was you!”

Grounds of Frere Hall

Later that day, I met with that “mass-communication student”, now a journalist with one of Karachi’s main English language newspapers. We went to Frere Hall, a large colonial era exhibition gallery. On the ground floor, we ran across sizable collection of newspaper archives.

Karachi’s surprises can shock. But, they can also amaze; lead to new opportunities, prospects and perspectives. They’ve already lead to one return trip. Maybe the next time I need to get jolted out of my jadedness I’ll be able return again. After all, its Karachi. You never know.