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.       

Karachi Unfolds

Two weeks ago, I returned from Pakistan. It was the most enthralling locale I visited this summer.   Yet,  I have delayed  putting my experiences into words . So much went on during those ten days.
The last time I wrote about Pakistan I wondered which aspect of Karachi  I would see.  I guess that is the best place to start.
I stayed with a family in the city's Defense Housing Authority.   Upon arriving at their home I felt as if I could be a version Los Angeles with more servants.   Then I took first trip from my hosts' walled compound.  We went to the tomb of the country's founder, Jinnah. As we drove through  Ramazan traffic I redefined my idea of bad congestion. Cars stopped as peddlers allowed their monkeys  to entertain  grid locked commuters.  Karachi became a completely new world as we headed back to Defense.
Later, I experienced other elements of my hosts' Karachi: rowing at the exclusive Karachi Boat Club; organic and Mediterranean  restaurants.  From the  journalist who explained some Pakistani cultural mindsets , to the student who provided insight into Karachi'ite university life, to my host famly's children who highlighted practical details of life in the city.  I gradually came to get my bearings in this immense metropolis.   
 Defense is clearly influenced by the west. But, I also got a feeling for the neighborhood's more traditional side.  It pays to stay inconspicuous in Pakistan. One night I stayed up through the morning at a local tea house. Members of Pakistani political families lamented the situation of their country. But, I also could hear their pride at being Desi. It was encouraging to be surrounded by such awareness of the present and  hope for the future at the same time.  
 During some trips through the city my hosts strongly suggested  I sit in the back of the car.  These parts were not safe for foreigners.  I took lunch with a family in one of these  neighborhoods  as an honored guest.  I didn't feel  unsafe.  A bomb recently went off in the vicinity.
It would not have been prudent  for me to see some of Karachi's lower strata. But, the same is true in my home city of LA.  I am taken by how similar the two cities turned out to be in some ways .
Maybe  the Karachi I experienced was already pre-determined.  The world you are born into determines the world you  come to know. If this is true, then the city I saw  is  indeed 'my' Karachi.
 Still, I still feel as if I've only scratched the surface.  I look  forward to expanding my perception of Karachi and Pakistan in the future. As I continue my travels, I will not forget  the nation I've experienced. The faces and reality of a people.

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.