Perhaps it is fitting that my last month in Pakistan has been the month of
Ramzan (Ramadan). For those unfamiliar, Ramzan is the month of sacrifice
in the Islamic calendar. Jawad Aslam, my CEO, close friend and resident
expert on all things Muslim, described Ramzan to me as religious boot camp.
On the surface, Ramzan is a month of fasting no food, no water, no
cigarettes, no consumption of any kind from about 4 am to sunset. Many
shops are closed in the afternoon, and restaurants open around 6 pm to
serve a packed house the moment the fast breaks.
The fast, however, is merely a symbolic (and admittedly difficult) gesture that
represents a deeper sense of sacrifice. Muslims use Ramzan to give up bad
habits, spend more time with themselves & Allah, and seek further enlightenment.
Though Ramzan makes it impossible to schedule goodbye lunches and teas
with the many friends I’ll be leaving behind here in Pakistan, I am glad to
experience it at the end of my year here.
As I look back to the kind of year its been, I see so many parallels with
Ramzan. I gave up a lot to be here, and in the process I have come to
know myself & the world around me in a much deeper way than before.
Jawad jokes that I’ve aged 5 years in 10 months.
At the outset of this journey, I wrote that I expected to be stretched
like a rubber band in the coming year. When a rubber band stretches, it
snaps back, but it ends up larger than it was before.
My hope was that the experience would broaden my horizons, but not so
quickly that I snapped. It seems to have worked out.
Admittedly, the tendons in my knees have tightened because I never quite
felt comfortable running outside in Pakistan, but my perspective has been
stretched beyond expectations.
Pakistan is a land of extremes: from extreme heat to extreme
hospitality. From extreme religious sentiment to extreme devotion to
food. From extremely exaggerated journalism to an extremely undervalued
global reputation.
What most of the world fails to realize is just how beautiful this country
is and how spectacular its people truly are. It is impossible to
overlook the problems: Pakistan is facing lawlessness in Karachi, a
violent political system, jaw-dropping inflation, an insufficient power
supply and terrorists staking claim over the northern areas. These are
real issues that do exist: but they do not define Pakistan as much of
the world would have you believe.
While it may be impossible to overlook the problems, it is (apparently)
quite possible to overlook the splendor that a country like Pakistan offers.
Where else do you greet every stranger with the phrase Peace be with you ?
Where else do you find BBQ Chicken Tikka that melts in your mouth?
Where else is being 20 minutes late considered on-time?
Where else can you see opportunity in every alley?
Where else do motorized scooters (100% of which are red hondas) weave in
between cars which cruise past rickshaws, which veer around donkey-pulled
carts, which are dwarfed by strutting camels?
Where else can you buy seasonal fruit on every single street corner?
Where else do the echoes of a minaret bring an eerie peace to 4 a.m. in the morning?
Where else do you find people who take prayer so seriously, they start every flight with one?
Where else, but Pakistan?
I have come to understand that the world is not as the New York Times
makes it out to be. That terror zones house people too. That 99.9% of
people on this earth want to do good by each other. That I, a white dude
from San Francisco, can become friends with Aftab, a fellow engineer from
far northern Pakistan (we are facebook friends too, in case you are
scoring at home). I met Aftab on a trip to Chitral, where he builds
micro hydro power plants in beautiful remote villages just a few miles
from the Afghanistan border so that the poor can have lights at night.
There is so much opportunity in communities such as these; its staggering
that the world chooses not to see it.
I have seen the dark side as well: and yes, it is far from pretty, but it
is not something to be afraid of. I am not afraid of bombs or
kidnappings or shootings rather, I am deeply, deeply saddened by them.
Terrorists are called terrorists because its their job to terrify you.
Let them do that, and they win.
Do you know what terrifies the terrorist? Education and economic
development. Opportunity. Terrorists have chosen their path usually
because they didn’t have a shot at economically bettering themselves,
but I’ll say more about that in another post another time.
Pakistan is not a country of terrorists, but rather a country afflicted by terrorists.
Earlier this week I was driving to the Karachi airport, when the driver heard on
the radio that there had been shootings nearby. If the news hadn’t alerted us,
the ambulances flying past every two minutes probably would have.
As we approached, I noticed we were closely following a Toyota pickup
truck carrying four sketchy characters, decked out in jet black shalwar
kameez and carrying equally dark AK-47s. It was precisely the
stereotypical scene that crosses people minds when they think of PK or
a war zone. The men were strapping on ammunition vests and loading
cartridges into their guns.
One man looked the part of a new-age pirate, with long black hair flowing
out from under a tan & black checkered bandana. I’ll never forget the evil
glint that I saw in his eyes.
By my count, he was not Pakistani not in the true sense. No there is a
reason that I saw this kind of man only once in an entire year.
Real Pakistanis are the opposite of the stereotype in just about every way
possible. And I meet them every day.
Pakistanis are hospitable. I’ve spent my entire time here living with a host
family. At first I was a guest, but Jean, Wilburn, Asim, Maria, Susie, John,
Ben, Thomas, Annie, Tashu and Ethan made me feel so welcome that they
became family. I know I have a home here forever. Anywhere you go in
Pakistan, people will welcome you with open arms (and probably a even
a hug from strangers too).
Pakistanis are loyal. I mean crazy loyal. When you make a Pakistani
friend, you’ve created a serious bond. Leaving is so hard because I
feel such powerful ties with people here. For my farewell dinner, a
co-worker (but really a new best friend), Jamshaid, made two 9 hour trips
between our site in the flood affected areas and Lahore just to join for
dinner. Another friend of mine who had moved out of Lahore months ago
made a 250 Km round trip to meet me for Sehri breakfast at 3 am. I’ve
never felt so honored.
Pakistanis love tea. If this isn’t self-evident, I don’t know what is.
Pakistanis love to sit down, stir their chai and chat. Spending time
with others and building quality relationships is so important.
Back home people tend to fly through their days, but in Pakistan, every
moment with another is cherished.
Pakistanis are optimistic. I’ve never been somewhere where young people
were as energized about opportunities in their own country as here.
There is a bright future ahead and Pakistan’s youth are driving it. A few
friends of mine – Ali, Babar, Zehra, Saba, Jimmy, Khurram have inspiring
aspirations for change in PK.
This is the Pakistan that the world needs to come to know. Yes, there
are terrorists and violence, and that can’t be forgotten, but if that is
your perception, then you are judging a book by the headlines.
Sure, there are probably safer ways I could have spent this year, but then
I wouldn’t have been stretched in the way that I have been.
Pakistan has become a part of me; it has forever changed me, my
perspective on the world, and my trust in humanity.
Here is to you Pakistan.
Shukria, Allah Hafiz. (Thank you, may God protect you).
~Bryan
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