By 4 pm, we arrived in Karachi. The international terminal was being remodeled, so all 300 plus of us crowded into the domestic terminal and there was much confusion as passengers tried to make connection with continuing flights. Vitoon had talked of going on to Singapore, but now was concerned with getting home and a flight to Bangkok. I wanted him to stay with me, but he had little interest in staying in Pakistan.
I tried to keep Vitoon close to me in the terminal. But In the crowd I lost him and did not know if he caught a flight, but hoped that he had caught a flight out rather than been stuck alone in Karachi. Mahfooz's uncle was the Chief Customs inspector in the domestic terminal, but he wasn't there. I finally got him on the phone. He sounded excited, and said that he couldn't come and get me because they were preparing for someone to come from America. I had telegraphed from Cairo that I was coming, but had told him the wrong day.
After I explained who I was, he came to get me in a car. He was so disturbed that he talked about it the whole way to where I was going to be staying and didn't seem very happy at all that I had arrived. I can see why. I believe I apologized but let him do the talking. As I rode I noticed billboards all over advertising loans for 16% interest. If there was a way, I would invest. That was the highest interest rate I had ever seen to buy a house, even in California.
We mostly drove through what looked like Southern California subdivisions of well spaced pastel two-story homes on sidestreets off of main boulevards that were wide. There was an open trench down the middle of the boulevard. Hopefully for rain rather than sewage. The sky was filled with either vultures or eagles circling overhead and the primary birds on the ground were pigeons and white headed crows. I expected to see snakes but didn't see any.
There were camels, donkeys, cows, and goats, two kinds: a large one and a small one on the street. In short, the skies and ground were filled with animal and bird activity like I had never seen. Some pulling carts like in Egypt but there were also cars and the ubiquitous smoky motorized rickshaws that were everywhere. Before long, we turned on a side street and pulled up to a very nice light blue and white stucco like building, but it may have been concrete and much sturdier than in the US in California.
I stayed in the home of Talha Siddique, Mahfooz's brother-in-law and possibly the father of his wife's sister, the uncle. Entering the house there was a pleasant bedroom with the bath on the left where I was told to take my bags and a living room on the right. After I dropped my bags, the uncle placed me in the living room to wait while he left in the car for my duration. Apparently I was staying in his room.
I didn't wait very long before two lovely young women and saris came from the back of the house and joined me. They were medical students. The one in the blue sari with silver decoration appeared to be a bit younger, introduced herself, and then, left. The older one in a ravishing red sari with gold thread appeared to be capable of occupying me until the man of the house came home much later. These were all hurried plans as a result of my messing up with my wire.
Shahen was about 18. I surmised that she was wearing her wedding dress because it was so beautifully done. She was stunningly beautiful as well. Spoke perfect English and we talked about Mahfouz and his concern about his wife, Farkhunda (she did not appear). Shahen told me that when she finished her medical studies she was going to marry another doctor and they were going to Africa. She was so sure of herself. It was a pleasure to talk to her while drinking some tea. When the head of the household, Talha Siddique, came home from work, Shahen disappeared into the back and I never saw her again.
About the same age as me, Talha and I soon found that we had a lot in common in spite of our heritages and locations on opposite sides of the physical and political world. There are some people you are just in tune with, and he was like that to me. It was as if we were twin brothers. I know because I have a twin brother. In spite of our opposite cultures, we still understood each other perfectly while conversing.
Four sisters stayed in the home, including Mahfooz's wife, Farkhunda. I don't recall Talha's wife's name because I was not with her except at meals where she was in charge or any of the others. Each sister spent a great deal of time cooking exotic dishes for me and would watch me carefully as I ate to see how I liked each one. Especially, the desserts made from pumpkin or squash and covered with gold or silver that I was required to eat.
Talha took me to lunches with his colleagues in the German pharmaceutical company he worked for and on tours of the city. One time, when taking me to see the villas of oil-rich Arabs, he stopped by the road and disappeared down a bank. He reappeared with a hand full of dried weeds, apologized, and explained that he was gathering a dry arrangement, the same thing that I'd done in my travels in the States. Later, when he bargained for me at the brass market, downtown, I had him buy a large brass vase. I paid for the vase and gave it to him for his arrangement.
Talha's friend and lunch companion was a manager for PIA. When I told him that we'd flown PIA and that I'd lost Vitoon at the airport, the friend agreed to help find him. The manager's staff called around and found the Thai Consulate had picked Vitoon up and housed him in a motel near the airport. Talha took me to him and I reconnected with Vitoon at the motel. He had scheduled a flight that day to arrive in Bangkok at 11 pm, one hour after curfew. Thailand was under martial law. He planned to stay the night in the airport, and then head home at 7 am. I was expected to do the same on the same flight three days later.
One day several men relatives, including Talha's young sons, Akif and Kashif, piled into Talha's VW Beetle, and we headed northeast for a day of adventure. North of Karachi in what was basically, desert, we crossed the Trans Asian Highway. I don't recall it being paved. The only establishments on the four corners were tents. I don't recall any substantial permanent buildings. If Vitoon and I had driven, we would have passed the same intersection on our way to Bombay (Mumbai).
Pakistanis seemed to be very proud of their trucks and buses. I was quite surprised at the number of Mercedes trucks and cars on the road. Probably because they were much cheaper than in the US and known for their durability. The commercial vehicles were covered with decorated brass over solid colors like red, green or blue. They were quite colorful and even though they may have been the same model, their decoration made them unique for the owners.
We stopped at Bhanbhore, once on the Indus River, now left as an ancient ruin while the river runs its course kilometers away. The site was littered with potshards, but no whole pots could be found except in the small museum. The clay remains of pots and walls were the only visible indication that this was once a thriving part of the ancient Indus River culture going back to the first century BC. While not as old or as rich as the people of the Nile, these people established the caravan routes between Egypt and China.
In the parking lot we came across a mangy, perhaps rabid, dog. In Pakistan locals were indifferent to dead and dying animals who, in their final hours, often headed for the sea looking for water, to die on the beaches. When we visited the beach, complete with a rusting shipwreck, several animals were staggering along, not finding anything eat or drink. Scavenger eagles filled the air everywhere, and white-headed crows picked the bones that remained, clean.
We drove north again to the Hub Reservoir and wildlife refuge that Talha hadn't seen in 16 years. I was his good excuse to take a day off and bring his sons. At first, he was disappointed that no vendors were selling fish. But we still had a picnic, watching exotic birds that migrated from Siberia. He mused about the fish that used to be there. As we left, he asked a local villager where fish could be found when we crossed a bridge. Suddenly, several men appeared from the canal below with long stringers of fish.
Talha bought about sixty pounds of four different kinds of fish I'd never seen before. One resembled a crappie, another a carp, and another a cross between a catfish and an eel. The fish were loaded on the floor of the small back seat of the Bug, leaving no legroom for the two adults and two kids back there. Luckily, I was up front. On the way back we lost the brakes, but there were no grades and Talha's skillful use of the gears and emergency brake got us home safely. He told me years later. If I knew then, I had gotten. That night, we had a feast and I had to eat each kind of fish and give my opinion. Delicious the way they served them.
The next day, we went to observe the procession of mourners for the celebration of the 10th of Muharram. This is a Shiite Moslem holiday mourning the martyrdom of Hussain ibn Ali, the grandson of the Islamic Prophet Muhammad and massacre of the faithful in the year 680 A.D. The participants, a million strong, carry coffins representing the fallen ones for two days through Karachi, ending with ceremonial burial in the sea.
Talha told me to guard my billfold by putting it in my front pocket. "There are thieves in the crowds. Be ready to run. Rival groups often clash with the mourners while they are agitated and mesmerized by the marching, chanting, and self-flagellation."
We drove to an ideal spot where there was a little bleachers stand to give us a good view of the procession coming for miles and passing right by us. I started to wonder how we could easily run from anything coming up at us from the street. Luckily nothing happened. I hung tightly to my billfold.
The mourners chanted and beat their breasts in anguish as they passed. Some used knives, razor blades, or glass to cut their heads or chests, causing blood to trickle-down and cover their bodies. Others, through repeated breast-beating, raised huge blisters that turned into bloody open sores. It was a sight I'll never forget and helped me understand the control the Shiites have over the people of Iran. The Sunnis I was with were much more moderate.
The last day I was there we went to the outskirts of Karachi to what looked like a Western US town with rails in front to tie up your animals, a boardwalk and false fronts. We pulled up in front of one Chinese restaurant with no customers. Inside there were four mismatched window AC units in the back wall. To the right was a sheet covering an entry to the kitchen. Everything else was rather bare and basic. Small square tables. A simple menu typed in English. With entries like "eggroll, fish and rice, chicken and noodles, etc."
A little old Chinese man, hunched over with age, took our order and then began to fill the table with everything from the menu until there was hardly room to eat. Their version of a Chinese buffet or my companions showing off their wealth to the benefit of the owner and me. It was probably the best Chinese meal I've ever had. Simple, but very comprehensive.
I don't recall leaving for the airport, but it was probably late in the day for the flight to Bangkok.
Copyright 2020 © Ronald W. Hull
12/15/20
