trouble in paradise

Hello, remember me? May I briefly yet profusely apologise for the lack of updates over the past three months. I could probably think of an excuse but the truth is I am a bit crap at life, and I must have gotten distracted by a bit of floating dust or similar. That, and I’ve been a bit busy trying to stay alive to bother with it, you know?

So much as happened, but in order to make this update digestible I will try and stick to the important bits…

I did indeed leave for Peshawar on that fateful Monday, only to be evacuated on the Friday following a series of outrageous happenings. This included a sharp increase in suicide bomb attacks averaging one a day, an increase in militant anti-western feeling resulting in having stuff thrown at me in the street and almost being run off the road several times by wayward motorcyclists, two gropings in the street and a rather non-romantic molestation in the back of a rickshaw. So not the best week really.

This sees Jo and I holed up back in the Islamabad guesthouse for another long week while a certain volunteer agency attempted to find us another placement somewhere a bit less bomby. Eventually we both arrived in Lahore, about as far away from Peshawar as you can get both geographically and figuratively speaking, and the closest thing Pakistan has to Brighton. Sadly at this point, Jo and I were split up due to our new placements being opposite ends of Lahore, which is a huge city, so I moved in with a brilliant Canadian girl called Cat and got stuck into my new placement as HIV nurse type person again, this time focussing on home based care and outreach work for people living with HIV/AIDS.

I should probably mention what it was like living under martial law.. I’ve written a short piece for a Brighton magazine called So It Goes…which will tell you all about it, please read that here (Issue 3, P. 8, pdf). It’s probably wise not to post it on this blog as I hear they’re ‘monitored’.

After an exhausting couple of months I decided to make a surprise visit back to the UK for Christmas, and oh what fun I had, particularly giving my parents a heart attack when I wandered into the living room on Christmas eve. There’s little point in me going into any detail here, suffice to say there was an abundance of wine, sausage and love, and I enjoyed the elevated status of favourite daughter and friend despite having only been away for three an a half minutes. As anyone reading this will undoubtedly know, Benazir Bhutto was murdered the day after Boxing Day, throwing Pakistan into yet more political turmoil with protests, looting and whatnot. As chuffed as I was to be far far away from the virtual Disneyland that is my new home, watching the BBC news coverage of events was very disconcerting indeed, they exaggerate and speculate like a used car salesman and managed to put the fear of god into my nearest and dearest. My return to the ‘Stan was officially delayed for almost two weeks, and no sooner had I not-quite-convinced everyone that Lahore was far away from all the trouble and hasn’t had a suicide bomb attack for over 15 years, BANG. Twenty three dead in a suicide attack in Lahore, at a Lawyers protest. Volunteers out of country at that point were offered the option of staying home or coming back to Pakistan, and after much deliberation I opted to return. I’d effectively sold my life to the devil to get there and it was no longer in stock.. no home, no job, no point in sticking around, thought I.

On arriving back I experienced three days of gargantuan jetlag, followed by what seemed like a year of ‘hibernation’. This is the fancy name they give to making us stay locked up in our houses eating tinned goods in the hope of avoiding any unpleasantries in the streets around us - it was the end of Muharram; a Muslim mourning period which has historically caused a bit of a kafuffle including wide scale protests of self flagellation and of course, lets not forget the bombs. Having no television (don’t want one), internet (installed by cowboys who were stealing it off a neighbour, who consequently called the police and has now disappeared), or even electricity for big chunks of the day (load shedding), it’s easy to feel a smidgen detached from the outside world, and even easier to go slightly insane. Pakistan appears to have run out of electricity, and more recently gas, so the powers that be are rationing the supply with regular scheduled – and some not so scheduled – power cuts. A taxi driver insisted it’s all got so much worse with the power cuts since Benazir died…I’m not sure if he was suggesting she spent her days pedalling a giant dynamo or was simply expressing his grief, but either way it’s obvious people are starting to get cheesed off.

More boredom ensued as off I went to spend a week in Islamabad trying to get my visa renewed, shopping for things I neither needed nor wanted and attending a riveting HIV advocacy conference. I did manage to bump into some Welsh boys who took me under their wing for the weekend, tipping rosé down my neck hole and taking me to a party hosted by a lovely man from the American Embassy, which was possibly a lot of fun.. I remember stealing a poor man’s ‘How can I help you please?’ badge while being a rowdy drunken chav in Macdonalds, because it also said ‘My Name is Saddam’. I must have thought it was funny at the time.

The journey back to Lahore was a five hour coach catastrophe, principally because I had a somewhat violent stomach bug and despite chemically plugging myself up with immodium and anti-sickness drugs, the combination of the worlds most uncomfortable seats, an over zealous hostess spraying hideous air freshener into my face on a regular basis, the heat and the general population pong made me think I was actually going to die. I didn’t.

So I think that’s enough for now. The elections are coming up on 18^th February, and we’re being pre-emptively shipped to a safehouse in Islamabad for over a week, in the hope that we can be safely cocooned away from any election backlash and related problems. Some Pakistani opposition leaders predict the elections will be rigged. They argue that election authorities, the judiciary and local government officials favour Musharraf's supporters. There are concerns that fraudulent elections could spark the kind of violence seen in Kenya, where fighting after their disputed presidential vote has left hundreds dead. Some believe there won’t even be elections, which could cause problems in itself, and others trust the elections will be free, fair, transparent and democratic, but whichever way you look at it, this has got to be the weirdest, longest holiday ever.

I’ve been instructed to pack up everything I want to take home and take it with me to the capital, and flights have been booked should we need to be evacuated, although I’m assured this is a ‘worst case scenario’ plan.

Watch this space…..

I have arrived! After insisting to my loved ones that my Heathrow airport goodbyes must be completely tearless, I'm afraid to say that no sooner had I turned the corner towards our departure lounge the floodgates opened and I had to canoe my way through security. I'm surprised they didn't make me cry into that little plastic bag they make you carry all your liquids through in, but I undoubtedly produced more than 100ml so perhaps the less said about the better.

Anyway, the flight was a wobbly one, we were served some lovely packaging with a bit of food in it, watched a couple of average films and landed with a bump in Islamabad at about 6am on Sunday. We spent a painfully long time being claustrophobically squashed by a large old Muslim woman in the queue for immigration, and were then greeted by Gulzar from VSO. Now I don't want to go on about the weather but yes, the sun was already doing it's stuff as Gulzar and about five of his mates squashed all eleven volunteers stuff into what can only be described as an oversized campervan. Shockingly enough, my stuff wouldn't fit in so they stuck it on the roof and off we went through the wide streets of Islamabad, guest house bound (see pic below)

My fellow volunteer Jo (read more about her wonderfulness here) and I were allocated to share a room, and were bowled over by how gorgeous it all was. There's one huge huge bigger-than-kingsize bed and a little put-up one in the corner. To save any arguments, we got the little bed removed and are now happily Morcomb and Wise-ing it up in style. We've got our own bathroom and satellite TV and everything, we even watched Baywatch and Mr. Bean the other day, in that order.

Anyway, VSO generously allowed us a couple of hours to sleep and freshen up (after being awake and traveling half way across te world for about 30 hours) before bombarding us with information and welcome packs and whatnot. The next few days were spent meeting all the VSO programme office staff, getting to know the other volunteers and learning how to eat curry, dahl and rice with just a chapatti, and just with one hand. The only time spent out of the guesthouse was when we took the twenty minute walk to the office, through dusty roads lined with men staring like we’re made out of cake, and masses of pungent, naturally growing cannabis plants. The locals don’t seem remotely interested in this, but naturally Jo and I thought it hilarious; in fact she got so excited she stepped in a giant water buffalo dung trying to get a good sniff.

Sadly, some pleb orchestrated a suicide attack on Gen Musharraf in Rawalpindi (part of Islamabad) so we weren’t allowed out to play for a bit, but as soon as VSO gave the all-clear on security, off I went exploring the markets and getting stared at some more. With the expert haggling skills of VSO staff Masoora and Sabohi, I purchased material for six salwar kameez sets (baggy trousers and long shirt thing worn with a big shawl called a dupatta to cover your modesty. Ahem.) and visited the tailor to get them made up, couture of course. I tried in vain with my very broken Urdu to explain to the tailor that I wanted the trousers to be more like the ones I had on than two sacks with elastic around the ankles, and he assured me that he would make ones with ‘bell-ends’. I have no idea what this means but it sounded like fun so off I went. The evenings so far have seen a trip to Pizza Hut (yes), games of freestyle badminton on the gated lawn (no net), Jo and I giggling ourselves to sleep designing renegade shalwar kameez (including a santa, supergirl and giant lizard woman) and any or all of us trying desperately not to poo ourselves as the green tea and chilli laden diet begins to take its toll.

Saturday saw us touring various places of interest in Islamabad, including a museum, the Faisal Mosque (the big modern one in the picture - wow) and a viewing point where you get to see the whole city in all it's dusty, gridtastic glory. Here, an excitable group of young Pakistani women became fascinated by our entire group and took loads of photos with us, my blonde hair/blue eyed combo going down a particular treat. An evening of shopping and merriment was then cut short by the news that Gen Musharraf had decided to declare a State of Emergency, anyone who doesn't already know all about that can find out here). So I downed my fresh apple juice (the closest I can get to Westons in these troubled times) and got a taxi back to the guesthouse, only to find that the military had cut transmission of all but one, state-led TV station. We didn't have a clue what was going on, but VSO stuck us all under house arrest for the evening, where I entertained myself by ordering pizza and teaching one of our wonderful Pakistani hosts some cockney rhyming slang.

At the time of going to press, we're all still none the wiser about what all this martial law jazz will mean for us volunteers, particularly Jo and I who are heading up to the NWFP where tensions have been particularly high. At the moment, our departure from Islamabad to Peshawar will be delayed until the dust settles, so watch this space.....

Getting ready to go...

Hello everyone, and welcome to my first ever post on my first ever blog. Ever. If you're here then you probably already know all about me and where I'm going....... or do you? For the benefit of the uninitiated and the odd stalker types, I have attempted to summarise my life thus far in the 'about me' bit.

So... After a rather hectic and emotional fortnight of farewells in Brighton (I don't like to do things by halves..), I have left behind some rather fabulous friends and have returned to the Welsh Borders to harass my family. I am presently fluttering about my mum's house as it's four days until I catch my flight to Islamabad. I am utterly skint, under prepared and disorganised in epic proportions but nevertheless I am feeling positive and remarkably calm about the whole thing. I have even compiled a list of important things that I need to do / get before i go, it begins thus...

1. Write list
2. Buy swiss army knife (you never know)
3. Get guitar fixed, buy case and spare strings
4. Learn to play guitar
5. Compose first aid kit - including immodium and Anti EstherRantzenimes
6. Purchase modest clothing
7. Summon willpower to complete list

So as you can see, you've all got nothing to worry about. All I need to do now is find my ticket, not lose my passport before Saturday and hatch a grand plan to get Jo and I upgraded to Club Class for a final taste of luxury... wish me luck....