Chapter 11: Sightseeing in Lahore

 

Chapter 11: Sightseeing in Lahore

Wanting to see what Lahore had to offer before the year ended, Dana and I joined friends on a city tour. We marveled at the culture and history that the city held.

The Badshahi Mosque, built in 1673, holds 100,000 worshippers at one time. Standing in the centre of the mosque, I looked up at the grey sky above and the Minarets on each corner. I tried to imagine 100,000 men on their knees praying.

Our guide took us to a small room near the front of the mosque. I stood in one corner and a friend stood facing the corner opposite to me. Facing the wall, I spoke. The acoustics were perfect. Our friend could hear me as if I were face to face with him.

Our friends said that the mosque was more impressive than the Taj Mahal, which is saying something.

Slipping on our shoes, we drove to the Lahore Fort. Amongst the ramparts and buildings, Dana was swarmed by girls who asked for her autograph. Other groups of women asked her to be in pictures with them.

April 16, 2001

Overseas Stupidity

Dedicated to finishing the year strongly, Dana and I dedicated ourselves to sculpting our bodies. We were advised to try the Avari Hotel and join their health facility.

Now, you are setting yourself up for frustration and failure if you move overseas and expect everything to be like home. Occasionally, however, the difference in routines and mindset can be mind boggling.

After a tour of the weight room and pool, we asked how much.

“The cost is 12,000 rupees for three months,” the gentleman replied. “You need two pictures for identification.”

“OK, we’ll pay you now and bring the pictures in on Tuesday,” we said. That way we could work out right away since we had made the drive.

“OK, that will be 600 rupees plus tax,” he said.

“Why?” we asked.

“Without the pictures, you would be paying the casual fee of 600 rupees plus tax.”

“But we’re willing to pay you 12,000 rupees now,” we said.

He was not willing to budge. We left and joined another gym.

It was a good reminder that countries are meant to make their citizens comfortable, and not the tourists or expats.

Looking back at the situation, we probably look like pushy, arrogant North Americans.

Wallas

Carpet wallas are a one of a kind salesman. They are a Pakistani, shalwar kameez wearing, carpet-selling version of Pampered Chef or Mary Kay. They harken back to the days of the encyclopedia or vacuum cleaner salesman.

Colleagues of ours invited the international staff to their house one late, sunny afternoon. They cleared out their living room of furniture and arranged cushions around the outside of the room for us to sit on. Beverages were offered and we all took our seats as the carpet walla drove up to the house in a little van that resembled a horizontal refrigerator on wheels.

Tariq, the walla, entered, greeted everyone, and eyed the big spenders. His assistant, a skinny teenager, brought in stack after stack of handmade rugs.

Tariq stood in the middle of the room and showed us rug after rug. With each rug, he would extol the virtues of acquiring such a magnificent carpet.

“Look at the colouring.”

“See the fine workmanship.”

“This is a beautiful example of a double knot.”

“This carpet, although single knot, is so fine you would never know it.”

“This is a magnificent carpet.”

If you liked the rug, a price was given and then you negotiated from there. That was part of the fun and you never, ever paid the initial price. If you agreed on a price, the rug went into the yes pile.

Tariq kept three piles: a no pile, a maybe pile and a yes pile.

The assistant, sweating by now from the marathon he was running between the house and van, folded the rugs from the ‘no’ pile and took them to the van. He  then returned with new rugs for us to view. When the van was empty of rugs, we went through the ‘maybe’ pile again.

Throughout the evening, we looked at close to one hundred rugs. Money exchanged hands, Tariq left happy and richer. His assistant left exhausted. We left satisfied with our purchases.

Months later, we invited colleagues and a brass walla, Adil,  to come by and show us his wares. He brought in items such as antique teapots, opium weights from Afghanistan, huge milk pots, rice sorters, pots, pans, and Hindu statues of gods and goddesses. He, too, had one poor assistant running a marathon between van and house

We bought a small brass figurine band, opium weights from Afghanistan, brass pots and bowls, and a kettle. The walla left happy.

He kept the items, however, and took them to an elder in the city. He then paid the elder to clean and polish the brass, which he did with ketchup.

The walla network was strong. Once we bought from Tariq, others followed, uninvited. The uninvited were 50% door-to-door salesmen and 50% pain-in-the-asses.

One walla brought in five cheaply made carpets that were terribly overpriced.

“I’m sorry, but we’re not interested,” I said.

“Why you no take these beautiful rugs?” he asked.

“Because we know rugs well and these are far too expensive for the quality,” I replied.

He looked behind me at our rugs on the floor.

“Those are awful rugs. How much did you pay for those?” he said.

He continued to insult our rugs. I showed him the door.

Carpet Shopping

Dana and I went looking for carpets rather than have the wallas come to us.

In one recommended shop, we found the prices to be cheaper. They would also let you take a rug home for a few days to see if you liked it. If you did not, you could return the rug with no hassle.

We spent the afternoon looking at rugs from Afghanistan, Iran, and Pakistan.

April 24, 2002

Security Guards and Party

We decided to host a party for the foreign hire staff at the school. There was lots of beverages consumed and good conversation. Having everyone together seemed to have a healing effect on me.

One of the topics of conversation focused on the new security guards that the school had hired on our behalf.

We had two guards who worked twelve hour shifts. The night guard got his fair share of sleep. Our day guard weighed 70 pounds dripping wet. Both had shotguns but they were never within arm’s reach so they were little use to us in an emergency.

Another couple’s guard had one very lazy eye. We wondered how he could use the sight of a gun. It sounded mean but security was an issue at the time and we questioned all of our guard’s effectiveness.

To be fair to the school, they had tried to use two other security companies. They used ex-military for their guards. But, due to the recent tensions, the military had recalled most of them for duty along the Afghanistan and Indian borders. So, we were stuck with these boobs who earned only 3000 rupees per month ($50 USD). That was not enough for them to stick their necks out on our behalf.

Tailors

If we were to leave Lahore, we were not going to leave without taking advantage of the fantastic materials and tailors that the city offered.

A common shopping destination continued to be Saleem Fabrics. Once we purchased the material, we used one of three people to make our clothes.

Samuel, a local Christian, would come to our house to pick up the material. He specialized in shalwar kameezs - the M. C. Hammer baggy pants that we loved so much.

Dana bought material for pillow cases and sheets. To get them stitched cost $1 USD for a fitted sheet and two pillowcases. For a fitted sheet, two pillowcases, and a flat sheet cost $1.30 USD.

I would take my fabric through a narrow alley near Saleem Fabrics to New Maharaja Tailors. They specialized in suits and shirts.

For $5 USD, I could get a pair of western pants or a shirt made. My shalwars cost $5 USD as well. The suit cost 2400 rupees ($40 USD).

The workmanship was incredibly good.

A few more crooked alley turns past New Maharaja Tailors was a small shop that would dye material. A young man would take a large stick and stir the cloth in a vat. The material was then hung to dry. Dana bought sixteen metres of cotton material.

Spirit Week

Our student council held Spirit Week, which was a huge success. The student turnout was excellent. Wacky Outfit Day gave me a chance to wear my cow costume, realistic looking udders and all.

Friday ended in a huge water fight. Held on the front lawn, teams were chosen and students hid behind large P. E. Mats. When the fight started, they ran and yelled and slipped and threw water balloons and soaked sponges. They had a blast.

“They’re wrecking the lawn,” said the P. E. Teacher.

“Yeah, we didn’t anticipate that. Sorry. Grass grows back, though,” I said trying to sound confident in the grass’ ability to recover.

Thankfully, the lawn was back to normal within a week. You have to love the tropics.

At the end of the year, one student approached me in the hallway.

“Mr. Kitch, that water fight was the highlight of the year!”

It was nice to hear that something that took so little effort was enjoyed and appreciated by the students.

Word on the street was that Bin Laden’s #2 guy was arrested right in Lahore. We could not confirm whether or not that was true. Not sure whether or not that dampened our spirits or raised them.

President General Musharraf & Socializing

As busy as school was, Dana made a concerted effort to socialize more. Wednesday evenings was Ally McBeal night, despite the episodes being two years old. Still, it was new to everyone and it gave them a chance to gather at someone’s house or go to the International Club.

There were also plans to continue the book club for next school year. At the time, they were reading Moth Smoke, written by Lahorian Mohsin Hammid. A graduate of LAS, Mohsin was perfectly suited to write a book about the elite of Lahore.

A referendum was held to gauge the support of President General Musharraf. We were told that the results would, of course, support Musharraf despite religious radicals holding signs such as “Save Islam; get rid of Musharraf.” I doubt that Musharaff was on good terms with the Taliban or Al Qaeda, either. He was a moderate dictator.

The message was clear from the religious population but the people we knew were content with his leadership. To us, he seemed to expertly walk that fine line between pleasing the religious, the military, and the people. Not easy to do in a country long at war and with a population of over 170 million, many in poverty.

Students were saying that this was a quiet referendum as there were no tires being burnt, rallies, or gunshots.

April 27, 2002

Tashkent Ballet Company

The Tashkent Ballet Company from Uzbekistan came to Lahore. While we were not ballet fans, we could not pass on such an unique opportunity.

The performance started at 9:30 P. M., even though it was to start at 8:00. Late starts were typical for Lahore. If the ballet had started on time, most of the people would have missed the performance.

They choose an open field for the venue. White, circular tables faced a large stage. The table cloths and place settings confirmed that this was a high class affair. This was to be a nine course meal.

The company performed parts of Le Corsaire, Swan Lake, and 1001 Nights during the first act. Their athleticism, grace, and skill were impressive - not that I know good ballet from bad ballet. Swan Lake impressed me the most. The amazing part was that it was just one dancer who spent almost the whole time on her toes.

After the first act, an Uzbeki woman walked to the centre of the stage. Her spoken English was very poor but transformed to perfect when she sang. In addition to singing songs in English, she sang songs in six different languages. She even sang a song in Urdu, ,which she did not speak. The Pakistanis at our table said that her pronunciation was perfect.

Act two began with the performers dancing to music by the Backstreet Boys. The performers donned white masks and tights. After two unique dances, they switched to Turkish and Gipsy dances.

The program had a Michael Jackson song listed but they did not dance to it, unfortunately. I was hoping to tell Manuel all about it for he enjoyed a good Michael Jackson song. Whenever a Michael Jackson video would come on the TV, he would rush in to the living room to watch.

The performance ended just after dark so we bid our table companions a good night and headed home.

Wagah Border Crossing

With our time in Pakistan winding down, we wanted to experience one more local attraction - the border station of Wagha. India and Pakistan have held a flag lowering ceremony every day since 1947 at Wagha.

The expat staff arranged for a van to drive us through the labyrinthian roads of Lahore to the Indian border. Two thousand two hundred kilometres of fence stood between the two countries. The fence is lit and has menacing barbed wire on top. Trenches and pill boxes dotted the landscape to shield soldiers from attack.

As we approached the gate, we were offered VIP seating by a Major-General in the Pakistani army. He sat us at white, metallic tables on the grounds in front of the gates themselves. The scene was more suited for a tea garden party than an international, military event.

The Major-General explained that, despite the military presence there, this was the safest location between India and Pakistan. Because of it’s international reputation, neither the Pakistan nor the Indian military would allow anything to happen there.

Both India and Pakistan built large stadiums so that people could view the event. Pakistan had one set of stands for women and the other for men. Two large, iron gates stood on the border line between the two countries.

The Indians were waving massive flags. Both sides yelled insults. They shook fists. It was pandemonium. You could see the intense hostility and disgust on their faces. 

“What are they saying,” I asked a Pakistani gentlemen standing next to me.

His eyes bulged.

“Very, very, very bad things,” he said. He would not elaborate more than that.

Afterwards, I asked our driver who said that they only uttered death threats but I am sure it was worse than that.

A soldier appeared. The gate between the two countries slammed open. That was the cue for the soldier marched as fast as he could legs kicking high above his head and feet slamming down hard on the ground. He marched directly at his Indian counterpart. The crowd went berserk.

The soldiers went to shake hands but suddenly withdrew their hands just before palms touched. This prompted a huge cheer from the crowd. This act was a big “screw-you” to the other soldier.

Another soldier came out and started his march. Again, his foot literally went higher than his head and then was slammed down on the pavement. He puffed up his chest and had his hands on his hips. He pointed his elbows out to make himself look bigger. This brought another huge cheer from the crowd.

The entire time, the soldier stared at the Indian soldier doing the same routine on the other side. He fixed his helmet and strutted peacock-like soaking up the adoration of his countrymen.

All of the soldiers participating were chosen for their looks, size, and build. They only took the biggest, toughest looking soldiers.

The two marched at the two Indian soldiers. They stood there and stared at each other. Every once in a while, one soldier would slip a thumb under the shoulder strap of his machine gun and pretend to take it off. Another threat. The crowd loved that, too. The soldiers stared some more.

With the intimidation dance over with, two of the soldiers raced to unravel the flag rope and lower the flag. They slammed the gates shut so that they bounced in their tracks. The whole ceremony was done with the Pakistani soldier the victor that day.

Once the flag was down, the crowds yelled a few final insults before heading to the parking lot. The soldiers folded the flag. After the ceremony, we waited for our colleagues to gather together for the trip home. Thirty Pakistanis gathered around us in a circle just to stare at us. They were not intimidating or rude, just curious.

I suppose we were an unusual sight.

May 5, 2002

Marriage Plans

While we were already married in the eyes of the State of Kuwait, we wanted a church wedding with friends and family.

Through email, Dana was coordinating all of the events with her Mother. The wedding would be held in a small Catholic Church in ???, Saskatchewan.

Dana was able to take care of most of the details via the incredibly slow Internet connection that we had in Lahore.

May 16, 2002

Letter of Resignation Part I

We regretfully submitted our letter of resignation. They tried to convince us to stay. The whole ordeal was difficult and emotional. The issue and debate was fatiguing.

For family and friends back home, the choice was obvious: leave!

However, it was not that simple for us. We were emotionally tied to a school community that we enjoyed.

While things heated up between the Board and staff, the temperature outside was in the mid-40s Celsius. Humidity sucked.

May 16, 2002

Wedding Anniversary

Our first wedding anniversary came amongst the uncertainty and confusion of the times. We decided upon a Thai restaurant for supper. The food and service was fantastic. We indulged in a bottle of champagne, which in Pakistan, means white grape juice.

The conversation tilted to the events of the past year. If our first year of marriage was like this, what did the future have in store for us?

We also decided that the Board was a bunch of anal sphincters.

May 19, 2002

Letter of Resignation Part II

The Board sent us a letter stating that they would take care of us through evacuation insurance and according to what the U. S. Government states.

We stuck with the resignation. There had been too much uncertainty and indecision; too many questions about security.

Knowing that our time was finite, Dana took the opportunity to have Shaukat, the tailor, load her up with clothes. He made her eight light cotton shirts, three pairs of dress pants, two pairs of lose pants, five dresses, three pairs of shorts, and one suit.

A little drama was not going to stop her from adding to her wardrobe.

May 21, 2002

Resignation

The staff and students found out that we resigned. Many were upset and sad. Others mad.

Whenever anyone approached Dana, she would break down and cry. I saved my tears for the end.

Some staff and students, I am sure, blamed us. There was still that sense that the city of Lahore was nothing but a very safe place to live.

Most, however, blamed the Board for not following through on promises after 9/11.

The Board promised to increase security. They did to an extent but not fully what they promised.

Our feeling was that if the Board broke promises about small things, they were not going to keep larger, more important promises.

May 21, 2002

Looking for a Job

One of the disappointments at the time, was not being able to show my parents the city of Lahore.

Mum and Dad had plans to visit us before 9/11. They put those plans on hold with the unsettled situation in Pakistan. Dana and I would have loved to have shown them the Pakistan that we got to know.

But, life works in mysterious ways. Dana got word of a potential a job in my hometown of Swan River the day that staff and students found out that we were resigning. Nothing was 100% certain just yet but it looked promising. The opportunity to spend more time with Mum and Dad was looking good.

The students are saying that war is imminent, which made our decision look wiser.

May 25, 2002

Details about the Swan River job came through. Dana would teach French and French Immersion. I would take on a maternity leave for lower elementary P. E. And Health position.

To complicate matters, we heard from a school in Venezuela. They offered me a High School computer position. Unfortunately, there was no position for Dana. As interesting as Venezuela was to us, without positions for the two of us, we said no.

Packing Up

We paid for a moving company to pack all of our belongings. I took a personal day from school to help out with the packing. Turns out, I just got in the way. 

A crew of eight men and a supervisor descended upon the house. In a matter of hours, they had the majority of our belongings boxed up.

My only job was to point out what was to be shipped and what was to be left. I also made sure that they had plenty to drink and eat, an offer that was rare judging by the smiles on their faces.

Mentally, I nicknamed one packer “gifted, packing monkey-man”. He sat on the floor surrounded by books and other small belongings. He used both his hands and feet to grab items and box them up. He was unbelievable. He would grab one object with a hand and another with a foot - and have them both wrapped within a minute.

They were the most efficient group of people I have ever seen. The blur of the men’s shalwar kameezes and our belongings moving from room to room was dizzying.

Leaving the International Club

Knowing that we were leaving for good, we decided that we would make one last trip to the International Club and get our deposit back. We went to see the lady in charge.

“Well, we are leaving for Canada soon and were wondering if we could get our deposit back,” I said.

“What? We can’t do that. Just because you want some money for the summer, you want your deposit back. We don’t do that for anyone,” she said.

She carried on with her arms flying about and her voice rising in pitch.

“We’re not returning to Lahore,” I snuck in quickly during a pause in her rant. She needed to breathe at some point.

I glanced at Dana who had the same “holy crap, is this happening” look on her face.

“Oh. Oh, well that’s different then,” she said.

We got our deposit and took off without making any eye contact.

May 28, 2002

Grandma’s Passing

We came home from school to find a message that Mum and Dad had called. Something did not seem right. It was very unusual to get a phone call from home. All of our correspondence had been through email.

We could not use our home phone for international calls so I jumped in the van and headed to school. I signed in and listed Swan River, Canada as the location of my call. The school recorded all phone calls and understandably billed us the amount.

With a series of beeps and clicks, the connection was made. I asked Mum and Dad how they were.

“We’ve been better,” Mum answered.

My maternal Grandmother had passed peacefully through the night.

I lost my maternal Grandfather while I was living in Kuwait. Now, Grandma had passed on.

There is no lonelier feeling than losing a loved one while living overseas.

I wanted to be there for Mum. I wanted the support of my family. I wanted to be there to support them as well. That just was not possible.

The Director was still at school and I explained the situation. He graciously allowed me to leave early for the funeral.

I drove home stunned. I flopped on the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Dana asked.

“Grandma died last night,” I said as I stood up.

Dana gave me a hug. Manuel and Sammi must have overheard for they came in and circled us with a silent, group hug.

Dana and I talked about alternative plans for flying home early to be at the funeral. We decided that I would go while Dana would take care of the loose ends in Lahore.

I felt uncomfortable leaving Dana on her own but she had Manuel and Sammi. Other staff from the school offered to help her out as well.

I would fly out the night of May 30th. Dana would leave on the 3rd of June. The situation was by no means ideal, but we decided to make it work. It was important to me to be at Grandma’s funeral.

May 30, 2002

A Nut Bomb Goodbye

I had just finished a very emotional farewell to the staff at LAS. I broke down and cried in the office. Having to say a final good-bye to people I genuinely liked and cared for was difficult. One of the secretaries hugged me and tried to console me. I had the ugly, shoulder shrugging sobs going on.

I still do not know why I broke down like I did. That was not like me.

It was likely a combination of the stress of the year, Grandma’s passing, having to leave Dana to finish the last few days on her own, and leaving a city that I did not want to leave.

After my goodbyes, I got a ride to the airport. As Lahore whizzed by for the final time, I reflected on our year there. The faces of the students popped in to my head. That brought a smile to my face. They taught me more than I taught them.

The wonderful staff were in my thoughts. I hoped that Sammi and Manuel would get a great job. I hoped that Pakistan would find peace.

Perhaps the school nurse would expand her medicine cabinet to include more than sore throat lozenges. Metamucil might be a good addition. Perhaps the worker who sold condoms and other items out of the school store before being fired would become a millionaire entrepreneur. Maybe Fat Monkey Man would settle down and retire with his monkey by his side.

I thought of our time in Thailand - how we alternated between preparing lessons for our substitutes and exploring. The beauty of Sri Lanka came to mind. Little did we know that it would be our new home in a year.

I wished nothing but the best for Pakistan. I prayed for the people that crossed our paths and enriched our lives. The country had many issues to sort out. The people deserved better than what the government provided. May Allah bless them all.

Finally, the van approached the airport. Seeing the airport brought back memories of lost luggage, food poisoning, and being vomited on when Dana and I first arrived. I could not help but smile thinking of the puke on my leg.

The same old sandbags sat at the entrance to the airport. They protected the soldiers on sentry. One large machine gun pointed towards the road. Helmets bobbed showing the exact location of the soldiers. They were not the best at hiding.

I always enjoyed giving them a big smile and a hyper wave as we passed.

“That is one weird, white guy,” they must have thought.

Inside, I quickly got my ticket and approached security.

Security, on that day, consisted of an elderly guard who motioned for me to join him behind a curtain.

I stood with my legs and arms spread out. He searched my upper body and then my legs. Then he checked my crotch. It was not a quick feel for a knife, gun, or bomb search. It was an extended, thorough testicle-by-testicle check-up.

I furrowed my brow. I looked up at the ceiling. This was not usual. American security was never this thorough. He continued his search.

I cleared my throat. Either that would speed up the process or it would help him in his search for a hernia.

He continued to search my scrotum for minutes.

Finally, satisfied that I had no hernia or lumps, he motioned for me to go on.

As I sat in the waiting room, I started to chuckle to myself. All of the year’s events culminated in a brief feeling-up by airport security.

Eventually, the call came to board.

I made a sign of the cross on the outside of the plane as is my tradition for all flights.

Thinking of Dana, I handed my ticket to the stewardess. I found my seat and buckled up for the last time in Lahore.

The runway sped by faster and faster. I sighed a deep sigh as the wheels left the pavement. I gave Lahore one last look from above and shifted my thoughts to Canada.

My time in Lahore was, sadly, at a premature end.