I didn’t want to go to Pakistan to begin with. ‘Wild horses couldn’t drag me there if they tried’, was what I thought when I 1st saw the mission brief. Jonah was probably much keener to get to Nineveh. But some inexplicable force dragged me kicking and screaming to go interview and even attend the mission brief. Eventually, despite all my rationalisation of why it was not the best idea, I just couldn’t walk away from it. Being South Asian myself, and having travelled around India quite extensively, I really didn’t see what encounter of cultures I could bring to the venture or what novel experience I would find. Pakistan didn’t sound half as pretty or salubrious as my native island Sri Lanka. And as far as poverty, conflict, destruction and suffering went, I felt I had seen enough to last my mortal years, and I didn’t want to see things unless I was going to do something about it. But I have to admit a part of me was beginning to wonder what I was afraid of seeing or experiencing. Being a contrary soul, I thought it might do my much pampered comfort zone some good, if nothing else. So almost with half hearted acquiescence I decide to go along with this pointless expedition.
Of course sods law working overtime ensured that my visa was not initially admitted, and then 3 days before I was to fly, I sprained one ankle, and then the other. The 1st while rock climbing and then the other involving (an apparently amusing series of events) running into a volleyball net in a wet muddy field in Criccieth, in the blinding rain and falling awkwardly on my ankle (so called friends found it deeply amusing and filmed the event rather than helping me out of my mind numbing pain). While I could manage a painful hobble it was slowing everyone down which was much less entertaining than the mortifying wheelchair. So by the time I got to London I was providing even more amusement to the mission team who took turns in pushing my wheel chair around Heathrow. But frankly after the ridiculous mile long queues (and you think I jest or exaggerate!!) for the million security checks I was actually deeply grateful that Anna had got me a wheel chair.
When I eventually landed in Peshawar, in the troubled North-west Frontier of Pakistan, I committed my habitual cardinal sin of travel, and thought, ‘now that we are here nothing else can go wrong’. Literally 2 minutes after we landed as I was hobbling from the air craft to the immigration building, I felt vaguely light-headed despite the explosive heat and painfully throbbing ankle and things went a hazy white! I regained consciousness in some sort of a medical room at the airport, and people kept speaking to me in strange tongues (It was like my greatest fear at Soul Survivor had come true!!). I don’t think I helped matters by looking disoriented and not explaining I wasn’t Pakistani and didn’t understand, Urdu, Punjabi or Hindi (and whatever else languages they tried). Finally an English speaking doctor explained that they thought I had had a heart attack as he removed the pressure monitor from my arm. Despite the vibrating heat (and my apparent near heart attack!!!) my head dress was firmly on, and was in fact being ‘fixed’ by disapproving nurse to throttle my still struggling breathing.
Eventually, despite our dramatic entrance we made it to our accommodation, in the heart of the city. Peshawar was all dust, rubble and smog with layers of temporal remnants in mosaic inlay randomly crammed together. Ancient carvings and arabesque marble juxtaposed with the plastic post modern structures. The very plump orange sun swam on the horizon, unsteadily dangling among ancient minarets and unfinished sky scrapers. As the dusk kissed city started calling its citizens to prayer in the remnants of the bleeding sunset, some synesthetic sense awakened drowsily in the exhausted travel fatigue, and recognised a strange new strain of beauty. In the trail of the dust (both literally & metaphorically) that had dragged my travel bruised conscious kicking and screaming, I stopped to find unexpected beauty… everywhere.
Albums from Peshawar
Of course sods law working overtime ensured that my visa was not initially admitted, and then 3 days before I was to fly, I sprained one ankle, and then the other. The 1st while rock climbing and then the other involving (an apparently amusing series of events) running into a volleyball net in a wet muddy field in Criccieth, in the blinding rain and falling awkwardly on my ankle (so called friends found it deeply amusing and filmed the event rather than helping me out of my mind numbing pain). While I could manage a painful hobble it was slowing everyone down which was much less entertaining than the mortifying wheelchair. So by the time I got to 
Eventually, despite our dramatic entrance we made it to our accommodation, in the heart of the city. 
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home