Two young ladies in Pakistan

Sheila looked at her sleeping children. Rahim was curled up in a small not and Aisha was stressed out on the sofa. They looked peaceful and beautiful. Even the traffic of Lahore did not disturb their deep sleep. 

Sheila walked across the living room and entered the kitchen. One of her servants was making dinner for the whole family. ‘What are you making?’ Sheila asked her in Urdu, as she poured herself a cup of chai tea.

‘I am making a chicken curry with rice and roti.’

‘Faruq will like that’. Sheila sat down on a stool by the kitchen table. She had been married to Faruq for five years now. She had been 19 when her parents arranged a marriage between her and Faruq. Sheila had not seen Faruq before the wedding. It had been so terrifying - getting ready for your own wedding without having met the husband-to-be even once before. 

The marriage has not been bad although Faruq was very conservative. Sheila had to wear a hijab headscarf whenever she was around men who were not family members. She could not socialize with any men nor could she spend a great deal of time with her female friends. She could not continue working. To Faruq, the place of the wife was at home doing work for the family. 

Many of Sheila’s friends could not understand her husband. They thought that he was controlling and did not let her live her life. But what choice did Sheila have? She had to marry this man, because of her parents wish. She had to adjust to this life. And she was not going to be miserable for the rest of his life. She was going to make the most of what she had. She was going to live a happy life and bring up her children as happy human-beings. No matter what anyone else said or thought.      

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Nadia turned to face herself in the mirror. The red fabric dazzled her eyes. She did not recognize her own face; it had so much make-up on it. Her hands were painted with henna and her ears glistered with diamond earrings. 

‘How do I feel?’ Nadia asked herself. She felt apprehensive but also slightly excited. This was her wedding day. This was the day that she had been dreaming about for so many years. Now it had finally come. 

Nadia had met her to-be-husband twice before the wedding. Once at his parent’s house. They had had tea together and asked the compulsory questions. It had seemed that they shared the same family values and wanted the same things from life. She had had a positive feeling afterwards. The second meeting had taken place at her parent’s house. They had tea again and asked more questions. The following day Faruq’s mother called Nadia’s mother and asked for Nadia’s parent’s approval for Faruq marrying Nadia. They had had a celebration dinner that evening. 

 The door behind Nadia opened. Her sister walked in. You ready?’ She asked. ‘You look stunning!’

Nadia smiled. ‘Thank you. I have to look the best on the day that starts the rest of my life.’ 

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More stories by Pakistani women can be found at:

http://eprints.soton.ac.uk/48440/

   

Two Nepali Ladies

Shuba sat on the counter. Her small hop was flooded with sunlight. You could see dust in the air, drifting through the thick grey air that was the result of the pollution from the busy streets of Kathmandu. The walls of her shop were filled with shelves that held scarves and Nepali clothes; all colours and shapes. Her business had been going well here in the city centre where tourist and travellers wanted to buy memories to take them home with them when they left. 

Shuba had started the business by herself when her husband passed away. She has hand-made all the clothes; spent hours and hours sowing the clothes and decorating them. She loved all the colours. They made her feel happy - orange, red, yellow... She loved doing the work with her hands. 

The business had grown rapidly over the past year and Shuba had employed five women to work for her. They had a small sowing workshop space on top of the shop. Shuba went upstair once an hour and brought them tea to keep them going. There was always nice chatter going on; Shuba could hear the ladies laughing happily when she sat at the counter downstairs. She felt satisfied to be able to provide others with employment and to see them happy.  

Starting up a shop, cafe or restaurant seemed to be the only successful business in Nepal. It was extremely hard to ear a living on a farm or doing much else. Selling things was the only proper way. Shuba felt lucky that her business had kicked off so well. She had seen other people struggle for much longer.  

The bell rang. A wetsern lay stepped in. ‘Hello, namaste. I would like to buy some clothes. Can I have a look?’

Shuba smiled at her. ‘Well, of course. Take your time. Please ask me if you want to know anything.’

Shuba watched the lady go through the clothes. ‘I think red looks very good on you.So does turqoise’

The lady took a sample of clothes.’ I think so too. Let’s try these on.’

Shuba smiled. She liked to serve foreign ladies. They were always so polite. 

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Maya put the tea on the large stove. She took a handful of sugar from the bag and out it in the boiling water. It was hard to see anything in the dark kitchen. Then only thing that brought light in was the altar for the Hindu gods and godesses. 

The children would be up soon. Maya would need to have the rice and the tea ready by the time the first ones walked into the kitchen. This orphanage at present had 18 children. They all had lost both of their parents, but the land that had belonged to their parents was waiting for them for when the children turned 18. 

Maya was very happy staying at the orphanage. Her husband had died a few years back, after which the manager of the orphanage has asked her to move in and look after the children - cook for them, clean, generally help them. Her own sun could stay there and he was sent to a private school, which the manager had agreed to pay for.

Maya poured the tea into cups. The children who had woken up first started to come into the kitchen. ‘Good morning, aunt.’

Maya gave tea to all of them. ‘What do you remember about your English home work?’ 

The children started talking all at once. This is what maya loved about them - they were so full of love and life despite the difficulties that they had faced very early on in their lives. 

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There are many life story accounts by Nepali women. Here is a book that holds a nuber of interesting ones: 

http://asiatica.org/jsaws/vol3_no1/book-review-bending-bamboo-changing-winds-nepali-women-tell-their-life-stories/

Learning in the slums of Lahore and at universities in Lahore

The children sit on the concrete floor. There is and and dust everywhere. Their hands, feet and faces are dirty. There is about 30 children in a tiny space that resembles a storage space. There are no windows. Next door there is another room similar to this. Most of the children from the surrounding slums in the outskirts of Lahore attend this school. 

I stand at the back of the classroom as the teacher starts the lesson by praying with the children. After that, they all start reading from their books in unison. They are loud and clear. I can only understand some of the lessons since my Urdu is not very fluent, but I get the impression that the children are not understanding much of what they read from the books, rather they are just reading the text in order to please the teacher.  

This is how the lessons continues, as well as all the lessons that follow. The teacher adopts a very authoritative approach to her work. The children are focused on her throughout the lessons. They do everything the teacher tells them to do - they read, read and read... When the bell rings, the children gather their books, say goodbyes to their teacher and run out to the beaming sun. 

The teacher smiles at me and starts to speak in broken English. ‘What do you say?’

I smile back at her.’Nice kids you have here. They have such tough lives yet they really seem to enjoy school.’ 

‘Oh yes. They love this school. It brings them something new. They have nothing at home, but at least here they have something and they can learn... They lead very disruptive lives. Many of them sleep on the street. They get into violence and have to fight for their lives. They are very clever because they have to find ways to survive on a daily basis.’

I nod. ‘I understand. It is so hard for us to understand what kind of a life they lead. But I saw the slums on the way here. In the West, people wouldn’t even keep their animals living in such conditions.’

The teachers turns very serious. ‘I wish I could teach them more. I wish I could help them more, but the best teacher do not come to the slums. The best teachers go to proper government schools where they get proper pay. I get hardly anything and I struggle with my own family. Oh, these poor kids... as if the whole world has turned against them.’

The following day I visit one of the main universities in the province of Punjab and in the whole of Pakistan. The building is modern, with a small garden in front. I press the buzzer and enter a posh reception area. Art students come and go, walking from one class to another. There is a nice buzz in the air and one senses that the students are happy to be there.

I am invited to the Dean’s office. She is dressed in design wear.She offers me her hand.  ‘How do you do. Do come in.’

I sit down on a leather sofa opposite her grand desk. She asks a servant to bring us tea, cookies and cake. 

‘This is our university. It is one of the best in the field in South Asia. We have students studying for arts, music, acting....’ She drifts off to a long-winded conversation that mainly emphasizes the  fact how great their university is. There is a lot of talk about money as well. They seem to take bride in the fact that they charge high fees and are private.

‘What about the teaching techniques and approaches that you use here?’ I ask. ‘How do you teach your students?’

‘They have lectures every day. usually five or six hours a day. Lecturing, mainly...’

I am taking to listen to a couple of lectures in the afternoon. This is how it seems to be most of the time - students sitting in a lecture hall listening to a lecturer speak. Afterwards, they have group work or independent study time. They are given a lot of homework that they need to complete after sitting in lectures for more than six hours. Students who are from outside Lahore live in a boarding house that has a curfew of 8pm.    

   

When I leave the university, I compare my experience from the slum school to that at the university. The teaching technique are the same. It seems that the education system strongly relies on traditional ways of teaching and learning, despite of the level of education. To a person having been educated in the western system, the education system in Pakistan needs new winds in order to maximize students’ learning.         

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Canada Pakistan Basic Education Project is doing valuable work for the education sector in Pakistan: http://cpbep.org/

Local and international charities in Nepal

‘Twenty percent always goes into administration fees’, the manager of the small NGO located in the centre of Kathmandu was telling me and my colleagues. ‘When volunteers pay the small prgramme fee for their volunteering placements, we give half of it to the placement site that they are going to volunteer for. The remainder of the money goes into necessities, such as maintaining the cars for taking volunteers to placements and paying our drivers.’

We sat in a small office that was being warmed by the bright sun flooding in. Our mission was to find out what sort of work we could potentially do with this small local NGO. They had education and health awareness projects in different parts of Nepal. They had also started up a couple of orphanages. 

Having been to developing countries previously, I was aware of the fact that a number of local NGOs did not use their money wisely and the people at the receiving end did not get nearly as much money as they should have. A lot of money ‘got lost’ in administration and who knows for what. Professionals from developed countries found it hard to understand and to find ways of working with locals that would result in the people at the receiving end to benefit from the NGO’s activities to a greater extent.  

At the headquarters of this particular NGO, there were photos on the wall showing volunteers at work at various placement sites. There were photos of smily kids playing with volunteers; volunteer with dirty faces digging the fields; volunteers taking kids on a shopping trip... There was evidence that this NGO was doing some good work for the poor and disadvantaged in Nepal.

All of sudden, the main door of the office was opened. Three girls walked in. ‘Can we speak to the manager, please?’ One of them said in a rather angry and aggressive way. 

The manager of the NGO smiled a wide smile and said.’ Yes, of course. please sit down.’

The girls stared to speak, all at ones. ‘ We are disappointed by the way you use the money here at your NGO. We have spent a month at an orphanage in Chitwan and we see no evidence of the money. The children eat rice every day, nothing else. There are no toys, there are no new clothes. Where does the money go?’

The smile on the manager’s face widened. ‘ Oh, but the building itself was built with the money. All the stuff that is there has been bought by us. W give them what we can, but we are also giving money to other placement sites. Look at the photos, you can see there.’

The girls did not look convinced. ‘But we have been there and feel that you could do much more with the money.’ They looked around the office.’ These new people deserve to know what you spend your money on.’

Me and my colleagues started feeling uncomfortable. ‘Perhaps we should go and we can talk with you some other time,’ I said after  while. We left quietly. 

On the way out, our host member of staff was looking gloomy. ‘They are right. The girls... We could use the money much better here, but the manager and his wife... It’s all about status to them. They don’t mind taking some money for their family. They don’t care if it all does not go to where it should go. They still have their status in the society.’

I exchanged a look with a colleagues. ‘So are you saying that this NGO is corrupted?’

Our host blushed. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say corrupted, but things could certainly be improved.’ 

So there was evidence for the good work that the NGO was doing and evidence for flaws. I walked along and thought that I would need to find out for myself what the reality was. It was likely to be something in the mid-way. People tend to have strong extreme views and political stands in the developing world.

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Anyone interested in going to volunteer in Nepal should do background checks on the NGOs that they will work for. This will prevent disappointment and bad feelings. Volunteers should also keep in mind cultural differences and remember that things are dealt with differently.  

    

Men and women in Pakistan

‘You can’t walk on the streets on your own. You can’t catch the busy or the train. Public transport is not safe’, a member of my host family explains to me on my first day in Lahore during my first visit in 2007. ‘Men can do it. They are ok, but women... no. You need a driver to take you around or you need to call the radio cabs. They are reliable.’ 

I listen to her as I look outside at the beaming sun. It is July and the Monsoon season. It rains like cats and dogs for a couple of hours, then it is extremely hot and sunny. The humidity makes us all sweat despite the air conditioning. I am a very independent western woman who is used to walking from place to place on her own and not relying on other people’s help. This is going to be a trial for me, having to ask for drivers to take me everywhere.  

‘As a western woman, you need to be careful. People want your money.’ My host looks me directly in the eye. ‘Be suspicious of people. Don’t let them take advantage of you.’

My first real trial comes as I attempt to explore the Lahore Museum and the Lahore Zoo on my own. This is the first outing on my own that I’ve had since getting to Pakistan about a week ago. When I have been out with the locals, despite the looks that I get from the Pakistani, I have been fine. I have learnt a tactic to look at the road and to maintain eye contact just for a brief moment. 

As I step out of the car in front of Lahore Museum, five people run to me. There are families about to get into the museum; some of them stop to stare at me. The family who has ran to me, shake my hand and introduce themselves.

‘Hi, I’m Aisha. This is my mum and this is my dad. This is my nice, my nephew....’. And so on. The follow me into the museum. I don’t establish eye contact with anyone; instead I try to focus on the artifacts in the museum. The family follows my every step. After about twenty minutes, Aisha tells me that the family needs to go. They all smile at me and disappear. I breath in relief and try to avoid contact with anyone else, which is hard given that the museum is packed with people. 

I see a blond hair young man ahead of me. He looks at me and smiles. ‘How are you? Enjoying the museum?’. He looks almost relieved to see another westerner. 

‘Yes, now that I am on my own enjoying.’ I smile back. ‘How long are you in Pakistan for?’ 

‘Oh, about five months. I am doing a placement for the Canadian Government. Working on a health project. I am a doctor back in Canada. What about you?’ He gives a glance to a family with seven children. They have all stopped to stare at us.

‘I’m over just for three weeks’, I reply.’ Doing some work for an education project.’

We continue looking through the museum together. Somehow it is comforting to be with another westerner, to know that there is another person who understands how I feel about all these stares.  

  

Lahore Zoo is even worse. I cannot take one single step without being questioned. I get all kinds of questions, ranging from how old are you to do you wash your hair with henna. I consider leaving the zoo without having seen much of it. The final straw comes as a man asks me to hold his baby so that he can take a picture. He doesn’t even ask for my name or what I am doing in Pakistan. I feel like an object of admiration just because of my looks. It makes me feel sick, particularly since the west has not done any favours in Pakistan; rather it has made it a worse place to live for its inhabitants. 

In 2009, I can walk freely on the bazaars and the main attraction in Lahore. No one bothers me. I get the odd looks, but that’s about it. Locals are much more used to westerners now, or they are fed up with politics and don’t admire westerners anymore, or both. I fell more comfortable walking around, yet a little nostalgic about my minor celebrity moments a few years back.

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For anyone interested, a very good novel on the current political situation in ‘The Reluctant Fundamentalist’ by Mohasin Hamid. 

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2007/mar/03/featuresreviews.guardianreview20       

 

      

  

'Under the Skin' by Michel Faber

'Under the skin' by Michel Faber is a novel with a bizarre story line. The main character is a creature from a different world. She drives around the highland of Scotland where she picks up big and beefy male human-beings who will provide her fellow beings with a lot of meat to eat. The story line goes on to describe the factory that the creatures use to process the human beings and to use them as their food. 

 As the story unfolds, the reader is left thinking about the way humans farm and consume animals. The role of human beings in this relationship is reversed. The book is a real eye-opener for those who do not think about their meat-eating habits and what the costs of it are for other beings in this world.  

http://www.encompassculture.com/readinggroups/readersnotes/undertheskinbymichelfaber/

The Real Nepal

Nepal is the poorest place I have ever been to. The neighbouring countries India and China and the not-too-far-away Pakistan and Bangladesh all have a strong class system. You can see the rich and the poor, as well as the middle-class clearly in the social picture. In Nepal, everyone seems to be poor. The richest are those who to us seem to be middle-class, judging from their material possessions and the way they dress. Even the richest of the people don’t own more than a handful of outfits. It is very common to see people dress in the same clothes day on end and they wear their special outfit when they go to a special occasion, such as into the city for shopping or to visit a family they have not seen for a while. 

In the centre of Kathmandu, the Thamel, this is not obvious. The narrow streets are filled with shops selling clothes, books, DVDs, exotic musical instruments.... Cafes, bars and restaurant fill the rest of the spots. Hotels can be found in every corner and tourist offices organizing trekking trips are attached to almost all buildings. The centre is only a couple of blocks in size, but on can spend hours and hours on end wondering from shop to another one, bargaining for lower prices... sitting down for some delicious tea and Nepali momos (pasta parcels filled with vegetables). 

Foreigners fill the streets. This is where on can blend in. The locals who come to the centre are used to seeing whiter and taller individuals. 

As soon as one leaves the centre, one enters ‘the real Nepal’. There is tarmac on the streets; it is all rocks and sand. The streets are crowded, because they are so narrow and there are no proper rules - people can cross the street wherever they wish to, stop wherever they want and to talk to whomever they want even if there is a queue of fifty cars behind them. Donkey and ponies as a means of transport are seen everywhere. Chickens jump across the streets.Cows stand and sleep in the middle of the traffic without anyone disturbing them, even by mistake.   

In ‘the real Nepal’, the houses are small and narrow. They are build with brick and cement, which makes them ideal for hot summers to keep cool but freezing col for winters. The houses often have wide open doors that let in extra cold air. The windows are hardly ever properly shut - Nepali people are tough and used to harsh living conditions.  

In ‘ the real Nepali villages’, there are no restaurants and cafes. There are street vendors and small local cafes that sell traditional Nepali foods. All the food is cooked on open stoves in pans that have properly been used for the past decade. People sit casually around small tables and chat with one another. In the villages, everyone seems to know one another. They wave and smile to us as we walk drive past in a small car crammed with six people. 

‘I have never seen anything like this in my life’ says Diego, a Spanish colleague of mine. He looks at the street side cafes and smily people in amazement. 

The driver smiles and looks at us. ‘Oh, you are still yet to see the real Nepal once you leave the Kathmandu Valley area. It is quite another world. Only remote areas and small, small villages...’

Diego looks at me. ‘This is going to be quite an adventure.’

I smile at him. ‘Yes, it will be. We can learn from these people and also help them with something, hopefully.’

The driver laughs. ‘ This is what I like about you Europeans. You come here to do some work, but you also want to go away with something for yourselves from here. Give and take. Benefits for all. Like the law of Karma, when you give something positive, you get something positive. Nepal is full of stories and spirituality. I am sure you will go away as quite a different person’

And so our life-changing journey continues as we drive up the Himalayas towards our destination in the real Nepal.’ 

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Anyone interested in reading more about Nepali stories, a great book is: ‘Born in Nepal: a miscellany of buddhist stories, legends and traditions’ by Susan Hoivik. 

http://www.pilgrimsonlineshop.com/xisbnbooks.php?isbn=9789994678822