The Sugar Crisis

The subject on the tip of everyone tongues is the sugar crisis. When I arrived during Ramazan the government had capped the price per kilo at forty rupees. Since then the rate has risen to over one hundred in certain areas and the locals are fuming. Queues for those who can afford it wrap round the bazaars, while the poorer families have no choice but to accept a brown sweetener substitute. Sugar supplies in the office now have to be kept under lock and key as the temptation encourages sticky fingers.

Us foreigners can, of course, purchase the real thing without great difficulty. But I for one could do with a little less sugar. All day long I sip sweet milky chai. And in the evenings with little else to do I take to gorging on the delights of my cook; heavy but delicious dishes laden with ghee and rich in oil. Meat and carbohydrates may be similar to a typical Welsh diet but when combined with not being allowed to walk anywhere it mean I might return somewhat plumper!

A Breath Of Fresh Air

This Sunday I went to Margalla Hills. Only thirty minutes from my house, there you can find a small range of hills from which you can look out over the city. It is a popular outing for the Islamabadites at the weekend so we arrived early and took one of the trails leading up to the summit. At midday it was hot and portions of the trail fell out of the shade. My first real exercise since arriving it was a real pleasure to stretch my legs. What was more satisfying however, was the sense of freedom. Being able to simply walk without fear was fantastic. At the summit we paused to admire the view. No luck. It was hidden behind the cloud of pollution that hangs over the city. Breathing in the air deeply, it was a long time before we descended back down into the dirty air.

You can just about see the lake through the smog

Scammed by the children - I spent twenty rupees on a decoration and they wouldn't even give it to me! Fayzal, pictured below, was the guilty party.

Peshawar Troubled Again

I returned from Peshawar yesterday with no problems, unlike the last time when I was held there an additional night as the journey was deemed too risky. The region has been the consistent target of explosions every other day since I arrived in Pakistan, and has to be considered as one of the most dangerous places on earth right now for innocent civilians.

Today saw the largest blast yet with 118 fatalities and many more injured. The bomb went off in the middle of a crowded market and no one has claimed responsibility, including the Tehrik-e Taliban Pakistan (TTP) who is usually the proud culprit. Speculation of where the blame lies is rampant in the country. Popular theories of suspects include the government - keen to gain public support for the violence in Warziristan in the war of hearts and minds, and of course, age-old enemy India.

Whoever is to blame, their wrath is brutal and has once again instilled fear in our team.

In Sickness And In Health

Ahhh, the joys of team life. Everything here happens in a communal sense. We do everything together 24 hours a day. For a girl of almost thirty years old, it can be testing even after years of sharing with flatmates but especially so since my recent experience of blissful cohabitation. In our home and office we share everything; joys and triumphs, obstacles, food, air and germs.

Some of my fellow team members do not have the strong stomach that I can boast of. Unfortunately, this means that our cook largely ignores my requests for local dishes such as dhal and biryani. He prefers to make pizza and pasta for their delicate tummies. In any case it doesn’t make much difference as the water still affects them. What the French affectionately term “la chiasse” is a regular occurrence that is passed around the group every week, with expat after expat falling ill at their turn. I cannot help thinking that a little of the local food may strengthen their bellies in the long run.

It will come as no surprise to my closer friends, but I have managed to find myself quite a buzzing social life outside of my work (a big Shukria to my new Pakistani friends!) even if the MSF old-timers would choose to keep everyone inside the vacuum. We do not have the right to a private life within MSF. For those who have spent twenty years hopping from mission to mission, they are quick to frown upon those who break away from the circle. They are here on short-term contracts, and do not have the same level of personal investment as those who are here for the long haul. I personally cannot express in words the marvellous feeling it is to make local friends, enhancing my understanding of their culture. It isn’t always easy to get away. Sometimes we are up to fifteen expatriates at a time in the one house, with only one car between us. Organising lifts can be a very frustrating game to play, as each individual fights for their chance to escape from the MSF organism. But I persevere and consider myself very lucky to have found my new friends. Zabardast!

The Diplomatic Scene

I live in what sometimes seems to be another world. It can feel like the people here are also living in their own world, I think living in such a tense situation can do that to you. Around the dinner table in the evening, the subject of our projects and our internal politics never tires us. I am living and breathing MSF 24 hours a day, it would seem!

In pursuit of respite, and to receive some objectivity from outside of my organisation, I have been making friends who are outside of our vacuum. I have been lucky to meet some nice people, both Pakistani and foreign. One circle I have been mingling in is that of the diplomats. Friends of friends have kindly approved my membership to the British High Commission club, which means I now have access to fish and chips, an enormous swimming pool and of course, liquor to stave off the dryness.

It is a world away from how we live as volunteers and they too appear to live in their own world. They seem not to want for much and many have a lifestyle more comfortable that they would have at home. At times I am rather envious! They live under the same security pressures as us, however, and it is heartening to see that everyone shares identical worries, though we all carry on as if there was nothing to worry about.

Lazying down at the British Club on a Sunday afternoon

Yes Means No

Something I have noticed about Pakistanis, is that some of them have real difficulty in saying no. At first I thought it was a language barrier, but my experiences with the most fluent of English speakers tell me otherwise. When asking for directions, work-related questions, or even just asking if something has been done, I am always replied with a yes, even when I know it is not the case. In the UK this would be a downright lie, but here it is far less sinister. My guess is that they are reluctant to disappoint and prefer to give a positive answer time after time. So there you go, in Pakistan , yes can mean no.

No Arms

We don't get out much in Pakistan. So when I was invited to a random party last Friday I jumped at the chance to make some new friends. Our group was the first to arrive and we were welcomed and shown to the terrace. Imagine my shock when I spotted a large gun on the table! I asked that it be put away and the host casually picked it up, pointed it at me, then told me it was a fake. Hence the photo. First I am standing in front of the no arms sticker at our Peshawar office, now look what I have become! In fact the gun was bought from the bazaar. I have been told that in the smuggler's bazaar in Peshawar it is possible to pick up anything. Authentic military informs, weapons, bomb recipes, and all kinds of drugs. I have even heard rumours that if you buy enough opium in bulk, you receive a free Kalashnikov. In any case, you would probably need one carrying that much dope, that is if you didn't have one already.

Evidently it is forbidden for us to visit the bazaars...