Peshawar. The name evokes romantic notions and now I see why. Strategically positioned near to the Khyber Pass and the now closed roads to Afghanistan, it remains an almost ungovernable town. The British couldn’t capture the region back in the days of the empire and neither could the Pakistani government after independence. It is hard to say who rules the town even now. After Islamabad it is where I spend most of my time supporting and auditing the fieldwork.
It is a crazy place; blasted day after day life goes on for the locals and judging from the traffic there are not many who are hibernating in their homes. I am not allowed to explore the town, nor walk freely. Movements are limited and we travel hidden behind curtains, the standard office to house, house to office, office back to house routine. As I peek out through the curtains, I sometimes ask myself the question if I am looking at a member of the Taliban, for their presence is unquestionable in this town. The atmosphere is tense, military planes fly overhead every few minutes on route for some more air strikes.
Culturally the area is much more conservative than Islamabad. Female flesh and hair are not part of the sights on offer and most of the women wear the full hijab or burka in public, but of a kind I have never seen before. A tent-like chaddar that covers the body and face completely, they would have diffculty finding their way if it were not for a small grill of holes from beneath which they can peer out. It comes in a variety of colours and you can tell which region a woman comes from by the colour of her clothes.
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