A Rubberband Kind of Year: See You Later Pakistan By Bryan Farris August 25, 2011

Perhaps it is fitting that my last month in Pakistan has been the month of Ramzan (Ramadan).  For those unfamiliar, Ramzan is the month of sacrifice in the Islamic calendar.  Jawad Aslam, my CEO, close friend and resident expert on all things Muslim, described Ramzan to me as “religious boot camp”.

On the surface, Ramzan is a month of fasting—no food,  no water, no cigarettes, no consumption of any kind from about 4 am to sunset.  Many shops are closed in the afternoon, and restaurants open around 6pm to serve a packed house the moment the fast breaks.

The fast, however, is merely a symbolic (and admittedly difficult) gesture that represents a deeper sense of sacrifice.  Muslims use Ramzan to give up bad habits, spend more time with themselves & Allah, and seek further enlightenment.

Though Ramzan makes it impossible to schedule goodbye lunches and teas with the many friends I’ll be leaving behind here in Pakistan, I’m glad to experience it at the end of my year here.

As I look back to the kind of year its been, I see so many parallels with Ramzan.  I gave up a lot to be here, and in the process I’ve come to know myself & the world around me in a much deeper way than before.  Jawad jokes that I’ve aged 5 years in 10 months.

At the outset of this journey, I wrote that I expected to be stretched like a rubberband in the coming year.  When a rubber band stretches, it snaps back, but it ends up larger than it was before.

My hope was that the experience would broaden my horizons, but not so quickly that I snapped.  It seems to have worked out.

Admittedly, the tendons in my knees have tightened because I never quite felt comfortable running outside in Pakistan, but my perspective has been stretched beyond expectations.

Pakistan is a land of extremes: from extreme heat to extreme hospitality.  From extreme religious sentiment to extreme devotion to food.  From extremely exaggerated journalism to an extremely undervalued global reputation.

What most of the world fails to realize is just how beautiful this country is and how spectacular its people truly are.  It is impossible to overlook the problems: Pakistan is facing lawlessness in Karachi, a violent political system, jaw-dropping inflation, an insufficient power supply and terrorists staking claim over the northern areas.  These are real issues that do exist: but they do not define Pakistan—as much of the world would have you believe.

While it may be impossible to overlook the problems, it is (apparently) quite possible to overlook the splendor that a country like Pakistan offers.

Where else do you greet every stranger with the phrase “Peace be with you”?

Where else do you find BBQ Chicken Tikka that melts in your mouth?

Where else is being 20 minutes late considered on-time?

Where else can you see opportunity in every alley?

Where else do motorized scooters (100% of which are red hondas) weave in between cars which cruise past rickshaws, which veer around donkey-pulled carts, which are dwarfed by strutting camels?

Where else can you buy seasonal fruit on every single street corner?

Where else do the echoes of a minaret bring an eerie peace to 4a.m. in the morning?

Where else do you find a people who take prayer so seriously, they start every flight with one?

Where else, but Pakistan?

I’ve come to understand that the world is not as the New York Times makes it out to be.That terror zones house people too.  That 99.9% of people on this earth want to do good by eachother.  That I, a white dude from San Francisco, can become friends with Aftab, a fellow engineer from far northern Pakistan (we’re facebook friends too, in case you’re scoring at home).  I met Aftab on a trip to Chitral, where he builds micro hydro power plants in beautiful remote villages just a few miles from the Afghanistan border so that the poor can have lights at night.

There is so much opportunity in communities such as these; its staggering that the world choosesnot to see it.

I’ve seen the dark side as well: and yes, it is far from pretty, but it is not something to be afraid of.I’m not afraid of bombs or kidnappings or shootings—rather, I am deeply, deeply saddened by them.

Terrorists are called terrorists because its their job to terrify you.  Let them do that, and they win.

Do you know what terrifies the terrorist? Education and economic development.  Opportunity. Terrorists have chosen their path usually because they didn’t have a shot at economically bettering themselves, but I’ll say more about that in another post another time.

Pakistan is not a country of terrorists, but rather a country afflicted by terrorists.

Earlier this week I was driving to the Karachi airport, when the driver heard on the radio that there had been shootings nearby.  If the news hadn’t alerted us, the ambulances flying past every two minutes probably would have.

As we approached, I noticed we were closely following a Toyota pickup truck carrying four sketchy characters, decked out in jet black shalwar kameez and carrying equally dark AK-47s.  It was precisely the stereotypical scene that crosses people’s minds when they think of PK or a ‘war zone’.  The men were strapping on ammunition vests and loading cartridges into their guns.

One man looked the part of a new-age pirate, with long black hair flowing out from under a tan & black checkered bandana.  I’ll never forget the evil glint that I saw in his eyes.

By my count, he was not Pakistani—not in the true sense. No…there is a reason that I saw this kind of man only once in an entire year.

Real Pakistanis are the opposite of the stereotype in just about every way possible.  And I meet them every day.

Pakistanis are hospitable. I’ve spent my entire time here living with a host family.  At first I was a guest, but Jean, Wilburn, Asim, Maria, Susie, John, Ben, Thomas, Annie, Tashu and Ethan made me feel so welcome that they became family.  I know I have a home here forever.   Anywhere you go in Pakistan, people will welcome you with open arms (and probably a even a hug—from strangers too).

Pakstanis are loyal. I mean…crazy loyal.  When you make a Pakistani friend, you’ve created a serious bond.  Leaving is so hard because I feel such powerful ties with people here.   For my farewell dinner, a co-worker (but really a new best friend), Jamshaid, made two 9 hour trips between our site in the flood affected areas and Lahore just to join for dinner.  Another friend of mine who had moved out of Lahore months ago made a 250Km round trip to meet me for Sehri breakfast at 3am.  I’ve never felt so honored.

Pakistanis love tea.  If this isn’t self-evident, I don’t know what is.  Pakistanis love to sit down, stir their chai and chat.  Spending time with others and building quality relationships is so important.  Back home people tend to fly through their days, but in Pakistan, every moment with another is cherished.

Pakistanis are optimistic. I’ve never been somewhere where young people were as energized about opportunities in their own country as here.  There is a bright future ahead and Pakistan’s youth are driving it.  A few friends of mine—Ali, Babar, Zehra, Saba, Jimmy, Khurram—have inspiring aspirations for change in PK.

This is the Pakistan that the world needs to come to know.  Yes, there are terrorists and violence, and that can’t be forgotten, but if that is your perception, then you are judging a book by the headlines.

Sure, there are probably safer ways I could have spent this year, but then I wouldn’t have been stretched in the way that I have been.

Pakistan has become a part of me; it has forever changed me, my perspective on the world, and my trust in humanity.

Here’s to you PK.

Shukria, Allah Hafiz.  (Thank you, may God protect you).

~Bryan

Believe in Yourself

A business executive was deep in debt and could see no way out. Creditors were closing in on him. Suppliers were demanding payment. He sat on the park thinking if anything could save his Company from bankruptcy. Suddenly an old man appeared before him. “I can see that something is troubling you”, he said. After listening to the executive’s woes, the old man said, “I believe I can help you”. He asked the man his name, wrote out a cheque, and pushed it into his hand saying, “Take this money.

Meet me here exactly one year from today, and you can pay me back at that time”. Then he turned and disappeared as quickly as he had come. The business executive saw in his hand a cheque for $500,000, signed by John D.Rockefeller, one of the richest men in the world. “I can erase my money worries in an instant”, he thought.

Nevertheless, the executive decided to put the cheque in his safe first. He thought, just knowing it was there, would give him the strength to work out a way to save his business. With renewed optimism, he negotiated better deals and got extended terms of payment from c lose some big sales. Within a few months, he was out of debt and making money once again.

Exactly a year later, he returned to the park with that uncashed cheque. The old man did not appear for some time yet the business executive decided to wait for a while more. A while later the old man came along but seemed unmindful of the business executive. He stopped the old man and was about to hand over the cheque with a few words of thanks as well as share his success story. At the same time, he saw a nurse come running up and grabbing the old man. “I’m so glad I caught him”, she cried. “I hope he hasn’t been bothering you. He’s always escaping from the rest home and telling he is Rockefeller.” And she led the old man away by the arm.

The astonished executive just stood there, stunned. All year long he’d been wheeling and dealing, buying and selling, convinced he had half a million dollars behind him. Suddenly, he realized that it wasn’t the money, real or imagined, that had turned his life around. It was his new found self-confidence that gave him the power to achieve anything he went after. He understood that confidence is nothing but the distant vision held positively no matter what comes in between. It comes from one’s own commitment and dedication and is entirely internal.

By Anonymous 

REAL HAPPINESS

               He was so jubilant and exited that one can see/feel his delight from miles away. After seeing me from a distance he started jumping with joy and dancing and kept moving towards me. It was really a scene which also made me happy. When he narrated the reason for his happiness, tears of joy also started flowing from my eyes. It was such a feat/achievement that one had to cry.

            Ok, Ok, now let me start from the beginning. It was year 2000 when the renowned Dr Atta ur Rehman was made the Federal Minister for Education & IT for Pakistan. He, on the instructions of the then President of Pakistan, General Pervaiz Musharraf, announced the new IT policy. According to which IT education was made part of the syllabus from school level and made compulsory. That year, it was introduced for intermediate college level (i.e., Class XI & XII).

            In those days, I was, after retiring from the Armed Forces, was busy as an Advocate of the High Court. Luckily, I have a group of my 5 close friends. One fine day they came to me and told me that my services are required for Pakistan and the Pakistan’s youth. On my enquiring, they told me that though the new IT policy has been announced but, as it always happen in the government sector, no infrastructure is available for its realistic implementation and especially in Baluchistan. They apprised me that though the government has allocated funds for the same and equipment is being procured at very fast track for establishment of the computer labs but still, the instructors/teachers of IT are not available. Thus the students will remain short of qualified instructors.

            I was getting impatient so I asked them as to why are they telling me all this. On that they reminded me of my expertise in the computers and being formally qualified, as I was Masters in Computer Sciences. Keeping that in view, they all unanimously decided and had come to me to make me ready that I should come forward and help in making the required awareness in IT by teaching fresh Matriculate Students, who are seeking admissions in ICS (Intermediate in Computer Sciences).

            After thorough deliberations, a modus operandi was made. Subsequently, a place was arranged on rent in the middle of the city, from where commuter buses/wagons from almost all locations of the city use to pass. Computers were purchased and Classroom was suitably furnished/ established. It was also very nicely ensured that the selected location was adjacent to a very famous Tuition/Coaching centre. Advantage being of the students, that all their relevant subjects, i.e., Physics, Mathematics, English etc were being taught there.

            After the opening ceremony, the students started pouring in, initially slowly and gradually and then a time came when I had to sit late and was to take nine classes in a day. The students of BCS, ICMA, ACCA, and MCS were also insisting admission but it was not humanly possible for me to adjust them.

            Anyhow, to cut the long story short. One day when I was taking the class of fresh ICS, I noticed that a young boy, who had joined the class the same very date, seemed very uncomfortable. He was attending the class for the first time. After the class, he very hesitantly asked me that he wants to talk to me about something alone. I told him to wait outside and meet me after the classes to which he agreed.

            On getting free, I called him in and asked him as to what is it which is bothering him and that he could not talk in front of others.

            The young man, a Mr. Z, am still glad, was very straight in telling me the truth. He told me that he has come from Zhob, a city 350/400 kms North of Quetta and an old cantonment. And that he had come to Quetta for studies and staying in a rented room in the city and this is the first time he has come away from his home. But the revelation which stunned me was the one he confided later. He confessed that though he has passed his Matriculation exam and is a matriculate as per his paper but, he practically knew nothing. He told me that since class 1^st, he, along with all his classmates were promoted to the next class only by looking after the welfare of their school teachers and working in their Farms and houses. On my asking he revealed   that he has never passed any exam at his own and in all exams he was provided help by the teachers in shape of cheating/ copying and in lower classes, by promoting them ahead. And this is how he did his matriculation. I don’t know about my readers but, I was really horrified to hear that and was taken aback.

 After a while I then ask him as to what does he want. Mr. ’Z’ said that he is really keen & wanted education. I took two promises from him. One; that he will never copy/cheat. Two; he will work hard the way I tell him to. He agreed and I admitted him in the class.

Rest is the story of determination and dedication. On his first spot test Mr. ‘Z’ failed miserably. On the midterm test he was almost in the middle of the class. But on the end term test, to my delighted surprise, he stood first in the class.

Two years passed and the day of the final exam came. Mr. ‘Z’ contacted me and informed me that his paper of IT shall be that day from 9:00 am to 12:00 pm. He asked me as to where would I be at that point of time. I, to give him encouragement, informed him that I shall be waiting for him in the classroom. At around 12:30 pm, he came to the classroom, his face flushed, and all smiles on his face and he said “sir, for the first time in my life, I have appeared in an exam without any unfair help and I am confident that I have done well”. I gave a pat to him and said that my prayers are with him.

On the day of result, he again informed me that it is the day when the result shall be announced and asked me as to where would I be. I told him that I shall be waiting for him in the classroom.

Rest is all a delightful history. Mr. ‘Z’ came to me dancing. One can imagine the emotions of a person who has topped ICS with flying colors that year with his shear hard work and for the first time, without using unfair means. It was just like a Farmer who yields his crop after months of hard work. Mr. ‘Z’ then was able to enter the Engineering University by scoring maximum marks in his entrance examination and presently is in America doing his doctorate. A person who has never even dreamt of coming to Quetta is now doing his doctorate in a place like America.

Through the above real life story there are morals which can be said to be brought out but one which is very glaringly prominent from others beside the Hard Work of Mr. ‘Z’. And that is realization at the first place by him of his weakness and facing it head-on. He realized that it was wrong when he was elevated to next standards by adopting unfair means and thus remained uneducated in a real sense. He accepted it and faced it like a man and came out successful.