To start, we go back to February, freezing temperatures, frozen pipes, and the fecund (just had to use another "f") promise of mid-month national assembly elections in Pakistan.
It snowed again in Quetta city early in February, a couple inches on the ground and the mountains completely covered in white. Stunning, the desert transformed. This time the snow stuck around some instead of disappearing in a day like last time (see previous web post). So that was some compensation for the cold.
By the middle of the first week of February our water pipes had begun to freeze, and by the end of that week were frozen solid. No running water in the house for days. All this because of a cold snap that didn't let the daytime temperature rise above 35 degrees Fahrenheit for nearly a week.
pic above: Snow on the mountains surrounding Quetta.
Jules was away on work trips some during that time. She doubly appreciated her hot showers. I rode my bike around town in the cold, taking my gloves off to snap pictures of the snow-covered hills.
Other than the cold, early February was one long build-up to elections for Pakistan's National Assembly, promised to happen on February 18. Despite many claims and counter-claims about pre-poll rigging and lots of speculation that this much-delayed democratic step would either erupt in violence or be postponed again by an increasingly unpopular President Musharraf, they came off rather well.
Jules' agency wanted all its international staff in Islamabad over the elections, just in case, so I flew in to meet Jules, who had just been in India. It was a comfort to be in that city again, to be able to walk freely anywhere we wanted, even at night (something we don't do in Quetta) and to be warm.
We went to a couple of parties that weekend, which was nice, and I played volleyball and went biking in the Margalla Hills. One night, after dinner with some of Jules' co-workers, we somehow ended up at the house of a US embassy guy who none of us knew. He had a fridge full of Corona, though, courtesy of his embassy commissary privileges, which we were happy to drink.
Our host was a conservative, somewhat macho type, Republican to the core. I think I offended him when I called Balochistan Province, of which Quetta is the provincial capital, the Texas of Pakistan. He was from Texas. Then, deep into the night, with the Texan Republican a bit unsteady on his feet, Jules brought up the emailed security warnings from the US embassy that we periodically receive. "Can you tell whoever writes them," Jules said, "that they are completely unhelpful?"
"I write them," he said.
Woops. We detached ourselves and made to leave. Such is expat life.
Thankfully, the elections went much better than our conversation with the unknown Texan host. The party of Benazir Bhutto (poster right), famously assassinated a few months back while campaigning, won handily, which was what mostly everyone wanted. Results of the election seemed to be generally accepted, and we sensed a growing hope that the promised coalition government could bring peace and security to the country.
The rest of February was busy for us. Jules had to crank out some grant proposals. Several work guests came to stay with us in our huge house. We studied Urdu together and went on walks at Hanna Lake, a sort of park on the outer edge of town. I got in some rides on my good Trek mountain bike, which I brought from Islamabad after the elections.
We threw a party early in March, having not had one since Christmas. Our social scene here in Quetta has been expanding, with some new international staff at a medical aid organization and new folks at the Christian hospital. We had over twenty people in house. Other than the joys of food, there was the joy of good conversation, the joy of watching our Russian UN friend drink the last half of a bottle of Johnnie Walker (he had drunk the first half the previous party), the joy of running around the house playing with another friend's kids. Then, the day after, the joy of hummus (yum!) made from the leftovers of the enormous pot of chickpeas I cooked up for the chickpea curry.
We watched a lot of movies in March - The Air I Breathe, Training Day, the Simpsons movie, La Vie En Rose, Michael Clayton, Into the Wild. Watching Training Day actually made us happy to be living in Pakistan. After its depiction of urban violence in LA, we thought the Taliban much less scary than the chaos of US gangs.
pic below: Would you rather meet this man in a dark alley or an MS-13 member?
It is a constant source of amusement, and joy, to us that we can get DVD's of Hollywood movies while they are still in first-run theaters back home. These are pirated, of course, copied and sold on the cheap - 100 rupees, or just under two dollars, is the going rate. It's not unusual to see a phrase like, "This movie is for awards screening only..." scroll slowly across the screen several times during the film. This is cheap entertainment for us, and helps us feel, for a couple of hours, like we are two normal people living back in the States.
Our compound guard and house man, Juma, reminded me recently that we don't live in the US and our life is not 'normal' when he forbade me to go to Almo Chowk at night. Almo Chowk (pic below) is an intersection not far from our house. It is always busy with vehicles and people, and there is a market there where I go to get our vegetables and fruit. One evening I went out at late dusk to get a few essential items for dinner. Juma just happened to be going to the market, too, for naan for one of our guests. He made a point of accompanying me to the shops.
Later he told me, in his unique way, "Don't go to Almo Chowk at night, it's not safe." (What he actually said, I think, was, "Almo Chowk, night" - pointing to me - "nay," but I got his drift.) He sometimes tends toward being too protective, so often I am firm in saying thanks for the warning, but I can take care of myself.
This time, though, he really meant what he said. He told the housekeeper ladies, who know more English than he, to tell me not to go to Almo Chowk at night, and then he called one of Jules' co-workers and told him to tell her to tell me the same thing. Then I had to listen. When someone goes to that length to try to keep you safe, it's best to just relax and accept their care.
What else happened in March? Mostly ordinary things. I learned how to make french fries at home. It got warm enough that we could sit in the garden again and go running at the track on the nearby Army base. We both went to one of Jules' co-worker's wedding, but on separate days for the two genders. I bought a cheap Chinese guitar and started playing it around the house. Periodic electricity outages became more frequent. We saw the full moon rise over Murdar Mountain and enjoyed the fabulous dried figs, golden raisins, and cashews of Quetta.
At some point we got into watching the TV show Top Chef, which was just about as entertaining as watching our gardener dig up the entire front yard with a hand trowel to replant it for spring. He squatted on his haunches, digging methodically over a period of days, until he had covered the whole yard. Then he hand planted small bunches of green grass in neat rows.
Just before we left for an April month in the US, I got to help Jules out with her work in a small way. One of the programs her office runs is a self-help group for Afghan refugee women. Afghan refugees have been in Quetta for decades, now, some of them, since the Soviet invasion of their country and before. Many are basically residents, yet they still have uncertain legal status and have a hard time finding work.
Jules' organization brings women from these families to community centers where they learn or refine sewing and embroidery skills. With these skills they can then, hopefully, make products to sell and earn a little bit of income. This money can buy much needed items for the household, or simply be money that the women can spend on themselves, a luxury some have never had. Many of these women are kept in strict isolation within the family compound, not even allowed to go out to the markets. For them, coming to the community center is a chance to live a little and to make friends.
I wrote, designed and printed a brochure for this program that will be used to raise awareness and funds. It was quite fun, though a fair amount of work, especially since I was learning the design software on my computer as I went. Now, though, there is the prospect of more of this kind of work for me, which is exciting.
If you want to see the brochure and learn more about this program, email me and I can send it you as a pdf.
In early April Jules and I flew to the US east coast. There, she attended a week-long training at her organization's headquarters in Baltimore while I visited family in Pennsylvania and spent some time back in Kenilworth in DC. The weekends we spent together in DC seeing friends and some of her family, then drove up to the Boston area (in my sister's sporty little blue, convertible Mazda Miata - thanks Eunice!) to see more of Jules' family. After five days or so there, we drove back to Pennsylvania to see my family together, then flew back to Pakistan.
pic above: Back in the Kenilworth 'hood.
It is always good for us to go back to the US, and we feel like we are becoming traveling pro's. It's always busy, though, too, as we try to see as many people as possible plus keep some relaxation time for ourselves. We find ourselves telling people - "Ok, you've got the three to five time slot, so show up and start talking!" And then it's off to see some more folks.
We did get to spend some good time in coffee shops, just hanging out. We watched part of the Boston Marathon. We enjoyed the driving time in our zippy little two-seater. Got to attend a 
couple of concerts, too, eat some good food, polish off a few bottles of wine with friends, visit some good art museums, see a movie. At the end of our stay, though, we always realize we haven't made time for the shopping we need to do, buying items we can't find in Pakistan, and for the phone calls we wanted to make to friends we didn't get a chance to see.
(pic left: That quintessential of American experiences - the traffic jam. Why are the roads so big and yet so full?)
Our leaving was complicated by visa issues for me. I had applied for a renewed visa at the embassy in DC. Usually this is a straight-forward process that takes about a week. This time they said it would take four to six. After a week or two of daily communication with both DC and Islamabad, trying to speed things up, I finally got a phone call nine hours before our flight saying I could come pick up a one week visa. You can imagine the stress of not knowing, till nine hours before an international flight, whether you are going to be able to get on the airplane or not.
Back in Quetta, now, these first two weeks of May, Jules and I have been planning something special for our visit to the US in August. If you don't know what it is, write to me and I'll tell you.
Coming back to Quetta was like coming back home. I guess, tenuous though my status, as shown by the visa trouble, Quetta is home. Jules came back first, while I stayed in Islamabad another few days to extend my visa, a process completed easily.
It is comforting to know that, when we are gone, life continues here, just like it is comforting to find that, on our visits to the States, most things are unchanged. Jules and I are on the move almost constantly, it seems, growing and changing with the push and pull of that movement. Yet the unceasing flow of life in all its distinct locations and time zones continues, giving us something around which to rally ourselves.
The one thing that did change while we were gone from Quetta was the season. Our yard is green, now, with roses blooming everywhere in celebration of spring. I just stepped outside and counted 171 clay pots with flowers in the front garden. They line the front walk or fill tiered metal racks scattered around the edges of the lawn. There are more than 65 rosebushes, most of them in bloom. Even the dry, brown hills have a peach fuzz of green on them, appearing as an adolescent boy not quite old enough to shave, if you get close enough to notice their six-inch high scrub. Their winter covering of snow is completely gone.
And an end, now, to this missive, on a newsy note. The atmosphere in general across Pakistan seems more peaceful and hopeful since the February elections. Political wrangling continues to be in the news, however: the formation of the coalition government, elections for prime minister, differences between two of the ruling parties on the process to reinstate the judges summarily deposed by Musharraff back in November. The elections dealt a significant political blow to the religious parties in the North West Frontier Province, traditionally the area you hear about being a safe haven for Taliban. That area is still restive, though there has recently been a declared ceasefire between the government and militant groups.
The recent release of a controversial film by a right-wing Dutch politician, a film widely regarded as anti-Islamic, has stirred up some angry sentiment here. The Danish cartoons depicting the prophet Mohammed (peace be upon him) in a purportedly negative light were also republished, sparking protests, thankfully nothing like the chaos created the first time they came out. Jules and I think it silly, this insistence on free speech at the expense of courtesy, peace, and respect toward our Muslim brothers and sisters. We were glad that the Dutch government and its people took steps to make sure the Muslim world knew that this film did not reflect the views of the majority in their country.
Though the political scene is fairly calm, rising food and energy prices, shortages of rice and flour, and a shortfall in the electricity supply that is causing daily blackouts all over the country (even in Islamabad), do have people concerned. If prices continue to go up and food supplies down, it could get pretty rough here. As usual, the common folks suffer the most in these scenarios.
But no matter what is happening outside, our home is a refuge we are mighty grateful for. It has many rooms, beds where you could lay your head if you were here. Don't you want to come join us on languid afternoons sitting in the shade, watching the birds flit from tree to tree and the kittens from next door sunning themselves with their mummy?
Happy spring.
