2004
“There’s a job going in Islamabad,” I remarked. “It would be on promotion if I got it.”
My wife frowned. “Pakistan?”
“Yes. It’d be an amazing opportunity. You know I’ve always wanted to explore that part of the world.” I paused. “And there are fantastic trekking opportunities in the north–you know, the Pamirs and Himalayas.
And I could travel the Karakoram Highway, following the old silk routes across the high passes into China. I saw it in my mind’s eye and smiled to myself.
“Think of it! A new country and a completely different culture. It’ll be an adventure. We’ll have fun.”
The Norns must have been laughing their socks off.
ooOoo
Ürümqi, Western China–two years later. Day 1 of my solo adventure.
As the aircraft descended, I peered out of the window and was reminded of our arrival in Islamabad the previous year. Our experiences since then had the makings of a good fantasy tale. It certainly hadn’t been anything like what we’d envisioned…
ooOoo
April 2005–early morning
Islamabad airport was chaos; women and children queued separately, and I smiled encouragingly at my wife as I watched her inch forward with our son in her arms. Having cleared immigration, I saw Peter, my new boss, on the other side of customs. I waved as we waited at the baggage carousel.
We waited. And we waited. We waited until everybody else had collected their luggage, and it became clear that we waited in vain. No bags for us today. Forlornly, with Peter’s help, we filled in the paperwork and hoped we’d be reunited someday.
Frustration had one more joker to play that morning. Peter escorted us to our new home, where we looked forward to some rest in a real bed after the journey. With a flourish, Peter magically produced the key–only to discover that there were two locks on the door.
And he didn’t have the other one…
Welcome to Pakistan.
ooOoo
Day 1-3 of my solo adventure
Ürümqi is the capital of Xinjiang province in north-western China and has the distinction of being the city furthest from the sea in any direction. It sits in a vast region predominantly comprised of deserts and mountains.
So what was I doing there?
I was completing my dream of travelling the length of the Karakoram Highway (KKH). During our first year in Pakistan, I travelled the southern end of the KKH. Now, a month before our second-born was due, Emma had kindly let me off the leash for one last little sojourn, and I aimed to complete the journey. But this time, I would start from the north.
Bordering Afghanistan, Tajikistan and Kashmir, this Central Asian highway crossed from western China into the northern mountains of Pakistan along a branch of the ancient network of trade routes known as the Silk Road.
It turned out that the challenges on this side of the border were somewhat different from those at the Pakistani end.
In Ürümqi, no one spoke English. And my Mandarin was non-existent. Dinner was a farce, and I literally ended up pointing at things on other tables. Ultimately, the waiter presented me with a large pot of boiling water along with a selection of undetermined raw meat and vegetables. Through his gesticulations, I understood that I was expected to cook the food myself at the table.
Um… not what I’d had in mind at all…
The other major challenge had been purchasing my rail ticket to Kashgar–the official start of the KKH, nearly a thousand miles away. Approaching the booth at the station, I realised all the signage was in Chinese characters.
Bugger!
I had a rethink and made for the hotel next to the station. To my relief, there was a travel agency based inside–and someone who spoke English! Shortly afterwards, I had my ticket.
Ah, wait! China covers four time zones, but all official business is conducted in Beijing time. So, whilst my ticket said 12:00, I realised it would actually leave at 08:00 local time.
Sneaky bastards…
The train was a revelation. It was a spotless, modern double-decker with comfortable sleeping compartments and large windows which afforded fabulous views of the scenery.
On the left side of the train was the Turpan depression; over 500 feet below sea level, this was one of the hottest and driest parts of China. On the opposite side were the Tien Shan mountains. Bordering Kirghizstan, these mountains rose to 24,400 feet. With these snowy peaks on one side and the desert on the other, I was lucky enough to see occasional yurts and examples of the ubiquitous Bactrian camel.
After the 24-hour journey, I arrived in Kashgar in the early morning. I was now at the northern end of the Karakoram Highway and looking forward to exploring this famous silk route town before continuing on to the border.
It was very different to its southern counterpart.
ooOoo
July 2005
At 1,770 feet, Islamabad lies at the southern end of the Karakoram Highway. Situated just below the Margalla hills at the western edge of the Himalayas, it’s a relatively smart, purpose-built capital city next to the sprawling urban mess of Rawalpindi.
It took us–my wife Emma, my son Ronan and myself–a while to acclimatise to the heat, the food and the water, but we were keen to explore the incredible hills, valleys and mountains of this extraordinary country.
Our first real opportunity came in July, when temperatures had passed their peak. In our second-hand Toyota Hilux, we started our journey up the KKH proper through the stunning green of the Kaghan Valley and then onward towards Nanga Parbat. Known as the ‘Killer Mountain’, it is the eighth-highest mountain in the world.
Leaving our Toyota behind, a local jeep drove us from the KKH up a narrow track to the remote village of Jhel. With a sheer drop of several thousand feet, it was the most terrifying drive I had ever experienced. And when we met another jeep coming the other way, I didn’t know what we were going to do! My heart was in my mouth as the two vehicles inched around each other, our wheels manoeuvring with more rubber over the edge than on the road. Emma was desperately holding onto Ronan as he gleefully attempted to clamber around the bars of the open-sided vehicle.
Somehow, we didn’t tip over the edge, fall into the abyss and die. But jeez…
From Jhel, we hiked up to the exquisite camp at Fairy Meadows (10,800ft) with its wooden cabins and big canvas tents. This was where mountaineers wishing to climb the summit started out. But it was also popular with people like ourselves who just wanted to see some incredible mountain scenery. We had brought Mona with us. Mona was our nanny–or Ayia–and was a godsend. She was a regal Pakistani in her mid-twenties who adored Ronan but also loved having the unexpected opportunity to explore her home country.
The following day, we climbed up to the more basic Beyal camp. We had one night here before we were supposed to head back to the KKH the next morning.
It didn’t work out like that.
By morning, I was ill; violently ill. Food poisoning is never pleasant, but today I had some walking to do.
It was one of the most gruelling and unpleasant days of my life. Feeling ghastly, I set off slowly, with Mona accompanying me. Every few minutes, I slowed, bent over, and vomited. As the day wore on and the sickness got worse, I ended up on my hands and knees, literally crawling between bouts of throwing up.
Emma, who was thankfully unaffected, walked ahead, carrying our son in the back carrier. Mona stayed with me as I crawled and vomited, and crawled some more. I knew it was bad when Mona slipped her warm, brown hand into mine, breaking all sorts of cultural taboos. I was almost overwhelmed by her natural compassion–even though I knew she didn’t feel too good herself.
It got worse. Driven by my body’s sudden, desperate need to expel anything in my bowels, I lurched into the trees and managed to shove my trousers down just in time.
It wasn’t up there with my favourite moments.
I really hadn’t signed up for this…
We finally made it to the campsite at Fairy Meadows, where I staggered in and was met by a very worried wife. Emma helped me into the drop-pit toilet and literally held me over the hole as the world poured once more from my rear. There are some things I wish my wife never had to do, but I was almost delirious at this point and was beyond caring. I was clearly unable to travel any further, and Emma helped me to a bed where I gratefully lay down and eventually fell into a restless sleep.
ooOoo
Day 4-6
Like Timbuctoo or Ouagadougou, Kashgar is one of those mythical places you’re never really sure exists–until you go there.
I spent a few days exploring the town, including a visit to its famous Sunday Bazaar. Crammed with spices, fur hats and a huge selection of sharp knives, I soaked up the ambience. It was a truly Central Asian melange of Uighurs, Kirghiz and Tajiks, and I watched them haggle, smoke and laugh. There was a happy vibe to the place, and I felt privileged to be there.
Afterwards, I hired a car and driver to take me to the remote border town of Tashkurgan. At over 10,000 feet and situated in the Pamirs near the Tajik border, it was a truly isolated settlement, giving the feeling of being in the middle of nowhere.
That evening I dined on Laghman; a Uighur speciality consisting of thick noodles served in a spicy soup. The following morning, with the passes finally open, I boarded the first bus of the year to Pakistan. The all-day journey teased me with intriguing glimpses into the gentle Pamir valleys as they opened up toward Tajikistan.
Eventually, we crossed the Khunjerab Pass (15,397 ft) into Pakistan, and as the bus started its rattling descent, I smiled as I remembered crossing another pass the previous September…
ooOoo
September 2005
For our second excursion into the Northern Areas of Pakistan, we took a local flight to the remote valley of Chitral. Using the excuse of having an 18-month-old son, we brazenly asked if we could visit the cockpit, and our Pakistani hosts happily indulged us. We perched wherever we could find a space and chatted casually with the pilots as we flew between two snowy peaks that you could almost reach out and touch.
Closed by snow in the winter, this green and relatively undeveloped valley in North-West Frontier Province sat in the middle of the Hindu Kush mountains, not far from the Wakhan Corridor–a narrow strip of land joining Afghanistan to China. It was designed to keep British India and the Russian Empire apart during the Great Game of the Nineteenth Century, and it now separates Pakistan from Tajikistan.
We stayed in the luxury of the Hindukush Heights Hotel, run by the charismatic and very friendly Siraj ul Mulk, son of the former ruler of Chitral. Siraj was, to all intents and purposes, a Prince, and he was a most excellent host. Here, with good company and fine food, we finally had an opportunity to relax for the first time since our arrival in Pakistan. Rather indulgently, we’d brought Mona with us to help look after Ronan, and he stayed with her in the evenings, enabling us to enjoy the privacy of our own room.
Yay, we’d got rid of one child! What were we going to do?
It seemed like the perfect opportunity to make another.
ooOoo
Day 7-9
I was back in Pakistan, and bizarrely, it felt like home! I was in the fabled Hunza Valley, which was incredibly green after the high desert plains on the Chinese side. As I travelled down this part of the KKH, I took my time, enjoying the delights it had to offer.
In Passu, I hired a guide to take me on the famous ‘Two Bridges Walk’ which crosses the Hunza River on a rickety wood and rope suspension bridge. I then hitched a ride in a pick-up truck to Karimabad, where I soaked up the atmosphere and the fabulous views of Rakaposhi – another giant of the Karakoram range – before finally taking a local bus to Gilgit.
Gilgit would be the end of my trip, and I planned to fly home from there. Back to my wife, who had kindly allowed me this last opportunity to fulfil my dream before fatherhood beckoned once more.
I was feeling nostalgic and a little maudlin. Life is fickle, and thinking of my family, I couldn’t help but reflect on the catastrophic autumn of the previous year.
ooOoo
October 2005
Sunday morning in early October. It was still very warm, and we’d invited friends for afternoon tea in the garden.
Mona was outside playing with Ronan. Emma was relaxing in bed, and I was taking a shower. One moment I was enjoying a lazy start to the day, and the next I was wondering why the shower had started vibrating beneath my feet. I looked out the window and realised it wasn’t just the shower; the whole house was shaking. Before panic started to set in, it stopped. Still dripping, I stepped out of the shower and looked at my wife, her eyes wide in alarm.
“You alright?”
She nodded. I checked the garden. Looking shaken, Mona had Ronan clutched in her arms.
I’d never been in an earthquake before, and I wasn’t sure what we should be doing. But nothing major seemed to have occurred. There were no sirens, our phones remained silent and outside, everything was quiet. So, somewhat anxious, we continued with our day. Our guests arrived in the afternoon, and we sat in the garden drinking tea, eating scones and chatting whilst people died.
Fiddling whilst Rome burned; not knowing.
Not knowing that this was only the periphery of the earthquake and that less than sixty miles to the north, at the epicentre, thousands of people had perished, and more were dying as their homes collapsed on top of them.
Only a few blocks away, in another part of Islamabad, a diplomatic colleague from a sister embassy had left his apartment that morning to buy his family a Sunday treat: pastries from the local bakery.
When he returned, the apartment block was a heap of rubble with his wife and children inside.
Gone.
Messages started to ping in during the afternoon, and my colleagues excused themselves as they were called away.
Only the next day did the raw magnitude of the event strike home. The centre of the earthquake was between Muzaffarabad, the capital of Azad Jammu and Kashmir, and Balakot, on the KKH. Measuring 7.6 on the Richter Scale, it was a humanitarian disaster. More than 86,000 people died even as rescuers flew in from around the world and desperately searched the rubble for survivors. Over 3.5 million were rendered homeless.
ooOoo
Day 10
Described by some as the ‘Fulcrum of Asia’, Gilgit is the regional capital of the Northern Areas and sits at the confluence of the Gilgit and Hunza rivers.
On the tenth day of my journey, I reached this crossroads town and checked into the luxury of the Gilgit Serena Hotel – almost certainly the only 5-star hotel in the region. I felt I deserved it.
Pumped at reaching the final destination of my trip, I immediately called home.
Emma answered, and I was full of myself as I elatedly started telling her about my adventures and how, cloud permitting, I would hopefully be flying home the following day.
My wife interrupted my excited flow. “Fuck the clouds, I’m about to have your baby!” she wailed.
“What?”
ooOoo
Emma
Pakistan wasn’t what I had envisaged at all. I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but whatever it was, this wasn’t it.
“It’ll be fun,” he’d said.
Humph.
I thought it would be like Morocco or India.
I was wrong. Those countries were vibrant and full of colour.
Pakistan, by contrast, was washed out. A country of pale blues and browns. The culture was completely alien to an independent, free-thinking, educated Western woman. From the start, I found it a struggle.
How can I explain it?
After our heavy baggage arrived, the High Commission sent a team around to my home to hang pictures on the wall (seriously–we were not allowed to do it ourselves). All men, of course. The team consisted of a boss, someone to hold the ladder, one each for the hammer and nail, and another to hang the picture. Plus two spares just in case.
I told the head honcho where I wanted my pictures.
“Oh, no, Madam. You don’t want it there.” He pointed. “You want it over there!”
I looked at him incredulously. “I beg your pardon?”
“It would be much better over there, Madam.”
The conversation that followed was almost comical. And quite short. I don’t think he was used to that sort of language from a woman. In the end, he put them where I wanted, but he clearly wasn’t happy.
There were other trials: I’d put some clothes into the tumble dryer, and as I opened its door at the end of the cycle, I remember screaming as hundreds of cockroaches poured out, turning me into a gibbering mess on the floor – though, to be fair, I didn’t remain there for very long.
Then there were the boring, but essential, everyday challenges. Like where to find disposable nappies (diapers to my American cousins) and baby food.
And the less said about the diarrhoea, the better. It was, quite literally, a pain in the ass (I recommend wet-wipes).
A Western woman, even wearing a shalwar kameez, was asking for trouble if she ventured out alone. One of Jason’s female colleagues summed it up best. ‘It’s like you’re food for their wet dreams,’ she told me.
I understood exactly what she was saying. It was the look on their faces.
Great.
At the other end of the scale, one indispensable find was Mona. This young woman was a delight; intelligent, well-spoken and hard-working, she made life in the often-difficult environment much more palatable. She was quite an independent woman, which was refreshing, and she was a godsend for me and our family.
One day, shortly after we arrived, Jason explained to me that the Pakistani Intelligence Service (known as ISI) had likely bugged our home. This was generally known and tolerated. We just had to be careful what we said in the house.
I explained to Mona that if anyone from the authorities wanted to access the house when we weren’t there, then she wasn’t to object–that would only bring trouble on her and her family.
She blushed, and I realised the advice was too late – they had already been.
Wonderful. So, assuming our walls were bugged, it made sex in the bedroom–well, any room, really–all the more interesting. I imagined men wearing headphones whilst they listened to us making love.
It wasn’t exactly the ideal aphrodisiac.
ooOoo
When I discovered I was pregnant, the British High Commission (BHC) said they expected me to return to the UK to have my baby. There was some logic to this–especially if you were a first-time mother. But whilst this suited them, it was nowhere near as practicable as it sounded.
For a start, I would have to spend the last six weeks of my pregnancy away from my husband and my support network of friends here in Islamabad. I would have to look after my son alone, without Mona to help. Nor did we have a handily available second home sitting empty in the UK. Where would I stay? With my parents? Yeah, like that was going to work. Even thinking about it gave me palpitations. It would be a very stressful and lonely time.
But if I stayed in Islamabad, support from the BHC would be withdrawn, and I would have to sign a disclaimer.
In the end, it was a no-brainer. My husband would be with me, and I had Mona. I had also found Salma Qureshi, a wonderful obstetrician who had trained in the UK and now ran her own medical centre here in Islamabad. I also had support from my good friend, Jenny. Married to a Pakistani man, she was an expat nurse who worked for the Canadian High Commission.
I decided to stay.
What could possibly go wrong?
ooOoo
It’s difficult to picture heat. You don’t tend to think of it as something tangible. Yet when you walk into 113 degrees Fahrenheit (45ºC) of heat in the shade, it is like walking into a wall. You can taste it. You can smell it. You can even see it as it shimmers. Oppressive and heavy, it envelops your entire being. When you draw breath into your lungs, it’s as if you are in a sauna. Only the door to this sauna cannot always be opened.
In May and June, Islamabad is like this.
When we returned to the house after two weeks away, the mattress in our bedroom took two days to cool down once the air-conditioning was switched on. It was like lying on an electric blanket. Two candles, each four inches in diameter, had flopped over in the heat! And to top it off, the elastic in all our underwear had perished.
Occasionally, at night, there would be a power outage, and the aircon would stop. We would wake dripping in a pool of sweat and rush next door to make sure Ronan wasn’t overheating.
My baby was due in June. Having let my husband go gallivanting on his KKH jaunt, I went for my monthly check-up with Dr Salma at the beginning of May. I wanted to discuss pain relief and whether I would have to be shaved ‘down there’.
She was running late, dealing with a poor woman who had an ectopic pregnancy. Dr Salma wanted to operate to save the woman’s life. But her husband refused to give his permission. Furious, Dr Salma insisted he sign a document saying he understood that by refusing his wife the surgery, he was condemning her to die in prolonged agony.
He signed.
Dr Salma was concentrating and frowning as she looked at my ultrasound. Oblivious, I chatted to Jenny.
Dr Salma interrupted my reverie. “There is a problem, Emma. The baby’s heart rate is fluctuating.”
I didn’t get it. I was still wittering about the unnecessary removal of pubic hair.
“Emma, we need to get your baby out now.”
“Well, that’s okay. Jason should hopefully be back tomorrow…”
“No. Tomorrow is too late.”
Suddenly, I was scared. “But it can’t be now. I’ve got to see to my son, and…”
“Now,” she interrupted firmly.
“But… but there’s still a month to go. It’s not time yet.” I frantically looked to Jenny for support.
“Dr Salma is right, Emma. She needs to get the baby out as soon as possible.”
I could feel myself starting to panic. “I–I need to get some things–arrange for Mona to look after Ronan.”
There was some discussion between Jenny and Dr Salma, and then Dr Salma looked at me sternly.
“I will give you one hour. And then we are going to do a caesarean, okay?”
“I’ll meet you there,” said Jenny. “And then I can bring you back.”
I have no idea why they let me drive home. I was a wreck. But somehow, I arrived in one piece.
I was still packing when the phone rang. It was Jason, babbling about his trip and how he hoped the sky would be clear the next morning.
“Fuck the clouds,” I interrupted. “I’m about to have your baby!”
ooOoo
Jason/Gilgit
After Emma put the phone down, I called Peter, my boss. My voice cracked as I explained what was happening. I could feel tears welling up as I thought about my wife. I couldn’t do anything. I felt so impotent.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll sort it out.”
All the decisions we’d made suddenly seemed stupid. I thought about catching a bus, but it would be an 18-hour ride back to Islamabad. And the flight – if it came in – would only be seventy-five minutes.
If it wasn’t clear, however, the aircraft wouldn’t even depart Islamabad. It wouldn’t be able to negotiate the mountains safely when it got to Gilgit.
Dammit! What should I do?
ooOoo
Emma/Islamabad
As Dr Salma’s team prepared me for surgery, I saw the anaesthetist glance down at my nether regions. The look of shock on his face was almost comical. Given the circumstances, I hadn’t had time to think about a trim. Pakistani women tended to be well-groomed and smooth-shaven. I suspect he’d never seen a bush as unruly as the one that confronted him now.
Strange the thoughts one has at these times. Serve him right.
Jenny stroked my cheek. “Everything’s going to be fine, Emma.”
I hoped she was right. I was so frightened. I was suddenly worried I was going to die.
I didn’t want to die. I wanted to hold my baby.
ooOoo
Gilgit
I paced up and down the small room for hours, wearing out the carpet, willing the phone to ring, desperate to know what was going on.
I don’t pray; I’m not religious. But now I begged the angels to help. Begged them for Emma and our baby to be okay.
And just a little bit for the skies to be clear in the morning.
ooOoo
Islamabad
In the end, it worked out fine, just as Jenny promised. The umbilical cord was wrapped twice around her neck and had started to press against my pelvis when she dropped. Ironically, they wouldn’t have picked it up in the UK because they don’t usually scan at that point in the pregnancy. Just as well I was here, really.
They took my new daughter away to clean her up, and I was suddenly terrified they wouldn’t give her back to me. Dr Salma insisted I take a sedative to help me sleep. I didn’t want to, but I gave in eventually. As they wheeled me to my room, they showed her to me; a tiny face swaddled in blankets. I saw her bright blue eyes as they locked onto mine, and I could see the sudden wonder in them. Are you my mum? They asked. I wanted to hold her and started crying as she was taken to the premature baby unit.
When I woke up, she was there. Blond and gorgeous with those big, beautiful eyes…
Not a sign of my dark, auburn colouring. I frowned and looked at her again. Christ, they’d given me the wrong baby! She’d been switched whilst I was asleep. There was a Russian family next door – THEY must have my daughter!
I could feel myself panicking and took some deep breaths.
You’re being silly. Calm down, Emma!
ooOoo
Gilgit
The phone rang.
“You have a beautiful baby girl. Everyone is well.”
I could feel the tears rolling down my face as I quietly sobbed.
“I’ll go and see her in the morning.”
I swallowed. “Thanks, Peter.”
And thank you, angels, I thought gratefully. Now, about those fucking clouds…
ooOoo
Islamabad
“Your husband’s here to see you.”
“What? Already–but he’s still in Gilgit!”
“Well, he’s here! With some friends.”
Huh? What was going on?
It was Peter. Plus, by the looks of it, most of Jason’s work colleagues.
“Hello, Em. They’ve been asking me to complete the birth details.”
“Oh?” This was confusing. “Why’s that?”
“Um, they think I’m the father. I can’t seem to convince them otherwise.”
I lay back and laughed. “Jason will love that.”
“I’ll bet. Isn’t he here yet?” He put a huge paper bag marked ‘Dunkin’ Donuts’ on the table, along with a carton of juice.
“No. I don’t know if the flight went this morning. If it did, he should be here about midday.”
“Typical. I see there’s a Russian family next door?”
“Yeah, I know. For a moment, I thought they’d swapped our babies.”
“Ha! Now that would be funny!”
“No, it wouldn’t, Peter.”
“Are you sure you’ve got the right one now?”
I rolled my eyes. Men!
As Peter and the others left, my eyes locked onto the bag of doughnuts at the end of the table. I hadn’t eaten for at least twenty-four hours…
ooOoo
Gilgit/Islamabad
The skies were clear–yay! The flight came in on time and duly carried me back to Islamabad. I chaffed at every step of the journey, desperate to be reunited with my family.
There was a Dunkin’ Donuts bag by the bed as I walked into the room. I hadn’t stopped to eat that morning and was hungry; I peered inside hopefully.
Empty - just a few crumbs. Typical.
And there she was, looking exhausted–and who was that in the cot by her side?
“Hello, stranger.”
“Hello, you. Thought you’d do it without me, did you?”
“Yeah.”
I looked into my new daughter’s eyes. “She’s so tiny.” I paused. “Any idea what we’re going to call her?”
ooOoo
Later that day, they gave me the birth certificate. It was blank where the name should be.
“Just fill it in when you’ve decided.”
Of course.
ooOoo
Two years later
The day after we left Pakistan, they blew up the Luna Caprese, an Italian restaurant in downtown Islamabad.
A police colleague was dining there with his American counterparts. They weren’t the objective. Just collateral damage. The restaurant was targeted because it served alcohol.
Despite losing an eye in the explosion, Keith was still able to render lifesaving first-aid to his two FBI friends.
ooOoo
Pakistan wasn’t at all what we thought it would be. But we’d definitely had an adventure. And amongst all the tragedy, there was one special new life I would always be grateful for.
