Karachi

It is at this point in my journey where I will, rather unwillingly, admit that I like to look at the world through a rose-colored glass. And as much as I love my view from the clouds, I can only do justice to the place in which I am living by grounding my feet in the reality of where I am.

Pakistan is a third-world country. At Aga Khan University Hospital, I am isolated in my medical study and luxuriate in such academia. While my dealings with patients have been far from inspiring (I am in the neurology clinic after all,) my sole encounter with suffering has been in a sterilized room wearing a lab coat. I am professional, trying desperately to remain detached. But working with the patients is a whole aspect of this experience that is separate from the dealings I have had with Karachi. After all, I am in the most prestigious university in Pakistan; it is not the most accurate portrayal of the daily life outside its architecturally magnificent campus.

What can I say about this city that will be fair to its existence, yet accurate in the portrayal of its struggle? It is dirty. The roads are rocky and unpaved, strewn with rotting food, plastic bags, and broken glass. The air is thick with horseflies and carries the smell of manure and roasting meat. Barefoot children dirty their faces and dignity, tapping on car windows in the middle of afternoon traffic to sell silly trinkets. I'm trying not to dramatize here.

Men stare at me constantly. I am not sure what they are thinking and most of the times, I feel frustrated at my inability to read their expressions. Mostly, I fear that they are stares of hostility. But I cannot be sure. I am not the most collected-looking person in the world. Usually people see what I am feeling. I'll have to refer to a quote from Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert (an excellent nonfiction book, p.s.)

"Aside from my cockeyed internal compass, I also have a shortage of personal coolness, which can be a liability in travel. I have never learned how to arrange my face into that blank expression of competent visibility that is so useful when traveling in dangerous, foreign places. You know--that super-relaxed, totally-in-charge expression which makes you look like you belong there, aywhere, everywhere, even in the middle of a riot in Jakarta. Oh, no. When I don't know what I'm doing, I look like I don't know what I'm doing. When I'm excited or nervous, I look excited or nervous, And when I am lost, which is frequently, I look lost."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud at this point in my reading because when people are staring at me, I react in one of three ways:
1. I put on a tough, what-are-you-looking-at-buddy? sort of face which really just makes it look pouty and squished (which you'll see in the camel photo I post)
2. I attempt to smile at them, which then confirms that I am indeed, a foreigner
3. I giggle nervously because I think of expressions 1 and 2 and decide that neither has been working

I came to my relative's home for the weekend and I told them my major observation of this place. No one here smiles. And to be honest, I can't remember the last time I saw a smile from anyone (other than the friends I've made here.) Those of you who know me can be sure that I smiled at roughly 300 strangers before I got the message. But even then, I still can't give up. Out of those 300, a smile was returned twice. I think that says alot about the situation here. NOT that people are cruel and mean--but that there are too many things to be thinking about to smile. And I mean that. In America, there is so much government or organizational aid to people who need it! There are hundreds of homeless shelters and abused-women homes, thousands of food banks, blood banks, clothing-drives, etc. In Pakistan, it is quite apparent that the government doesn't care (and those who do are strategically kept from gaining any power.) And people have no one to turn to. So that's it. Life will continue to be dreadful until there is a miracle. (No one's expecting one.) So people beg and starve and shade themselves under a tree from the burning sun. They wrap their festering wounds that result from such a street life in dirty cloth; they take what you give them and they do what they can to get by.

In the same book I mentioned earlier, a point is made that every city has a word to describe the mentality of its people. In Rome, it's "SEX". In New York City, it's "ACHIEVE." I was thinking of Karachi's word. I'm still not sure. But I think it would entail the struggle for survival. People struggling to get by.

I want to be fair to Karachi. It is still metropolitan. There are still amazing restaurants, and big corporate offices. There are hundreds of advertising billboards for cell phones and food products. There are beautiful homes and fancy cars. The shopping is great. But this is such a small slice of what I am encountering, it is easy to ignore.

I also want to point out, that I am still in no way close to having reached some sort of thesis, if you will. I am still experiencing my initial impressions, because this is only the third day I spent in the actual city of Karachi. The rest of my time has been dedicated to my neurology work at AKUH. Do not make conclusions about Karachi based on this one post--as I have not even scratched the surface.

Khuda Hafiz