Sound and Space

I got up today around 6:30 am, and went running around the hospital compound. I am very happy I get to run here. It is one of the things that I use to help alleviate stress and it helps un-cloud my mind. With so much language study and learning of so many things, it does not take long for my brain to get overloaded. It is very nice having a space that I can use to run. The hospital compound is not crowded, cluttered and unsafe as the streets in Pakistan. The hospital grounds are definitely a peaceful refuge from its surroundings. And yet in the midst of this “peaceful refuge” there is still so much noise.

            At around 6 in the morning the call to prayer will start. When I first got here it would wake me up every morning before six. This call to prayer will change everyday as it is determined by where the sun is in the horizon. It will start to become earlier and earlier. As well, depending on what Islamic group will determine what time the call to prayer is done. So a few minutes after the first mosque starts another mosque will blare their prayers. Yes, they will blare their prayers. Every mosque (and there are many of them) has loud speakers pointed in every direction. So five times a day, and on special times during the week there are the calls to prayer, which will last from anywhere between several minutes to hours. Not that the call to prayer actually lasts hours, but the preaching does. The preaching just as the prayers is blared on the mosque’s speakers.

            Then there are the “special events.” Since we got here there has been a couple. They go on throughout the night; maybe ending around 3 Am. Gunshots throughout the night are heard (but this can be normal every night as well). Music is blared out from the loud speakers so all of Shikarpur can hear, and then preaching. It kind of sounds like a Billy Gram crusade, only it is in Urdu or Sindhi and its Muslim.

            The gunfire and firecrackers are interesting to hear. I worry at times that were under attack, but it turns out it was just a wedding or a festival. Terry was telling me that it is cheaper to shoot bullets into the sky then buy fireworks. So during weddings and other celebrations guns are shot off, some have homemade “fire crackers,” which could probably do some serious damage if they wanted them to.

            Then there are the horns from the traffic and the train. It’s throughout the night, and can be heard anywhere on the compound. On the streets, it takes a person awhile to adjust to all the honking and thus creates an uneasy atmosphere for newcomers who are not used to being honked at constantly.

            Yet with all this, the hospital compound is still a quiet and peaceful haven. So this begs the question of what it is like outside the compound. When answered it gives people a good idea of what it is like for a foreigner who is used to noise bylaws and a society that respects other people’s sound space to come into a place that does not.

            I asked my language tutor about the noise pollution, as I thought that a national Pakistani must get used to all the noise and not get bothered by it. I was a bit surprised when he told me he was actually annoyed with how the mosques blare there sound in every direction. “The call to prayer that lasts a few minutes,” he said, “is bearable, but when they get on the loud speakers for hours at a time and preach, it is very annoying.” He also told me that under Pervez Musharraf, the former ruler of Pakistan, there was not as much noise, as he made it illegal for mosques to blare their stuff over loud speakers (But also under his rule there apparently was quite a bit of persecution of the minority groups).

            So as I ran this morning I was not annoyed at the call to prayer and the music that came afterward, but I just laughed wondering about this interesting country that is so different from my own. By now I am used to most of the noise. I got a little offended when I heard and saw that the mosque next door has taken the liberty of pointing their loud speaker directly at the hospital. One of the nurses was telling me that when it is time for prayers they could barely hear each other in one of the wards. That does seem to be a bit too much. I wonder if anyone has gone over there to ask the people at the mosque to point the speaker in another direction? What would they say?

            For now we live with this noise, and keep in mind the appreciation for our home country that respects people’s space; even to the point they outlaw noisy cars. And I am in wonder of this country that is so different then my own and so very noisy.

Ugets about getting dressed

A very strange cultural experience here is when one first wears a Salwar Kameez. The women and the men both wear one. It is a long suite that is the normal everyday dress of a Pakistani. The Salwar is very loose fitting pants. They are very wide at the top and have narrow legs at the bottom. They are tied with what is called ugets, strings that are threaded through the top and pulled tight so that one can tie it and keep his pants from falling down. It takes some time to try and thread the rope through, and there is a tool (I forget at the moment what this is called) that is used that can make it fairly easy. I have gotten quite proficient at it. The Kameez is a long dress shirt that hangs down to your knees and is usually the same colour, though there are exceptions and now a day it seems to be more in style to have a different variant design on the shirt. I had a few of them made by a tailor. It was interesting going shopping for the fabric first at the bazaar and then taking them to a tailor. Thankfully Terry knew the best place to get fabric and he had a tailor he liked using. They are very comfortable and cool, and I know I will wear them throughout the hot season. I also like wearing them when I go to the bazaar as it helps me blend in better (well I still here "Engrazi! Engrazi!" When ever I am out). 

Megan wears them as well, but women also have to wear a dupatta. A dupatta is a scarf that is rapped around the Kameez. In a Muslim context like Pakistan when men are present a woman uses it to cover her head. A woman also usually gets an elastic sown into the waist and thus does not have to wear an uget. 

I have yet to have to use a squatty while wearing a Salwar Kameez, which with the wide waist and a long shirt I believe would take some skill. I do not think mine would come out so clean. Thankfully there are western toilets available in most of the missionary homes.

BUKRA & BUKRI

Getting to the Goat Market

I knew that I wanted to get a couple of goats when I came to Pakistan, as it is a huge part of the culture. I was just unsure how I would possibly go about it. However, after talking to people and getting to know the staff at the hospital I found out that the Pharmacist, Saleem, had a goat. He had bought the goat for his father who had shepherded his whole life in a village, but now was to old to keep working in the village. So Saleem brought his father to live with him and to keep him busy he bought him a Bukri (female). The Bukri has two very cute baby goats (bukryown). So while having chia with Saleem and his father I found that every Saturday there is a goat market close to town and Saleem would be willing to go and help me find a few goats. So I asked if the coming Saturday would be a good day to go and Saleem said it would be. So Saleem and Asif (my language teacher/translator) came, and Bo who drives a pickup truck said he would drive us. Denise our French Canadian neighbour decided to come as well just for the adventure (women can not leave by themselves and have a harder time getting out of the compound). However when we got to the market we found out through Saleem that Denise could not come into the market because there were no other women present. So Bo also stayed behind because it is also not good for women to be left by themselves either. Denise was not at all happy with this, but she reluctantly stayed.

Two things I learnt from this experience. One Pakistan is still very much a patriarchal society and just like in restaurants here there are cultural norms that dictate that women do not go in certain places. The other thing is that just by being present, westerners can cause problems. It was good that Denise and Bo stayed behind because we would have drawn a crowd and probably would have affected the price of the goats as well.

The Goat Market

Getting the goats was a lot more work then I expected. Good thing Saleem came along and that I gave him the money in advance. This way it looked like the goats were for him and thus the price of the goats were not affected as much. There was a lot of bartering going on in the market. One Bukri that Saleem almost bought turned out to be sick. We found this out just before we were going to seal the deal. The deal is sealed when you give the owner of the goat a deposit. We had just given the deposit when we noticed that the Bukri was deficient. Thankfully we got our deposit back. After this Saleem called his father who must have come by rickshaw as he did not come with us. After Saleem’s father came there was a lot more confidence and we were able to get a healthy brown Bukri (They call the goats with the long ears Sindhi goats after the province that we are in). The Bukra (male goat) was harder to get, as the price of a good bukra was too much.   We finally found one Bukra that seemed good, but the owner would not go down enough in his price. Finally we just decided to leave and Saleem said that he and his father could get us a Bukra another time. So we went back to where the Bukri was being held and went to pay for her. As we were leaving though the owner of the bukra came and he reluctantly took a cheaper price. So we paid for him there, but when we drove away the people at the gate stopped us and asked why we did not have a receipt for the Bukra. They were going to send us back to do the proper registration, but the proctor who was helping us get the goats came and told him it was not necessary. After a bit of arguing back and forth we were able to leave. We had gotten the Buckryown.

            I asked about what had happened when we tried to leave. Apparently at the goat market you have to pay a buyers fee. When we had bought the bukra just outside the market we just paid directly for it instead of going to the cashier. However, because our proctor liked us, he made sure that we did not have to go back and pay the fee. In Pakistan its about who you know and relationship when it comes to getting things done.

WHAT'S THE PLAN?

I wanted to get a Bukra (male) and a Bukri (female) as I thought it would be fun to have kids running around. Unfortunately, I found out after that it would probably take the entire time we are here before baby goats will come. This is okay though, as the goats will help bless the national families that work in the hospital when I leave. The baby goats can be sold here for a very good price around Eid Al-Adha, the Muslim holiday where goats are sacrificed. The demand for the goats drives the price up a lot.

When I brought my goats home the first question I got was, “where are they going to live??” Yes, I did ask for permission first, and the consensus was I could have a few goats, but they were unsure what I was going to do with them. Interesting enough the hospital compound is a 7-acre lot. It is a very big compound with lots of grass and trees. It’s actually quite nice. So putting my goats somewhere was not my major concern as I knew there was plenty of space, but I did have to figure out a permanent home for them where they would not bother anyone. So I started a beautification project of one area of the grounds that did not look so nice, which I will talk about at a later time.

The idea behind getting the goats, besides having a few pets around that Abigail can ride and pet, is to be more immersed in the culture. It gives me something in common with a lot of the nationals here. Pakistan is very relational, and making friendships is very important. Already I have made quite a few friends, and have been able to learn more Urdu because of my goat project. As well it is helping me become more familiar with construction and how things are done within Pakistan when it comes to building projects (which is very different then in a Canadian context). Finally it adds a little bit of joy to my coworkers lives as they get to pet and feed goats whenever they want to (including me as I do get to fulfil my life long dream of being a shepard of ruminants. One co-worker was even talking about getting a lamb to add to the heard ;).

Making it to Shikarpur

When we left Hyderabad at eight in the morning we hoped that the six-hour drive would be uneventful and we would make it to Shikarpur in six hours. It was nice that my mentor, Terry gave us a ride. The alternative was a bus or train, which could have been adventurous, but also would have been stressful with having all our stuff we brought from Canada with us and not really knowing the cultural norms when it comes to public transit (I am sure there will be plenty of other times we will have to use the bus or train).  So we were thankful for the ride. So the car was packed down with suite cases on the roof and we started off on our trip.

            The super highway, which runs from Karachi to Islamabad, is a great idea in theory, but it has some kinks to be worked out in practice. The divided portion of the highway is great, but as we were traveling we would often have to switch to the other side of the median onto oncoming traffic or oncoming traffic would have to switch sides and come towards us. This often happened without any warning. It was quite scary all of a sudden to see cars flying at you honking and blinking lights telling us we had better get out of the way. A few times it got really scary with huge holes on the side of the road and there was no place to move over.

The reason this was happening was because they were redoing the pavement on the opposite side. Terry told me that due to the lack of workmanship the first time the pavement was done the road is constantly getting repaired. At one point we saw Chinese people working on the highway. Terry was telling me that Chinese companies were now being hired to oversee the paving of the road because they were known for better quality. However, the Chinese foremen needed an armed police guard at all times because they would constantly get attacked by the jealous Pakistanis.

            Then there was the sugarcane. Apparently it was time for the sugarcane harvest and as such many trucks and carts pulled by camels were all loaded down with sugarcane. In one area there were so many trucks and camel carts waiting to get into the sugarcane factory that they blocked the super highway. Thanks to my mentor’s quick reflexes and driving ability we were able to go around them by 4x4ing with his Honda Civic. This happened in a few places, with truck after truck blocking the highway. The other side of the road was blocked too and so even the small pathway we were able to find for us to get through was becoming blocked by oncoming traffic trying to get through the other way. If we had been 10 minutes later we would have certainly been blocked in for a very long wait.

           

After getting through the sugarcane, we travelled freely for a while. We even stopped for lunch. This is where something remarkable happened. We all sat down to eat and our food came, but Abigail was fussing and usually this means one of us has to feed her while the other one eats. However the waiter came over and took Abi from us and watched her the whole time we ate our meal! It was a bit uneasy at first, but I was assured this was normal. The waiter even brought Abi into the kitchen to meat the kitchen staff. She came back out with candy. Fantastic! Where’s this kind of service in Canada?

            We moved on from lunch and came to another problem of backed up traffic. This time my mentor got out and asked around what was going on. He found out that due to strikes a few days earlier the highway was still backed up and traffic was moving slowly. By the looks of the drivers out and about and having tea it looked like a very long wait. So we decided to go around the back way. Political parties usually cause the strikes that happen in Pakistan. The party’s supporters will block the roads, blow things up, and threaten shopkeepers with guns if they keep open during the strike. This is a normal monthly occurrence here. There are many times when we are told it is not safe to travel between cities because of strikes.

            As we were traveling through the bumpy dirt back roads of the Sindh, Terry told us he had phone ahead and asked if the highway was open, and they said it was. However, he also told us that he had read in the newspaper that because of the traffic being stuck for days because of the strike, people were being robbed and looted. This explained his hurry to try and get to Shikarpur before nightfall.

            We made our way driving through the countryside and being on “tour” with Terry for a few hours until we had to go back on the Super Highway.  finally did arrive at Shikarpur, just before the sun set. We were very thankful for God’s protection and that Terry was able to find his way through the traffic and get us safely to our new home.

           

Our home in Shikarpur is quite nice. There are definitely things we are missing, but for being in Pakistan, we like Shikarpur much better then the big city of Hydrabad. It is much quieter and relaxed on the Hospital compound. As well we are right next door to other westerners who have come to help out at the hospital and it is nice from time to time to retreat from a world that is so different from what we are use to a place that is familiar among Canadian friends, and well our American friends as well (They are a bit different though J)

            Next time I will write about being a shepherd, not only for God, but also for….

“Me First!”

The mentality of the drivers in Pakistan is quite interesting. The norm for drivers is to care only about being first, getting to a destination without concern for other drivers around them. For the most part traffic sorts itself out, but it starts to become a problem when the “me first” mentality leads to clogged roads. Soon backed up traffic on one side of the road leads to backed up traffic on the other side of the road. This is because when a driver sees that their lane is backed up, but sees adequate space for their vehicle on the other side they will start driving on the wrong side of the street just to get through. However, usually traffic is backed up for a good reason. Perhaps an accident is blocking the intersection, or a train is crossing the road. So when the cars start to fill up the other side of the road it just causes a huge mess when the accident is cleaned up or the train passes. Gridlock becomes the norm in each one of these situations, as no one will be able to get through. It can take hours for traffic to sort itself out. Most of the time the drivers will get out of their vehicles and mosey about while they wait for the problem to solve its self.

            This happened to us as we were traveling from church a few Sundays ago in Hyderabad. We got stuck in traffic. Motorbikes soon filled in empty spaces. There were even donkey and horse carts trying to get through beside us because they saw some space. The reason there was a space was because there was a blockade. This did not hinder them. They tried to push through telling us to move over, which we could not do. An hour later the traffic jam had sorted itself out and we finally were able to move the few blocks that we were trying to go. I will not complain about traffic in Canada anymore.