Mehndi Party

The night before the wedding, it was time for a Mehndi Party!


But of course, the best designs were for the bride:

Karachi

So, what was Karachi like? In the middle of the emergency laws, no less. I have 299 pictures of Karachi, including two arial shots, but sadly my computer decided to die. Hopefully a resurrection will occur, but in the meantime I'll have to rely on my powers of description:

Um, Karachi was like, um, cool, and stuff. The frantic reporters on the news (at least that was the situation on al-Jazeera before I left) must have been stationed in Islamabad or Lahore, because I really didn't see anything. On a typical day in Cairo there are far more security forces and police on the streets than I saw in Karachi. Granted, I was mostly in an area called Defense, where the walls are high, with guards at the gates and generators to guard against failures in city power.

The days after the wedding I did get to go visit a shrine, the burial place of a sufi saint who is revered by both Sunnis and Shi'is. They were way more chill than in Arab world: no one even asked me to cover my hair. I also went to a market, where I bought some earrings for myself and little gifts for the family I have now left. I still want to be invited for Friday morning fatour, after all. I also visited a huge public park, which was gorgeous and clean.

Karachi is hot. This was nice, since Syria was cooling when I left, and has been winter ever since I got back. I am cold.

Karachi is colorful. The fabrics are amazing. I have never seen such an array of colors as I saw at the shrine and especially at the wedding. Very, very cool.

Karachi may be dangerous. The last night, the idea of walking 300-ish meters to the Crepe Factory in Defense was nixed as too dangerous. So we piled into two cars and drove. Some people I met there also carry around a "stealing phone", so that if robbed, they can hand over a phone without giving up their real phone and losing all their numbers.

In other words, I have to visit again, possibly even leave Defense or even Karachi. They say Islamabad has beautiful mountains. I have already been invited to a wedding in July!

Flying to Pakistan

I got to the Damascus Airport rather early, after being offered a ride by Anas and Mohammad, relatives of the people I used to live with (have I mentioned I moved the day after I got back from Pakistan?). Waiting, I read a bit of my short story collection, which drew the curious to ask if I was foreign, and then, how I could read Arabic.

"Can you read that?" They would ask, pointing to the open book in my hands. No, I just really like to stare at Arabic and flip pages.

One man was considerably hard to shake. After complimenting my Syrian Arabic, he attempted to get my number. Dude was mad old, by the way. I asked and found out 38 to be exact. Sorry, no number possible.
He didn't give up (all in Arabic, naturally):"Just for friends. Isn't that common in America? Boys and girls are friends in America."
"Usually they are about the same age though."
"How old are you?"
"How old do you think?"
"You look about 17." Ok, so now its even creepier. "So can I have your number? Just for friends."
"No, I have friends. Of my same age."
"What's the problem? Here, it's not weird for men of 38 to marry 20 year old girls."
"Yeah, I'm going to go to my gate now."
"Can I have your number?"
"No."
"If I ask again, will I get a different response?"
"No, same response. Bye." The last question was asked with a twinkle in the eye, as if we had been flirting and my previous no's had hints of a future yes for the persistant. I assure, there were no hints of any other answer.

At the gate I chilled with all the Saudis, many niqabis. Some women talked to me, shaking their heads when they found out that I was going to Pakistan by myself. The pity in their eyes was clear when they found out my parents live in America. When they inquired and were informed of my age (22), one said, "by God, so young!" Old enough to marry, not old enough to live far from my parents or travel by myself.

In Saudi, those going to Pakistan stayed on the plane while most deplaned, and a few joined us. So all I've I've seen of Saudi is through a plane window. Now event the airport. Back in the air, the plane was very empty. The flight attendents had all heard me speak before and now bored, a few wandered over and chatted.

In Karachi as I got off the plane, an airport employee met me and asked if was "the American." Um, yes. "Go with him, he said, pointing to another man.
"Why?" I asked with palatable fear.
"I got a call from my manager in Damascus. You are American? Go with him."
"Where are we going??"

The employee hustled me to the front of the immigration line, and I sailed through protocol. Hadi's father and sister were there to meet me, when I found out that Hadi's mom, being Syrian, is friends with the few other Syrians in Karachi, including the manager of Syrian Air in Pakistan. He had put in the call.

Before Pakistan

Getting to Pakistan was a bit of a hassle, and the reason I didn't write anything about my planned trip beforehand was that I didn't want to jinx it.

I had to find a flight, and there are very few Damascus-Karachi flights. There are none direct, in fact. Luckily Syria Air has a twice a week flight that stops in Dammam in Saudi Arabia with a less-than-an-hour layover, versus the 8 hour layovers in Doha or Abu Dhabi I was looking at if I flew another airline. I bought a ticket to leave on a Tuesday and come back on a Saturday, only missing two days of class. Yes.

Then, visa. The Pakistani embassy in Damascus requires a letter from your embassy stating that you are indeed the person your passport says you are, that you are an American citizen, and that you are allowed to travel. The American embassy refuses to do this letter since possession of a passport means all of these things. So I had to go to the American Embassy and get a copy of a letter that says they don't do letters, and give that to the Pakistani Embassy, who refused it. "We need the letter."
"Look, it says they don't do letters."

So to ease the situation along I squeezed out a few tears and wailed that it was my sister's wedding and I have to go to Pakistan. The man led me inside to talk to his boss, who asked if I was Syrian, then if my parents were Syrian, then why I spoke Arabic. But he decided to go ahead and give me a visa, as I knew they would, since Lindsey (my friend who got married) had gone through the same letter ordeal two weeks previous, and emerged with a visa.

Then I was almost all set, when Lindsey told me the wedding date changed because of all the trouble she had with the Pakistani embassy in Kuwait, and then DC. I took my ticket with "non-refundable, non-exchangable" stamped on it to the office and got it changed, without a penalty or fee or trouble.

Then I just had to convince everyone around me that I would be ok. When I told people I was going to Pakistani, they reacted, well, much the same way people in the States reacted when I told them I was going to Syria.
"Oh my god!"
"Are you going to be safe?"
"Why?"
"But its so backwards!"
"Will you have to wear hijab?" - the last question was especially ironic.

True, Pakistan has been dominating the news lately, what with the Emergency Laws and suspencion of the constitution following on the heels of Benazir Bhutto's return and two suicide bombs that killed around 150 people. But most of the protests happen in Islamabad or Lahore, it seemed, and I was going to Karachi (oh wait, the bombs were there). I actually did call Lindsey, told her I was a little nervous, but she told me it was all good. Plus, I got to stay with Hadi's (her now-husband) aunt.

But I figured it would be fine as long as I stayed away from any political rallies. And it was.