Gypsy Award Ceremony

If NGOs do good work, then I must mention the good work of Godh Lahore. There goals are large but their hearts are larger.

I recently went to an award ceremony at the Godh school in Lahore where I’ve been teaching for the past two weeks. In Pakistan Gypsies are stereotypically seen as a dirty people who live in colourful dwellings and are often regarded as thieves. Yet I saw a gentle responsible people living a certain way of life just as we live ours.

Today the school was so clean that it even outshone the other gypsy houses. The community had really made an effort in straightening it’s fences, scubbing its walls and repairing the roof and it was a group of super proud children who showed off the fresh new look. Godh had even provided ABC, 123 etc.. wall charts which they’d hung inside (although I don’t know how long they’ll last) and fixed a brand new blackboard into the wall.

This was very much a day for the community. The children were dressed up for the occassion and all of them showed a maturity which I still find surprising in kids of this age. This school is definitely theirs and Nazir (Godh’s founder) hopes to present it to the community in four years time.

Imagine you are a student and are sat at the national school exam awards awaiting your results. Were you nervous? How did you feel when your name was called? Well now imagine that you’ve never been to school as all your life you’ve either herded goats, played or helped your parents on construction sites. Would you still be so nervous at a ceremony you probably didn’t care about.

Well Godh wanted them to be. They’ve been talking this event up for a while and all the children were dressed in their smartest clothing when I arrived. Some local Godh teachers arrived early to set up the occasion. Sheets were laid on the road for students to sit on, beds were stood at the roadside for the community to sit and a large display saying “Godh Award Ceremony Lahore” hung between two uprighted beds at the head of the gathering. It was the most formal occasion at the most informal place I’d ever attended. The students sat unbelievably quietly for a whole thirty minutes while Atif sir made them stand up and say ‘how are you’ for the arrival of the rest of the teachers and chief guest. When Nazir eventually came he unloaded a whole new carpet for the school and laid it inside in front of an excited crowd. The children now have to take their shoes off and this whole exercise will make the children proud of their school and their achievements. The kids certainly showed it.

When the chief guest arrived all the Godh students smartly stood and addressed him. He actually didn’t notice the attempt but it was the thought that counts. All the teachers (incl. myself) were sat at the front, along with the community leader Majit Datta and his wife. The kids then sat for a good hour not moving twitching or fighting (like during some of my classes) as Atif and then Nazir give a speech to the ‘uncouth gypsies’ on the importance of looking after thier new school. And what did the gypsy children do, they sat quietly and listened more out of respect than from a truly great speech.

This event was important as the children really got an idea of what a structured education is like. They could clearly see the sheer importance placed on an achievement in education and the encouragment to better themselves in that medium. The chief guest was from MSF Canada, who was the main sponsor of this school in Johertown. Asad gave a good speech and each of the teachers and Majid Datta gave out 1st, 2nd and 3rd place trophies as well as new bags and books to all the students. Majid was particularly proud of his son Asgar, who also won a trophy. The pomp continued with a photo of the trophy winners together with teachers, as well as one of the school and community. If the children want to learn, then the school will be a success.

Lahore Marathon

On the way home from the presentation I asked Nazir what he was doing tomorrow. He replied he was helping at the Lahore marathon.. That night it turned out that two of the staff of the Regale Inn (Mallick’s sons) were also running and that tickets were still available. So since I ‘d never done a marathon before I decided to do one. At 8am the next morning the four of us stood being hustled and bustled in the crowded corridor leading out of Gadaffi stadium, (so named after Libyan leader Col. Gadaffi who was popular in Pakistan in the ’70s). We were all of course expert runners. I’d never run further than around the local reservoir in England and the others hadn’t even slept last night. The new ‘A-team’ consisted of myself, Faseeh, Kasim and Bilal respectively. The former two being Mallick’s sons and the latter being their cousin. As trained athletes we fancied giving the rest of the field a chance. But in reality we probably looked just a little out of place stood in the middle of an international athletics track whilst team USA stretched next to us and small groups of Ethiopian Highland runners jogged around the track.

After an early cold start this morning we travelled down to the Gadaffi stadim where the marathon would start and finish. I relished the challenge of running a marathon which probably couldn’t be much harder than teaching a class full of screaming children anyway.

There were three distances available to run; 6kms, 10kms and 42kms - the latter being the real race. We’d obviously chosen 42kms and were now mixing outrageously with some of the best athletes in the world (including a 93year old man!). After handing in my ticket, sticking my number ‘520′ on my back and even doing an interview on GEO TV, a Pakistani news channel, we eventually stood at the front of a sweaty chaotic mob on the starting line ready to run. Competing with the world’s finest from Pakistan were teams from the Pakistan Army, Navy and Airforce all currently doing parade style star jumps in unison.

Several differences…

This was the first ever marathon to be held in Pakistan and the locals had been told to be on their best behaviour. Pakistani’s (like most South Asians) tend to have a different sense of humour to Westerners, so there were several differences between a Western marathon and a Pakistani one. Whilst all the serious world class western athletes were warming up ahead of us, the Pakistani crowd thought it’d be a great idea to destract them by shouting and making “mooing” noises. Where you’d expect to see runners in shorts, running shoes and running vests, (as well as your usual bunch of crackpots running around in costumes), most men were wearing pants, sweaters and dress shoes. Needless to say, they didn’t run very far. There also weren’t many women running and those who did had to settle for leggings and baggy tops.

At 10am the speaker crackled and the starting gun banged. We were off. It was quite surreal since we just started running without really thinking about the 42 killer kilometers ahead. I hadn’t realised it, but this was a bigger event for Pakistan than I’d first thought. Half of Lahore seemed to be lining Ferozpur Rd leading out of the stadium. Camera crews were running alongside and people were waving large banners wishing the runners good luck. It was Pakistan’s aim to make a good impression to the athletic world and I’d say that on the whole they suceeded. We all settled into a rythmn at the start and it was all smiles for the first kilometer, but then Kasim and Bilal started falling behind and Faseeh carried on ahead whilst I pounded along at my own pace determined not to walk.

There were two elements to this ‘race’. One was the sure professional organisation of the whole thing. Waterstops were every 3/4 kilometers where Poweraid was passed over by volunteers manning the stalls - the price of one bottle in Pakistan being equal to half an average day’s wage. Most of Lahore’s school population had been herded for the event and all mainly shouted “shabas” (or well done). Indeed for the first two hours I felt like an international athelete. It was an amazing feeling to be the only most important thing running down the middle of a three lane road, flanked by several hundred screaming supporters and followed by a deafening roar along whole stretches. Everytime I raised your hand a big roar erupted from the crowds on either side.

As I was pounding the tarmac, the only thought in my mind was to reach the 21km marker so I could honestly say that I’d run a half marathon. After fifteen kilometeres I’d disappeared from the real world and entered a hazy world of my own concentration. Nothing else mattered. The only thing I was aware of was the rythmn of my feet and the knowledge that every kilometer past was one nearer to the finish. Kasim and Bilal were somewhere behind resting the last time I saw them and Faseeh was maybe out front running or walking, although I suspected he might also have fallen behind. By the 10kms marker I’d passed many of the ‘elite’ runners who’d been doing cartwheels and backflips at the start, collasped at the road side or leaning heavily on their friend’s shoulder. And by the 21km marker I was one of the few runners left. But that didn’t matter so much as the fact that I’d run a half marathon having never before in my life ran one. It was my promise to myself to then walk for the next two or three kilometers but I couldn’t get my legs to walk. My legs, (especially my calfs) were locked in some sort of crazed cycling motion so that I was walking like some remote controlled drunken cyborg down the centre of the road.

After this point the marathon became somewhat harder. Two hours had past and most of the international runners were nearing the finishing line. Those spectators left had begun to disappear, including many of the officials who were mostly on tea breaks and I didn’t realise that I was supposed to rerun a section of the circuit to complete 42kms. Not only that, but two policeman starting riding their smoky dirty bike next to me for seven kilometers, asking me my name, height, country and favourite hobbies. People had also gotten bored and Pakistanis became intent on distracting me by shouting “hello” over and over again, especially when they saw me half-staggering down the middle of the road. “Well done” suddenly became “hey man, go faster” and a policeman even said to me “hey man, you’ve slowed down, why don’t you go home?” That’s the spirit! The worst though was the heavy lorries which had wisely chosen to use the marathon lane as a convenient overtaking one. To be fare, this was the first marathon ever to be held in Pakistan and Pakistanis are by nature good humoured to say the least. Thus a bunch of people running 42kms was too strange to take seriously.

Before I’d realised it, I’d reached the finish line and a bemused official explained where the 12 kms had gone! I’d completed 33kms in 4 hours and 5mins but again most officials weren’t concentrating and didn’t even realise when I ran up! Nevertheless for a first marathon I’d give my thumbs up to Pakistan. Most people were really supportive and really helped spur me on when they could see how bad I looked. Faseeh, Kasim and Bilal had also just arrived and between us and we looked like we’d been on a all night bender compared to the professionals who were just walking around as if they’d been for a stroll.

The next day we were all sore and it took quite a few days for the pain to go particularly from the calves. But that was absolutely nothing to the pain had in using the bloody squat toilets they have over here. Every time I used them I found myself ‘locked on the bog unable to get my useless legs to move from the ’sitting’ position. The newspapers decried the Marathon a success even if the traffic management polices could have been better. They’d expected 10,000 participants, hoped for 12 and ended up with 15,000 people running with an above average crowd patronising the event. The winner was a Kenyan, finishing in 2hr 14mins who was about half an hour faster than the nearest Pakistani.

Azad Kashmir Rally

I spent the week mainly riding, teaching and working on this website. Both horses have been separated because they have begun fighting. Since they’ve been in the hospital they have become strong and “quite randy” as Brooke’s official put it bluntly. I’ve been running each out on a lunge rope (extra long lead rope) before riding but it’s going be a challenge to get them in shape again for the coming ride. There’s also alot to do with researching and planning the final details of the ride to China.After an uncertain trip to Islamabad to obtain an Indian visa, I returned to Lahore to see that other side of Pakistan for which it is so famous. Take this recent newspaper editorial from the ‘South Asian Media.net’ as an example:

Events like the Lahore Marathon… “also project an image of a country far different from the straitjacketed one of its being a sanctuary for bigoted killjoys or of gun-wielding extremists who use force and violence to thrust their views on everyone else.

The new image could be of a normal, vibrant society ready to move ahead. While a single event such as the marathon can hardly be expected to change the prevailing environment of fear and inhibition, it can prove to be a starting point for further encouragement and patronage of healthy sporting and recreational activities.

This is what is needed to dilute the restrictive and oppressive ambience that has unfortunately evolved over the years in Pakistan which views with disapproval the pursuit of anything enjoyable or relaxing.

I say this because this was the Pakistan on display a week later. The following Saturday was Kashmir day where all of Pakistan “expresses it’s solidarity with the Kasmiris against the yoke of Indian slavery.” Rallies were held across Pakistan in Azad Kashmir (or ‘free Kashmir’ as it’s called in Pakistan) and in all the major cities where the Government declared its solidarity to abide by the decision of the Kasmiris and UN resolutions on the subject. In fact in Islamabad there are large signs declaring the ‘illegal occupation’ of Kashmir by India. To read a balanced history of the subject click here

In Lahore the crowd gathered around midday in the middle of the Mall. The rally was held by Pakistan’s opposition party and some radical parties. However, for the middle of Basant (the largest yearly festival in Lahore), it was a small gathering and most people seemed to be moderates, just being content to listen to the extremist views blasted down the microphone. I might even say that the event was held simply for the radicals to prove to the outside world that their views count. Yet looking around, most average people only stayed for an hour or so. The only American flag burnt was a paper one which wasn’t even lit until a media person was found to film it and a small boy placed next to it wearing a t-shirt saying “Osma my number one hero”. However the fact that such radicals are speaking shows that an audience exists and the propaganda being handed out wasn’t exactly thrown away. One sticker that caught my eye said in Urdu “In the mind of every child we will instill hatred for America.”

It’s possible that most Pakistanis would like to see Kashmir decide it’s own future but their are elements who’d like to take the Kashmir struggle further to a proposed war on America. Indeed the rally in Lahore ended with tyre burnings and calls for a jihad and Mujhadeen warriors to liberate Kashmir from India and America. That was when we left.

The kite flying festival of Basant

This night was one of celebrating as the Punjabi festival of Basant really got under way. Basant is the biggest kite flying festival in the world and it certainly looks like itl. For the past few days kite shops have been opening everywhere and almost every kid seems to be running around with a kite. Basant traditionally started yesterday but didn’t really get going until Saturday night. Basant fever literally swept through Lahore this night as thousands turned out to public venus and fairs being held across town. We went to one at Race Course Park not far from the Regale. All sorts of people had attended including some just plain wierdoes. Pakistani society contradicts itself. It doesn’t tolerate women walking around unless moderately dressed, but it does allow a man wearing a yellow dress, tall red hat and white makeup prancing around honking his fake breasts. Another man thought it would be simply superb to walk around bare chested flexing his biceps like it was muscle beach in the middle of a crowd of young families. However, these were just distractions away from the main festivities of kite flying.

That night was one of celebrating as the Punjabi festival of Basant really got under way. Basant is the biggest kite flying festival in the world and it certainly looks like itl. For the past few days kite shops have been opening everywhere and almost every kid seems to be running around with a kite. Basant traditionally started yesterday but didn’t really get going until Saturday night. Basant fever literally swept through Lahore this night as thousands turned out to public venus and fairs being held across town. We went to one at Race Course Park not far from the Regale. All sorts of people had attended including some just plain wierdoes. Pakistani society contradicts itself. It doesn’t tolerate women walking around unless moderately dressed, but it does allow a man wearing a yellow dress, tall red hat and white makeup prancing around honking his fake breasts. Another man thought it would be simply superb to walk around bare chested flexing his biceps like it was muscle beach in the middle of a crowd of young families. However, these were just distractions away from the main festivities of kite flying.The festival reminded me of the fairs they have in England. Lots of flashing ligths, candy floss and pushing to get on the rides. Unfortunately the only rides here were two dilapidated pirate ships and a ‘horror show’ where a kid comes and waves a knife at you in the dark. The main attraction was of course the white kites being flown in a big open area in the middle of the park where crowds of people were gazing into the night sky. Occasionally a roar would go up as two groups of excited youths surged forwards en mass as their kites fought for supremecy. The thread of each kites is coated in glass and the idea is to cut through your opponents string using some nifty mid-air acrobatics.

Pakistani kites are basically made from crepe paper and balsa wood, but they’re designed differently than good olde English ones. The idea is to let out a good bit of string and throw your kite upwards so it catches a breeze and then tug hard on the string so that it ‘flaps’ its way skywards. My kite cost 20 rupees (or 15 pence) and there’s some skill involved to getting a kite going, but it’s an amazing feeling when you see it all the way up there with the rest. Kites are normally regarded as only for children in the West but here everybody was having a go. Hundreds of kites dotted the night sky, some of them more than 2kms up (although how they managed to see these in the dark is anyone’s guess). There aren’t many big parties in Pakistan but when there are people really let go. You know in Paksitan there might not be any nightlife or big party scene but the difference is this. In the West we work 12…13+ hours per day and wash our stress away with alcohol on a Friday/Saturday night (maybe more). In Pakistan there isn’t that need as you don’t see the stress and seriousness etched on the faces of people here. It doesn’t exist as much as they don’t let it. Life is too short and there’s an almost boyishness to a Pakistanis’ mannerisms. The same is true during big festivals like Basant where the whole city shares in the same spirit.

We ended our evening in Lahore’s old city. Even though it was midnight the air still pulsed with excitement. Hundreds of people clogged the narrow streets, puppet shows were put on and kite shops were still doing a brisk business. The next day though was when the real kite flying began. The whole of they city skyline was bursting with kites as all across Lahore thousands of them hungs in mid-air. They were absolutely everywhere and it was truly something amazing to see.