I have now been in Pakistan for a little bit over a week and the only thing limiting my dining choices have been bomb scares. That and the questionable safety risk of walking alone at night is also (now) a limit. Of course, there are a plethora of small, pale yellow cars that serve as the city's taxis. They frequently see me, the random business-casual clad Westerner, and honk, which is the universal code for "do you need a taxi?" But everyone I speak with informs me that taking a taxi is a good idea only if I am interested in coming down with a case of the Stockholm Syndrome. And as lovely as Stockholm is, I'd rather not get any syndromes.
So how do I get out of my guesthouse and see the town you ask? Answer: People I know (or their drivers) that can pick me up with their car. And to answer your follow up, I know people through a Kevin Bacon-esque game of Pakistanis. Basically, a classmate of mine, Nadia, put me in touch with a friend of hers. He then put me in touch with a couple people, one of whom connected me with several of her friends who are basically the 20-something elites in Islamabad. Like most developing countries, the wealth in Pakistan is heavily concentrated in the hands of notable families and their business conglomerates. And while this may pose a severe constraint on Pakistan's economic development, and cause stratification and massive inequality, it has certainly benefited my social life.
To be fair, the people I've met are not all children of the uber-wealthy. And of those that are, they are incredibly down to earth. So much so that the only way to know that they are scions of a patrician family is if you happen to see their mansion or if another person mentions someone's notable relatives. Actual quote from someone to me: "Oh yeah, he is General Zia ul-Haq's grandson." Me: "It must be weird to have a former dictator as a grandfather." But generally the elites are simply a mix of upper and upper-middle class individuals that are well-educated, cosmopolitan, and typically speak and write better in English than Urdu. Many attended the International School of Islamabad (ISI), which is not to be confused with the other ISI -- the Directorate for Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI). To avoid confusion and my arrest, we'll use ISoI for the school and never speak again of the ISI. Better safe than sorry. Regardless of whether or not they attended ISoI for high school, nearly all of them went abroad for college and have now returned to Isloo at least part time. Many have done so to run a family company, or at least a portion of it. Others are pursuing a more standard professional path or a life in the arts. Hanging out with this crowd feels not too different than hanging out with friends back in the States. Of course there are some noticeable differences. Drinking at home is not a pre-party option; it is the party option. Deciding where to eat dinner is not dependent upon a Sietsema review or the Washingtonian list, but the high-alert terrorism target list. And when invited over to someone's place, rather than having a hard time fitting everyone in a room, you have a hard time finding the right room.
During my first week, sitting in the office all day and taking solitary trips to Jinnah Super was quickly fading in excitement. Sure, I could make it more exciting by walking at night. But there had to be something better than simply making myself a potential AMBER Alert, or the Pakistani equivalent. (Query: Do they have an equivalent? Considering the number of abductions, it seems like a good idea.) But luckily my stir-craziness was ameliorated. I received an email from a fellow who explained that our mutual friend (see the Kevin Bacon explanation above) told him that I was in Isloo for a while and was looking to hang out with folks. He invited me over for drinks after dinner and I quickly agreed. When I offered to take a cab over, he laughed and explained that was a poor idea. Instead, he and his driver came to pick me up. When I entered his home, I was floored by its magnificence (including the floors). The first level seemed to contain two spacious living rooms, with a few seating areas in each. Proceeding to the second floor, we passed a modern, angled, wall-length skylight. Evidently, when the Marriott was bombed, that was the only window in the house that didn't get shattered. Even his front door was blown in. At the end of a long hall, we entered a large room. And by large, I mean colossal. It had floor to ceiling windows, which is normally impressive. But this ceiling was two stories high. He introduced me to his wife, who offered me some tasty bruschetta. We sat in the quarter of the room which functions as the entertainment area -- a Wii, TV, etc. His sister stopped in, as did a friend of his. Both had received the now infamous email from the same mutual (read: fourth degree) friend to get in touch and show me around town. We chatted about Pakistani politics, movies and drank bootlegged wine for several hours while listening to an ecletic mix of music ranging from the Gypsy Kings to electronica. It was remarkable how much it felt like I was simply hanging out at a friend's place in Cambridge or DC, albeit a very nice friend's place.
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Also, International Crisis Group just released its policy briefing on Pakistan's IDP Crisis. You can check it out by clicking here.
Part II will be out in several days.
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