Abbotabad and a bit more, (03/17/06)
Abbotabad and a bit more,
I met with the Internews team Monday at their office, Adnan who is the head of Internews Pakistan, is pretty intense in the best ways. Honestly when it comes to their jobs, everyone there is very driven as well as passionate about what they are doing. So much has been going on in this country that it was unthinkable a few years or even months ago that they would be working on the projects they have been.
Since the earthquake in October the Kashmir region has opened up for the first time (mainly for aid flow) but also the media has been allowed in for the first time ever. Yup ever. Now lets not forget that the place has been crawling with Jihadi for 20 plus years, so the CIA has apparently opened up shop in the region too, yet I digress. The local Internews team made up of entirely Pakistani born reporters has never been (despite many efforts) to report on anything from the region until the quake, it has only been in the last 110 or so days that they have had access. Now the Kashmir region has 16 licensed radio stations operating within it when it never had one prior. Imagine a region where Television is not permitted because of religious beliefs and cultural ideals suddenly having access to news and information in their own tongue and in real time. The effects have been fantastic.
(The main language (media broadcasts, newspapers, government etc) is Urdu where as only %10 or so of the population speaks Urdu as a native language. In the Kashmir region it’s a mix of dialects with Pashto being the main. I think, I will check on that.)
One of the internews team has generously offered me use of his room while he is down south and I couldn’t be more thrilled. I have hot water! I will say this regarding hot water…I can handle the lack of many comforts that we often take for granted. Hot water is one that turns me into a sniveling child. Make fun all you want but until you have showered in cold water when the air cold enough to see your breath. Shut up. Also try shaving your face in cold water. See how tough you are. In fact the hot water was so hot that once it fired up I swear it came out of the plastic tap in a jet of steam, not water but steam. Gleefully I turned the cold water on and stepped into it. Scalding the first three layers of skin from my head and neck. Luckily I walked in with my head down so the option of producing a child is still there. Playing pilot with the knobs for few minutes produced one fine damn hot shower.
I must say I was quite proud…until I had to turn the water off and it was back to cold air and colder tile.
Yesterday we headed up North to Battagram and then up further to a town I cant yet seem to spell so I will wait on that one.
It is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen period. We drove up through the mountains along the Karakoram highway and crossed the Indus River, weaving our way up the mountains past villages and tent cities. Dodging the odd goat, sheep herd in the road and nearly screaming every time I thought we were about to meet a large truck head on. Apparently this is a South Asia thing. Sri Lanka was scary at times too.
The total devastation was the great big (un-needed) reminder as to why we were going where we were going. When you see buildings that have collapsed, its telling but, when you see a mountain side that has collapsed…not a mudslide, not an avalanche but a whole damn mountain side that came apart and fell onto a village its really just too much to try and understand. The numbers range from 80,000 to 85,000 dead with over 3.5 million displaced.
The people are amazing, unbelievably beautiful in general, very kind and proud. I admit that I am speaking about the men because I have seen very few woman, I know they are around, I have seen them in the camps, I have walked past them but…up North…they woman are completely covered. Nothing but wrist is shown and that is only shown when they are walking with the children or hold something. Otherwise I have no idea what the women this far north look like. Also, if I tried to photograph the woman (without permission)…I might just not come home. Apparently eye contact is or a lingering look is all the provocation that is generally needed for a problem.
Now outside of this cuddly little item, they are genuinely gracious and kind people. One of the internews reporters and I were walking through a camp in Battagram photographing people and kids etc. The men generally stand erect and proud when you point a camera at them so sometimes I start off shooting the kids, show them their pictures then get mobbed by snotty nosed children to the amusement of the adults then I can shoot pics of them. So I had made all the little crumb snatchers shots and turned towards the men and they were fantastic! One of them seemed to fairly important because everyone wanted me to photograph him. So I did, He smiled, shook my hand and invited us to have tea with him, Naturally I was wanting to but we were on our way back to the truck so we could move on. We made our appollogies and started walking, half way up the massive hill the reporter (Ahmad) told me he was the local Mullah (priest) and I was pretty bummed. Its not often I get invited in for tea by priests of any religion. I really wish we had that tea. Since then I have learned that there is no such thing as one cup of tea.
The next day I headed out in the rain with two other reporters and went off to Balakot.
The epicenter of the quake as I understand was just under Balakot, Balakot was a tourist haven with nice hotels, restaurants etc. well that’s what I was told when I asked where the city IS so that I can shoot some rubble shots, show the destruction etc…we weren’t far from it at all, you just couldn’t tell anymore that’s all. The whole town was leveled. Nothing was spared. I had a hell of a time trying to shoot that place. Between the rain, the mud and being shown a set of mass graves where a total of 61 young children were buried. I was ready to go to bed.
Last night (that’s the 15th for those paying attention) was a party for two of the reporters for finishing their masters studies. So Virginia and I were invited as guests. One of the many things that don’t quite translate so good between the cultures (only my opinion!) was that the men dance at parties. They dance and they dance and they dance. Not with women so much as with each other. Now lets just keep the snickering and name calling down for a moment, yes back in Brooklyn I would have some explaining to do if I suggested that the guys and I put down the beers and break out in some dancing, it would be one of the those moments talked about for years to come. Of course there would be some sort of violence, beers spilled laughing and empties being thrown. Not here in Pakistan damn it. The men dance and women watch in awe. To help with the awe factor, Virginia promised the crew that I would honored to dance for them. After all they had invited me to their dinner party.
There is no alcohol here so I don’t even have the decency to get good and liquored up for my rendition of traditional Pakistani dancing. I must say that I was a hit despite my lack of formal training. Evidence is no doubt desired by all of you…sadly. I made sure that none existed. Chalk it up to protecting my image in case I run for office one day. By the way Virginia and I are no longer talking you understand.
It was a long crappy day with a great ending filled with a hell of a lot of food including what one of the guys called PFC (Pakistani Fried Chicken, apparently the Colonels was burned down here in response to the cartoons, damn the colonel for drawing those!)
Take care,
D
I met with the Internews team Monday at their office, Adnan who is the head of Internews Pakistan, is pretty intense in the best ways. Honestly when it comes to their jobs, everyone there is very driven as well as passionate about what they are doing. So much has been going on in this country that it was unthinkable a few years or even months ago that they would be working on the projects they have been.
Since the earthquake in October the Kashmir region has opened up for the first time (mainly for aid flow) but also the media has been allowed in for the first time ever. Yup ever. Now lets not forget that the place has been crawling with Jihadi for 20 plus years, so the CIA has apparently opened up shop in the region too, yet I digress. The local Internews team made up of entirely Pakistani born reporters has never been (despite many efforts) to report on anything from the region until the quake, it has only been in the last 110 or so days that they have had access. Now the Kashmir region has 16 licensed radio stations operating within it when it never had one prior. Imagine a region where Television is not permitted because of religious beliefs and cultural ideals suddenly having access to news and information in their own tongue and in real time. The effects have been fantastic.
(The main language (media broadcasts, newspapers, government etc) is Urdu where as only %10 or so of the population speaks Urdu as a native language. In the Kashmir region it’s a mix of dialects with Pashto being the main. I think, I will check on that.)
One of the internews team has generously offered me use of his room while he is down south and I couldn’t be more thrilled. I have hot water! I will say this regarding hot water…I can handle the lack of many comforts that we often take for granted. Hot water is one that turns me into a sniveling child. Make fun all you want but until you have showered in cold water when the air cold enough to see your breath. Shut up. Also try shaving your face in cold water. See how tough you are. In fact the hot water was so hot that once it fired up I swear it came out of the plastic tap in a jet of steam, not water but steam. Gleefully I turned the cold water on and stepped into it. Scalding the first three layers of skin from my head and neck. Luckily I walked in with my head down so the option of producing a child is still there. Playing pilot with the knobs for few minutes produced one fine damn hot shower.
I must say I was quite proud…until I had to turn the water off and it was back to cold air and colder tile.
Yesterday we headed up North to Battagram and then up further to a town I cant yet seem to spell so I will wait on that one.
It is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen period. We drove up through the mountains along the Karakoram highway and crossed the Indus River, weaving our way up the mountains past villages and tent cities. Dodging the odd goat, sheep herd in the road and nearly screaming every time I thought we were about to meet a large truck head on. Apparently this is a South Asia thing. Sri Lanka was scary at times too.
The total devastation was the great big (un-needed) reminder as to why we were going where we were going. When you see buildings that have collapsed, its telling but, when you see a mountain side that has collapsed…not a mudslide, not an avalanche but a whole damn mountain side that came apart and fell onto a village its really just too much to try and understand. The numbers range from 80,000 to 85,000 dead with over 3.5 million displaced.
The people are amazing, unbelievably beautiful in general, very kind and proud. I admit that I am speaking about the men because I have seen very few woman, I know they are around, I have seen them in the camps, I have walked past them but…up North…they woman are completely covered. Nothing but wrist is shown and that is only shown when they are walking with the children or hold something. Otherwise I have no idea what the women this far north look like. Also, if I tried to photograph the woman (without permission)…I might just not come home. Apparently eye contact is or a lingering look is all the provocation that is generally needed for a problem.
Now outside of this cuddly little item, they are genuinely gracious and kind people. One of the internews reporters and I were walking through a camp in Battagram photographing people and kids etc. The men generally stand erect and proud when you point a camera at them so sometimes I start off shooting the kids, show them their pictures then get mobbed by snotty nosed children to the amusement of the adults then I can shoot pics of them. So I had made all the little crumb snatchers shots and turned towards the men and they were fantastic! One of them seemed to fairly important because everyone wanted me to photograph him. So I did, He smiled, shook my hand and invited us to have tea with him, Naturally I was wanting to but we were on our way back to the truck so we could move on. We made our appollogies and started walking, half way up the massive hill the reporter (Ahmad) told me he was the local Mullah (priest) and I was pretty bummed. Its not often I get invited in for tea by priests of any religion. I really wish we had that tea. Since then I have learned that there is no such thing as one cup of tea.
The next day I headed out in the rain with two other reporters and went off to Balakot.
The epicenter of the quake as I understand was just under Balakot, Balakot was a tourist haven with nice hotels, restaurants etc. well that’s what I was told when I asked where the city IS so that I can shoot some rubble shots, show the destruction etc…we weren’t far from it at all, you just couldn’t tell anymore that’s all. The whole town was leveled. Nothing was spared. I had a hell of a time trying to shoot that place. Between the rain, the mud and being shown a set of mass graves where a total of 61 young children were buried. I was ready to go to bed.
Last night (that’s the 15th for those paying attention) was a party for two of the reporters for finishing their masters studies. So Virginia and I were invited as guests. One of the many things that don’t quite translate so good between the cultures (only my opinion!) was that the men dance at parties. They dance and they dance and they dance. Not with women so much as with each other. Now lets just keep the snickering and name calling down for a moment, yes back in Brooklyn I would have some explaining to do if I suggested that the guys and I put down the beers and break out in some dancing, it would be one of the those moments talked about for years to come. Of course there would be some sort of violence, beers spilled laughing and empties being thrown. Not here in Pakistan damn it. The men dance and women watch in awe. To help with the awe factor, Virginia promised the crew that I would honored to dance for them. After all they had invited me to their dinner party.
There is no alcohol here so I don’t even have the decency to get good and liquored up for my rendition of traditional Pakistani dancing. I must say that I was a hit despite my lack of formal training. Evidence is no doubt desired by all of you…sadly. I made sure that none existed. Chalk it up to protecting my image in case I run for office one day. By the way Virginia and I are no longer talking you understand.
It was a long crappy day with a great ending filled with a hell of a lot of food including what one of the guys called PFC (Pakistani Fried Chicken, apparently the Colonels was burned down here in response to the cartoons, damn the colonel for drawing those!)
Take care,
D
posted by davidlang at 12:09 AM
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