The mother hens of Aabpara market.

Aabpara Market was all a twitter with the restoration of my intestinal fortitude. Danish upon laying eyes on me asked if everything was all right, I told him I ate some bad food and was sick the night before. He went into action immediately. First things (always) first…we drink tea. THEN we fix everything. He began to tell everyone around us (they are getting accustomed to me now) that I had stomach issues. The suggestions came pouring in…at least I think they were suggestions since it was all in Urdu and we have covered that I don’t speak Urdu. Danish and talked for a while and when he closed up shop we went next door to the vendor who sells nuts and herbs. I was given a bag of white and gray powder that looks like tiny little pieces of rice. Normally this would cause me some concern, strange men giving me bags of white powder just seems like an after school special waiting to happen. BUT, I know what this stuff is. I of course can’t remember the name of it right now but its something like isporgral or isporghal…whatever. The point is that I have been told several times from numerous people that when you gut begins to run in reverse this stuff (its sold over the counter too) mixed into yogurt will sort you out Ricky Tick.

Which coincidentally it did. The painful part to me was that the vendor would not let me pay him, it was a gift and he wished that I felt better soon. Translation was provided by Danish purchased the yogurt and bananas that I carried back to my hotel.  Danish and vendor felt it necessary that I not pay for my treatment since I was their guest (in Pakistan) and I was their friend. Good people I tell you. Really good people.

 

The next morning I ate the rest of the yogurt a banana and the powder stuff and off to work we went. Mr. Niaz and I traveled around shooting portraits and getting my visa application into the Afghan embassy on time. For lunch (my first solid meal since Saturday night mind you) Mr. Niaz insisted that we eat lunch at his home. As I wrote earlier I was worried about re-enacting my Technicolor yawn from the night before last but Mr. Niaz was several steps ahead of my fears. We ate plain rice, veggies, fresh yogurt and some grilled chicken. I could have eaten the whole spread on my own but knew it would not be graceful or polite. It was a good thing too; the sounds my body was making after I ate were orchestral at minimum. It sounded like diesel engine idling in there.

The food was great, I met Mr. Niaz kids and I didn’t pretend to be a sea cucumber, all was good.

Until some douche bag blew himself up in Rawalpindi (adjacent city) killing 8 people including a schoolgirl. His target and victim was a Lt. General in the Pakistani Army, mind you he was a Doctor and in charge of the Army Hospital in Pindi. He was not some infantry or artillery General or even a cabinet level guy but an Ophthalmologist recently given his post leading the military medical community.

I received a text and a phone call letting me know about the blast so off we went fighting traffic and dodging runaway donkeys. I couldn’t make up that part if I tried.

By the time we got there we were held back almost 100 yards so I couldn’t shoot very much, but I stayed to shoot what I could shoot and then headed back to meet Mr. Niaz.

 

By the time we made it back to Aabpara it was nearly time to meet up with Danish again who had promised to get me in with some guys who race and “stunt” motorcycles. I want you to know a few things about bikes in Pakistan before we go much further. Almost all of them are single cylinder 70-100cc bikes. A few are 125’s but only the cops seem to have anything bigger and they ride 500cc bikes. I have seen 4 (3 adults and one child) on a 70cc bike struggle along the road. Mr. Niaz told me he has seen both parents and 4 kids on one bike before.

Danish, Mr. Niaz and I drove off to meet up with a group of young guys (17-23) who race, hold wheelie competitions and go screaming down the highway laying flat along the seat to reduce drag. Naturally I photographed the fun. Thus begins a nightly occurrence for me until I leave…shoot this nutty bastics having fun and hanging out.  All of the stunts and tricks they were doing were doubled in danger by the fact that these guys don’t have helmets or any other protective gear and their chosen spot is alternating between going with and against traffic on a 4-lane highway. I am sure they chose it for a reason but as of yet I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe I will learn that tomorrow.

 

Its late, I am tired and it’s been a weird day.

 

Losing consistency is never pretty.

The ugly truth about consistency is if and when you have an inconsistency, it comes thundering towards you with bells, whistles and clown cars.  I myself have been very consistent with at least one thing. I have only been sick once from traveling and it was on the way home that I got sick. This is a feat I felt good about. I felt that this run was mine to take and hold up! Hold it tightly and remind myself I had this good fortune through wise decisions and the occasional reliance on a power bar instead of a real meal.

 

Well, last night I was visited by the evil bastard clowns from the circus known as : “Wake up and puke all night….NO! You’re not done yet my little princess, we have a second act lined up too!”

I have never in my memory thrown up so hard that my sinuses became way stations for my last meal. Blowing rice out of your nose is…well, oddly invigorating when it’s curried rice. After a few moments it shifts off odd and intrusive to just plain painful and unnecessary really.

 

Sure, sure, you don’t want read about this, but it happened and you have no choice. If  I only wrote about the cuddly or the mind opening….well…I would get pretty damn boring now wouldn’t I?

 Where was I? Oh yes…rice packed sinuses. As I expelled my dinner like a child during an exorcision, I thought to myself. This is not cool.  Really, it wasn’t cool. I was beginning to wonder where the hell all this food came from? I mean really I began to imagine my entire intestinal tract running in reverse! Aware of what this would mean towards the end of the line I began to get nervous. Actually I already was nervous but I would have acted like I wasn’t if someone was there trying to help me.

 

I knew I was not going to be happy when I first lay down to sleep, I felt very cold. My room is heated at night and stays pretty consistent (loving that word right now) around 70F, last night I was shivering. I grabbed and extra blanket, I put on my thermals, I was freezing. This only means that bad things are plotting against you.

 

 On my third trip at full sprint to the toilet something VERY bad happened. Alarms from other areas started to go off. Lower areas. These are the alarms that are not ignored by the wise.

Now panic set in. It was too far to lean into the sink and honestly a rounded basin was asking for a ricochet or some sort of bank shot action from the sheer force and back pressure we (you’re here now with me. Cant you feel it?) were likely going to be dealing with. AND lets not forget about that danger creeping up on my 6 O’clock.

I believe it was “Ox” a fighter pilot based in Kunsan AFB (South Korea) back in 1987 when I was there living with my mother who impressed upon me this quote: “Always watch your 6!”

My six was not my friend at the moment, so wasn’t talking to it. I was however impressed with its show.  I was swearing at it but not waiting for a response to be honest. It had its chance to be nice to me and it wasn’t. I will skip the jaw dropping details from that side of my adventure, so I will fast forward a bit…. I skulked downstairs, woke up the guard and got a liter of mineral water. Hoping, praying that I would not go biblical plague on the poor man. Bottle in hand I knew I had to replace at least the fluid I was so successful in removing from myself.  Slowly I began to drink the water.

 

The Pakistanis (or at least my hotel), use some high-grade trash bags. It sounds like I am digressing but stay with me, because once I made it back to my feet from trip four…I felt pretty damn good. Comparatively of course. I laid down in bed and pulled all 40lbs of blankets on me and tried like hell to get warm. I guess I fell asleep because I woke up Just in time to play fire hose and house fire with my bottled water into the plastic trashcan. Honestly guys, it was almost comic how bad I felt.

When both guns are firing you can only hope you have targets for both. I now had my new best friend. My trashcan.

Trashcan and I talked several times throughout the night. We spoke of many things but our conversations are private and we will not disclose them to you or anyone. Trashcan and I…well we worked well together. I asked one thing of him and he provided UNFAILING service to me. He asked only that I not miss and blame him.

As if I could ever hate him?

 

I finally passed out sometime around 3 am or so. Waking up to my alarm at 745 am letting me know that the clowns had left but they didn’t clean up after themselves. They never do. I called my driver to tell him that 9am was off and lets meet at 1130am.

Ever so polite Mr. Niaz said no problem.

I face planted it back into my bed and woke up at 1130. Mr. Niaz is a punctual man. I felt bad for making him wait but I wasn’t going to be moving very fast today. So I began to get ready. My head hurt, my gut was trying to say something and that area we spoke about earlier wanted me know that I was not done. Nope, not done. I was just given a short break before I played anther game of “deargodmakeitstop!” Once my cries were heeded; I took a long hot shower. While in the shower I became aware of a few bruises that were quite new. Good ones too. I was impressed at my ability to cause so much destruction by choosing the wrong restaurant.

 

I met with Mr. Niaz and told him over my noon meal of toast and tea, that I was not in my best shape but we would try to get some good shots today. I was very happy to see me dump my re-hydration salts into my huge bottle of water and told me that I should not eat butter with my toast today. He was right but I survived.

 

As the day went on, we shot portraits of motorcycle mechanics and shop owners. One of the mechanics was 10 years old! It’s a damn shame but it is how it works here. He seemed to be taken care of well enough, his boss liked him and said he is a great mechanic…I don’t know it still bothered the hell out of me.

The smell of oil, gasoline and solvents was making my entire GI tract fight for the honor of first expulsion so we left. I finally finished that nasty tasting water with the re-hydration salts only to have Mr. Niaz remind me that I needed at least one more water and that I should only have rice. Plain rice and MAYBE some yogurt, if I felt up to it.

On the way home while I began to pass out in the car, he invited me to have lunch in his home tomorrow.

I sure hope I am firing on all 8 cylinders tomorrow. I would be horrified if I threw up a meal made for me by his family. It would not shine well upon me to visit his home and paint his bathroom walls immediately following lunch.

 

I feel like a train hit me so I will post this, check my email and go back to bed by 7pm.

 

 

I am feeling better, just really tired and empty. I quite sure I lost a few pounds while having me fun last night.

 

You shouldn’t play catch with children who play cricket.

They throw funny….and hard….and they laugh when you take the nasty, dirt-covered ball in the mouth. Just like I would have when I was 8. It was pretty funny even to me. We were in a vegetable market shooting…attracting a rather impressive crowd too, when I saw a child playing with a rubber ball, about the size of a baseball. I would have said it was blue but that would have been about a year ago so I will say it was dirt colored. He was following us, bouncing the ball off the street into the air and catching it. Naturally I stole it when he bounced it too close to me. And the game of catch began…it took a moment for him to get my game but he did understand and we were bouncing it and throwing it back and forth. Suddenly a slightly older kid (maybe 12) slid in and caught the ball I just threw to the little one. I threw it back towards the little one and the older kids stretched out to catch it again. SO being a younger brother I decided to work around him a bit. Well, he wasn’t giving me much room so I started to throw high, low, to the sides anything he wasn’t catching them all but the little guy wasn’t getting any of them either so, I was going to quit. Unfortunately I forgot to tell the kid I was done. I am looking at the little guy when I see the other kid moving towards me, I see him just in time for the release and realize that this is going to hurt. I was right. I got my hand up in time to deflect that filthy projectile right into my lip.

Honestly the crowd went silent, the erupted into laughter.

So for those that remember my last trip here, I have found another universal laughing point. Pain. So far its poop and pain, keep that in mind folks.

No blood no foul, the kid looked terrified that I was going to hurt him. So I punched the little bastard in the face.

Just kidding.

I laughed it off, gave him the ball and wiped any number of foul things off my face left over from the ball.

 

Today I spent the day chasing the beginnings of my self-assignments, so far I shot a few shots that I like but it was definitely slower than I hoped today would go.

I did however meet randomly two different New Yorkers (who are Pakistani but definitely New Yorkers) in two seriously random places. I met Rashid in a gun store, as he was getting ready to test a new shotgun he was going to buy for duck hunting. In this store you test it by going into the other room and shooting the weapon into the mound of dirt in the closet. Yes it’s damn loud but its pretty damn cool too.

The next guy I met while shooting portraits at a tire shop and body shop. Both guys thought it was hilarious that I was here and we met under these circumstances. We talked about New York and Pakistan and that was pretty much it.

You can go anywhere you want but you will meet someone from Brooklyn, this much I am sure.

 

I bought a portable lighting set up just before I came to Pakistan so I could shoot lit portraits on the streets or inside…anywhere really. Today was the first day I would actually try using it. When it works, its pretty cool. Its not as graceful as it could be, it was run over today which didn’t help out its grace or good looks but it still works which I count as a plus really. What I did get are a few really good shots that I could not have shot any other way.

Which means two things: David Johnson was right and I am really that good.

It’s not bragging if it’s true.

 

I am going to eat dinner now.

Aren’t you all glad I am keeping you up to date on my meals?

 

 

Full Contact Press Conferences

There are few experiences in my life that compare to shooting a press conference in Pakistan. I have never been evacuated during a conflict; I have never been in theatre or confined space when a fire has broken out. I have however broken up bar fights, been to numerous punk rock and hard core shows and even nearly personally caused a riot at a Sufi concert/festival in Lahore last time I was in Pakistan. These are all fine and well but when you see a hundred or so, so called “professionals” literally pulling on each other and crushing forwards and backwards like waves at the beach. Pushing, swearing and even fighting each other to enter a doorway that is less than 5 feet high and 2and a half feet wide it becomes a contact sport. I regret not bringing a cup on this trip. I did however follow the wisdom of my self-proclaimed “hero” Chris Wildt, I followed my blocker all the way in.
I met Goran. Goran is a shooter for Reuters based out of Cairo, I am not a small man here but he is 6’ 5” and fairly wide, so I followed the big man in. stayed close, kept my elbows out and in the faces of the local TV guys and boom, in like sin. Once your in though, you cant relax now…. hell no. Now you step over all living things to get the best angle you can. It’s not unlike chess. Just because you’re up front doesn’t mean you have the best spot. You have to get all Dubyah on it and strategerize the situation.
Spell check is unhappy with Stategerize for some reason?
Me, I went where the guys who recently won all the awards went. Yes. Shameless idol worship. It worked a too. Still there was some late comers who smile sheepishly and try like hell to worm their way in like being in a line at a bar or club looking for their friends who got there earlier to join them. But, this is not a club this is work. Work is not for making friends.
But you know me! I can be friends with anyone!
My buddy Hughes on the other hand, he was nice to someone and regretted it quickly. He allowed a TV camera man to step in front of him “to shoot some pictures” when after 5 minutes the guy didn’t leave Hughes politely informed him he couldn’t stay there because WE needed to shoot from that spot too. He refused and so Hughes moved him after a few more decreasingly polite requests, from another photographer as well. Security got involved and the man moved. Not before nearly starting a fist fight though. I told Hughes about a rule I heard from a Marine once. Professional, NEVER polite.
Me? I just got all pointy elbows and knees. When the press conference finally started at 10 something. (Which is 7-730 Pakistani time apparently) I had three smaller guys trying to duck and squirm their way in front of me. They did not succeed. I did let a NYTimes shooter get in front of me though because Johan and I could take turns, he loaned me his long zoom and I gave him a spare battery when his died. We rotated positions and in the end we both got shots we couldn’t have any other way. Plus we kept the late guys behind us. Win Win really.

Before endearing myself to the local media, who in fairness did nothing to make me think highly of them, I spent the afternoon hanging out with Danish at his shop. So far we sit, talk politics, religion, books, conspiracy theories and drink tea. He is eager for me to read more and understand Islam better, I am eager to learn more and love that he wants me know that he is not trying to convert me but maybe if I understood more about Islam one day I may decide its right for me. He loves that some of the guys in the shop next to him thought I was trying to convert him. Neither one of us seems to likely to convert in a market in Islamabad, but that’s me.
We have talked about America’s current wars, their meanings, purposes and what we can do. I was shocked to hear that he believes (as others do) that the US has and does use chemical weapons in Iraq. Both in 1992 and now, I explained to him that our soldiers were suffering from strange diseases, birth defects among their children etc. if we would have used them we would have protected out own troops better. He didn’t believe me.
He told me how our media doesn’t show our own dead and that we lie about the body counts of “insurgents” and “Taliban”. I said that might be true, I don’t know. I do know that no one will know better if we cant get better information out of Iraq and we wont get better information out while journalists are being targeted and murdered regardless of their ethnicity or organization.

We moved on to the idea of Democracy, one he does not believe in. He explained that no country can be Muslim and Democratic, Democracy is ruled by law and by the people. Islam has its own laws, the Sharia laws. Any laws other than Sharia cannot be accepted if the country is truly Islamic. Therefore the can be no Islamic Democracy.
We argued that one for a good 30 minutes. Without budging on either side.
Again we aren’t likely to convert to the others side over a cup of tea but we both love the debate. We both keep making sure that we aren’t offending the other as well, which I find relieving. I want to make sure I don’t offend my host or stumble into being THAT American, he wants to make sure he doesn’t offend his guest and it seems he wants to pass on a good representation of his country as well.

I will hopefully work on getting a good portrait shot of Danish today or tomorrow since it currently time for Friday prayers and he most likely will be at the mosque for a while.

Time for lunch.

AND...yes, the guy next to me is watching porn....I love busting people here! its sick i know. I know sexuality is more than a bit repressed here but its got to blow a few minds to go from complete repression to hard core porn!? i almost want to hand out a few swimsuit issues or something to ease people to the middle ground. But, i am too busy discussing Islam and meeting people in gun stores. you guys understand right?

Lawyer markets and good conversations.

Today it is official. There is nothing happening in Pakistan according to European and Western media. I know this is true because the Germans are leaving, the French are leaving and I want to leave…not really but I am a bit bored. Which is to say I am getting lazy. Yesterday I spent a few hours with a French photographer name Hughes (You-gh, I only found out after calling him “Hughes” for almost a week) and we pretty much just walked around the District Court area wandering the open-air stalls where Lawyers work on old PCs and have printers and copiers sitting openly. Its pretty cool really. Imagine your local green market or Christmas time outdoor gift area with stalls and walkways but instead of organic produce or strange wooden crafty things you choose a lawyer.
It sounds like I am making fun of them but I assure you I am not. If only the New York City Central Booking building had a lawyer market I might have been able to avoid my own legal issues a few years ago. Its centralized marketing at its finest!
What you need, when you need it, with hundreds of choices at your disposal. Then again the cops may lead you out of the jail in shackles and stop and have tea with prisoners shackled to each other sitting next to them. Its fairly surreal but it seems to work.
Next Hughes and I heard about yet another press conference about the election but this one was being help by the PML-N (Nawaz Sharif party) to discuss election rigging in the Baluchistan province. So off we went. Somehow we were the only western media there. Which we took to mean one of two things. We beat EVERYBODY or more likely, no one cared. Suddenly there were Pakistani camera crews jockeying for space around us, shooting over us while we shot, around us, even filming us shooting the press conference. This, along with the entire thing being covered in Urdu (which makes total sense of course) we had no idea what “proof” was being presented but we left as soon as was polite. Then we jetted to another press conference at PPP leader Asif Zadari’s house nearby and were most certainly NOT the only ones there. This time we were stuck in the back behind the TV crews but I still had fun. In the end the shooters getting paid or on contract show up…shoot the hell out of it and get out in a few minutes to file the images.
Since Hughes and I are not with an Agency we are not so hurried.
In fact yesterday we wandered around the market near my hotel for an hour or so and met a young man names Danish (Din-ish) who conversed with us for almost an hour. Danish was born in Pakistan but moved to Europe when he was three and his Muslim parents put him through a Christian missionary school. He was a practicing Christian for 16 years he said until one day he wanted to know more about his parents religion and began to study the Koran and Islam where after he converted back to Islam. His English was perfect; his manners were typical of Pakistan, asking us to have tea with him while we talked about everything from the election to societal problems in Pakistan and how Islam and the US are viewed in the world. Once Hughes and I realized we were running late for the press conference we politely excused ourselves to leave. Danish gave me his phone number, card and asked if he could give me his English/Arabic translation of the Koran for me to read. I politely refused, he insisted…I agreed. I took care to hold out my right hand to receive the Koran as well as ask if it would be rude of me to place it in my bag while I carry it throughout the day? He laughed and said that he and the other men talking with us were not THAT kind of Muslims, they told me the meaning of the Koran is holy. The book in my hand was just paper and ink. Respect the meaning but to have some many rules about the book itself was akin to idol worship. Which he reminded me is forbidden in all three of the holy books (Koran, Talmud and the Bible). It was a great conversation and I hope to have a few more with him during my stay in Pakistan. It might be interesting to mold that idea into a story somehow on moderate Islam and how the countries ills are impacting the lives of everyday people. (No one better steal that story or I will break your legs.)
I am trying to work on a few smaller stories while I am just sitting here, one possibly being on the small but functioning Christian population of Pakistanis through out the country, another on people who work on the streets IE, street barbers, typists, copy machine operators, shoe shiners, food vendors etc. there seems to be little you cant get done on the street. I buy more cell phone credit by walking up to a guy at a stall with a stack of cell phones, each with a different carrier and pay him to transfer credit to my phone number via his. I am told its cheaper than buying credit from the company via pre-paid cards but I don’t care the difference is less than .25 cents for me. I do it because it’s cool to me.
I am hopeful that the mass exodus of media will give me a bit more latitude with expenses (more media = higher prices), stories and therefore possible coverage of things that may happen after people have moved off completely from the election and Pakistan. Honestly that should probably have happened by the time the results came in and no one blew himself or herself up in protest.
Today there is one more press conference where Nawaz Sharif will meet with PPP leader Asif Zadari to discuss working together to gain the 2/3rds majority to oust Musharraf. I am still working on getting a portrait of Imran Khan and I am channeling around to get a portrait of Nawaz as well. We shall see.

I will post a few images of what hass been happening so you folks can see what I have been up to.

which is less exciting aparently than the three teenage boys in the cubicle next to mine in the internet cafe who are OBVIOUSLY looking up porn. they are terrified i will rat them out. which of course i just did...but only to you guys...so dont tell anyone else. ok.

Bored white people, why I hate Lindy England and being stood up by a national hero.

If you weren’t sure, let me assure you now. The western media was bored to tears yesterday. I know this because another photographer and I were uploading images, checking emails and reading the headlines last night and we were both thoroughly confused by which Pakistan we had been in all week. AFP, BBC, NYTimes and far too many other agencies and outlets had headlines that were in conflict with what we both saw and experienced. There was violence, bombs went off, people were shot and, by no means was this election process a PTO bake sale. However, the fear and build up was worse than the reality I saw. In the end the worst violence I have heard about was a bomb in the northern area of Swat that killed 20+ people wounding nearly one hundred and a gunfight that killed a candidate, his driver and bodyguard in Lahore. Personally I saw one fistfight (not impressive at all) and thousands of people eager to vote.
I wont sit here and belittle the media coverage though either, NYTimes shoot Max Becherer (un-confirmed) had his camera taken and broken my men with guns in an area called Gujrat. Max still has great work up on NYTimes.com so he is fine, pissed I would imagine but fine.

The voter turn out was predictably low and some un-confirmed rumors of vote buying but again, I saw nothing and heard only rumors. I went to 7 or 8 (of 382 in the ISB/’Pindi area) polling stations in and around Islamabad/Rawalpindi alone. There are 160 million estimated people in Pakistan with over 60% under 30; most of the younger people are so disillusioned by the government that they hardly showed interest in the election. Older men and a LOT of women were present at the stations I visited. Women seemed to be voting en force, lined up 20 deep in some places. It was re-assuring to see women observing Purdah (basically covering the entire body in modesty but not a full burkah, you can still see a woman’s eyes and bare hands) voting. Again I want to say that I was in Islamabad and its surrounding areas, I know that up in NWFP (north western frontier province) the liberal party kicked out a large number of the conservative religious politicians. They did so with little to no help from women voters on account of militants warning women not to vote.
Religion…handicapping female advancement for millennia.

Once the polls closed the media and observers were allowed to watch the votes being counted. I was taken back when the polling officer, gave instructions to the polling agents in Urdu then repeated it in English so I could understand. They began the count with a prayer and started to cut off the zip ties that locked the transparent plastic ballot boxes.
Now this is where I came in.
While standing on chairs etc to shoot the ballots being counted and writing down thoughts and observations…I noticed the scissors (the only thing they had to open the boxes) was not really cutting through the zip ties. SO, in the interest of nurturing democracy and aiding the Pakistani people realize their hopes of a free and transparent election process…I supplied the polling office with my Gerber multi-tool.
With one small action I spread the creamy goodness of representative governance across the freshly baked roti of Pakistan.
Let freedom ring! It sounds like a multi-tool.
Gerber does not list democratization and distribution of electoral results as a use of the tool but I will remind you that the American people are humble sort. Not ones to brag.
Besides, I am fairly sure I was NOT supposed to help out in any way, shape or form.
It did endear me a bit to men in the room though.
The election officer was upset that I was going to leave before the end of the count because he was insistent that I stay to verify that everything was fair and clean. He showed me ballots that were in valid and explained why they were (mostly double stamping) invalid.
At this point I want to say this about the ballots and the way voting was done. Pakistan has a national literacy rate hovering around 50% among men and around 10% for women (much higher in both cases in the capital and large cities). So having a ballot with just text is not really fair or usable, so parties have symbols associated with their party and people simply stamp the symbol of the party they want to vote for, there is the parties name written next to each symbol though. Ahem..Donkeys and Elephants anyone?

Some of the chosen symbols are pretty strange to me. Some of the more obvious ones are the Tiger for Nawaz Sharifs party PML-N or the Arrow for Benezir Bhutto’s PPP party. However…the Ceiling Fan, Banana, men’s suit vest, ear of corn, screw and my favorite…the brick with the word “BRICK” on it.
Lets all vote brick in ’08. I will.

I was however a bit put out by the great Imran Khan, google him…captain of the Pakistani Cricket team who won the World Cup for Pakistan (a VERY big deal). I was put in touch with his media person so I could photograph him and talk to him about his boycott of the elections. First off, he has some very valid points against the election. The Judiciary has been arrested, dismissed, replaced with loyalists etc. Sounds familiar for some reason.?...I can’t remember why though. His point is that this election is not just since it has been fixed by destroying and stocking the supreme court/lower courts with judges now friendly to the current government when the recently dismissed court officers had stood up to some of Musharrafs tactics and actions.
So I met him at a hotel on the 17th, where he told me he would have more time tomorrow to speak with me and let me photograph him.
I told him I would be covering the election but would make arrangements with him.
He gave me his cell number and was out the door. The whole thing was less than a minute.
Of course he hasn’t responded to my calls all during the afternoon of the 18th and I will try again today but damn it! I was stood up but a National Hero. I guess its good that I don’t give a damn about cricket or it may hurt more. I am a sensitive type, easily disappointed and what not.

I am confident in saying there were lots of disappointed media types waiting to descend on a bomb blast or gun battle, sickly I was a little disappointed too I think. Yes I stared at that last sentence wondering if I meant it and I do. I have no pride in the idea that people would be killed and I would show up and photograph it, transmit them and hopefully have a shot on a front page somewhere but, everyone I met with, everyone I talked to (media and real) we were all sure someone one get weird in the capital. So I built up my idea of my response to the event. When the polls closed and people began to celebrate, they set off fireworks and both the local cops and I started making our way to the explosions cautiously, looking at each other the whole way. Our reactions were different when we heard cheering and not screaming. The laughed and walked away, I was a more than a bit creeped out by my boredom. It’s a good boredom…a safe boredom.

This morning I woke up early to see who won what seats, where and if the general population was content or burning the parliament down.
I shot a small news stand in the market place near my hotel only to with in five minutes of my showing up an shooting to have two TV crews show up and shoot the same angles I just did. I always try to stay out of other peoples shots but if you set up your camera in front of me, I will get in your frame to get my shot. I do make friends so easily.

Which brings me Lindy England….the Army Sgt. Who was smart enough to be photographed by her fellow nuclear scientists abusing prisoners at Abu Ghraib prison.
I am constantly asked, “From which country are you?” I tell everyone “USA”. Some people are shocked, some are indifferent, some are even happy to meet me, most kind of look a little disgusted and say Oh..Ok and that’s that. This morning a woman in Purdah (again…full head and face covering but not a burkah, pay attention people!) asked me which newspaper I am with, followed by which country am I from? Her English was quite good (she later told me she worked for the Foreign Ministry) and she seemed nice. She was until I told her that I am an American. Her eyes (all I could see) widened in horror and said that she hated the US, George Bush and what we are doing in Iraq and what we did in Afghanistan. So we talked for a minute or two. She agreed that before Bush (and thereby before September 11th) the US was a good country with good people but not anymore. I reminded her that we have an election coming this year and that Bush will be out very soon. I asked if she thought that this would help our (US) image here in Pakistan. She didn’t answer she just started telling me that she cried when she saw the photos of Lindy England (she remembered her name) and the prisoners. She asked if that is what women are like in the US? How could we be so cruel and she hopes god punishes her for her actions.
I told her that people in the US (everyone I know, anyway) was as horrified at the photos as she was, that England was in a military prison and that in no way is she indicative of American women. She finished talking to me as quickly as she started, I thanked her for talking to me and we both walked away.
Its moments like speaking with this woman in marketplace that bothers me the most. I couldn’t disagree with her on nearly anything she said. Parts of her logic were flawed and I could have pointed out that Pakistan’s largest aid contributor is the US but she probably hasn’t seen a nickel of that aid because her officials and politicians have sticky hands and deep pockets. I could point out that a sick and inhumane policy/event is not what my country is built on or what the population is willing to tolerate.
Is doesn’t matter though does it? I can have the same conversation in the US about how we need to send troops to Pakistan’s tribal areas and fight the Taliban there. After all if you’re not with us you’re against us. Right?

By 845am I walked back to my hotel and began editing what I just shot and typing up this blog.
A few minutes ago my driver called me to ask if I needed him today and I had to say no for now. I mean its simple folks…the election is done, the people seem happy so far and no one is rioting. In a year maybe but not at the moment, so here I am bored. I will contact a few NGOs to see if they want anything shot otherwise I will try and see what I can find to shoot.

For those of you who love me and those who only claim to…yes…my birthday was on Sunday and I thank you all for emailing me. It was a quiet birthday but it did include a beer. Only by name is it a beer though.
Last time I was here for a month and Virg and I found booze just once. It took some negotiation, some politicking, Virg being polite to the right people and me banging on a wire cage yelling at a liquor sales agent. In the end it was a hard fought battle for really bad whiskey.
This trip, I found beer in Islamabad in one day.
See I can so learn good!
The Marriott hotel in Islamabad has a basement bar with a back shelf teeming with the 5 bottles of booze available. None of it great. In fact the ONLY beer available is Heineken.
I was not raised to denigrate beer by calling Heineken as such. However a tall boy of Heineken is better than nothing (slightly). Any port in a storm and this is a Muslim (IE liquor free) country. Its stormy out there when it comes to beer choices.
I spent my birthday looking for work, working out my plan for the election, thankfully meeting a much better driver than I originally had, and getting real coffee and crap donuts. I was informed that I could head to the 5 star hotel here and they had a great buffet for $15 and free WiFi if you are working on your laptop while you eat. The food was good, I met a French photographer named Hughes Bataille and we had dinner and shared plans and ideas.
I headed over to the Marriott and had my tall boy and called it a night.

Waking up the day after my birthday hasn’t been that easy since I was FAR younger.


Take care,

expensive beers

It’s always the start of these things that’s difficult. My packing methods are becoming more refined (more chaotic but refining none the less), saying “goodbye” to people, getting paper work in order, phone calls, emails, etc. None of which will keep you from forgetting your shower sandals or travel towel.
Ha! I didn’t need them anyway.
As I said in the quick dash of an entry before this one, London was a blast.
I landed with nearly 6 hours of time on my hands before I was going to meet Charlotte so I sorted out my mobile phone situation, exchanged money, which was no less enjoyable than being hammered in the knees with bat, repeatedly. When $200 US gets you £88 you might as well relax because clenching will only make it hurt worse.
I took the train to the British museum, wandered around there for a few hours before headed out to meet Charlotte and then later Douglas. The three of us headed out for dinner and drinks followed by a few more drinks. Charlotte took us to a great Vietnamese place where Doug and I let her order since she had been there several times before and frankly Doug and I both knew that we didn’t care what we ate. It Turns out this was a good idea because the food was great. We talked and caught up before Doug had to head out back to his barracks. Charlotte and I finished out drinks and went home. Of course on the way I found some more food. Nothing like a midnight kebab! Beer and street meat go hand and hand. If someone ever denies that statement, then they are either a lying vegetarian or just lying.
The next day went according to my standard operating procedure in London. Sleep in, eat, shower take my time heading to the airport, take the wrong train, get off on the wrong stop, go back swear a lot, get on the right train but get off at the wrong terminal. Remember the right terminal and just say “F”-it I am walking there.
By the time I checked in there were only middle seats left for my 7.5 hour flight to Islamabad. Good times for all. I mailed an important letter to my brother, went through security (way better than TSA in my opinion) and found myself with just enough time to dash out an email or two and post the first note saying I am alive.

Lucky me the ticket agent was wrong! Full flight my ass! I found an open exit row window seat next to a USAID worker who tolerated my questions and shared her gum with me. Mine was checked in under the plane.
We landed before dawn on the 14th and I cant help but think that this is the only way to land in a foreign country. When it’s that early everything is beautiful. Even Islamabad Airport.
I realized that maybe a third of the plane was western journalists all of whom had proper journo visas…I…ahem…do not. I felt a bit like a liar but hey, until someone dangles a contract at me I don’t have much choice.
After checking in to my room I decided to wander the market area around me, get a sim card for my phone and find an internet connection. I did just that but also made friends with a guy who lived in Manhattan until just after September 11th. “Ifthi” (if-tea) says he had a small cell phone booth like what he has here, in lower Manhattan. He told me in the days after the attack, he was beaten a by a stranger after the guy asked him where he was from.
I told him I was sorry that had happened to him and that the whole country was shocked and scared at that point but he didn’t deserve to be hit. He smiled and said that there are good people everywhere and bad people everywhere. Ifthi said that he loved living in NY but his family is here and he will likely stay here for a long time. We talked about the US and Pakistan for a while before he led me to a friends internet café where I can hook up my laptop and work for a good rate.

Last night I went out to the Marriott hotel here to look for other journalists (hopefully someone needs a shooter) and to sniff out a beer.
Luckily I found the bar and not too long after that a German TV crew who gave me some great ideas for working in Afghanistan!
Tom and Frank were both based out of New Delhi but work the region non-stop. Neither of them particularly likes Pakistan and both swear I wont either once I go to Afghanistan.
We talked about cameras, work, fun, etc drank Heineken tall boys (damn I hate Heineken!) and we all stared at each other when the bill arrived and it was over $125!
At one point there was 5 of us, but 14 beers and two cokes cost more in Islamabad than in Manhattan! Hell one beer cost more than my sim card and 200 minutes of airtime! If I had a 4th beer it would have cost me as much as my hotel room down the road! So naturally I will behave a bit better with the beer next time. But I am thrilled that it only took me a day find beer this time. In 2006 it was nearly 3 weeks and a shouting match with the liquor sales rep in Lahore. This was much easier.

Today I will be heading out to meet up with some folks I met last time I was here and try to sort out where I will be come election day.

I hope you all are well,

D

Ok so this has been a bundle of fun so far.
I am at Heathrow in London now waiting to board my flight. Naturally there are only middle seats left on the plane after being showing up less than 19 hours before the flight.

I had a blast last night hanging out with my friends Charlotte and Douglas.
Charlotte and I met back in 1997 (I think) at college in St. Louis, while Douglas and I met in Sri Lanka in 2005.
We all met up with minimal fuss. Had a pint, then dinner then a few more pints.
All in all a fine evening with fine people.
Charlotte has once again graciously allowed to me stay at here apartment proving yet again that she has little taste in friends but a huge heart when it comes to putting up with the ones she has.
Thank you Charlotte!
Doug came all the out from training up North with the UK’s Army. He will be Joining the Royal Engineers come late fall. Despite being an officer in Her Majesties Army…he is good people. Actually he is damn fine people.

This one is a bit quick but it is what it is.
I am fine, a bit hurried but fine and I will be blogging so read when you can and pass along the link to anyone you think I missed.
Just remember that I don’t want everyone reading this.
D