Downtown Kolkata architecture

Dosa vender, street in Kolkata--Delicious!

Kolkata was smoggy, congested and completely beautiful. We stayed in the random and wonderful Bodhi Tree Guesthouse in South Kolkata, down a narrow street with tall, crumbling Victorian buildings shadowing the lane. It was a Buddhist Art Monastery and a place of solace from the chaos of Kolkata. I was fortunate that my traveling companion also had a penchant for wandering the streets and exploring interesting looking byways, and we scouted out several different areas of Kolkata including our neighborhood (very working class, very congested, shrines crammed into every nook and tree trunk), Downtown (full of Imperial buildings, delicious street cart vendors and businessmen drinking chai from tiny tin cups) and Park Street (a disconcerting upscale street with tea houses and sterile hotel bars). We managed to re-visit some of my childhood haunts. And got caught in a proper monsoon downpour. I must preface this by saying, every single guidebook and resource advises against visiting India at the height of the Monsoon season. The humidity is oppressive and the streets the streets were supposed to be flooded with liquid filth. And the humidity was oppressive. But with the exception of some avoidable streets, rain-boots were not necessary. Although one evening we had to bolt down central Kolkata streets in an absolute Monsoon downpour. The very drops of rain during monsoon season seem bigger and strike the pavement with more force then usual. They also usually do not come straight down to an umbrella is so protection against the deluge. We sprinted to the chants and cheers and claps of Indian men who huddled under overhangs waiting out the storm. Soaked, we made it to what turned out to be an amazing Bengali meal and feasted as our clothes dried.

Best Kebabs in Mumbai, open from 6pm-3am.

Mumbai was nothing like what I expected. I was prepared for unbridled squalor and a claustrophobic jumble of urban wasteland but I adored it. We stayed in the Colaba/Fort area, a”historical” section right near the sea. But everywhere there were amazing hulking Victorian buildings, transformed into Indian storefronts and schools and department stores. It was also refreshing to be somewhere more religiously diverse than Thailand or Kolkata, we spent time in Chorr Bazaar and stumbled upon a celebration for a Bohra festival. The streets were lined with men in long white gowns, stalls selling coconuts and rose bunches, and streamers of white cloth strung from one apartment to another. It did not seem appropriate to take pictures, but we were very intrigued as to who this people were. A stall-owner told us they were the Isma’ili Dawoodi Bohra. Wikipedia can definitely do a better job of explaining who they are than I can. The Bohra women wear a very gown called a Rida. I managed to find the antique Bollywood movie poster my heart desired and Choor Bazaar was deemed a success.

Bohra Ridas

To be honest, the company and the food were the best two things about this trip. Food pictures dominate my photos, and the rest were taken with the film camera. But here is a peak into what we did..or what we ate, anyways.

One of the best meals was at a restaurant called Swati Snacks, in the Malabar Hill area of Mumbai. Its the only restaurant in Mumbai that just serves street food. Its delicious and cheap, and has air conditioning. Bhel Puri, the plate on the right, is my most favorite street food and a classic Mumbaiker snack. Consisting of puffed rice, fried noodles, tomatoes, onions, chillies and tamarind & coriander chutney.

Pani Puri and Bhel Puri, classic Mumbai street snacks, at Swati Snacks, Mumbai.

But I was not satisfied with Swati Snacks alone, and also bought Bhel Puri from on-street vendors. Mumbai’s food really echoes its location as a trading crossroads, with Middle Eastern food, South & North Indian food, Pakistani food & Chinese food being the strong favorites.

Bhel Puri Vendor, Mumbai

We also heard that there was an Iranian bakery near our hotel so on the last day we sought it out. It was filled with ancient industrial baking machinery, regulars eating bread-pudding and rolls, and the smell of chai and baked goods. A phenomenal find. We ate dense bread pudding and sipped chai from tiny cups while old men muttered into newspapers and young women flitted in and out buying loaves of bread.

Iranian Bakery, Mumbai

Chai and bread pudding, Mumbai

What is normally a lake has turned into a prairie

houseboats have become land-dwellings, looking at best like ramshackle cottages and at worst like a Bangladeshi slum

But I have been finding parts of the day I absolutely adore. There is a brief stretch in late afternoon when I’m usually laying in my bed planning my evening lessons, when the air cools and the wind blows through the banana trees outside my window and I feel simply lovely. Or the stretch of time I found myself walking down a back-road at night and discovered that solitary lightening bugs flit through the jungle. I haven’t seen fireflies since I last visited the east coast and somehow the fact that here ,they fly solo or in twos, really struck a chord with me. The blissful moments have enough force to overpower the bugs and the heat.

As I teach two classes with vastly different English levels and goals I often feel that I am straddling a gulf..once I plan one lesson on discussing whether technology is “a blessing or a curse” I must then switch my mind back to explaining simple present tense…to a lovely, earnest group who does not exactly even speak the English to understand my explanations OF English. I speak too quickly with my beginners sometimes, or too slowly and deliberately with my college level group, but mostly it works itself out. Their enthusiasm thankfully fills in the gaps in my explanations/teaching.

I finally visited Burma, for a particularly uneventful thirty minutes. The border crossing at the Thai-Myanmar Friendship Bridge is quite anticlimactic. you just walk across a long bridge and you’re in Burma. And as you walk you can peer over into the river where other crossings are being made..namely people taking inner-tubes from Thailand to Burma or Burma to Thailand. I think the fact that I arrived in Burma alone and in the rain definitely added to my general opinion of being underwhelmed, but i did scoot around some streets, peaked into shops and scoped out the food. Oddly, Mirrawaddy (the border town) reminded me of places in Pakistan: too many men just sitting around without anything to occupy them, shouting at each other and staring at the lone foreign woman. Not exactly pleasant. I’d love to venture further in, or with friends, or on a non-rainy day or with someone who spoke Burmese.

Thai-Myanmar Friendship Bridge, Burma Side

Inner-tubing across the Thai-Burma border

Food has been grand. I am still trying out new Sangkhlaburi restaurants, including a lunch this past weekend at The Nature Club restaurant a short bike ride outside of Sangkhla. The food was delicious and then the four of us were offered a ‘tour’ of The Nature Club. It ended up being a several-hour affair in the air conditioned truck of a wonderful Nature Club employee which took us through a lovely slice of the club’s 2,500 acres. We ate rambutans and mangosteens right off the tree. We looked at ancient limestone cliffs. We drove past killing fields from ancient Siam Kingdom battles and the Japanese railroad relics from World War II. Our guide filled us in on local lore, gossip, his take on thai politics, the thai take on the various refugee peoples who live in the area and also took his truck through a rough ATV course. It was a wonderful and unexpected adventure.

The political situation here has died down, not gone away, but died down. I was in Bangkok before going to my border crossing and saw the burnt out shell of CentralWorld Mall. Police has set up a table for questions and tourists took pictures. The city seemed to ave returned to its normal frenetic pace and after braving several shopping pavilions I found myself glad I was staying in the leafy residential neighborhood of Arii at the lovely Chew Guesthouse and not in more bustling central spots.

My life feels ‘normal  enough’ here that I have become a bad blogger This Saturday we will be celebrating Daw Aung San Suu Kyi’s 65th Birthday with the Mon community, so it should be grand weekend!

But I took a break from that reality for a week and have just returned from Bangkok and the lovely seaside AlilaCha-Am Hotel. Pictures of that week to come shortly. The Alila was amazing and my body was thrown through a loop at suddenly walking on carpet and sleeping in air conditioning. Bangkok was both intense and completely calm. Outside of the Red Zone, the hustle and bustle I normally associate with BKK was taken down several notches, and there were few tourists. My hotel was right outside the Red Zone, and on Friday signs were put up saying “Live Fire Zone”…so i steered clear of that. A haze settled over the city on Friday, right after the Red Shirt Commander was shot, a haze from hundreds of tire being burnt by protesters.  And now it’s spreading, with town halls being burnt and the protesters digging further in. I don’t see any solution by Monsoon Season, we need thundering Monsoons to put out the fires and drive everyone indoors.

Teaching has been going wonderfully, and I just started teaching my second class, as part of an internship program for a youth organization here. The interns will be here for three months and they’ll be spending two hours a day, each week day, learning English from yours truly. In our “Getting to know you” section this morning, one interns listed “raising living standards” as a hobby while another listed “politics” and draw a picture of Aung San Suu Kyi–I love my job. My college-level students are also doing well, yesterday in our discussion  section we compared American ‘cliques’ to notions of ‘cliques’ in Burma…Burmese cliques are certainly more industrious and interesting than American ones, with less focus on clothes and general nastiness and more of a focus on fundraising (one student was in a Poem Book clique and the produced and sold poem books) or just general awesomeness (another student was in a Bird Shooting Clique at age twelve and made bows and arrows to hunt bird in the jungle with friends).

There have also been a slew of Buddhist Holidays and Mon Cultural Celebrations. A Picture summary of the past weeks in Sangkhlaburi is below:

Breaking the Buddhist New Year's Fast with Elderly Mon Women @ The Monastery

Fast-Breaking Meal, Buddhist New Year

Ceremonially dousining Monks and The Buddha with Water, End of Songkran Fesitval

Contraption at The Temple which allows everyone to pour their water into the bamboo pipes and it drains over The Buddha statues and the Monks

After cooking lessons at my house

Hanging our with The Lady, Aung San Suu Kyi, dressed like proper Mon ladies

free food market, to celebrate The Full Moon! Amazing.

Illness Saga: somehow i ended up with tonsilitis in Thailand..but for many days we thought it was Malaria/Dengue due to the weakness and hallucinations. Although, my hallucinations were somewhat tame; visiting a cake shop (unsurprising) and my Mon Grandma reading me  fairytales in my room. Pp. and F. eventually persuaded me to go to the hospital where they administered a horribly painful test that involves cutting off your arm circulation for five minutes then checking for skin patterns. There was also blood drawn, but not in the private US hospital rooms where I can show my utter fear of needles privately..Yes, I wept in front of a large portion of the Mon and Thai community, but they seem to still like me anyways.

My boss is visiting this weekend, which meant he was present for my first class, which was nerve-wracking. But I only had three students in town today, all three of whom I know so that helped take off some of the pressure.

Earlier this week I had the pleasure of attending a Critical Thinking Seminar put on by the amazing and inspiring Dr. Thein Lwin, EdD. The seminar was actually geared towards teaching Mon teacher-trainers, who will now return to Burma and disseminate knowledge, train other teachers and work with their pupils on critical thinking & writing. Dr. Thein Lwin was F’s (my “older sister/mum”) teacher and mentor, so I was able to attend the seminar despite not being a Mon teacher and not speaking Burmese (the Dr.’s lovely assistant translated for me at the back of the room). I received lots of tips and techniques for encouraging my students to examine the academic material they’re presented with with a critical eye, and to actively engage with material.

As many of you have undoubtedly read, bombs have started to go off in Bangkok, and grenade launchers are being used against skytrain stations. Every night F., Pp., Grandma and I are glued to the news. I obviously don’t speak Thai, so I am constantly asking “what does that mean?! what is that video footage of?”. The violence is escalating to such a degree I am not sure how it can be resolved. But is the violence really being carried out by RedShirt protesters or by Thaksin-hired thugs whose sole goal is to create all-out civil war? It seems like The YellowShirts will soon amass in Bangkok to fight the Redshirts… will the Yellowshirts be even more violent than the Reshirts? And who are these fabled PinkShirts?! Further violence seems unavoidable.  More in-depth analysis of this issue can be found here: http://www.economist.com/world/asia/displayStory.cfm?story_id=15955366

and

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/8639956.stm

and with various opinions from all sides : http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/8639618.stm

The Storytellers Bazaar I visited in Peshawar and posted about earlier on this blog was also attacked with suicide bombs this week. This is yet another place I’ve physically spent time in which has now been attacked, another place I enjoyed and felt comfortable exploring at the time. I am feeling exceptionally sad for both Thailand and Pakistan these days, as it looks increasingly like I’ve left a country going up in flames only to arrive at one which is sliding towards urban civil war. What is similar and striking having been in both for bombings now, is the lack of decent in-country reporting. The Bangkok Post’s coverage has been frustratingly slow, and the Pakistani Newspapers could not be trusted to report honestly and accurately.

I will post another update once my computer cables arrive next week, as well as a montage of Songkran stories which simply must be accompanied by pictures.

eating, lounging & swimming at Sangkalia

Thai Feast, Sangkalia

However, I am far far away from it all in Sangkhlaburi. Where I have finally been unable to unpack and move into my new home. There is something so incredibly psychologically satisfying and necessary about unpacking a suitcase, hanging up clothes, taping pictures to the wall and settling in. I have been in a state of flux for so long that I had forgotten what it was like to have a permanent base.

And I have arrived just in time for Songkran, the Water Festival, which means that the entire nation engages in a giant water fight for several days. As such, I have not begun teaching yet, but have been exploring my new town, gorging myself on thai food and adjusting my wardrobe to reflect the insanely humid climate I now find myself in.

Visiting Baan Unrak Children's Home, Sangkhlaburi

Songkran Story: yesterday Iona, Sam and I wandered into town to purchase supersoaker water guns, get drenched and take part in the water mayhem. Sporting the latest in plastic water weaponry we were approached by the local Sangkhlaburi Police and invited into the back of the police truck. Normally this sort of invitation is bad news, but the cops insisted it would be fun and its gawdawful hot so we hopped in. The truck was complete with a rusty set of handcuffs in the back, but the local po’ drove us to the temple and then insisted we hop on a Songkran Parade Float! With The Law behind us we were allowed to hop on a truck filled with Karen Musicians beating gongs and drums and bamboo clappers. I believe we were invited onto the truck to dance, but it’s hard to dance on the back of a water drenched truck so we perched on the sides, clapped in time to the music and smiled for the myriad of camera. I am here to teach the Mon, who were also a contingent of the parade, looking very stately and serene. As the parade wound through the streets I felt a familiar feeling of living in crystal clear moments..perhaps this was simply my mind and body being constantly refreshed by the buckets of water dumped on us, but I think that it was the feeling of yet again being in just the right spot at just the right time.

no one is safe from splashes during Songkran

it's easy to be a good sport when it's miserably hot & humid outside

On the Karen Float, Songkran Parade, Sangkhlaburi

Thailand is ‘The Land of Smiles’ and I do relish being able to smile as just about anybody without it being misconstrued or backfiring (as was often the case in Pakistan)..but my experiences in Pakistan remain relevant and a frequent topic of conversation as I discuss the politcal situation in Myanmar and Thailand with folks here.

no parade is complete with out several branches of the armed forces represented!

And the food, oh holy moly the food. I live a fifteen minute walk from the Thai Side Market (there is a ‘Thai Side’ and a ‘Mon Side’ of town)..a market filled with fruits, veggies, food carts, coffee carts and all manner of snacks. Ive been buying lots of roti, sold on carts by Muslims (5baht for a plain roti with condensed milk on top, 10baht for a roti with egg and condensed milk.

Roti Cart, Sangkhlaburi

I had forgotten the vital role Seven Eleven plays in Thai life. They are everywhere and sell absolutely everything..Seven Eleven is where I head when I need to recharge me phone, buy bug spray, take advantage of AC or buy any number of the prawn flavored chip snacks available here. There is also a Chinese knockoff Seven Eleven rival here…but it just doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

Market Snacks, Thai Side Sangkhlaburi

So Much has happened, the March bombing in Mansehra of WorldVision Offices really shook up everyone in Islamabad, including my program. Thus, it was decided that international teachers would not be living up at the school this year due to safety concerns. I am pretty heartbroken, but Pakistan works in mysterious ways and I respect KMT very much for not putting us in harms way. Instead, I filled my time fundraising, visiting The Khan Family in Peshawar again and working on lesson plans to be executed by the Pakistani teaching assistants at the school. But I came to South Asia to teach, so it is with much sadness I have left Pakistan and am now in Thailand (to be discussed in the next post).

typical Pakistani "Flying Coach" Bus, Peshawar

Pakistan has won me over, hook,  line and sinker. Not only is it a nation where women head straight to the front of the line (amazing!) but I have also never felt so welcomed and (surprisingly) comfortable. I enjoy wearing my shalwar kemeez and dupattr and have not encountered anything less than respect and tolerance from people I’ve spent time with here. I have had so many conversations with Dr. Khan about science, religion, politics, “young people”, travel and life in general–conversations which leave me feeling hopeful for the future…ideally a future in which I can picnic at the Khyber Pass I haver learned more about Islam in these past months than I have in 16+ years of excellent schooling, more knowledge that leaves me feeling encourages and inspired.

Bounty, Peshawar

But I am going to miss a whole passel of folks here. I will especially miss Pasha (although not his cooking), Ali, Ummer, Faisal, Mohammad Ghool, AlimShir, Yusef, Amir Zaib–the wonderful staff at the Bani Gala house. When I left, AlimShir told me I was like a little daughter to him and that he would be looking up into the sky when my plane took off..very moving. Pasha dug out an old, red velvet box, and showed my pictures from throughout his life. Most showed a much younger Pasha, with all of his teeth, sporting a very dapper brown suit. Amir Zaib told me his mother said I could come visit his house whenever I’d like, and Yusef told me a long story in Pashto–I have no idea what it was about but it contained Sayira (his name for me) so I’m going to assume it was a compliment or grand advice. The casual, unstinting kindness I was shown in that house by even just the gardener really resonated with me.

Bounty II, Peshawar

But there is also a tiny part of me that is relieved to be going: I visited Peshawar this past weekend, left Peshawar on Sunday, and then there were triple suicide bombings on Monday. Parts of a suicide vest ended up in my friend Hina’s yard..this was incredibly unnerving and I spent several hours texting to make sure folks in Peshawar were ok. I have gotten so used to waking up each morning and checking BBC South Asia for headlines, checking throughout the day, and then again before signing off for the night. I don’t think this is a habit I’ll be able to break easily as I found myself waking up in Thailand and still scoping the South Asia BBC page for tidbits and updates, with my fingers crossed that it would be good news and not disasters.

I really hope to return to Pakistan–I already miss the muezzin calls… especially the dusk ones, I miss the look of excitement and incredulity that often appeared on peoples faces when they said “but you came all the way to Pakistan? You wanted to come to Pakistan?!” I miss the remarkably cheap cell service (even calls and texts to the US!) and, of course, the lovely long suffering Bani Gala Tailor.

Cricket at College, Peshawar

The Universe has really dealt me a good hand this time though,  I have been fortunate enough to be offered a position working with refugees on the Thai/Burma border, and have arrived in Thailand safe and sound. The journey started off on a high note with a remarkable upgrade on Etihad Air to Business Class: more comfortable than my own bed & with limitless cheese plates ohmygosh. I have not lived in Thailand since 2002, but am excited and eager to be back.

Insha’Allah I’ll spend another chink of my life in Pakistan with the many people I’ve come to know and care about, hopefully in a more peaceful and prosperous nation–Pakistan Zindabad!

(a post explaining the Thailand situation in more detail will be forthcoming once I finish busing and flying to my final destination)

Sorry for the delay in posting, much has been happening. I am currently in Peshawar for my second visit, my first was the weekend of March 21st. My father’s friend Dr. Khan has completely opened his home to me, and Ive utterly fallen for Peshawar. There is nothing quite like walking around somewhere and being literally the only westerner out and about. Those westerners that are still working in Peshawar do so behind closed doors, sandbags and armed guards. I never felt in danger, although at one point people were so intrigued by my presence in the market that they surreptitiously began taking pictures on cell phones. Here is a photo- montage of my Peshawar Adventures. With the lovely Mahjabeen as my guide I visited the Storytellers Bazaar (really old wonderful market with narrow winding streets), The Smuggler’s Market (the end point for so much of the supplies intended for US troops in Afghanistan) and Kouchi Bazaar for fabulous cloth.

Date Seller, Storytellers Bazaar, Peshawar

Spices, Storytellers Bazaar

the narrow streets of Storytellers Bazaar

Peshawar is full of soldiers, women in blue and pink burkas–front part lifted over their heads to shop, and men. Thats one of the most startling things Ive noticed in during my time in Pakistan, there are so many men around and so few women out and about. The pink and blue burkas Ive seen are really quite beautiful, with delicate embroidery all over and delicate mesh netting over the eyes. I did not feel comfortable photographing these women, although when I smiled they smiled back very openly and warmly.

Brothers Abdullah and Adil Khan

Abdullah, the crack shot with one of his favorites!

On Saturday night Mahjabeen got me all dolled up and the five of us went to a wedding, the Barat, the theme was Pink and the dancing was wonderful

Abuda and I dressed for the wedding

Mahjabeen, Abdullah and I, pre-wedding

my wonderful host Dr. Arshad Khan

lovely Mahjabeen, who made sure I attended the wedding in style

The next day we went to one of the spots I’d heard most about, The Peshawar Smugglers Market. It is right on the border of Peshawar and the Tribal Areas, and the crossing is very busy. The Sitara Market sells everything you can possibly imagine, and then ten things above that–all smuggled in from supply convoys in Afghanistan. It is definitely not a tourist destination and we decided that I should probably just be quiet and wear my headscarf. It worked! with one shopkeeper asking if I was Mahjabeen’s daughter Some of the stores were orderly and sold specific things; only cleaning products, tons of food, toiletries. But many of them were just a jumble of stolen goods. For the first time in months I laid eyes on Jiff Peanut Butter, every American Candy Ever Made, and (sadly) lots of Foreign Aid…packets of baby formula from CanadianAid and Tea Packets from USAID (boldly stating “A Present From The American People, Not For Resale Or Exchange”. US Army socks and guns and board games…very overwhelming.

Sitara Market Bounty

TEA AID, Peshawar

This past Sunday Jenny Liz and I went to the Itwab Bazaar, a large bazaar with rows and rows of stalls selling everything from used shoes from the West to mops to discount onions. Haggling here is a much more genteel affair than in Nepal, where you were only respected as a buyer if you got angry and spoke Nepali. The prices at the bazaar were also incredibly fair, so little bargaining was necessary. I bought cloth, ribbon and some snazzy Pakistani sandals…with bells. We’ll see how long I last with bells on my shoes until I cut them off in frustration 

Two more teachers have arrived, Naimh (from Ireland) and Adrienne (from New Zealand) so it’s been nice to have their input of lesson plans and school-related things. I am so nervous and excited to get up to the school. But this extra month gives me time to get a decent selection of shalwar kemeez made, purchase additional school books (also bought Planet Earth on DVD for my kids!) and get used to the seasonal allergies which have stricken me for the first time in my life—thank you Mulberry trees.

Yesterday evening us four teachers were running some errands when we were approached by an older couple. The man was very excited and began asking us where we all were from and what we were doing in Pakistan, said he was glad to see us in Pakistani dress, and then proceeded to tell us about his studies in the US and throughout the world. For ten minutes, he regaled us with his visits to Ney York and the Netherlands, his son’s academic career at Cambridge and his belief that education was more important than wealth. This sort of thing has been the norm for me, when telling folks I’m from California. I have yet to be berated for being from the United States; instead (as happened at the Bazaar) the shopkeeper will excitedly say “Oh! I have a cousin in Cleveland, his name is _____ _____, perhaps you know him?” As Jenny pointed out, if people here dislike your country they simply stand in the back of the shop and glower. No one runs up shouting anti-American slogans.

Heading to Peshawar this weekend to visit a friend of my father’s, Dr. Khan. Very excited to get to see another Pakistani city ,and I’ll try and do a better job of documenting this adventure with pictures than I’ve done over the past couple of weeks

River Washing, Baja

kids in Baja

laborers, Baja

Before we left, Liz and I bought our first shalwar kameez, which we wore in the village. The village is more traditional than Islamabad, so we needed to keep our heads covered when we were outside of the family house.The Shalwar are the pants, the Kameez is the shirt, and the Dupattr is the shawl.

Liz, Jenny & I in our Shalwar Kameez

One of the Aunt’s also has a school for women and girls on the outskirts of the village. In addition education, this center offers skill classes and Quranic studies. We took what ended up being a trixy climb to visit some old “ruins” atop a hall. The hills around Baja differ from those in the K’Du valley in that they are filled with thorny bushes–just the sort of bushes that like to snag on your clothes and cut your arms. And the “ruins” reminded me yet again how ultimately unsatisfying I would have found a career in archaeology . They were definitely there, but consisted of walls of what had clearly once been rooms. Not loot though, alas. Throughout the day I supplemented my delicious Pashtun diet with pounds of Burfi and Gulub Jamun..my two favorite sweets in this area of the world. Apparently, there is always one teacher at KMT with a huge appetite, and it looks as though I am that person for this year.

Tam's Farm, Baja

Baja, Swabi Dist.

After a day in Swabi with the immediate Khan family, we headed to a nearby town (still in Swabi district) for the Mehndi for one of the extended family member’s wedding. The Mehndi is one of the stages of the marriage ceremony and is celebrated separately for men and women. For this one, we first went to a house (i think grooms because we were shown the wedding suite), ate, socialized then drove to The Officer’s Club, where the celebrating continued in the basement. In a room full of brightly dressed women, I felt a little dull in my store bought shalwar kameez, but we secured front row seats for the dancing. Groups and individual gals went to the center of the room to dance and folks threw money over their heads, which was then given to the bride. The amount is noted and the married couple must give at least that much or more at the next wedding. Not entirely sure on the exact rituals, but here are some pictures to give you a better idea.

Pashtun Dancing at the Mehndi

dancing at the mehndi

…eventually one of the older ladies had the idea to have the foreigners dance…and much to my complete embarrassment Liz, Jenny and I found ourselves in front of the crowd, facing one of the lovely gals who we’d befriended earlier (also one of the best dancers of the evening). She asked us if we wanted an English song, and recommended it saying “I think it is better”….and then WE LIKE TO PARTY BY THE VENGA BOYS CAME ON!!! oooohhh yes, that was our English song!  And so we managed some sort of dance, women threw money on us and just as we thought we might run off and hide in a corner the song segued into traditional Pashto music..which we also couldn’t dance well to. Eventually we managed to flee. Women told Jenny afterward that our dancing “made [us] more attractive”, it certainly endeared us to the older female set–and other members of the family had already been alerted via text to our performance by the time we arrived back to our host’s house later that night. In case you’ve forgotten how “wonderful” that Venga Boy’s classic is, have a listen!

The next we headed back out for the Walima, which was held at the groom’s family’s house, and celebrates the couple after they have been officially married and spent their first night together. Again, this was celebrated separately for men and women, with our festivities held under a red cloth tent. As the morning went on more and more folks brought up our dancing and how much they enjoyed it..and low and behold we were asked to dance again. Jenny abstained so it was Liz and myself dancing to some pretty silly American top 40 song i dont know the name of. According to Jenny, we looked much improved and received compliments on our dancing throughout the day. Dancing in front of crowds with varying degrees of skill seems to be a wonderful constant in all my travels, and Pakistan has proved to be no exception!…this performance was filmed and photoed, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that footage somehow pops back into my life again

the bride's place at the Walima

Ladies under the red tend at the Walima