After fourteen years in Africa, I returned to Washington where eventually I became Country Affairs Officer to South Asia, responsible for Afghanistan, Pakistan, Nepal, and Bangladish. I supported and oversaw USIA activities in these countries and, once a year, I visited to check out their programs and meet relevant government officials.
Reading the newspapers these days, you might well conclude you didn't want to go to Pakistan what with suicide bombings and sporadic attacks by the Taliban. My first visit to Pakistan was in 1993 when things were less volatile, but not without adventure. When I arrived in Islamabad I checked in at the Holiday Inn, a familiar and comforting presence. Around 5 p.m. a delicious looking spread was laid out in the lobby and where I, a vegetarian, tucked into the fresh salad makings.
A bad mistake. In a few hours I came down with a major case of gastro-intestinal infection. The next day wall to wall meetings with ministers and the like lay before me like an obstacle course. The challenge was to try to focus on substantive issues all the while wondering if I could make it through an hour without needing the rest room!
I next went with some USIA officers to Peshawar close to the lawless west and various warlords. I checked in at the Continental Hotel (since blown up by terrorists) where a large sign in the lobby read, "Gunmen! Please check your weapons at the front desk." What? There were gunmen staying at the hotel? I had noticed driving through town that almost everybody was carrying a weapon and recalled a US Consulate officer intoning that an armed society is a civil society.
After the usual round of meetings with Pakistani officials,l my hosts decided a trip to Khyber Pass would give me an idea of the section of the country not controlled by the central government. Khyber Pass was officially closed but a special exception was made for the visiting Washington official. The government assigned a soldier with a rifle and a sash of bullets, ostensibly for my protection, but possibly to keep an eye on me. We drove up a long, narrow winding road past the fortresses of warlords to the top of the pass overlooking Afghanistan, which was definitely closed to us. Large trucks, probably loaded with contraband, seemed to be crossing the border into Pakistan virtually uninspected. As a momentum of the occasion, I was photographed with my protector. Afghanistan is in the background.
In the picture directly above, he has handed me his rifle, presumably to impress my friends.
The next item on my getting-to-know-Pakistan tour was a trip to a village, rural certainly, but the home of a rich man. A nice outdoor lunch was spread out and we ate peacefully with our hosts. But not for long. The after-lunch entertainment was. . .shooting off machine guns at the sky to wild yelling and cheering.. I hate to think of where the bullets came down.
Finally I arrived in Karachi, a violence plagued city. I checked into an international hotel and thought what I really wanted was a cold beer. I called room service and in due time a man showed up with a bottle of beer, a chilled mug, and a bag of potato chips. First he had to inspect my passport to be sure I wasn't a Pakistani in this officially teetotalling country. Next I had to sign an affidavit:"I certify that this beverage is for bone-fide medical purposes only." But of course. Welcome to Pakistan!
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