Driving through the streets of Pindi today, I saw Pakistan. The real Pakistan I was sheltered from growing up. I was priveleged enough to be born with parents that worked hard and gave me more than what they had growing up (which is what every parent strives for I think). And despite their attempts to make sure we knew our roots and keep us humble, we still never experienced Pakistan at the local level. At the level of the average person here. Today, as I sat and heard the stories of some of the girls at Saba Homes, I cried inside my heart. One of the 9 year old girls at the home was doing labor work before she was brought here. Her father, who obviously had some kind of psychological issues, locked her mother and all his kids except for her and one of her sisters in the house, and burned the house down before running off. On our way back into the city, there were boys holding onto the ends of mens shalwars with tears of exhaustion from begging all day. There were makeshift tents serving as 'permanent' homes. There in front of me were the statistics of poverty we read about in our development classes.
Pakistan might be polluted, corrupt, unsafe and terrorized, but even with all its flaws and unmanageability, its home. I love the flat rooftops with minarets poking through the smog filled sunsets. The obnoxiously colorful trucks with buffalo's sticking their heads (and butts) out the back that are like art on wheels. The long lines at the CNG station on Thursdays because theyre closed on Fridays and Saturdays. The smell in the air that can only be described as being Pakistan. But most of all, I love the people who manage to create smiles through all the despair. I love the people like Imran Khan and Saghir Uncle that give you hope and make you want to stay. The people who make a difference and make the world a better place. The ones who stand out against corruption and melt away the flaws of our society.
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