Mirpur Khas

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Mirpur Khas
Tuesday 12th May 1992

I went with Fr John to a Christian section of town. Fr John is a burly man from Quetta - always welcoming and jolly. We met and talked with lots of people in the narrow streets. There were some tiny shops selling all sorts of things. The people at the primary school were expecting us - but we'd arrived a few minutes too early and were ushered away to do another tour of the streets.

(bilal uh-Rehman)

When we arrived at the school, I saw that the children were having an end of term party. They threw flower petals in front of our feet as we walked in and presented both Fr John and myself with garlands of flowers, hanging them around our necks, which made me feel very important. Fr John put all his garlands onto me and sat me at the head of the table. The heat was overwhelming. Fr John notice how hot I was and beckoned a succession of boys to become the air-conditioning system. They fanned me on either side with rectangular, ornate fans.

Sitting at the head of the table with

a string of flowers around my neck

- being fanned by two pupils.

Fr John to the left.

Drinks and Pakistani sweets, which are like sweet slightly, perfumed pastries, were served. Fr John spoke to the children and then asked me to say some words of congratulations and encouragement. I was a bit taken aback by this but had a go. I congratulated them for exam success and Fr John translated what I'd said. It was a bit spur of the moment - but went down well.

We went into one family's house. It was a sort of a Grand Tour -and everyone was coming out to see. We sat down with some women, who insisted we stay for a drink. One young girl, perhaps about sixteen years old, asked for my autograph.

We went to another family's house. The husband and wife sat on the floor and we in the seats. He had worked in Saudi Arabia and wondered about sending his eldest son to England. Could he find work? Where could he live?

We left the Christian area of the town and resumed travel by motorbike. When we got back to the house, Fr John changed and we went again to town, this time calling in on a friend of his, who sat in a deep, cool, open fronted shop - behind a desk.

His name was something Khan. “But call me Lala. It means `Loved One', it means `Big Brother'.”

Mr Khan sold guns.

“Do you want to buy a gun?” he asked.

I said that perhaps if a thief saw you had a gun, he would shoot first, but if you were unarmed, he would just rob you and leave.

“Ah . . .wisdom. It's good,” said Lala.

“And you shouldn't carry a gun if you're not prepared to shoot with it. So, I don't know if I would,” I added.

“Ah ... very good! He knows!”

Lala apologised for his English, but really, he spoke quite well.

Different people came and went, some offering “Salaam”. He pointed to his youngest son, who was about seven years old. “He will be in London, one day - in Shallah."

The conversation continued and I quite enjoyed our visit. Fr John made me practise my Urdu phrases and I told Lala that my mother had told me to wear a hat.

“Ah, mother is mother,” he said.