The Pakistani countryside

On Saturday, I set off on a long, exhausting jaunt into the Punjabi countryside. Fitting myself and all my companions for the day, Sameena, Zaid, Haroon Sahib, Rubab, Amon, Saman, Annam into the small hire car was a squeeze. (Thankfully, four of us are only half-sized). As our car pulled away with Haroon Sahib at the wheel, me in the relative comfort of the front seat with a four year old on my lap and with five people in the back, I felt shamefully adrift from British safe driving principles - seat belts, child car seats, children not standing up in the car etc. But then the art of existing in Pakistan is accepting the unacceptable.

Our destination, Faisalabad, is about three hours' drive from Lahore and was reportedly 52 degrees centigrade that day. The hottest day of the year and a good three degrees hotter than the already unbearably hot Lahore. As I told friends about my planned trip to meet the family of Sameena and Zaid, who I've been living with for the past 3 months, their reaction was uniformly unimpressed. What on earth are you doing that for? You are mad. You'll get really sick. You have no idea how these people live, trust me this is the last place you want to go. And finally, my boss: "You will get so ill if you go. In fact, I won't allow you to go.” When she conceded that it wasn't really within her remit to forbid me, she said: "Well at least promise me you won't eat or drink anything at their houses".  I'll try not to, I answered. Inshallah.

My reason for not following the advice I'm given here is that when I do it invariably ends in disaster. My (possibly flawed) judgment of the situation was that, ever since I had suggested it four days ago, Sameena had been preparing for our trip. The children had been made new clothes. Family members had been informed. Non-spicy food had been ordered. Everybody was excited. Cancelling the plan due to the minor issue of 52 degree heat was going to cause more sadness and disappointment than can easily be imagined by people who have holidays and cars and regular day trips.

And so, armed with water and rehydration salts, we set off. All four children stood up, fighting with their siblings to get the best view from the car windows. Having never been in a car before, they refused to sit down for much of the journey there and were almost completely silent in their fascination.

I had been expecting to visit three houses of family members. Of course, ten houses later, I realised this was not to be.

Perhaps the most interesting home to me was that of Sameena and her family, being by far the most rural of the families we visited. As we started to get near, the roads became mud trails. The village itself was a mixture of old huts made from all different types of material, and newer tiny brick houses. Chickens, cows and goats seemingly roamed freely. As we approached the right house, heads popped out and then whole bodies, until the road in front of was full of them, all out to great us.

We were ushered inside through the small yard area into the only room of the house, where a small generator, which had been bought solely for my visit, powered a fan. I was placed in front of the one fan and provided with bottled water, like a delicate foreign flower that might wilt and die in the heat. Huge numbers of people swarmed in, one after the other. A tiny baby was placed protesting into my arms and I was introduced to everybody from great-grandparents to nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles. I found myself strangely unable to find anything to say. Although Haroon Sahib was there to translate for me, I didn't know who to address as everyone was waiting silently for me to speak. Each time I thought of something, a new person came in to meet me. Eventually I decided to focus my attention on Sameena's mother and try as hard as possible to ignore everyone else.

Given my preconceptions of poverty, the biggest surprise was how healthy everyone looked. A long way from the downtrodden, skeletal poor of Lahore, the family looked well; the women were beautiful and the men handsome.

I quickly reneged on my promise not to eat anything, as large quantities of food had been prepared just for me. Sameena had forbidden spicy cooking and requested raw vegetables, just the way I like them. I tried not to eat the raw food, but in the end, I thought to hell with it, I'll take my chances.

And food was a common theme of the day. Pakoras, chicken and mutton dishes, rich dahl, biryani, mangoes, ice cream, parathas. There was no end to the eating and the hospitality. I was given flowers, material to make a shalwar kameez, hair clips, glitter and bangles.

In one house, I was shown a picture of a relative and his American wife, who he had met through internet dating and now lived with in America. The matriarch of the house (by this point I'd lost track of who was related to whom) chuckled heartily as she told me, and showed me with hand gestures, how fat this poor woman was. She then said to Sameena, accompanied by great laughter, "We were so excited when she (the American woman) came to visit but then when she got here, she was sooooo fat, and we thought that all goris must be that fat. But now you've gone and brought us a slim gori." Later, in the car on the way home, Sameena reiterated this proudly, saying "My gori is a slim one."

It was a day filled with new faces, colours and sounds - most of which I didn't understand - that will stay with me forever. Although, I have to say that as I got in the car after out last visit, I heaved a huge sigh of relief to be away from the curiosity of a thousand eyes.

Our journey home was punctuated by an unplanned stop at a Sikh Temple, and the birth place of Guru Nanak. We sat for a long time, in the serenity within the walls, dipping our feet in their large marble pool used for washing by Sikh visitors. It was surprisingly cool, and as we all sipped tea, I don't think any of us wanted to return to the craziness of Lahore.

Sameena, who had not known about any religions besides Christianity and Islam, took a great interest in the temple and asked lots of questions about Sikhism. After obviously giving it a lot of thought, she asked in the car; "But if there are all these religions and all these Gods, how are we meant to know which is the right one?"

People are fascinating. People who don't know that others worhip different Gods. People who cannot read, who don't know where Europe is and have never seen the sea. People who have never ridden in a car, who can't tell the time and who think all white people are obese, can still be some of the most interesting and multi-faceted people I've ever met. Discovering this makes me smile and yet leaves a knot of sadness somewhere deep inside.