We brought our camels to New York: DATELINE WASHINGTON
By Anwar Iqbal
ONCE in New York, I made a small group of friends who also had come from violent cultures. They were from everywhere: Bulgaria, Chechnya, Russia, Uzbekistan, Sri Lanka, West Africa and even Timbuktu. And yes, one of them was the so-called Blueman of Timbuktu.
We were bound together by our flight from fear. All of us had escaped political, religious or cultural repression to live in a more tolerant society, yet we could not escape our past. We never tired of telling each other how great “home” was. We lied to each other about our past, forgetting that we cling to the past just as tightly as the past holds us in its grip. It shows on our faces, in our habits, in the way we speak, dress up, eat or walk.
But such considerations never slowed our tall tales. If you believe us, we all came from well-to-do, if not rich, families. We all had left behind “palatial homes” — as a West Indian friend used to say — in the rich neighbourhoods of homelands scattered across the globe.
In our new world, our past could be gliding about in limousines and chauffeur-driven cars, sojourning at salons and spas, and eating at five-star hotels and restaurants. Once I almost got lynched when I told a group of people from my own city that the particularly rich part of the city they said they came from did not have more than 500 houses — yet I already had met several hundred people in America who claimed to have a house there. But such is the life of an immigrant.
Most people in our group spoke English even before they came to America. They were educated and either had — or could get — white-collar jobs back home. Here, they were working at 7-Elevens, McDonald’s or corner liquor stores. Even these odd jobs brought in more money than the so-called white-collar jobs back “home,” but they hurt our egos. And this forced them to make up stories about their “glorious” past.
They spent the entire week dishing out hamburgers, hawking newspapers or arranging bottles in the coolers and during the weekend they got together — often at the residence of a Pakistani because he was the only one in our circle who had a three-bedroom house in Queens — to dream our dreams and tell our past as we wished it had been.
The most innocent in the group was the Blueman of Timbuktu. He never claimed a huge house or big cars back home. Instead, he spoke fondly of his father’s camel herds that made him a very rich man in his community.
Like most of us, the Blueman also wanted to return home one day. He was waiting to save enough money to buy 500 camels, not one less. Don’t ask me why 500 because he never explained.
And once there, he wanted to build a big house and live there with his harem. Yes, harem. That’s why he wanted 20 rooms in his house — 10 for his harem and 10 for the rest of the family. He had not yet figured out how many wives and concubines he wanted except that he wanted plenty. Every time he spoke of his harem, I would say I wanted to be a thief in his harem.
“Why a thief?” he would ask.
“Haven’t you read the old harem stories? These kings and nobles had so many wives and concubines that each had to wait for at least a year to be graced with the royal favour. So it was the thieves who kept these women happy,” I would joke.
“I would let my dogs loose on you. I would kill you if you polluted my harem,” he would say, with a grin on his face.
“But thieves played a key role in keeping the harem healthy. There was no other outlet for these women to take out their frustration,” I would joke.
This always made him furious.
“This is blasphemy. Royal women do no such things. They are not two-dollar prostitutes of New York,” he fumed. “OK, OK. They had no natural desires,” I would say.
This always made him so angry that he walked out muttering, “You people have no regard for the nobility.”
Of course we didn’t. Although we lived in a borough named after a British queen, there was nothing regal in our lives. Fortunately for us, New York did not have much respect for the royalty either. If there ever was a city which was invented for the workers, it’s New York. Everybody is a king here, even the homeless.
When he was in good mood, Blueman would agree.
“Have you noticed? The beggars here are so different,” he would say. “They do not plead. They demand alms. Back home, the beggars are polite and humble. Not in New York.”
The New York City is like an onion. People live in layers. It is possible to live in your own rut without even being exposed to other layers of society. Those on the top are so rich and mighty that they look celestial, creatures from another planet whom you never see except on the TV screen or in newspapers. But on the bottom, the daily wage-earners share space with a diaspora of interesting people. There were homeless and jobless among them. There were part-time workers, the beggars, the prostitutes and the alcoholics.
Those of us who worked at liquor stores had a very jaundiced view of New York. From where we were, everything looked grim and pale. For the liquor clerks, New York was equally divided between alcoholics and prostitutes, sprinkled with beggars who stood outside and collected change until they had enough to buy a bottle of 100-proof alcohol. Then they disappeared until the next evening.
Some of the liquor-store owners and workers were Muslims. They had to overcome an agonizing moral dilemma before they worked in a liquor store. Islam forbids alcohol. For a Muslim, all income associated with alcohol is haram, impious, filthy. But life is filthier if you live in New York and you are unemployed.


Water scarcity a big problem: DATELINE SUKKUR
By Shamim Shamsi
BEING the third largest city of the Sindh province, Sukkur has been badly neglected in the matter of civic amenities, as well as in the development of its trade and industry. Although, unfortunately, its size was cut some years back when the new district of Ghotki was created, its problems remain enormous, as well as unattended.
A great tragedy is that potable water is not available in any of the city’s 22 union councils. Recently the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) — officially assigned the task of analysing the Indus water — discovered the truth that its water from Gudu to the Sindh delta of Thatta is unfit for human use, as well as for agriculture. The EPA director at Sukkur, Wiqar Hussain Phulpoto, says an EPA team has got the water at various points tested but found it unusable. Shortly an EPA gathering will be held at Khairpur to find out a solution to the problem.
The people of Sukkur, at the Indus river embankment, have to suffer greatly from the pollution created by industrial waste carried into the river, though there is already a law which bars industries from throwing their waste fluid into the river until it is treated scientifically. What is regrettable is that despite the existence of EPA laws not a single environmental tribunal has started its work, with the result that pollution has grown manifold in the urban areas here.
Poor sanitation poses great health hazards to the poor inhabitants of the city. According to reports, many people in the last few months were afflicted with hepatitis B and C.
Sewers along Military Road and in New Goth areas have been dug out at half a dozen places after remaining choked for a long time. But the diggers have not been able to detect the points where faults have developed, and, hence, the problem lingers on.
Similarly, the condition of roads is poor. Lately the district government has taken up a number of city roads for renovation and reconstruction. It is hoped the authorities would ensure the quality of work to make the roads long-lasting and trouble-free. It may be pointed out that the small bridge on Shikarpur Road near Lal Mashaikh needs to be widened, with the expansion of the road there, to facilitate the flow of traffic to Subzimandi.
A word of caution here. It is painful to see the sheer lack of coordination among the various departments that have undertaken development work recently. For example, even the newly-built roads and streets are being dug out for laying utility lines. This is waste of public money, and the situation must be rectified.
TUSSLE: The tussle between the newly-inducted provincial ministers and the district Nazims of Sukkur, Jacobabad, Khairpur, Nawabshah, Larkana and Badin has entered into a crucial phase in which four of the Nazims: Nafisa Shah of Khairpur, Khurshid Junejo of Larkana, Shabbir Ali Bijarani of Jacobabad and Syed Nasir Hussain Shah of Sukkur: are holding closed-door meetings with the NRB officials.
A district Nazim told this correspondent that NRB chief Gen Tanveer Hussain Naqvi was given a complete picture about the doings, rather the wrongdoings, of three ministers during the past one month. According to him, Gen Naqvi was told that the ministers’ confrontationist policy was hurting the grassroots democracy. After all, “we are here to protect the system, and so our aims and objects and those of the government are one and the same, and any harm to the system would damage both of us,” Gen Naqvi was told. According to the Nazim, the NRB chief showed positive concern about the matter.
The Local Government Order 2001 has clearly spelt out the functions and duties of district Nazims and their district governments and, therefore, any interference by provincial ministers in their working is bound to cause irreparable damage to the system.
Sukkur district Nazim Syed Nasir Hussain Shah maintains that their main reason for avoiding talks with the governor before talking to the NRB chairman was because the governor did not take any action on their complaints which were sent to him in writing by Khairpur district Nazim Nafisa Shah. He says the present ugly campaign seems to be aimed at creating a distance between them and the regime.
Whatever might be the outcome of their efforts at Islamabad, the position here is that the government affairs in these districts have almost come to a standstill. With the election staring in the face, this would hurt the government most, the Nazims maintain.

