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October 24, 2004
EXCERPTS: Diving for the gem
Herb Obodda narrates his experiences during gemstone exploration in Pakistan’s northern areas
AFTER viewing some of the thousands of magnificent mineral specimens from Afghanistan and Pakistan that are housed in many of today’s fine collections, it is difficult to imagine the humble beginnings of the mineral localities that produced them, especially since many of the specimens from the region are now acknowledged to be the best of their species.
My first encounter with the mineral riches of Afghanistan came in 1972 when I saw a small collection of kunzite, ruby and lapis lazuli crystals exhibited by Pierre Bariand at the Tucson show. Dr Bariand had obtained the specimens at their source in Afghanistan, and they are now part of the Sorbonne collection. I marvelled at their beauty and perfection, committing their memory to the recesses of my mind.
Several months later I met with Hussain, an Afghan acquaintance in Idar-Oberstein, Germany... Hussain was a major supplier of lapis lazuli, and his family was well connected in Kabul.
Hussain pulled out a small bag of long crystals that rang out musically as he poured them onto the tabletop. The sight caught my breath: the finest, richest, glowing, gem crystals I had ever seen! The images of the crystals I had seen in Tucson rushed back to my consciousness as I observed the stones that lay before me. Hussain said that the tourmaline was recently found in Nuristan, and he asked my opinion. Not wanting to appear too impressed, I was outwardly noncommittal. Inwardly my heart was racing and plans for a trip to Afghanistan were swirling through my head. As soon as I left his office, I made my way to the travel agent in Idar to arrange a flight to Kabul.
Generally, I am cooler to mineralogical stimuli — the consummate professional — but this time I was obsessed. I knew I would not be satisfied until I had seen for myself the source and what could be obtained there...
Kabul is a place of mystery at a major crossroads in South Asia. Centuries ago, Marco Polo, Tavernier and others visited the city in search of the same kind of treasures that I now sought. Stepping off the plane at the airport, I could smell the wood fires that were used for cooking and heating throughout the city. A friendly and helpful immigration department greeted and steered me toward town. Taking a Russian-made Volga taxi cab reminded me of riding around in tanks during my army days. We soon arrived at the ultra-modern, towering Intercontinental Hotel, which stood out among the squat mud constructions that surrounded it. Kabul was a city of extreme contrasts in which one was as likely to see a new Mercedes-Benz as a caravan of 100 or more camels traversing its main streets.
Not having any leads or contacts made my initial search difficult. It was days before I found my first specimen, a minor shard of kunzite, at one of the small shops in the newer Shahr-i-Nau section of town. After another 10 days, I managed to collect a few more minerals, but definitely not enough to make the trip worthwhile.
With its myriad of small shops selling unusual antiques and handicrafts, Kabul was much more than a destination for minerals; it was quickly working its way to the top of my must-revisit list. The mouth-watering aromas wafting from the small street restaurants made me continuously hungry, and I sampled many of the culinary delights the city had to offer. A few were delectable, some so-so, and some came with a case of gastroenteritis. One learns quickly what is safe and what is not: I rarely made the same mistake twice.
Export of my modest cache of gem material went as smoothly as my arrival, with no questions asked and no examination of my luggage.
After arriving home and unpacking my meagre treasure-trove, I vowed to return to Kabul as soon as I could. From the beginning, I planned to stockpile my material until I had a very good collection to offer. This plan had the secondary benefit of not alerting my competitors to this new and exciting locality.
I travelled again two months later. Having already made some contacts on my first visit, it was much easier to find material that was not only better than that of my first trip but also available in larger quantities. I happily filled my handbags with all sorts of delightful mineral bits and made my way to the airport. I was ecstatic as I wound my way through immigration, unaware of the heightened security that awaited me because of a marked increase in airplane hijackings in the period between this and my last trip.
This time I was thoroughly searched and informed that the minerals I had were “contraband”. I was told to forfeit them to the authorities! “No way!” I responded. I was willing to fight almost to the death for my beloved minerals, though I felt my chances of success diminish as my flight roared down the runway without me. After a heated battle, I was allowed to keep my minerals but not export them. Days of haggling with the ministry of mines, customs and industry were so fraught with bureaucratic red tape that I abandoned this avenue and instead turned to my newfound associates in Kabul. I explained my problem and sought alternative solutions to my dilemma.
The easiest method proposed — and the one that made the most sense to me — was to wait in the town of Peshawar, across the Khyber Pass in Pakistan, for my merchandise to be delivered there. I knew nothing of this town or of Pakistan, but since I had little choice, I decided to make the journey and wait. The trip to Peshawar proved to be serendipitous. Pakistan would eventually turn out to be an even more prolific provider of superb minerals than Afghanistan!
The bus to Peshawar, loaded with an assortment of locals, hippies, and unsavoury characters of all types, along with chickens, goats and other animals, took about five hours to reach the Afghanistan/ Pakistan border at Torkharn — the middle of nowhere. After a vigorous customs inspection that required announcing loudly to all, including the aforementioned unsavoury fellow travellers, exactly how much cash I had, I was treated to the five hundred metre walk through “no man’s land” followed by similar questions and another shakedown by Pakistani immigration and customs officials.
After another three-hour bus ride, we arrived in Peshawar and disembarked. Directly across the street from the bus terminal, I found the hotel to which my minerals were to be delivered. I checked in and settled down for the wait. Dean’s Hotel was a sprawling, walled-in complex of rooms with a certain colonial charm. It was located in the residential/military (cantonment) section of town.
After a couple of days at the hotel with no word about my minerals, I began to venture into the small bazaars and markets in the cantonment area and the “Old City”. While most of the younger Pakistani citizens spoke only Pushto or Urdu, many of the older residents had a workable knowledge of English left over from their days under British rule. In spite of spending days searching, I did not find any sign of mineral matter and was quite discouraged...In the meantime my shipment had arrived from Kabul, and I was making plans to return to the US, having already been gone for more than six weeks.
Moving mountains
Qari Saeed-ur-Rehman vividly remembers his first encounter with the minerals that would become the focus of his life. Saeed was eight or nine years old when his father Noor Mehmood pulled out a sack of aquamarine rough that he had collected while working on the construction of the Karakoram Highway. “I was struck by their shine, by their colour, by their beauty,” he recalled last winter, “I knew immediately that the stones held an intrinsic value.” It was the early 1960s and as the second of Noor Mehmood’s nine sons, a young and respectful Saeed could do little more than quietly watch as his father gave the gem rough to his eldest son, Ahmad Sirag, to sell at the market in Gilgit.
As he completed his studies in Lahore and then Peshawar, Saeed held the image of that aquamarine in the back of his mind. A decade later when he saw a pile of gem rough in one of Peshawar’s shops, the memory of his father’s stones returned, and Saeed knew that he wanted to make his living in the gemstone market. Having completed his studies and been granted the title Qari (a designation for those who learn the Holy Quran by rote), Saeed returned to his home in Doian (Diamar district, Northern Areas) in 1972 and began to inquire about the stones that his father had found along the highway.
His family was shocked by his decision to pursue a career in gemstones. Qari explained, “They had never heard of such an occupation and thought that it must be some sort of crime. In fact the most difficult obstacle that I had to overcome in the beginning was explaining to people what I was doing — they just assumed it was wrong.”
In the years that followed, Qari was regularly shunned by local residents as he travelled around the Northern Areas inquiring about local gem deposits. In 1973, he went to Hunza to meet a relative who was working there as a government geologist. The geologist gave Qari some garnets but not much encouragement.
With a chance meeting in Rawalpindi, however, Qari’s fortune began to shift. On a visit to the city in 1976, he met Khudayar, a man from Dassu Haramosh. Qari persuaded Khudayar to travel home to Dassu to buy stones. One month later, Khudayar met Qari in Peshawar with two kilogrammes of aquamarine rough piled in a sheet. Qari was thrilled. Without hesitation, he paid Khudayar’s asking price of 11,000 rupees (about US $250) for the lot. Khudayar disappeared, and Qari began to look for a buyer for his stones.
Canvassing Peshawar’s market with his fresh wares, Qari found himself blackballed by the other gem dealers, who were unwilling to allow a new competitor into the market, He began to realize that he had probably overpaid for his precious stash. After a year, Qari enlisted the help of a broker in Peshawar. The broker phoned a jeweller in Rawalpindi and inquired as to whether the jeweller had a few kilograms of aquamarine rough for a buyer that was coming to town. The jeweller assured the broker that he could get the stones. The jeweller then phoned Qari, who sold his lot of aqua to the jeweller in Rawalpindi for 14,000 rupees!
News of Qari’s sale ripped through Peshawar’s market and made him an instant celebrity. The other gem dealers began to accept him, and Khudayar magically reemerged. Each summer, Qari travelled, often on foot, throughout the Northern Areas to buy gemstones. Qari was berated in the mountains by superstitious residents, who warned him of the peril that comes to those who deal with stones; he heard stories of dealers who took stones to sell, but never returned with the promised proceeds; and most disturbing to Qari were the people that he met who were desperate for money but were unwilling to work. In spite of the PR problems, both his business and confidence experienced steady growth.
By 1979, when Qari first met Herb Obodda in Namik Mandi, he was already well-established in Peshawar’s gemstone market. Qari was nevertheless enormously influenced by “Obodda”, whom he credits with teaching him the value of minerals as specimens — knowledge that would change the focus of his business and the course of his life.
Excerpted with permission from
Pakistan Minerals, Mountains & Majesty
Contributions by C.R. Beesley, Dudley Blauwet, Erich Draganitis, Si and
Ann Frazier, Tyler Funk
Translated by Gunther Neumeier and Alfredo Petrov
Lapis International, LLC Natural History Publications, Post Office Box 263, East Hampton, Connecticut 06424 USA.
Tel: 1.860.267.1512
Website: www.lapisint.com
ISBN 0-971 5371-4-3
96pp. Price not listed
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