I awoke the next morning knowing that this would be our last day in Pakistan. I was able to visit almost everyone, except my mother's two brothers and their families. They lived just on the outskirts of Lahore and my cousin told me that the roads there were not fully developed. I didn't want to risk travelling more than an hour outside the city so I told them if they wanted to visit me, they knew where to find me. They never came. So much for that.
By the third week of our trip, we were exhausted by the visits, the travelling, the people, the food and honestly, by the hustle and bustle of Pakistan itself. I knew personally coming here would not be a vacation. But what I did know was that we would never forget this experience.
I saw a hop, skip and a jump in the girls that day as they busied themselves with packing and last minute preparations for our departure. There were no complaints about loadshedding that day and they ate their meals as if they were famished. Good, their appetite was coming back. I tried to subdue my excitement so not to upset the relatives who were clearly sad we were leaving. I was sad for the same reason but on a different level - I knew I wasn't coming back. This was the last time I would see my blood relatives, most of whom were old and talking about their pending demise.
My father's sister and brother and my mother's sister and daughter were slated to come by that evening to say farewell. They wanted us to visit them but I told them we were exhausted. The younger twin, who hated being in Pakistan, was under the weather. Throughout the trip, she complained incessantly about everything without holding back. Her homesickness was real but turned into many ailments.
"My head hurts but in my nose, this mosquito bite looks like a spider bit me, I am going to faint in this heat, please release the monkey from the streets, the butter tastes funny here, why does my room smell of mothballs, why did we eat Buckaa and Buckoo, why does Pakistani TV only show depressing news clips....'and so on and so forth. It was a constant droning of complaints and near the end of our trip, I think she exhausted herself by her own ramblings.
I quickly jumped in the shower before the 2pm loadshedding. Our particular bathroom had no tub and a shower stall surrounded only on one side by a curtain. There was a drain in the middle of the floor to allow the excess water to flow down into. After I dressed and was brushing my teeth, I felt something land on top of my foot. I thought it was the edge of the towel but I didn't remember it being so long. When I looked down, a cockroach, about three inches long, was resting comfortably. I screamed and flung my foot, torpedoing the insect into the door. It landed on the floor, making its way back to me. I jumped on the counter (don't remember how), leaned over, opened the door and yelled for my husband. He was in the bedroom, lying on the bed, completely oblivious to my screams. Instead, his ten year old cousin came bounding up the stairs, hearing the commotion from downstairs, ready for action. I was already on the stairs shoving him towards the washroom, describing the alien that had taken over. At first, his eyes popped out when I told him the size and he refused to enter. I looked in the bedroom and my husband continued to lay still, on the bed, not attempting to get up and assist. "Cockroaches don't bite," he calmly explained as I told him that my life was in jeopardy and the only man in the room lay with disregard. The cousin stood in the doorway and demanded a shoe. I grabbed my husband's large sandle. "Here, use this. If he won't kill it then at least use something of his that will!" My husband began to protest but when he saw me holding the sandle, he figured he would get it before the cockroach. His cousin took the sandle and nearly jumped ten feet in the air when he saw the cockroach approaching the border of the bathroom and bedroom. The execution commenced with a caveman-like yell and followed by an exaggerated swoop of the arm that slapped the sandle down on top of the illegal alien. I heard a crunch and there it lay, flattened like a pancake. A wave of nausea suddenly hit me and remembered Buckaa and Buckoo. These weekly sacrifices were not for me.
I had packing to do but I refused to enter the bedroom until someone took out the dead cockroach. It took two hours deciding who was going to remove it. Everything in Pakistan was a big deal -- from what to eat for lunch to deciding who sat on who in the five seater Corolla. The cockroach extermination was no exception.
Our relatives came that evening, bearing many gifts. I sat next to my mother's sister with my head on her shoulder. She looked so much like my mother who I had lost at age 18. My strongest connection to my mother was her older sister. My mother was the youngest of six children - the baby in the family. When she got married and left Pakistan for Canada in 1969, it was a big deal. No one wanted her to leave and back then, you went where your husband took you. Her death sent the family reeling and sympathizing for their baby sister, who lived a sad, remote life in Canada. But that's another story. I wanted my kids to meet their maternal grandmother's family. She was the piece that had been missing since their birth, and I wanted them to see the full puzzle. They called my aunt
"Nani" in place of my mother and they received so much love from her. It was that night she told me her brush with the violence in Pakistan.
This incident had occured a month before we arrived. She was walking just outside her home and was stopped, at gunpoint, by a lone thief. "Give me all your jewellery," he demanded while pointing the gun in her face. It was then he realized she was wearing no gold. "You have no jewellery? You are useless!" And with that, he took off down the street. This was in broad daylight, with people passing by on foot and in cars, and no one attempted to stop him. She laughed when she recounted the story to me. As long as I knew her, she was always smiling and laughing. I shook my head in dismay but she held my hand and said, "This is life here in Pakistan. When you return home, pray for your family and our country." And with that one statement, she had released me from the binds of Pakistan.
When you return HOME, pray for OUR country. My identity crisis was over.
As we hugged everyone goodbye, there were many tears but I said goodbye with dry eyes. I knew I was seeing them for the last time but my emotions were suspended. I felt zombie-ish. I didn't know what I was feeling - exhaustion or impending doom. My only concern now was making it to the airport and out of the country.
