My fellow citizens never fail to give me fire and fuel to spit out. For everyone who knows me, I have very strong opinions, views and ambitions. And I have always been very fiery about defending Pakistan – in every way. I returned yesterday from Germany, where I represented Pakistan at a political philosophy training workshop ‘Chances and Challenges of Liberalism’. I was loud and outspoken for the rights of Pakistanis and the needs and requirements of this country. Being amongst 23 different nationalities I felt prouder and extremely patriotic, for the need of a better word. Also, considering current news (or any news), I had much to talk about.

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Through countless misconducts, harassments, cheats, pinchers, liars, corrupt people, I have found that my love for the soil has remained fervent, whereas my love for the people continues to diminish. I seem to find more and more events that slap me in the face and say ‘ the cause is right, the people might not be’. 

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I landed yesterday on the crack of dawn at the Karachi airport. Complaining about the 2 hour customs line at the foreign passport counter that I was standing in (the other line moved just fine – damn the green grass on the other side), the bored and lazy airport staff that seemed to be on morphine, and the general chaotic situations seems futile and something which is to be expected with travelling and I tried ingesting it. I was extremely tired and annoyed with the constant delays of my connecting flights because apparently Pakistanis find it highly amusing to get their boarding passes and then get lost at the Dubai duty free and subject us retards, who make the flight on time, of 2 hours of waiting in the suffocating plane and unbelievable passenger farts. It also wasn’t enjoyable being devoured by the lecherous eyes and gestures of the men who were going to board with me, and apparently thought I was part of the free meal. Now in Karachi, I was on the verge of missing my connecting flight to Lahore due to the events that followed. I’m not complaining about standard airport drivel but it sure was helping fill my cup to the brim.

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No, what really pissed me off was that when I made it to the conveyor belt to get my luggage. I saw a whole commotion going on with the Dubai-return mazdoors (labourers) standing on (yes ON) the conveyor belt fighting, hitting each other, and tearing open bags and boxes and ‘claiming’ things that they said the other mazdoors had stolen. Amidst the chaos I found my luggage. Now I had to find the beautiful easel that I had bought in Germany, which I paid for by borrowing money from friends because I couldn’t afford it. It had been marked in Hamburg with a red sticker saying FRAGILE (F.R.A.G.I.L.E. for dyslexic people). I found it – the box torn open and the pieces lying scattered all over the terminal floor. Apparently it had arrived from the plane like that and apparently it was just flung all over the floor just because.  As I crouched on my knees and collected the various pieces I didn’t know what to do with my anger and frustration. It was like the airport staff was dumb and most definitely deaf because they couldn’t hear me when I asked them about who’s damn responsibility this was. No they didn’t hear a word and walked on, probably trying to look for their hearing aids or maybe their brains.  

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Fuming and tired and hungry and frustrated, I maintained some sort of decorum and made my way to Emirates mishandled-luggage office where I was subjected to humiliation and told it was my fault (?) and the packing was rubbish, and that I didn’t work in an airlines so I couldn’t comment about procedures (really, do you have to work at Emirates to know that destroying luggage, especially that marked fragile, is not really a smart idea), and that I should basically shut up and leave. The stingy, mean cheap ass didn’t sign any form for claim, didn’t give me the right information and to my comment that the Germans are efficient enough to know what luggage is safe for travelling or not, implied in not so many words that I had a white-man’s slave mentality. 

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It may seem like I’m over-reacting and that it’s only broken baggage. But it’s always been just that. Broken baggage. For every step that we take our baggage gets broken and then we are made to feel like it’s our fault. For every time we try to make sure we’re secure, and we do the right thing and safeguard our interests with little red stickers, someone comes and walks all over us and lets us deal with it. Because we all always deal with it. And we are wrong for accepting and moving on. 

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This is not about a snotty, patronizing girl who’s complaining about airport problems while people are worrying about their next meal. This is about the attitude. We don’t respect ourselves and we don’t feel the need to extend this respect to the person next to us. At the airport, in public transport, on the streets, in the police stations, in the parliaments, in the courtrooms – there is no respect.  

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This then was my welcome home to a country I defend with every breath I take. And it makes me wonder, do I fight for the soil alone, because I’m repulsed by the actions of the people that walk it.