Sabzkani misadventure
Some ruined cities are hard to get out of one’s mind
By Salman Rashid
It was in Jhal Magsi (Balochistan) back in September 2003 that I met Nawaz Bugti the geologist. Working for an oil and gas company, Nawaz and his mates had just returned from a prospecting trip deep inside the Khirthar Mountains and I was freewheeling thanks to the good Amir Magsi. There in a narrow valley, Nawaz and his team had camped near some ruins. Acquainted with my work and taking me for some sort of an expert, Nawaz showed me his pictures on the laptop.

"I was the first Pakistani on this island", claimed Qaiser as we left the ferry from Piraeus and stepped on the shores of Salamina. "Now 300 Pakistanis live here, but I have moved to Athens, across the strait", he continued as I cast a cursory first glance at the island.

I had been informed earlier by Qaiser that Salamina was a small island and quite close to Athens, lying just two kilometres off-coast from Piraeus. The ferry had not taken more than 10 minutes in crossing the dark waters between mainland Greece and Salamina and majority of the commuters had not even left their cars that stood parked inside it.

Qaiser had been asking me to visit him in Keratsini, south east of Piraeus, for months and, as an incentive, had been promising to take me to Salamina. Now I was on Salamina with Qaiser and Vaso, Qaiser’s Greek mother, and finding nothing remarkable about the island was wondering why Qaiser had taken me there. Soon I found out that Qaiser had spent his initial years in Greece on Salamina and wanted to show where and how he had spent his initial years. I had met Qaiser and his Greek family over two years back when he was assisting Pakistani businessmen who had arrived in the northern Greek city of Thessaloniki for an international trade fair. I had found him to be an energetic and lively person. Since then, we had remained in irregular contact till that sunny day in late September when I had lunched with his family at their top floor apartment in Keratsini and then accompanied him down memory lane in Salamina.

Salamina is a small island, even by Greek standards, and is rocky, dusty and largely rural. Like all other Greek regions and localities, Salamina too has a bit of history to offer. It is best known for the Battle of Salamis, the decisive naval victory of the allied Greek fleet, led by Themistocles, over the Persian Empire in 480 BC. It is also said to be the birthplace of Ajax, the legendary king of Salamis island, and also Euripides, a tragedian and playwright from the 5th century BC, whose birth is popularly placed on the day of the Battle of Salamis. Recently, Dr Yannos Lolos has led an archaeological team from the University of Ioannina to make a series of fascinating discoveries on the island. These include location of a cave dedicated to Euripides as well as a Mycenaean settlement at Kanakia in the south of the island.

I found life on the island leisurely and unhurried, a far cry from the teeming and gleaming metropolis visible just across the strait with rows and rows of white, glistening apartment blocks. "Drivers from Salamina find it difficult to drive in Athens," remarked Qaiser as he drove on a rural road winding past unkempt fields dotted with summer homes owned by Athenians. Our destination was Vaso’s family summer home in the village of Kaki Vigla.

Kaki Vigla was where Qaiser had found his first job in Greece, sometime back in 1996. Hailing from Jand Wali, a village in district Sheikhupura, son of a village shop owner who had four other sons and six daughters, he was a student of Grade 8 at Government High School Khanqah Dogran when a visit to Iran in 1994 with some friends had developed in him an interest in going abroad. One year later, he left his home (and studies) again, this time for good. With visas for Iran, Turkey and Cyprus stamped on his passport and USD2000, borrowed by his family, in his pocket, he left his village with the aim to go to the UK to play cricket. Travelling by bus and train, he was in Turkey within a month. Once there, he was left with no legal way to go any further into Europe.

"In Turkey, I met a Pakistani agent who arranged Albanian visas for 100 people and took the group by ship to Albania via Cyprus," Qaiser explained, "and for that service he charged me and my friend $2700."

But, according to Qaiser, the group did not enter Albania legally (he could not satisfactorily explain why not) and, once there, the group dispersed in search of a better life in Europe.

Qaiser himself spent nearly nine largely incommunicado months in Albania, at times hiding in villages, at others in the custody of law enforcement officials who kept on reminding him that they would deport him. But eventually it was one such official who took him close to the Greek border in October 1995 and pointed him the way across.

Once in Greece, he spent another eight months in the Athenian suburb of Nikaia without work before meeting one Kiriakos Poutos in the local vegetable market who took him to the island of Salamina.

Kiriakos was a landowner on the island and asked Qaiser to sow his fields spread all over the island and to sell the produce. Qaiser got free food and accommodation as well as 3,000 drachma (around 9 euros) per day for his first job.

Not far from Vaso’s family summer home in Kaki Vigla, where we stood admiring the peace and quiet of the lovely September evening, Qaiser had met Vaso’s daughter, Matina, 9 at the time, who had gone to him to buy tomatoes while the family was spending their summer holidays on the island. Soon Qaiser had become familiar with the entire family, including Grigoris, Vaso’s husband, and Maria, Vaso’s elder daughter, teaching Maria algebra and receiving lessons in Greek language in return.

He, however, found it difficult to hold on to one job, despite getting legal immigration in 1998. He fell out with Kiriakos within a couple of years and thereafter worked, at various times, at a pizza shop, a restaurant, a petrol pump, a souvlaki shop and a factory. He had moved to Athens in 2002 when working in the factory and had started living with Vaso’s family as their "adopted" family member.

We drove away from Kaki Vigla with Qaiser narrating how a resident of the island had constructed his house predominantly using roots of olive trees and stones and how the house had become a tourist attraction. But our destination was H Vigla, a restaurant serving traditional Greek seafood overlooking a secluded cove where Qaiser had spent some time helping its owner Georgos catch fish and then cook and serve it. No far, the typical white and blue church of Aghia Paraskevi glistened in the evening sun as local residents sat on their balconies chatting away time.

Once settled in Athens with Vaso’s family, Qaiser’s knowledge of Greek language brought him in contact with the Pakistan Embassy in 2005 when it searched for interpreters to help Pakistani businessmen displaying their products at the international trade fair in Thessaloniki. Soon after the fair, he landed a contractual job with the Embassy when it hired local Pakistanis to cater to the increased workload due to the 2005 immigration announced by the Greek government. By that time Qaiser had been given the idea by a visiting Pakistani official at the Thessaloniki fair to "do your own work". So when the Embassy dispensed with his services some months later, he got in touch with a couple of businessmen who had visited Thessaloniki. He had initially helped them store their unsold products at his home thereby saving them considerable rental cost.

Not long thereafter, he bought their goods to sell in fairs and exhibitions. Finally he entered into a partnership with a manufacturer of hand-carved furniture from Lahore. Despite losing money for the first couple of years he did not lose heart. His partnership is now profitable and both the partners are now expanding into the sale of hand-knotted carpets, onyx and marble items and ladies’ shawls and scarves at leading trade fairs in Greece.

Besides his business endeavours, Qaiser now works for a leading Greek chain, buying and selling carpets as their "carpet expert" even though when they hired him over a year back, he had "no idea about carpets," he says. Every month now, he sends 200-250 euros to his mother back in the village. His father expired two years ago, and his remittances have helped over the years in arranging the weddings of his siblings. "I am 32 now, and plan to get married in 1-2 years," chuckled Qaiser as he pointed out an empty plot of land on the outskirts of Kaki Vigla where he used to sow tomatoes and cucumbers years ago. A shabbily dressed Pakistani motorcyclist, one of the many Pakistanis who have made the island their home now, drove past and Qaiser waved at him.

By that time dusk was approaching. We took a quick look at that house constructed with olive tree roots, certainly a spectacle, before hurrying back to the port cursing local drivers blocking our attempts to drive past them on narrow, rural roads. "I have led a good life," concluded Qaiser as we boarded the ferry for the short journey back to Piraeus en route to Athens. "My aim now is recognition of Pakistani products in Greece. I have some ideas to do that and will implement them in the next 2 to 3 years. Soon people in Greece will start recognising K2." Qaiser has high hopes for the future. A self-made young man, there are no barriers for him.

Thousands of Pakistanis leave the country through illegal means over the years in search of greener pastures abroad. A large number undertake the treacherous journey across Iran and Turkey aiming to enter Europe for economic betterment. They are unfortunate victims of human trafficking and are currently known to pay anywhere up to one million rupees to get into Europe. However, many don’t even make it. A majority of those who actually do, lead a life of misery in sub-human conditions not known to their families back home. Just a handful in these thousands has a positive tale to narrate. Qaiser was lucky to have found a caring family like Vaso’s to take him in and Qasier maintains that he tries "to reciprocate fully for their kindness". But has been enterprising too, learning Albanian and Greek languages in a short time with the aim of "making his life in Greece, rather than trying to go further ahead (in Europe)" and not losing heart while jumping from job to job. His struggles seem to be bearing fruit 14 years after leaving village.

Email: amsumra@gmail.com

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Rear view of the house built with stone and roots of olive tree.

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(From left to right) Qaiser on land where he sowed seasonal vegetables; The white and blue church of Aghia Paraskevi close to Kaki Vigla.

It was in Jhal Magsi (Balochistan) back in September 2003 that I met Nawaz Bugti the geologist. Working for an oil and gas company, Nawaz and his mates had just returned from a prospecting trip deep inside the Khirthar Mountains and I was freewheeling thanks to the good Amir Magsi. There in a narrow valley, Nawaz and his team had camped near some ruins. Acquainted with my work and taking me for some sort of an expert, Nawaz showed me his pictures on the laptop.

On the dark stony ground, there were foundations and walls strewn in between with tons of dressed stone and flakes. Nawaz said there was also plenty of terra cotta pottery shards, none of which he had collected. The site, said Nawaz, was spread over several acres and even if I only got to see pictures, it was mind-boggling. This was evidently a great city when it lived. At that time, Nawaz could only give me its coordinates (taken on his GPS).

He also told me that because the path follows a stream, I would need an inflatable dingy to negotiate a part of it. Failing that, I would have to climb a high rock wall. By his account, it took the better part of the day to walk from the road head to the site. We kept in touch and Nawaz, now working in the Middle East, was very kind to send me two Google images to show the way.

Now, Nawaz Bugti was mistaken about my credentials: I know nothing about anything. It is because of my great gurus that I can put on pretence of being knowledgeable. This site, I knew even as I saw the pictures on the laptop, was worthy of the expert eye of Dr Saifur Rahman Dar. Not keen on getting my revered guru out in the wilderness and walking, I asked Amir Magsi if it would be possible to arrange at least one camel for Dr Dar to ride on. The chief’s word is law and Amir said that would be no problem.

In Lahore, I described the site to Dr Dar and asked if he would like to come on this exploratory trip. He said yes. Meanwhile, years went by and I could not organise the outing until last March. Having travelled around in Khuzdar and the Mula Valley, I fetched up in Jhal Magsi where Amir’s older brother Khalid kindly put me up and arranged a guide. As it turned out, it was just as well that I had not troubled Dr Dar.

I was to leave Jhal very early, collect my guide at some place in the wilderness that the driver knew and drive out on the road to Khuzdar just south of village Dhori. There, at the mouth of a river valley, we were to leave the jeep and walk westward.

Meanwhile, I had done my homework and from the U-502 map downloaded from the University of Texas website, I knew the distance from the road head to the site that lies in the valley of the Sabzkani stream was about five kilometres one way. That would be two hours of hard walking. The map showed that the site lay in a triangular valley where the Sabzkani met the stream that I would be walking along.

The ‘bodyguard’ (given by Khalid) and I were driven out in pre-dawn darkness to collect our guide, a Marri whose name I forget. We arrived at the rendezvous and waited. The minutes dragged on to an hour until the eastern horizon began to light up. But there was no sign of the good Marri. It was said that he had been telephoned the day before and told to be there. Every now and again, the driver would try to raise the guide on the cell phone. Nothing.

After waiting two hours, I gave up and told my driver to take me to the mouth of the stream I was to walk into. It was just after eight when we got off the jeep and I led my bodyguard into the valley. We made excellent time and in about fifty minutes reached the spot where we would have needed our dingy. I scouted around to see if we could get through, but there seemed to be no way through. My poor bodyguard who had never been in the area kept telling me we should have waited for the Marri. He seemed to be not quite off the mark.

My hurry without the Marri was that in late March, the noon sun is almost vertical. Now, to photograph the kind of ruins we were going to, the sun should ideally be at a low angle so that the site has shadows and highlights. If we were to get there at noon, we would have to wait until three to photograph. That would mean returning to Jhal late in the evening. And that would mean not being able to drive to Sibi that afternoon where other friends were awaiting me for other adventures. In fact, I had cut the whole four-week jaunt so fine that one day lost would have jeopardised the rest of the journey.

Hill walking without a guide can be treacherous. Nonetheless, I decided to climb the wall on our left. Scrabbling up through sparse vegetation, we reached a spot just below the summit of the ridge when my bodyguard said the Marri was on his way. There, about a kilometre behind us, we saw three or four men. It was now after ten o’clock. By my estimate the site was yet over an hour away, so we sat down to wait for our man.

He arrived sweating hard and clearly upset. He had to walk an hour from his village to our rendezvous and we should have waited for him, he scolded. I asked him how much more to the site and he said two hours. That meant we would have to wait three hours before I could photograph. I told the man it was pointless and that we should go back. Marri became frantic. No, the light was good. Everyone takes photographs in this light, he said, and so should I.

Although I never expected the good man to understand, we nevertheless had a little argument about the lousy light we would have over the next few hours. For him pictures were only pictures and he kept insisting we had to, simply had to, get to the place. I knew he was worried about being reprimanded by Khalid for his slackness. As much as I wanted to, I did not want to end up with lousy photographs for one reason: if I had no pictures that would be inducement enough to return to Jhal and again avail of Magsi hospitality. But pictures, even lousy ones, would be the end of my inquiry.

The poor Marri was completely at a loss to comprehend all this. He looked at me as if I was out of my head. We returned the way we had come with the Marri talking earnestly to his friends. I suspected he was telling them I was a crazy old coot and that it would not be such a bad idea to truss me up and haul me kicking and screaming to the ruined city.

It has been nine months since that adventure. Yet I have not been able to get the ruined city out of my head. I keep going back to the satellite pictures sent by Nawaz Bugti and to map sheet number NH 42-13 of the U-502 series. In my mind’s eye I have been to the Sabzkani site so many times, physically I know I will return one day, sooner or later.