36 – Ria
The stewardess refilled my lemonade and asked if I wanted chicken curry or vegetable pasta. I went for the pasta because I don't even want to imagine the amount of hormones and drugs they pump chickens with
"Are you visiting relatives in Pakistan?" the man sitting next to me asked.
"No, I'm visiting a friend." Do I really look like I have family in Pakistan or was that just a random question to start a conversation?
"Is he your boyfriend?" he blatantly asked.
"No, just a friend," I replied.
"Are you married?" he continued.
I thought about it for a while and imagined a world where that would be an appropriate question to ask someone a minute after meeting them. "Well, something like that. It's complicated, I don't want to talk about it." I replied while starting to imagine what was waiting for me when I arrived.
He didn't talk to me again for the rest of the flight. Come to think of it, this was probably the first time someone asked me if I was married. I suddenly felt old. Even though I'm almost twenty-five, I could probably pass as an eighteen or nineteen-year-old if I wanted to, so everyone at home assumes I am too young to be married.
Marriage hasn't really crossed my mind yet, why did he have to ask me that? Now I can't help but ask myself if I ever will get married.
I just got into a last-minute flight with two pictures of chickens in my purse to go to see a random guy I met online. Who would want to marry someone like me? Everyone in Pakistan I guess. The prospect of it frightened me but I decided to play it cool and act as if I knew what I was doing.
While looking at the white clouds floating beside us, I thought of mom and how I wished she was here with me now. Sleep took over me and I woke up just as we were about to land at the Islamabad International Airport. I fastened my seat belt and enjoyed the view.
Some passengers started to applaud as the plane landed. I was still thinking about marriage. Imagine if I married someone, flew somewhere together and found out they are the kind of person who claps when the plane lands. He would have to be extremely funny, kind, good-looking and also a billionaire for me to overlook that.
The plane finally stopped and the passengers stood up and started collecting their belongings. I followed them and then the thought struck me. I am in Pakistan. "What did I get myself into?" I asked myself as I descended from the plane.
37 - Peter
The driver took me to a really nice hotel, maybe too nice for my budget. Nevertheless, I walked in with him, allowing him to carry my small three-kilogram bag, that way the receptionist would see him bringing in a new customer so he can get his commission. I paid the twenty-five dollars room charge with my credit card and he proceeded to wait outside in his car so that when I go to my room, he can come in and collect his money from the receptionist.
Twenty-five dollars is a lot in Pakistan considering the average wage is less than a dollar an hour, but my back was still sore after spending the last two nights sleeping in the front seat of a truck and in the hard-cold ground respectively so I could definitely use a good night's sleep whatever the price I had to pay.
The receptionist handed me a key and showed me to my room which was on the second floor. I noticed there was a computer in the lobby so I asked him if I could use it to check my emails. It had been almost a week since I wrote to my parents.
I left my bag in the room and headed downstairs. There were ten new emails in my inbox, and among them were two from my friend Ria. I couldn't help but open the first one. She didn't write anything though, she copied the details from a plane ticket issued by a travel agency from Vancouver to Islamabad. I guess this is her way to say she would be coming here after all.
The email had been sent a few hours ago. According to the arrival time and adjusting for the time difference, she would be arriving here in about twenty hours from now. I wondered why she didn't write anything. Am I supposed to pick her up from the airport? Or is she just informing me that she'll be visiting Pakistan? Either way, I couldn't believe she was coming here. I know I shouldn't get my hopes up for an empty email with a flight ticket attached but I couldn't help but feel my heart racing inside my chest.
I opened Google Maps and checked the distance between the hotel and the airport in Islamabad. It's a six-hour drive. That means that if I go to sleep now I can catch the first bus early in the morning and pick her up there tomorrow afternoon.
My parents wrote to me saying they had gone to my place and everything was alright there, that they were glad to know I was having fun and were proud of me for being so brave and come to this dangerous place by myself. Dangerous, really? I think I've never in my life felt as safe as I did in Pakistan.
There was a reply from Mr. Hamza as well. He wrote he was glad to hear I would be coming to Pakistan and to let him know when my flight will arrive at Islamabad airport. He was assuming I'd be flying there. Seeing as I had to go to the airport anyway to pick up Ria, I might as well tell him I'd be arriving tomorrow at half-past two in the afternoon.
Ria's flight would arrive at three p.m., so that gives me half an hour to talk to Hamza and explain that I'm actually there to pick up a friend. I don't think he'll mind. But also, I barely know the guy so I really shouldn't worry too much. If he's there tomorrow we could hang out, I guess he wants to show us around the city or something and if he isn't, I'll just hang out with Ria. And if Ria is not there I'll hang out with Hamza and if neither of them is there I'll just hit the road alone and do what I've been doing 'til now.
When I returned to my room, Hailey was sitting in my bed.
38 - Hamza
Ahmed smells like curry powder and cheap cologne. He served me a plate of rice with potato curry he had made himself; sharing a meal was the way we had to catch up with each other without the need to speak. When we were done eating, he took a piece of paper from inside a drawer on the shelf behind him and handed it over to me without uttering a single word. He then took our dishes to the kitchen where he washed and dried them before setting the kettle on the stove to prepare mix spiced tea as he usually did.
I inspected the paper. It was a freshly printed article from an online newspaper, the headline was: 'German traveler goes missing in Pakistan.' When I read it, I felt my breath running out. There was a sudden, sharp pain in my stomach and I had to make a conscious effort to keep myself from vomiting.
The article was about a young German guy I delivered last month. He was your typical German. Witty, polite, well-spoken and cautious. He told me how this trip was a graduation present from his parents for finishing his Abitur, which is the way he referred to high school. He didn't suspect a thing until the last moment when he offered some last-minute resistance after I introduced him to my "Chinese friend" that was supposed to take him "sightseeing" at the other side of the border. We got paid for him as usual, so I just assumed everything had gone well after I completed my delivery.
Ahmed came back with the tea, sat in front of me and kept quiet, gauging my reaction. I folded the article in half and set it on the table next to the teapot.
"How was Canada?" he asked while having a sip of tea.
"Canada was splendid," I replied, relieved he didn't comment on the article; apparently, he just wanted me to be aware of what had happened but didn't think it was worth discussing it. "I also spent a week in the States. How has everything been around here?" I chatted back, instantly regretting saying this as it could lead to him mentioning the article.
"Things are good. I have something for you." he opened the drawer once again. This time he took out a handgun. "The boss wants us to use these ones from now on. They are light, reliable and untraceable," he said, setting it on the table next to the teapot. "I know you don't like guns, I'm just telling you what the boss instructed. If you don't want it, I could hide it here and tell him you took it," he suggested, pouring himself a second cup of tea.
I do dislike guns indeed but it was the first time the boss was asking something from me. I've never even met the boss before, nor do I want to. Ahmed is the boss for me and he's someone I trust. He gets the orders and passes them on to me. Things are good this way.
"I've also got something for you," I told him, taking the gun and hiding it in my belt. I took my phone and showed him the exchange of emails I had with Peter. He frowned while holding the phone close to his nose trying to read the small letters on it.
"It says here he should be arriving tomorrow, is that right?" he asked while handing me back the phone.
"That's right."
Ahmed covered his mouth with his right hand and started stroking his beard from top to bottom like he did when he was thinking about something.
"That means we should leave tonight," he said with a smile while stroking his beard on the sides with both of his hands.
"That's right. We should take my car."
We both knew it's always safer to deliver the merchandise every time in different rental cars as an extra layer of precaution, so in case the town folk start talking, they wouldn't be able to pinpoint any specific vehicle, and even if they did, it will be returned after the job is done and no one will see it around here ever again.
Ahmed went to take a shower to ready himself for the trip. It's probably just a coincidence but in all the years I've known Ahmed, this was the first time I've known him to take a shower. He's not a dirty person, but he's a big guy and big guys tend to sweat more than their thinner counterparts.
I wish I could tell Ahmed he sweats a lot and smells bad. I wish I could tell him about the German girl I banged at the airport before coming. I wish I could tell him I'm getting sick and tired of this job. I wish I could tell him how I'd love for us to be normal friends without having to deal with all the organ snatching and people-smuggling affair.
39 - Peter
"You shouldn't be here," said Hailey. She stood up and walked towards me. This time she didn't have any books or a backpack with her, just her clothes, the same blue tracksuit and sneakers I had seen her vanish with about two weeks ago from my parents' dining room. Her hair looked exactly the same way as it did back then.
"I shouldn't be where?"
She went back to the bed and sat in the same spot she was sitting before I walked into the room. She then stood up a second time.
"Here in Pakistan, you shouldn't be here, you should go back to India or to America." Her eyes went from the door to the window and then to me, as if she were afraid of someone bursting in and finding her there.
"But I just got here," I told her. She looked at me as if she wanted to say something. Letting out a sigh, she looked at the bedroom door. A gust of wind hit the window from outside. "It's a second floor, no one will climb the wall, there's nothing to worry about," I said, hoping that would help her relax. I approached the bed and sat next to her.
She stood up, walked towards the door and said: "Wait here." Exiting the room, she closed the door behind her.
I waited for about half an hour, occasionally looking out the window and opening the door to check the hallway. She was nowhere to be found. Another half-hour went by. I went to the reception downstairs and asked the receptionist if he had seen a Western girl entering or leaving the hotel. He was confused by my question and only got more confused when I began to describe Hailey's appearance to him.
I checked the hallways but there weren't any footprints, security cameras or anything that could help me figure out where she went. I checked the window but there was no ladder or any way she could have climbed up the wall.
I stayed awake for a few more hours but Hailey didn't come back. I brushed my teeth and intended to set my alarm to five o'clock when I remembered I didn't have any alarm, so I went back downstairs and asked the receptionist to be so kind to wake me up. Before saying good night, I asked him what time it was, and he said it was a bit after midnight.
Laying in the hard bed, I seriously considered the possibility that it was all a dream, that Hailey had never set a foot in the room, and I had made the whole thing up in my mind. At five in the morning, the receptionist knocked on my door to wake me up. I took a quick cold shower, gave him back the key and asked a rickshaw driver parked near the entrance to take me to the bus station.
"Where are you going?" he asked me when we reached the bus station. I told him I was going to Islamabad. He got off the vehicle and walked me to the ticket counter where they sold the bus tickets to the capital. There was no line to buy the tickets, instead, there was a big crowd of people surrounding the ticket counter, shouting and pushing each other.
"Wait here," my driver said, just like Hailey had told me the night before. He used his elbows and shoulders to make his way through the crowd and bought a bus ticket for me. He then walked me to the bus and refused to accept money for the ticket or the ride. I was taken aback, that would have never happened in India.
The bus ride was noisy, stuffed and bumpy. Not having a watch had its benefits, I didn't need to worry about what time I would be arriving, or what time or day of the week it was. All I needed to know was that when night came I needed to go to sleep and when the sun arose I needed to get up, that's all.
From the bus station I took a cab to the airport and when it arrived, I sat down on the hard floor to wait for Hamza or Ria to arrive. People were looking at me; they waved back when I waved at them and smiled using the same head-wobble I had learned in India.
40 - Ria
This was my third time in Asia. The first one was when I was ten years old and Mom took me to meet my distant relatives in Chengdu for the first time. The thing I remember about that trip was that a lot of old people were saying "Hello. How are you?" to me in a louder than normal tone. I remember some particularly strong smells on the street and I remember feeling so scared I was afraid to let go of Mom's hand and getting lost in that strange place. I held her hand most of the time during that trip.
The second time was a five-week trip with Gwen to visit Japan and Korea as a graduation gift for ourselves when we finished high school. We didn't really get along with the rest of the class so we decided to spend it just the two of us. It was the first time we had traveled somewhere so far away on our own. That in itself was enough to trigger that tingling sensation in our stomachs.
At first, it was supposed to be a three-week trip around Japan but Gwen got drunk and we somehow ended up on a ferry to Korea with a homeless-looking Japanese salaryman we were drinking sake with at an Izakaya bar somewhere in the Osaka Namba area. The man could barely walk but he still proposed we all go to Korea for holidays. Gwen cheered "Yes! Let's go to Korea!" and for some reason, the three of us left the bar and got onto the next ferry to Korea together. Gwen and the guy passed out on and slept like babies during the twenty-hour ferry ride.
I dozed off while keeping an eye on my alcoholic friend to make sure she was still sleeping next to me. When we arrived in Korea I exchanged some money on the ferry (and purposely lost sight of the Japanese guy because he was too weird, childish and awkward). I had enough with having to babysit one drunk person, two was more than I could handle.
As we got off the ferry in Busan, Gwen woke up but didn't say a word. She grabbed my arm and walked clumsily clinging on to me as she had done countless times before back in Vancouver. She was seemingly unaware that we weren't in Japan anymore, and I decided not to tell her, out of sheer curiosity, to see how long it would take her to figure it out. We followed the rest of the passengers to see where they went. She had the face of a sleepy child unable to open their eyes the next morning. She still looked cute though, to a stranger she probably looked like she was just drowsy after a long ferry ride and not like she had downed two bottles of sake by herself a few hours before.
The passengers were splitting up, some were getting into taxis, some were waiting for buses and some just kept walking. We followed the ones who were taking the bus and got on it with them. Getting on a random bus in a strange country dragging my almost unconscious friend just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
Gwen took the window seat, grabbed my hand and opened one eye slightly while closing the other one tight to prevent the light hurting her sensitive eyes. After looking out the window and around the bus, she finally turned to me and asked: "Why are we in Korea?"
I didn't really have a good answer for her, so I replied: "We have to be somewhere, right?"
"True," she said while looking out the window, still unable to completely open her left eye.
We got off the bus at the last stop but there was nothing there, just a residential area with some street food markets and convenience stores. We bought two beers and some Korean snacks that looked suspiciously similar to Japanese tempura. We sat at a park and drank while watching people pass by and laughed about how weird it was to be in Korea, so far away from home and without a plan or place to spend the night.
I don't remember exactly what happened next but I believe we somehow ended up getting drunk and stealing a motorbike which we used to go around the country. Or maybe we didn't steal it, maybe someone lent it to us, but we couldn't speak much Korean at the time so it's very likely that we stole it. I had taught myself to read and write Korean in three hours some months ago thinking it may come in handy someday and Gwen knew some phrases she had learned watching Korean dramas. She knew the numbers and could manage to ask for the prices and directions.
With my lack of vocabulary and her lack of written knowledge, we could get along just fine. I knew how to read something out loud but didn't know what it meant and she could speak some but couldn't read.
That way we drove during the day and in the evenings, we would enjoy a cold beer and massage at a local jimjilbang in some random village, soaking in the hot springs, surrounded by breathtaking landscapes, bright stars and the sense that we had become women. We had finished high school, we were adults now and we were doing just that, being grown-ups and enjoyed being free and independent.
As we were about to fly out of Korea we got held by customs officers because we had apparently forgotten to get our entry stamps on the way out of the ferry. We apologized and showed our ferry tickets. They called our embassy and everything was OK in the end.
When I got past the arrival gate at Islamabad International Airport, there was just one foreigner waiting among the locals for passengers to arrive. It was Peter.