EDITOR’S NOTE: Aurora Sentinel reporter Quincy Snowdon is traveling on an exchange visit organized by the International Center for Journalists (ICFJ) as part of a program funded by the U.S. State Department. He’ll be reporting regularly during his adventure.
YESTERDAY IN ISLAMABAD:
ISLAMABAD | For those who haven’t checked the ever-changing carousel of Snapchat filters today, Sept. 21 is World Peace Day.
I took note of that little factoid this morning while groggily framing the Islamabad sunrise on my iPhone. Seeing those two doves wrap around that slowly reddening fireball felt different — somehow more sobering — than I think it would have at my home in west Denver, or my office on East Iliff Avenue in Aurora.
But, I thought, maybe my mind has been infiltrated by the countless geopolitical chats I’ve had with Pakistani and American officials in recent days — discussions that have been peppered with questions about the Taliban, notable terror attacks and the prevalence of extremism in Pakistan. In those talks, I’ve gotten the sense that sometimes, often times, this is a corner of the world where peace can seem elusive. But it’s often at the front of people’s minds.
I was reminded of that last night.
It took about two years, a bunch of Facebook messages and a few thousand miles of air travel, but on Sept. 20, I finally reconnected with Salman Yousafzai, one of the two reporters The Aurora Sentinel hosted as past of an exchange with the International Center for Journalists in 2014. The last time I saw him was at a haunted house in Regatta Plaza for a Halloween story I was covering. Because you know, that’s the kind of hard hitting journalism I do.
About three months later, Salman would be doing some of the bravest journalism I’ve ever encountered. He did some of the earliest reporting on the bomb blast that in December 2014 killed nearly 150 people, 132 of whom were school children, at the Army Public School in Peshawar — Salman’s hometown. Since then, the attack has widely been viewed as a tipping point for extremism in the Khyber Pakhtunkwa province, in Pakistan and in southeast Asia.
A lot has happened in the world, in Pakistan and in Salman’s life since I’d seen him last, and I was eager to chat about his home country in his home country. (Namely, I now know that Peshawar is pronounced Pish-AH-were, not Pesh-war or Pish-aware or any of the other names I’m fairly confident I called his native city in 2014.)
We meet in the lobby of The Serena hotel around 7:30 p.m. — me in a checkered J Crew button-up and he in a black, freshly-pressed shalwar kameez. After exchanging a few pleasantries, and Salman introducing me to his friend, Qayyum, we sit on one of the many couches and chat about what we’ve been doing in the past two years. I’m still writing about many things in the vein of haunted houses and he’s been doing impressive, necessary reporting on crime in Peshawar. A few months ago, he also began to string for Dawn, one of the country’s most respected newspapers. Salman also made a point to say “hello” to David, better known to many Sentinel readers as the Ass Hat, er, Editor Dave Perry. (Hi, Dave.)
Following that brief catch-up, Salman and Qayyum present me with a bag containing a pair of kaptaan chappal sandals, the traditional shoes of his native province. With a strap on the back and a covered toe, what makes them unique is their flat-tipped point. Unfortunately, I wear a size 14, and they’re a size 11. Both Salman and Qayyum frown when I try to squeeze one onto my right foot, my naked heel poking out of the back of the thing like an emerging worm from “Tremors.”
“We take them back and get a bigger size,” Qayyum says matter-of-factly. “If they don’t have, we make special request.”
I convulse with apologies. They squirrel the sandals away, ignoring my protests and confirming that they will find a way to get me a proper Pashtun shoe.
We head to dinner.
After meandering the streets of Islamabad — an adventure that is a wandering verse of chaotic automotive poetry — we arrive in a plaza bathed in neon light thanks to a large sign that reads “Habibi.” My chaperons explain that the owner is from their province, often just called “KP,” and we’re in store for some real Pashtun cuisine.
Pashtun, Pakistani, call it what you want — it was one of the heartiest, most flavorful meals I’ve ever had. Consisting of a main course meat mountain that Salman simply referred to as “platter,” the central dish was essentially a colossal, communal pot teeming with kabobs, ribs, fish, fowl and rice. I’ll be dreaming about it for a while.
During the course of the meal, we talked, of course, about politics — both American and Pakistani, as you do. It didn’t take long to discover that Qayyum is a rather staunch fan of Imran Kahn, the famed cricketer turned politician who gobbles up a healthy share of headlines in most of the established dailies. In my time here, I’ve heard the polarizing politico described as the Pakistani Donald Trump, conservative Bernie Sanders and, perhaps my favorite, a mix of Bill Clinton and Omar Sharif. He’s an absolutely fascinating character.
As only a good reporter can do, Salman was grilling his friend, questioning Qayyum’s positivity that Khan is a clean, non-corrupt politician. The exchange went something like:
“How do you know he’s not corrupt?” Salman asked.
“Because I know” Qayyum retorted.
And so on.
Salman kind of comically shook his head at his friend’s unflinching stances — probably how many Facebookers react to estranged friends who regularly pen exclamation-riddled posts.
When they inevitably ask me about the U.S. election, the air is filled with many of the ubiquitous quandaries, like “How can this guy say these things?” and “It’s crazy.”
And like many befuddled U.S. electors, and as a reporter, I’m forced to shrug and say, “I don’t know.”
Qayyum gives a thumbs up and says “’eelary.”
Much of our conversation steers toward The States after Salman reveals he’s heading to New York and D.C. next month to cover the U.S. election. His perma-smile widens when I ask him about his previous trip to Colorado, and he chuckles when discussing the prevalence of hash oil in the KP and the Centennial State’s attachment to “wheat” (read: weed).
“It’s one thing similar.” he says of his home and mine.
We end the meal with a full belly and some ice cream — for good measure. My bowl held one scoop of mango, and one scoop of some sort of creamy vanilla thing that was sprinkled with pistachio crumbs and drizzled with an unidentifiable red syrup. (That’ll also be entering my dreamscape library.)
We wrap the experience by laying back into our pillows. The pair of Pakistanis make fun of my jeans, acknowledging I can’t fully spread out like they can in their breezy shalwar kameez’s. Salman, with his legs comfortably crossed in front of him, looks content; like someone who’s just accomplished something.
“Move” he says after a few beats. “Let’s move.”
We head to the car, where Salman smokes a cigarette while I fuss with a seatbelt in the back seat. That makes Salman laugh.
“You don’t have to do that” he says. “Only the driver wears this.”
OK.
On our trip back to The Serena fortress, we listen to a song by Naghma, a Pashtun singer who Salman and Qayyum assure me is very pretty. I catch glimpses of Qayyum’s face in the rearview, his eyes closed and bopping to the tunes.
Silence lingers for a while in the car as we pass the rows of government institutions Qayyum had pointed out on the way in, including Parliament, the nearby parliamentarian lodging (which he assured me the politicians have “just for fun”) and the various ministries and embassies speckled across the area.
Qayyum interrupts the silence by bellowing, to my surprise, my name as we approach another police check point.
“Quincy,” he says over the Naghma song. He adds a few more short phrases I can’t quite make out through his accent.
Salman, picking up on my ineptitude, translates.
“We need peace,” he says. “The world just needs peace.”
— QS
PREVIOUS POSTS FROM QUINCY SNOWDON:
• 9/18/16 AURORA TO PAKISTAN: Kashmir collides with life all over India and Pakistan
• 9/17/16 AURORA TO PAKISTAN: Life in a country where fortresses, risk, newspapers and beauty abound
• 9/16/16: AURORA TO PAKISTAN: Saturday — Who pays for reporters from Aurora and Pakistan to trade places
• 9/15/16: AURORA TO PAKISTAN: A reporter’s close look at a complex nation
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Originally from Connecticut, Quincy Snowdon ditched the East Coast about six years ago for Colorado’s thinner air and higher mountains. He’s worked at the Aurora Sentinel in Aurora for two years and something like 68 days (but who’s counting?). He spends most of his days writing about spats on the local board of education and the city’s art scene. But he’s also been known to write about crime, food and the occasional business opening. His likes include climbing up Front Range rock piles, Barilla pasta and getting lost in YouTube worm holes — usually pertaining to bloopers from seasons 3-5 of the American sitcom The Office. His dislikes include deadlines, people who refuse to provide their last names and spotty WiFi connections.