shoulder and we seemed to be just 20 minutes from landing in Karachi. I forced myself to awaken quickly and started to go through the issues we might expect in Karachi. I got out our passports, filled in the immigration cards, and checked that indeed we were booked into the Sheraton hotel and that I had the on forwarding tickets from Karachi to Islamabad. All seemed good and I felt ready for the adventure to begin, though I really wanted to stay on this plane … forever. The food and service were so good I thought that perhaps I should become a permanent international business class passenger, though the practicalities of this might have been a concern. Finally, the aircraft tyres screeched again and there we were, in Pakistan.
ooOoo
For those of you who have been in this part of the world, you might understand how the situation might be, though in 1991 I can assure you it was much worse. The current Karachi airport was first opened in January 1994 and as this was still early 1991, we arrived to the old airport which was horrible. Jude and I said farewell to the Qantas crew and walked down the steps to an awaiting bus. It was old and dirty even though this was the business class bus. We arrived in the airport to join in with the crowding of hundreds of Pakistanis and others in similar clothing. All of them were shoving and pushing in huge groups, as they waved their passports and tried to force their way to be served by the immigration officers. No ‘stay behind the yellow line’ culture was given here. Well, I thought, nothing ventured, nothing gained, as I told Jude to stay right behind me and I joined the maddening throng. After what seemed an eternity, I managed to get our passports up to the immigration officer who was sweating profusely and seemed to also be having a bad day. Eventually we got through as the immigration officer violently stamped our passports, which were green ‘official’ Australian passports even though this had zero positive effect on the large sweating man. Then it was off to collect our bags. I wrestled with several other men to get hold of two rickety trolleys on which to load our several bags. The UN had given me additional money for extra baggage and Jude and I had five large suitcases, two of which were monsters and extremely heavy. I think we used all the extra baggage allowance as we were told our shipment may take several weeks to arrive in country and yet we still would have to live somehow. So we packed everything we could to take on the aircraft with us.
At the luggage turnstiles the locals seemed to permeate every spare piece of space as they pushed to get closer to the turnstiles. It was chaotic and totally inefficient as they not only blocked the vision of passing bags, but even they couldn’t swing off a bag and get it back to their trolley as just too many people were forced forward. After at least 20 minutes or more, I spied a couple of our bags and used my elbows and knees to get to them and bring them back to the trolleys. No one seemed to mind as I jostled and pushed others away. Finally, we got all the bags on the two trolleys and pushed our way towards the customs area. I looked at Jude and she had that grim determination look on her face and I knew she was OK, though I was still a little concerned as she was five months or more pregnant at the time. Everyone just seemed to walk through the customs check areas without concern or without being checked, so Jude and I did likewise. However, just then, a giant of a man came alongside me and said in excellent English, “Good evening sir and welcome to Pakistan. Please come over to the bench so that I might inspect your luggage.” I pushed our two green, official passports up to his face expecting to be released from his control, to which he just grabbed them, turned our first trolley away to the benches and that was that. Jude and I had to open each bag and then repack them after he lifted most of the items out and feigned interest. It took at least another 20 minutes to go through all the bags, even as I noticed hundreds of local Pakistanis walk directly by and out of the airport. As I closed the last bag, I was not a happy chappy! But, I kept my cool and we were allowed to pass. We then walked ominously towards the exit doors to the outside. From my travel pack sent to me a few weeks before, we were to expect to see a driver standing just outside the exit doors with a sign saying ‘Sheraton - Membrey’ on it. Yet, what Jude and I saw when we exited the concourse doors was something far different.
There in front of us was a sea of humanity with what seemed to be the entire population of the Sindh Province surging forward and grasping at us. The various signs being held up seemed to be in the local Urdu script and none appeared to have anything that remotely looked like ‘Membrey’. The crowding and jostling combined with the overbearing heat was incredible. It was almost 7 pm and yet the heat was palpable. Surely it must have been somewhere near 40 degrees Celsius.
Jude and I were amazed and perhaps a little in shock at the scenes now surrounding us. I called back to her over the deafening dull roar of the crowd, to keep her hands on her handbag. She yelled back, “You take care of your backpack!” With that, I looked down onto my trolley and the backpack wasn’t there. My brain revolted as I thought of the passports, cash, credit cards and travel authorities all missing. But then, almost at the same instant, I felt something on my back and I suddenly remembered I had put my backpack were it belonged. I was relieved but clearly it was not safe on my back, so I swung it down and onto my chest. The crowd was swarming and men kept grabbing my arm and yelling at me, asking if I wanted a taxi or needed a hotel. I kept my concentration and pushed forward with scant regard to any in front of me, and I could feel Jude’s trolley scrapping at my heels. After a minute or so we seemed to break free of the maddening crowd and although there were still hundreds of people running and walking back and forth, at least we could get together and hear each other talk. I said to Jude that we needed to find the Sheraton driver and that she should stay here with the trolleys and I would take just a few minutes to look and see if I could find him. Jude stared at me with her former military eyes and said plainly and without an expectation of a reply, “You are not leaving me here alone. We’ll both find him.” I had nothing more to say about that, and so we both moved off towards the parking area that seemed to be a likely place for the hotel taxis to be. We moved along the still crowded walkway until we came across a set of concrete stairs that rose up to the second floor where it appeared airport management offices were located. I stopped at the bottom of the steps and left the trolleys with Jude as I walked up 5–6 steps. From here I could see across the sea of black-haired heads. Just then, as if from the Gods above, I spied a neat looking, professionally dressed man striding towards us, through the crowds with his eyes aimed directly at me. He held up a sign with the letters I needed to see ‘M-E-M-B-R-E-Y’. I yelled down to Jude, “Here’s our guy!” and she swung around, broke out into a massive smile and held up both her hands waving.
“Good evening, Mr Membrey sahib. Good evening Ma’am sahib. My name is Danesh and I’m here to drive you to the Sheraton hotel.” His voice seemed like that from an angel at the time and I grabbed his hand, shook it firmly and said we were very glad to have found him. Danesh grabbed Judy’s trolley and we walked over to the car parking area where I saw a black, luxurious BMW. You have no idea how relieved both of us were as we got into the vehicle. It had been cooled by the air conditioning and with no more crowds, no more noise and no more tensions, we instantly relaxed. Danesh, by the way, was a very intelligent and worldly type of guy and we had some great conversation with him during the 30 minute drive to the hotel. Once there, Danesh jumped out, barked some orders in Urdu to the bell boys and then opened the door and guided us to the reception. As I told the reception staff our names and passed them our passports, Danesh came up to me and bent over politely whilst putting his business card into my hand. He said, “I hope you have a pleasant stay at the hotel, sahib, and if there is anything I can do, please just call me.” With that, Danesh skipped away back to his car and was gone. I didn’t have the chance to offer him a tip or anything, and he certainly didn’t seem to expect one. We need to meet up with Mr Danesh again, I thought.
ooOoo
Once in our room, Jude and I laughed and joked about the chaos and tensions we had just gone through and we realised this mission had only just begun. We ordered some snacks through room service, made a nice cup of tea and then slept deeply until late the next morning.
Lazily we went down to the last sitting of breakfast then returned to the room to watch television and just relax. But, by the early afternoon, we were both getting a little bored and decided a drive around Karachi city might be fun. Now the UN and the Australian
