As we come to the end of my first year in Karachi, the school is pulling together. Our Cambridge Section needs to be registered and has to be running for two continuous years to be eligible.
Meanwhile, the workload is increasing and I realise that more resources are needed. One resource Karachi has plenty of is photocopiers - on street corners, in shops and in back lanes. One such photocopier and crew are near the Spiderweb. I make a daily visit to get copies of comprehensions and other worksheets for the students, making my own lesson plan materials to help raise the standard of work. The photocopy shop - or office - is in a back lane near a hairdresser. It is open till quite late and run by Naveed. His English is not bad, a little staccato, but quite able to express his views on General Zia or the latest political crises.
The alley is poorly lit and next to the photocopy enclave is an entrance to flats above; it is merely a dark space with no lighting on the stairs. Most nights, at about seven, a figure emerges.Saeed. Whenever he does, Naveed the photocopy operator gives me a look that would be the equivalent of a nudge with the elbow.
Saeed is an oddity - obviously well off, and well spoken. He's in his mid-twenties.He chats with me (in English) for some while about life, especially "Life without wife." He looks into the darkness of the stairs.
Life without wife
is like a knife,
That curses the life."
He utters, chewing on a toothpick. With that, he disappears. Till the next evening.
Naveed waits for him to go.
"He has someone," he says cryptically."Upstairs." He adds. Then nods up the stairs. I stare into the gloomy blackness waiting for 'someone' to appear. Naveed grins.
Days later, in Cafe Liberty just down the road, Saeed tells me the story of the wife whose husband is away, and whose return he fears while he, Saeed, is with her.
It seems he has got himself caught up in one of the commonest tangles in life and it has done nothing but intensify his feeling of loneliness. In spite of this, and the obvious condemnation of the society he finds himself in, he's a nice guy.
I suppose everyone has that someone to wait for or be with, somewhere.
Meanwhile, the workload is increasing and I realise that more resources are needed. One resource Karachi has plenty of is photocopiers - on street corners, in shops and in back lanes. One such photocopier and crew are near the Spiderweb. I make a daily visit to get copies of comprehensions and other worksheets for the students, making my own lesson plan materials to help raise the standard of work. The photocopy shop - or office - is in a back lane near a hairdresser. It is open till quite late and run by Naveed. His English is not bad, a little staccato, but quite able to express his views on General Zia or the latest political crises.
The alley is poorly lit and next to the photocopy enclave is an entrance to flats above; it is merely a dark space with no lighting on the stairs. Most nights, at about seven, a figure emerges.Saeed. Whenever he does, Naveed the photocopy operator gives me a look that would be the equivalent of a nudge with the elbow.
Saeed is an oddity - obviously well off, and well spoken. He's in his mid-twenties.He chats with me (in English) for some while about life, especially "Life without wife." He looks into the darkness of the stairs.
Life without wife
is like a knife,
That curses the life."
He utters, chewing on a toothpick. With that, he disappears. Till the next evening.
Naveed waits for him to go.
"He has someone," he says cryptically."Upstairs." He adds. Then nods up the stairs. I stare into the gloomy blackness waiting for 'someone' to appear. Naveed grins.
Days later, in Cafe Liberty just down the road, Saeed tells me the story of the wife whose husband is away, and whose return he fears while he, Saeed, is with her.
I suppose everyone has that someone to wait for or be with, somewhere.
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