Tyler Sharp
Days in Duriji
I have been in Pakistan for 4 days now, and to say the least, it has been an eye opening experience. I have been hiking up very steep and unforgiving Baluchi terrain, and have been burnt and cooked under the intense and relentless Pakistani sun. In the company of local Patan people, we were never without the presence of an AK-47 or three. Apparently, the Patans are taught to use an AK from the ripe age of 5 or 6.
We are staying with Prince Bootani, who is the lord and overseer of the area called Duriji. There is a large marble mining operation that he oversees, and dutifully takes half of what is produced. The narrow dirt roads are riddled with large and garishly decorated flat bed trucks transporting the raw marble to wherever it needs to go, most likely to hotels in Dubai. In such a strict and reserved Islamic Republic, it seems that these trucks are one of the few accepted ways that someone could express themselves creatively or artistically, and even be a little flamboyant. These trucks are by far the most lavishly decorated vehicles that I have ever seen, with bells, reflective stickers, intricately painted designs, wood carvings that come over the front windshield like ship masts, floral arrangements, beads, feathers, and various lace and cloth patterns. They also have lots of colored flashing lights on the inside, and the brake lights are like all of those neon toys they sell at parades and outside concerts. They have a horn that sounds like an electronic dance party, and we have affectionately coined the term “Disco Marble Trucks” for them, even though they are hardly limited to marble in what they carry.
The Patan people are survivors, living is such a harsh landscape, and nearly 20, 000 of them live in Prince Bootani’s region of Duriji. They chew a red tobacco like substance (mixed from beetle nuts and a certain leaf) which stains their teeth crimson, and looks like regurgitated cranberries when spit on the ground, which they all do with candor and regularity. Some of the men, perhaps in an effort to stave off the appearance of old age, dye their beards darker. But with constant exposure to the sun, this dye bleaches into a orangish red that is very distinct, and has since become a local fashion. All of their faces are very weathered and rich in character, and all showed signs of a hard life lived there. Being an Islamic Republic, the women live under very strict regiments, and I did not see one, grown or young, the entire time I was in Duriji. It is a huge offense to take a photograph of any woman, even with permission, so it is not entirely likely that I will have many of them. Unless we can find a woman who could take the photos for us…
