(Daniel) With our repaired trailer, we started again early for DG Khan. After yesterdays incident, we drove carefully back along the same road, stopping in a roadside village for supplies. Almost immediately a huge crowd formed around us, and Rowan got into a conversation with a local man. The same questions were asked, about Muslims and people’s opinions of Pakistan. Rowan was trying hard to get away, but the longer he stayed the more people gathered round him. It looked as though there could be trouble, but he finally managed to make his apologies, and we walked briskly down the road, taking photos. The small village was very interesting, with horses and donkeys pulling carts, and tractors all over the place. Stalls lined the street, with hawkers selling everything from fruit to motor oil.
We explored on foot for about ten minutes, but the crowd followed us, growing all the while. Soon there was a procession blocking the street, and we decided that it was best to leave. We picked up the pace, and literally jumped back in the car as the crowd gathered around the vehicle. I honked and waved, as we drove away, telling ourselves that this was something that we would have to be constantly wary of. Soon we spotted the turning that we missed yesterday, and took the road towards D G Khan. Just beyond the turning, there were some boys selling pastries at the side of the road so we stopped and wound the window down. Again, crowds formed, and we had to move quickly to buy our food and leave. As I reached for some money a hand shot in and tried to grab the cash from my pocket, I stopped the boy and shouted at him, but he just smiled and tried again. I felt angry, but seeing the desperation in his actions, I just paid the seller and drove off quickly.
Another 50kms on, we came to a checkpoint, where a guard confirmed that we were on the right road to DG Khan. He directed us down another way indicating that this was the better route. We took that direction, again skirting the Afghan border and then up into the mountains. The roads were very bad, but the scenery was amazing, similar to Switzerland with rugged peaks covered in snow.
Several hours later, the road dropped back down and arrived at a town called Loralai. We needed something to eat, and began searching the streets for a restaurant. We hadn’t got far when a blue hilux pulled us up and asked us to come with them to the police station. We parked outside, and walked in, when several policemen ushered us into a room, then asked us to fill in forms with our passport details etc. Based on previous experience, this all seemed fairly normal. They asked how long we intended to stay in Loralai, and we explained that we were passing through, but just wanted to take a look around and then eat. They told us to wait for an armed guard, who would accompany us whilst we were in the town, and take us wherever we wanted to go. After this morning’s crowd trouble we were actually quite grateful and accepted.
The Policeman bodyguard seemed nice enough, he had a machine gun slung over his shoulder, and walked with us. Realising that we didn’t know where we were going, he obviously decided to give us the tour of the town, and took us down several streets, into a market to see lots of old stereos. He indicated for us to take photos, and it was generally quite funny. After the tour we sat down in a restaurant and ate some local food. A stew with lamb, peas, flatbread and chilli oil. I drank the water, but only because they said that it was spring water! After eating our fill, we told the guard that we wanted to go back, and he took us to a Rickshaw.
The rickshaw driver traveled in the right direction, but just before the police station, he failed to turn off and instead took us to the other side of town, stopping outside a big concrete building with a huge antenna.
The policeman got out and motioning for us to do the same. Reticent, we did so as a young man and a second policeman walked over to welcome us to, ‘Radio Loralai.’ We had seemingly been brought here, as the best sight the town has to offer. As flattering as that was, we had to get back on the road if we were to have any chance of getting to DG Khan today. We accepted the offer to have a tour, but tried to explain that we were in a hurry and would have to be quick.
After a short walk around the radio station, we were taken into the studio, possibly for an interview, but declined and tried harder to get away. Our policeman, oblivious to our pleas, said it was now time for him to pray, therefore we would have to wait. We were starting to suspect some kind of conspiracy, to keep us from leaving, and I thought about the Wolf, parked in the street. We waited while the policeman prostrated, and meanwhile the Radio station guide showed us around the antenna building. At the end, he presented us with a cup and said that it was a present so that we would always remember them. The other policeman who was apparently guarding the station, asked for several of our things in return. We gently refused (he had a gun too!)
Eventually I saw our Guard had finished. He was sitting down doing something with his hands, so we walked over to see what this new delay was. It turned out that he was rolling a hashish joint, and that he was going to smoke it now. He did this somewhat to our amusement, I even took a photo, much to his amusement. At this point, we made it very clear that we now had to go, and he grudgingly agreed, getting up and walking with us down the hill again. It was obvious that he didn’t want to go back, and now in his inebriated state probably couldn’t. At first he started to walk, but we made him flag down another rickshaw.
On the way back, our guard gave his machine gun to me to look after, and got out several times along the way. Rowan took some photos of me in the Rickshaw with the Machine gun, and we probably gave some passers by a fright. When we finally got back to the Wolf, despite being parked at the police station, someone had stolen my blind spot mirror again, and had tried to steal the antenna and the shovel from the bonnet. Luckily the padlock had held on the shovel, and the antenna had held up. This put me in a pretty bad mood, so I just wanted to leave. However, the Police came back and asked us to go inside again. We tried to refuse but they insisted, so we went and sat down in the dark room again, a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, as they asked for our passports again. This time, we complained, as they had already taken our details from us, they couldn’t or wouldn’t elaborate, and it was now, that serious mental alarm bells started to ring.
We sat for around ten minutes, with the police speaking together in Urdu. I thought I could make out some of the words, including ‘secret police’. Then three more police officers came into the room. A younger man was with them, he must have been the ‘secret police’ they had been waiting for. He was dressed in plain clothes, but spoke good English with a Surrey accent. After some small talk, he turned his chair around, and sat backwards on it, leaning on the backrest while looking calmly at us. “What are your intentions?” He asked Rowan straight out, and without emotion. My heart began beating faster, as the reality of our situation came into focus. The police had kept us waiting intentionally, while this guy turned up from another area. The policeman guard, smoking the Hashish, it all fell into place. We had been trapped, probably for money, possibly for the truck, maybe something worse. I looked across to Rowan and Gabby. Both were visibly panicked, and Rowan seemed to be struggling to answer. I tried hard to stay calm, and answered instead. “We are tourists heading for DG Khan.” Our interrogator was smarmy, and reclined further onto the chair while he talked, “are you married?” he asked me. I replied that I wasn’t and tried to keep the conversation light. “Tell me what journalistic associations you belong to.” He asked, looking closer at me. I denied repeatedly having any associations, and somehow mentioned that we know a former professional squash player, who is now a politician in Pakistan. I thought with this that he gave one of the men a look, and possibly this claim was being checked out as we spoke. At this point he asked about the Wolf. “Yours is a military vehicle, is it not?” I tried to explain that it was a private vehicle, and again that I had no associations with the military. His final question was asked in an almost horizontal position. I am not sure if this was an attempt at relaxing us, but it came across as oddly sinister. “Tell me, what is your impression of the treatment of women in Pakistan?” This was clearly a loaded question. I told him the truth, in so much as that we had hardly seen many women in our time here, but that we were travelling with a woman, and no man had bothered or even talked to her. As such, I could only surmise that Pakistani men must respect women very highly. The man smiled at this answer, and seemed to lighten up considerably. “That.” He said. “Was a very good answer.”
At this point, we spoke up, telling him that we were considerably delayed, and somewhat frightened at being detained for almost 3 hours now. He seemed to ignore our complaints, and asked how we would feel about being escorted by police for the rest of our time in Pakistan. I told him that this would not work for us. He seemed interested again, and asked why. I told him how many police we had passed on the road, and complained that they all drive too slowly for our schedule. He laughed, and this seemed to lift the mood a little, although I wasn’t really joking. I explained that I had left the car open, so I must go out and lock it and he let me out. Walking out into the sun, it was like I could suddenly breathe again. I felt an urge to run away, or phone for help. When I returned to the room, he told us that we could go, but that he would escort us to the edge of town, and smilingly added, ‘we would see if he drives slow.’
There are of course many reasons why this guy could have been talking to us, but I was there and I felt that this was not good. We left and were given a police escort to the edge of town, in what could best be described as a street race. In the Wolf, Rowan and Gabby remained totally silent for what felt like half an hour. I didn’t want to speak, but eventually tried to lighten the mood, by saying how crazy it was. They shouted at me, angry that I would try to play down such a scary experience. Once we calmed down we discussed the whole ordeal, and how we would not want to let ourselves in for that again.
What had been supposed to be a short lunch break had become a three hour ordeal, ending in a serious intimidating interrogation by the secret police. This was truly the stuff of nightmares. None of us could relax, we felt so helpless and vulnerable, and certain that we would be stopped again. I was convinced that the car had been tampered with, perhaps someone had planted a tracker on it, and the secret police were just watching us, waiting for us. I was driving very fast trying to get away from the town and their jurisdiction.
As the sun started to get low, an official looking man pulled us over, he looked like a policeman at first, but when we stopped, I realised that instead of ‘Police’ he had the word ‘Levies’ on his jacket. Fresh off the back of our last encounter, I was in no mood for another. I asked him if he was police and he hesitated. “No, well yes, levies, I need lift to my station.” “Ha, sorry!” I called as I drove off in a cloud of dust and black smoke.
We drove on, but I started to feel bad about the man at the side of the road, telling myself that as tourists we should not pick up strangers, especially if it isn’t a policeman. Besides, I thought that Levy was a tax or something. I kept on driving fast, through a checkpoint where no-one stopped us and towards DG Khan overtaking lorries and trucks as I went. A few times I noticed a blue pickup in our dust cloud behind, but he wasn’t fast enough to overtake so I ignored him. It was only after ten minutes more that I saw the small blue light, realising that this was a police vehicle, and that he had been trying for some time to pull us over.
I stopped as their vehicle pulled across us, and a very dusty man jumped out, he walked back towards us and took out his badge. “Levies force.” He breathed heavily. “You are driving, very fast.” “I’m sorry,” I lied “I have an appointment with the Police in DG Khan” I said, still thinking that this was a tax man of some kind. “It is too dangerous to drive this road at night, and it is dark soon. You should come with me, and stay in our station.” It began to dawn on me that these were a police force of kinds, and Rowan and Gabby agreed that we should go with him. I briefly mentioned that we were a bit afraid of being pulled over, and that we were only stopped now because he did not have a gun. “I have a gun,” he said, pulling a pistol from his pocket. Then he smiled and put it back. We turned around and followed them back around 10kms to the checkpoint that we passed earlier. As we pulled in, standing there in front, was the man which I left at the side of the road, and he did not look happy. The first thing that I did was apologise, he didn’t seem to mind too much, and just kept telling the story in Pashtun to other people as if he still couldn’t believe it.
The man who had stopped us explained that the Levies are the rural and tribal police and have jurisdiction out here in the desert. He also said that even though it was only 220kms, the road ahead was unmade and that we would have spent a good 6-8 hours in daylight negotiating it. In the dark, he said it would be ‘impossible’. We thanked him for stopping us, and sat down for tea. The Levies are a pretty far cry from the Police, very relaxed and friendly, and they made us feel welcome.
After tea, the officer showed us his quarters, and a magazine that he used to write for, before he had joined the Levies force. He explained that these people were Pashtu, and are another tribe that live in the area onwards from Quetta, they are originally from Afghanistan, but had settled here a few hundred years ago. After freshening up, he took us to a hot springs behind the police station, where we took some photos and watched the sun set.
As we returned to the Levies station, a group of men were waiting for the officer. These were two parties in some kind of motor vehicle accident, and needed the officer to resolve the dispute. He sat down and allowed us to watch as he mediated between the two families. I got the impression that someone had been killed, possibly a daughter, and as such compensation must be paid. It was an interesting experience. Afterwards the men lined up to shake our hands as well as each others and left, perhaps they thought that we were foreign officials.
We sat down then for dinner, a similar stew to the one which we had eaten in Loralai earlier on for lunch. Somehow I was doing something wrong, by drinking while eating, but the man could not seem to explain, and in the end they just let me do it. After dinner we talked and the Levies officer gave me his gun to look after, I don’t know why people keep doing this, perhaps it is a sign of trust, but it is a strange feeling for someone who has never been around guns. Tired, but feeling a little better about our surroundings, we set up the rooftent then, and went to bed. It had been a long, exhausting and emotional day!
Distance driven 450kms