Peshawar is a city in the north west frontier of Pakistan. It is the last major city before the famed Khyber Pass which leads into Afghanistan. Peshawar is one of the oldest continuously inhabited places in the world with its origins traced back to the 5th century BCE. Many armies from those of Alexander the Great, the Persians, the British and more recently the Taliban have tried to conquer and control the strategic and historic city. All have failed.
At the time of our visit various groups and individuals were still trying to grab hold of that control. Buses had been bombed, shootings against targeted religious groups had occurred and terrorists had been shot in hotel rooms while preparing attacks. That was just on the morning we were due to arrive in the city. There was probably more going on; I closed my computer and the news and got ready to catch the bus. Oh, there was also an outbreak of dengue fever, flash floods and the locals were apparently getting restless and retributional about the frequent power outages.
Our taxi, basically an engine with some chicken wire and gaffa tape, took us from the dusty bus station into the old city. Past the ancient citadel which is still used by armed forces to hide in and into the Khyber Bazaar. We wandered the dirty and dishevelled streets looking for accommodation that would take in foreigners, not an easy task in that part of the world. Bearded men in filthy grease covered shalwar kamez stared up at us. I’d be lying if I said I felt totally safe.
Slowly though those stares seemed to become a little more relaxed. I wasn’t sure but I thought I saw a few glimpses of white flash on those bearded and grime covered faces. Hands started to be raised as if waving. ‘A Salam Alaikam’ those mouths started to say to us. ‘Peace be with you. Welcome’. Then people stopped to ask if we needed any help. They pointed us in this direction, in that direction. Mainly they wanted us to sit and drink tea (kawa) with them. To talk even if we didn’t share a language. To smoke and to laugh with them.
The city and its myriad of charms continued to reveal themselves over the week or so we spent in what is now my favourite city in the world. It is a place where it is easy to feel like you have stepped back in time. Cobbled streets . Stone and mudbrick buildings. The Call to Prayer echoing from numerous minarets . Donkeys and goats being led by traditionally dressed herdsmen. Those working in IT or finance wearing basically the same. Streets filled with the smoke of hundreds of BBQs and tandoori ovens and perhaps a little hashish. Flat bread and mayhem. Paradise and catastrophe.
Despite the historical depth of the city we didn’t go out of our way to visit ancient sites; instead we were happy to just walk the streets and meet the people. Politics and cricket were the main subjects of conversation with those that spoke English. They wanted to know about Australia and to let us know of their favourite places in Pakistan. Smiles and tea were the focus with those who didn’t speak English but whose company we enjoyed. People were delighted to see us in their city and were often a little surprised that we didn’t have an armed guard with us as is sometimes required for foreigners. We didn’t need to be followed by a gun (there have been and is more than enough of them in Peshawar) as we had the locals looking out for us at all times.
We made numerous friends in the city. A group of men at a tea shop outside our hotel who we sat with with regularity. Our extremely hospitable hotel staff. Another group who operated a sling shot shop not far away who offered us a place to sit and some tea to share on numerous occasions. Everyone in Peshawar seemed to be a friend; maybe a friend we hadn’t meet yet but friends the same. The welcoming and hospitable nature of the locals was second to none.
We didn’t get dengue, none of our buses exploded and no-one was shot in our hotel room or those nearby. Unlike Alexander the Great and many others we didn’t try to conquer Peshawar. We just let the city wash other us and let the people become part of our lives. Rarely does a day go by that I don’t think back to my time in the city and dream of returning. There must be one or two locals we didn’t meet and no doubt many cups of tea waiting to be drunk with old friends.
