A Crash Course in Culture

Syeda with her parents in Pakistan.

by Syeda Hasan

This past December, my trip to Pakistan was filled with first times – my first time in a foreign country, first time flying alone, first beachside camel ride – among countless other adventures. It was also the first time I got to see my family in over a year.

My family moved to Karachi, Pakistan last December during my senior year of high school. After much convincing and pleading to my mom, I stayed to finish high school and then move on to the University of Texas at Austin. The image of them leaving me at the Houston airport is forever engrained in my mind: they ascended the escalator, struggling to squeeze in every possible wave goodbye while we could still see each other.

Staying here was my choice, and as much as I knew it was the right decision, it became very difficult to be without my family at times. There were a few moments when I really felt I couldn’t stand it anymore and I was almost willing to leave – fly, sail, do anything just to be with them again. It took a long time and a lot of learning before I became comfortable with being on my own. And at the same time as I was adjusting, my family was going through the transition of being in a new country without me.

My mom would call me religiously at 9:30 every night and we’d fill each other in on school, work, how my two brothers were doing. My dad and I emailed each other every day. Over time, our conversations shifted from discussing the difficulty of the adjustment to “just wait till you come visit. You’re going to love the….” My big brother would send me pictures of things he saw around town, and I’d stare at those foreign images on my computer screen forever, trying to make sense of what I saw. The rickshaws, arms with dozens of bangles, and street side restaurants all seemed like artifacts from an unimaginable place. My family seemed to be adjusting so well, it made me wonder what it was about Pakistan that could be so enticing.

Syeda and her mother.

Now as I sat in my departure gate, a million thoughts raced through my head. What would it be like to see my family again? And what should I expect Pakistan to be like? Would it really be a vibrant Bollywood-esque fantasy, or would I be counting the days till my return flight? I tried to relax as the loud speaker called my row to board the plane. I would just have to wait and see.

Thirty hours, three meals, and about 10 airplane movies later, I arrived at Karachi International Airport. I felt a wave of excitement at the thought that I was in a foreign country and massive butterflies in my stomach at the thought of seeing my family again. After what felt like hours in the immigration line and baggage claim, I passed through the arrival gate and was met with a hundred eager faces of people waiting for their family and friends. I held my breath as I scanned the crowd – and then there they were. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more just plain happy than I did at that moment. My family was here and I was home – only I had no idea where I was.

Witnessing culture first hand in Pakistan.

On the drive home, I got my first taste of culture shock. I’d heard lots of stories from my friends and family about how no one followed the rules on the road, but I couldn’t help but be shocked as a bus suddenly swerved into our lane without indicating, coming inches away from my dad’s car. That terrifying traffic moment could serve as an analogy for my entire first week in Pakistan; everything was like a swerving bus coming at me from out of nowhere. The power went out at random times throughout the day, and people made due with the few lights in the house that were powered by a noisy generator outside. In the markets, a dozen vendors tried to sell you a dozen different things all at once. I also never became comfortable with the stark contrast of luxury and poverty that seemed to surround me. From the car, I saw countless beggars of all ages. I never got used to seeing so many of them sleeping on road medians, using makeshift fires to keep warm at night. Aside from the beggars and reckless traffic, the roads were also filled with donkey carts, rickshaws, stray cows and goats. And after an exhaustive search, I’d relinquished any hope of finding a decent cup of coffee anywhere on the subcontinent.

I felt overwhelmed in this strange environment, and I didn’t quite understand how my family could have adjusted so well. When I arrived, my dad told me that there was a certain charm about Pakistan that was not describable in words, something I couldn’t find anywhere else in the world, and it took me a while to understand what he meant. My family took me on many adventures around town. We visited the Mohatta Palace Museum, which housed gorgeous collections of tile art from around South Asia. We took a trip to the beach where I gathered the courage to take a ride on a camel. There was also an inexhaustible list of relatives to be visited, and I never got tired of the bear hugs and hearing how much I’d grown.

Syeda with her father.

My favorite way to observe the city was to stand on the balcony and watch the road below, people out running errands, vendors with overflowing wooden carts calling out for potential customers. There was something so genuine and charming about seeing people’s daily routines, especially since they were so different than my own. There was such beauty in the traditional ways of life there. Where else could I find things like an old bangle seller, face sprinkled with glitter from his shimmering merchandise, or women in vibrant saris effortlessly balancing baskets on their heads? Despite being a country plagued with material poverty, it was one of the most culturally rich.

As the days went by, I fell in love with Pakistan. Despite the underdevelopments, and never having been there before, I felt at home. As the day of my return flight grew nearer, the thought of leaving tugged at my heartstrings.

Even though it was tough to say goodbye, I was happy to be taking a new perspective (and a suitcase full of presents) back with me. I gained peace of mind from seeing my family again. And I finally understood what my dad had meant about the charm Pakistan had to offer. It was a one-of-a-kind, beautiful and enlightening place, and I was proud to have it as part of my heritage.