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Saturday 01-03-08 Pakistan
By 2:00 pm we were through the Pakistan border and changed lane after now maybe 39,000 km.
Pakistan was British, therefore we drive on the left side. Just as in Brunei.
 
Welcome in Baluchistan! "Heavens thank you! Now we drive on the English side of the road"
This is country number 26 dear reader, no more complain of right hand steering, now we are correct down to the bolt
"How long will it take to Quetta Mr. Inspector?" We asked the custom officer. "You have a strong car, maybe 10 hours."
The tar road to Quetta started as a straight line to the horizon.
 
here I can use Telbru sat phone again sand dunes long into the road, the car hops like a kangaroo if not watched out
Baluchistan an area within Iran and Pakistan, is the least developed, more than 50% live below the poverty line and this is here about
one US$ per day. The remoteness allowed a kaleidoscope of people who settled here through the turbulent history. The traditional life
for most Baluch tribes has always been nomadic, escaping extremes of temperatures and finding grazing grounds for their flocks.
Then the women!
Dear lady reader I call on you in Brunei and elsewhere living an educated comfortable life. Permit us to present you the Baluch woman
of common decent.
Baluchistan is very "conservative". That means illiteracy is high, especially among women. We have seen on 620 km stretch carrying
us to Quetta in two days, less than 20 women on the road, all covered up. We try to photo them. Asking first, offering money.
They run away.
 
The two, we photo without asking Running. These four we asked and offered money
The Baluch woman is the property of man and household. She is useful in many ways, like a donkey.
Do you send a donkey to school?
Then why a woman? What for? If even 40% of the male population cannot read or write.
Women are used to herd goats, used to wash cloth, used to cook, used to comfort the husband, used to collect firewood, used to
care for kids, used to give him more strong sons. She lives a blind life in obedience.
How can a blind explain the light? How a mother educate the young if she herself never had one? (Mothers in Brunei, your Amah is
comfortable but is no educator! Your children deserve better if they are to get bright)
 
washing cloth one "use" of women for money he agreed, but she covered herself
 
we were glad to find one bubble gum chewing exemption A Baluch boy after his cream cake
 
cool water from the fridge this is his home
The old man pushed his bicycle up the hill, we stopped to give him water. He traded in crackers packed into small packets. Year in
year out. In the homes around. Very small packets. His customers do no have money, a few coins maybe. The desert day is very hot,
but he has to make a living. How long will he be able to work? And if not anymore, what then?
Is it better to die and go up? " ALMIGHTY! I am your Alizadek. I could never go to Mecca our holiest place but I prayed every day to
YOU. We have no Mosque but I made my own out of mud, you can see it from up here.
Alizadek Mosque, you see the half round Kiblat?
As so many, I have done my share of suffering but please permit me a question": The ALMIGHTY in his GLORY may grant him his
wish. And Alizadek the desert man who only learned to work with his hands might be brave to ask:
"Was my suffering your will or is it, that you just forgot me?" and he remember his relatives and friends still down in hot barren
Baluchistan and he continues, shy and humble: "There are so many of us down there" His eyes were closed as the light was blinding
him, so he could not see HIS reaction.
There is little or no work in Baluchistan. All you see is stone and more stone. In Wadis, on lower ground a shallow well and diesel
pumps irrigate some fields, but again who owns them is the question. Has the landlord leased them out to farmers, as it is so many
time the case? We could no find out.
The red bearded Baluch pushed a wheel barrow along the road, the camel rider seem to be better off.
 
We have not seen one oversized person in Baluchistan. They are broke poor. Few jobs with little pay as everywhere ,where there are
many willing hands and employment is hard to come by. Some brick factories along the roadside, road repair and small trading.
 
chimneys of bricks burner 7.000 bricks per trailer, all loaded by hand
 
Road repair small trading
How does then the family father, the young men find money? Working in a self dug coalmine. Or smuggle fuel over the border from
Iran. Diesel costing there two cent a liter will be on the Pakistani side already US fifty cent, that is 25 times the price. A profitable
business. And we think everyone benefits from it. The policeman, the soldier, the tribal roadblock, these trucks were waved through.  
Well organized is the smuggling , There is never a shortage of anything. It is so much that the Iranian issue coupons for their locals
to get fuel along the border region.
  The Baluch petrol station, one of many On the way for fuel to the border
For 625 km there was no official petrol station. You might wonder why? The explanation is, that the smuggled one is always cheaper
than the official taxed fuel. No one would buy it. Even in Quetta we were asked at the station: Do you want Iran diesel 55 cents now a
liter, or Pakistani fuel, costing 70 cents a liter.  
The boss in Quetta must have watery eyes thinking of the tax losses Iran or Pakistani diesel? And then there is Heroin and Opium out of Afghanistan. It said the production has increased ten fold, since the American led invasion
to eradicate opium and Al Qaida. The reason being that livelihood has been affected, transport routes became dangerous and farm
products do not get easy to market. Better plant opium, it much more profitable. These productions need to reach the international
markets. One is via north and Russia, the other via Iran and Turkey by camel, and over the border to Pakistan and towards the sea.
"How do they get over the border? . We asked. In a convoy. 50 or more tribal gunmen follow the load and shoot it out with the border
guards if they dare to halt it. Better is always to accept a small share of the profit. In the battle the load of opium or heroin escapes.
How else would you explain these fancy cars, as with drugs? While the population as not enough to feed themselves.  
You see them once in a while pacing along the gravel roads filled with tribal men.
The common Baluch rides a bus. something like this.   
always a fine breeze good sight back the sitting arrangement They break down frequently. And the vehicle give in, where they are most strained, like on mountain passes.  
tires dismantle from gravel roads uphill and overloaded, the clutch just give up  
Clutch gone Another overland "air-conditioned" bus broken down
Or the train which runs once a fortnight until the Iranian border.
  
One station overwhelmed with sand build in 1920 by? By the Brits We turned into an Army post to sleep in our "Hotel de la Jambo" In he night the temperature fell to freezing. Sunday 2-3-08 It was Rampai Pagi and since we are coming closer to home, there is only 3 hours time difference anymore, by 6:30 am I called with
the sat phone of Telbru. The connection was very clear. 
Sunrise in the desert of Baluchistan  
calling Rampai Pagi with Telbru sat phone Graveyard. No more worries once you are under such a stone
There was another 280 km to go to Quetta. The road was bad, sometime very bad. Lots of loaded tracks towards the Iranian border.
 
We saw these camels and wonder what they feed on here The mountain tops had still snow patches in the shady areas  
The chicken final hour had come. Stripped their feather dress, now naked and united, they await a hungry man's order.   He was sitting in the market and constantly beautifying himself using charcoal and a mirror. Maybe he was a "lady man", If we cannot
photo a female face then at least her feet we thought. They are beautified with little chain.
Finally we curved into Quetta town. Found a hotel the "Bloom Star", not bad for US$ 10.- a night and fell into bed after loading the web
page.
The Internet shop was unique but somehow understandable. High boxes, one cannot look inside.  
The customers were all young men, occupying the 8 cabins most of the time. Even on credit they could "study" behind close
doors, the anatomy of blondes from far away America. Nature goes wondrous ways.
Monday 3-3-08
We work a bit on JAMBO, walk round in the bazaar, but in general had a well deserved rest.  
Quetta bazaar Spices and nuts Baluchistan is the largest province by far, with geometrically straight frontiers, once made with rulers by Bureaucrats long dead now,
in Imperial offices back in London. With 343.000 square km it is about 60 times larger than our beloved Brunei Darussalam. They
internationally accepted, yet artificial borders separated tribal communities without consideration. It created problems for the
population, but no one cared.
The empty dry Quarter, the thousands of square kilometer along the Iranian and Afghanistan border was always sparsely populated.
We on our eastward journey from Iran saw little commercial activities except as mentioned, the smuggle. The climate is exceptionally
dry, and strong head winds slowed even our JAMBO on his relentless journey home.
Quetta, the provincial capital lies at an altitude of about 1700 m. The streets have been redrawn after an earthquake in 1935. Our hotel
receptionist told us there are about 50.000 Afghani living in and around Quetta. Work is hard to come by.
Tuesday 4-3-03
Our rest was over. By early morning we direct JAMBO out of Quetta going southeast towards SIBI. The morning was cold. We could
heat our JAMBO, but what about the two kids, the refuse selectors? We met them on the train level crossing.
Youngsters, never seeing school make their living by collecting garbage to sell it. They are determined and "successful" as they
earned over time enough to purchase two bicycle. But what a youth that is! The parents send them away "Go, go, we have not enough
to eat. Go, you can feed yourself." The two which never felt mother love had no choice and went to town.
 
the two selective garbage collectors their treasures in the sack: carton, aluminum, tins, plastic
 
Adnan Nadim Their home is a dark space in a house corridor, shared it with rats. Our young entrepreneurs have to pay, the rats live for free. What
will be their life? You can guess dear reader. For the price of one cruise missile of the "freedom exporter" USA, you can house, feed,
educate, dress a whole village for 25 years. How many they offloaded over Iraq? Provide the money instead and democracy will come
by itself.
But the people behind, this concealed soulless gang, the manipulators of man's destiny and money, are after much more.
Either Adnan nor Nadim will ever know or understand. Some of us might think now: "How easy it is to have children, how difficult, to
care for them."
Slowly we worked our way out of town. On the outskirt men with shovels and pick axe. Awaiting to be hired for the day. Maybe today
a few men are needed. Maybe. Tomorrow they sit here again, waiting.
 . 
One dollar a day keeps the hunger away! What a hectic, when the barrier opened
 
Along the road out of Quetta we met these two gentlemen and their treasure, a goat. They were on the way to the village butcher not
far away to exchange her life against some urgent needed cash.
We, looking at the butchers shop, his sharp knifes, noticed a young goat tied under her sisters, hanging from aloft. They had lost
heir skin earlier and were cut up to be sold in pieces. Not much hope for a long life isn't it? "I should not have eaten always that much
green" she bleats to herself. Then I would be bone thin and not here as my master would try to fatten me first.  
The Bolan pass landscape Through the Bolan pass we travel steady Southeast. It became noon. In the gorge a cluster of houses, the small village of Spezand.
Some inhabitants had worries it might be raining and covered the mud roof with plastic sheeting. Goats wander freely on them,
searching for some green.   Miles further, where the Wadi opens into the wider plains, we stopped a while. Down, under us was a small black tent a child playing
with stones. On the barren ground in the sun a bundle of cloth. It was a woman. Was she tired of this life? Was she sick to die? Did
she wait until HE called her: "Come, you have endured enough!"
We do not know the answer.
 
At a distance a nomad family trekking up the Wadi with their camel herd. We hear the mans shouting commands. The camels walked
willingly and steadily. There was no green to nibble on which would have slowed the trek. We went to them and met one woman with a
child.
 
The mother and her kid Armid
Look at her! There is nothing feminine in her face. She could be a man. That makes the struggle for a living. They were on the move for
new herding grounds, for which they have sometimes to fight, or to pay.  
The camel lady consented to allow a photo of her and the load donkeys carry the tents structure
Where the mountains retreat, the coal mines are found on the slopes in abundance. Winter is cold, wood nonexistent, for the one who
can afford it, coal is the answer. Brick oven too, need to be fired, therefore there is lot of demand for the black stuff.
These are private mines operated by groups of men, holes are dug into the mountain, without support structures of any kind. Such a
tunnel could collapse any time.
 
The black slag is dug out material, but not yet burnable coal they have to dig deeper to follow the vein.
Entering such an operation, we realized suddenly how dangerous they work. A self-made sledge running on old ball bearings in a angle
iron rail, leads in 45 degree down into the black.
A winch, operated by one man, runs on a diesel generator. In the morning with the first sledge 4 men in squatting position begin this
dreadful journey down. We counted the meters. They worked in a depth of about 150 meter. No Ventilation, which is absolutely needed
as prevention against gaseous explosions, which happing sometime in coalmines. Empty sack with them they sink down into the
pitch-dark, a kerosene lamp with them. It helps to find out if they have enough oxygen as the light would extinguish if not enough.
Three man hack by hand and pick axe the coal vein, one fills the sacks.  
These are the men which endure such work daily    
the "hellhole" a 150 m down without a radio communication or ventilation and the winch when eight sacks are full and loaded, a rope leading down is pulled and two bells ring up here. The operator start the motor and the
load is pulled up. We tried to shout down to get response. Nothing was heard. The bells are the only mode of communication.  
one load has arrived up to surface The bells are ringing for the operator to pull the load up
The sacks are carried on the shoulder to a waiting lorry, bare feet naturally. The daily income exceeds US$ 7.-, which is considered
already a high pay in Baluchistan.  
slippers are luxury loading the truck
Disturbed in our thoughts and feelings, we proceeded further, and reached SIBI town after two hours, which according to the Tourism
boss in Quetta had an ongoing cultural festivity,   The terrain became flat; we had reached the alluvial land of the Indus river. Canals irrigate, wheat and rice is grown.
Born in the mighty Karakorum mountains the Indus cuts its way through one of the most forbidden country on earth. By the time it
reaches the plains of Punjab it has matured, slowing right down to old age as it washes the banks, before dying in the Arabian sea.
His flow is eternal. Here in these plains sits SIBI town and we directed JAMBO to the ongoing festivity. Are such events not
promising good photos?
It was easy to find as from all directions, folks wandered to a central location similar to our Omar Ali Sarifuddin field in the Bandar town
center.
The Police band was playing marching music, which sound around the world the same. The stands were full with spectators, women
neatly separated from men. It was cattle show today.
Outside the contestants, bulls, goats, water buffaloes waited for their performance. The owners coming from far had decorated them.
An oversized ram, (was he a beauty!) had even some perfume in his goat beard. The scent drifted with the morning breeze to us. The
master must have pinched it from madam toiletry. But what is one not doing for recognition and an eventual price?
 
Every business minded person is happy with such an event. Will it not transfer some rupees into their own pocket? The local donkey
taxi, the open air barber, the bread and orange sellers, all make a few extra "quits".  
 
The spectacle, similar we use to see back home, went on for over two hour. Even Musharraf looked on, reminding everyone who is
boss in Pakistan.
 
The strongest bull of the show The "serious" Baluchistan police force The Baluchistan police force has no body-size restriction. They are well aware that a dwarf could be as useful as a sharp shooter, just
in another way. The officer, camouflaged as a baby boy observe easily and could alarm the authorities. Here on the arm of Harun he
is hardly noticeable. But with sharp eyes, he overlooks any situation. His thumb gives he "all clear sign" for a
photo. One cannot play fool with the police forces of Baluchistan.
 
It's breezy up here in Harun's height the Water buffalo was keen to get into the show Not to long we remained, as we needed to get on, but yet missed our target time and as such had to drive into the night. Not that safe
anyhow, as farm tractors in their hundreds, were on their way to the sugarcane factory. Mile upon mile we crawl along through the
evening in smoke filled air, hardly seeing anything sometime. We had to be slowly. Oncoming lorries being the mighty one, the bigger,
remained usually on the tarmac, forcing us down onto the dust of the side strip. Their headlamps shining into the face or up somewhere
into the stars between Sirius and Andromeda.   .
The dry fields are burned down. A "nightrider" on a sugarcane trailer We searching for a place to sleep, ended at a petrol station and slept the sound sleep of tiered men, under the watchful eyes of the
station attendants. It was 11:00 pm when we closed the curtains and drifted into dreams.  
a good night at a TOTAL station The mighty Indus, flowing from the Karakorum
Wednesday 5-03-08
We were now in south Punjab with the canal colonies the breadbasket of Pakistan. Punjab, derived from the word PANJI, means five,
and AAB meaning water, is crossed by five rivers all tributaries of the Indus. They converted Punjab to the most fertile province of
Pakistan and the most populous. Over 70 million work and live here. Long tamed now, the shifting rivers were dangerous, towns once
build were prone to flooding. KHWAJA KHIZR the water deity living with the crocodiles needed offerings. If well pleased he might allow a
farmer to reap an easy harvest- if not, wash away everything. It let to the saying of the old: " A rich man this year, a beggar the next."
But with build dams and canals which tamed the waters, this deity was send into retirement.
We had heard about Uch Sharif. It was Alexander the Great who ordered the city to be build. Thinking that a town situated where two
rivers meet will flourish. It remained wishful thinking.
When he brought Persia to her knees (see Iran) there was no one left to face him and his army of 50.000 men. No doubt he was driven
by his geographical curiosity, but also by tales of immense riches on the Indian subcontinent. In 327 B.C he marched with his army
across the Hindu Kush and did not encounter serious resistance. At Beas his troops exhausted, refused to go further. He abandoned
hopes to reach the Ganges and sailed the Indus down to the sea and home. Others struggle back through the Makran desert route.
Thirst and hunger raged through the army. Wagons broke down, weak wives and children unable to keep up were abandoned. Only half
the army arrived in Iran. He had succeeded but at a terrible price. Uch is today a small village, filled with farmers folks. There are some beautiful tombs situated in Uch. The best is the octagonal tomb
of Bibi Jawindi build in the 15th century.  
Bibi Jawindi unfortunately in a desolate condition
Situated about 200 km from Bahalwapour on the main road, is Bhong. The small city and mosque was constructed by a local landlord.
Work begun in the 1930th. It took 50 years to build. The legend goes, he build it because of a dream he had. And should he ever stop
work before completion he will die. He did finally stop. A week later he was underground. Self-fulfilling prophecy.
 
views of the BHONG mosque  
KIBLAT close up  
wall decorations details of the western wall
Every square centimeter of the BHONG mosque is glowing. Tiles are widely used. It confuses the eye looking at these colors and
decorations. It was the most colorful we had ever seen on our journey. Even the glasses are painted or stained coloring the light
shining through.
Opinions about this style surely differ. But one must remember here is something done with great love and devotion, the very best of
popular art on this subcontinent.
We had turned now towards North and Lahore. Driving still through villages where even the "desert ship" pulls a carriage, we soon
reached the expressway from Karachi to Lahore.
 
This camel lady had a ring decoration around her front legs. Just as the girl back in Quetta. "kling kling" it made while setting foot
before foot. She always knew where she was. Or did she?  
The two guys pull sugarcane while the tractor was driving sheep as "High riders" And sugarcane is tempting early mornings. Is it not sweet to brush the teeth with and drink the sweet juice at the same time?  
Three on a motorcycle are already a "family car" Here ride five persons, including aunty too.  
The highway to Lahore was "high" on sugarcane tractors, pedestrians, lories, one overtaking the other but in speed of 30 km/h,
bicycles and motorcycles, camels and mules. In villages the authorities had raised concrete barricades to avoid the villagers crossing.
But they forgot the overhead bridge. Openings were therefore broken out, man and motorcycle squeezing through. On both side a line
of men waiting into the road.
Hotels are nonexistent. One can rent a bed outside. Toilets are in appalling conditions. Only one restaurant we found. Our makanan
was fresh bread and the last of Haji Haruns tapau, fine crackers out of Jeddah. Boy oh boy, we remember this kindness and enjoyed it.  
the mouth full, the packet empty hotel next to the highway  
It was night, when we passed the outskirt of Lahore and went onto the 3 lane motorway towards Islamabad. Watched over by police,
we slept on a parking lot and drove on early morning. Thursday 6-3-08  
passing the toll gate no pay, they wave us through The gate of our High Commission. He was checking us out! Islamabad is well organized , sectors and streets clearly defined and in no time, it was still morning, we found our High Commission
and a welcome which stroke us like thunderbolt.
Pakistan is meeting place of many worlds, it was over history the area for invading armies. Though it has been an "abode of peace"
too. Ancient cities, some still thriving, are testimony that the land on the Indus was home for some of the worlds greatest civilizations.
The Harappans build here 5000 years ago the oldest advanced culture. Pakistanis of today are the inheritors of some of the greatest
cultural traditions of humanity. Traditions which have been written down in great epic poems or pour out in songs and dance, music
and verse, of mountains and love of the desert. Never over time was here one principality strong enough to unify the area into a
single kingdom. Therefore the whole area was vulnerable. The Archaemenian ruler of Iran were here, Cyrus the Great crossed the
Hindu Kush in 530 BC and brought any independence to an end. After Alexander rose the Mauryan with Asoka on the helm.
For 100 years the Indian subcontinent was forged and unified.
At the height his Empire according to Pliny, he had an army consisting of 9000 elephants, and 600.000 men cavalry. (They could not
fight in the desert, there is no green?). Yet only 50 years after Asoka's death in 232 BC the empire shrunk back.
Remarkable at a later date are the Kushan which ruled from the Ganges to the Oxus in the 2nd century AD. They controlled the silk
route, which linked Rome and Europe to Xian in China.
The Gupta empire rose, followed by dark ages. In the 5th century AD the Huns, fierce barbarians coming from the North West invaded
and terrified the region. Their consequences were far reaching. Almost immediately Gandhara was sacked and art destroyed, never to
recover again.
Then came Islam, In a military campaign first, but with the arrival of Sufi preachers (see Konya in Turkey ), mass conversion took place. Then the Turks established themselves in Ghanzi. In the 16th century The Mogul empire took hold and finally the British arrived.
Their proven concept of trading with the East Indian Company -always in their favor- and with good old fashion imperialism they annex
states, and offered troop protection in return for loyalty and sizeable subsidies. By 1818 Bengal, Orissa, from Ganges up to Delhi
were firmly in the hands of the Brits.
British activities on the subcontinent had not only been limited to waging war, there had also been a gradual westernization of the
Indian society. railroads were build, English was introduced as medium in universities. The Brits fiddled between Hindu and Muslim
and in March 1940 The Pakistan Resolution was submitted in Lahore. Then, drawing boundaries, one of the biggest immigration took
place. Muslim were slaughtered by Hindu, the same fate awaited them when going East. On 14 August 1947 the flag of Pakistan
flew the first time. Today Pakistan is - as India - a nuclear power and supporter of the USA. The war on terror by the US, their attacks strengthen the anti
American sentiments and leaded to a rise in Influence of Islamic parties. Mind you dear reader, Guantanamo still exist, there are still
600 detainees held without a court case or send for rendition, the other word of torture, and yet, it is out of the news.
(Is it a concerted action of the media, controlled by a few powerful men out of New York, directing world events according to their
aims?)
But back to our High Commission In Islamabad as you dear reader must be curious, what knocked us out of our shoes.
It was Thursday morning the 6th March 2008.
Stopping in front of the gate, the suspicious guard open it we went in. In the entrance of the High Commission stood the employees,
Bruneian and others. We had been now two nights in "Hotel de la JAMBO" without refreshing shower from the roof rack tanks,No other
real facilities to wash ourselves as everywhere are people. At one time only, I could go in a Mosque's female comfort room which was
clean.
We stood there shaking hands and apologizing for our "hrrm" not so clean appearance. The Charge AK Sofian directed us to a
guesthouse in the vicinity he would later pick us up as there will be lunch in the High Commission office.
The water was warm the shower long and we jumped into fresh dress ready for -as in every Embassy- a good meal and were soon on
the return. Had he a radio or was it the mobile phone ? I do not remember. What followed, was clever and efficient arranged indeed.
Ak Sofian was talking frequently. But we innocent, did not thought of anything. The car turned into the embassy street, from afar we
heard Punjab music.
"There must be a ceremony somewhere going on" Harun said quietly to me. Reaching the gate, the doors swung wide open. In the
driveway stood these very Musician, colorful dressed, one with a mini trumped and drums,playing for us! We are just small people,
nothing more than adventurers, a bit crazy perhaps but simple fellows.  
Just swallowing this surprise not knowing how to react, a Pakistani came with a floral wreath in his hands and placed it over our heads
and a bouquet into my arms. "Almighty help me please! So much honor for us. This is a welcome for a King!" Then only I noticed
on the porch a large banner: 
 
The Punjab music men His Excellency Pehin Datu Panglima Col (rtd) Hj Abd Jalil Hj Ahmad
and wife Hjh Umi Kalthum receiving us at the doorsteps.   Entering the High commission there was Pakistani TV waiting! And the reporters hammered us with questions about our journey,
congratulated and admired. (The news was aired on Saturday morning).  
The TV crew with three of the Excellencies Myanmar, Nepal and Philippines  
His Excellency Pehin Datu Paduka Panglima Col (rtd) Hj Abd Jalil I felt deeply honored
Honorable reader we do not know if you ever had an experience like this. It was so totally unexpected so logistically engineered and
perfect. At no point we thought of such an overwhelming welcome.
You think that is all now? Just wait!
At this very reception we were introduced to dignitaries as such as: The excellencies, Ambassadors of Malaysia, the Philippines, of
Indonesia, Nepal, Vietnam, Myanmar and Thailand. I hear you want to see Nepal?, "I give you the visa gratis!" the Ambassador of
Nepal said. They all were present because of us.
Suddenly we realized that our journey, the endurance, hardship and dangers of Africa the solo 41.000 km, sometime through mud and
floodwaters, sandstorms and rocky desert, received recognition far beyond the borders of my beloved Brunei Darussalam. It was hard
now to withhold the tears.  
some of the dignitaries and a fine food, Makanan Brunei
 
What a fine meal in the High Commission trusted Second Secretary lovely Siti Norashikin Now honorable reader who followed my emotional story that far, you might think its over! Oh No! The Ambassador of Myanmar found
out that it was my birthday, the 6th March.
I do not know how but within 30 minutes a birthday cake with my name was on the table. The Punjab music men played "Happy
birthday" and everyone was singing. I had to go to the washroom to dry what rolled down my cheeks, before I was able to cut the cake.
  On the way to the guesthouse we were talking about the whole event, so unbelievable and yet so true. How come that we got such a
honor? "Hospitality goes like a tread through Bruneian history" said Harun ."It is in the culture, it is Islamic, it is Malay."
But there is more. They insisted:" We are happy you have arrived. We were so worried about you." Read these words once more dear
reader. They did not complain about the extra work. No. "We were worried....." What a kind hearted approach that is.    
the Brunei Punjab dance team and here all the three great men Jaffar, Ak Sofian and Pg Hj Juani  
The dignitaries the honored and humbled traveler  
His Excellency Charming Mdm Hjh Ummi Kahltum wife of his Excellency
Friday 7-3-08
The welcome continued in many ways. We were cared unbelievable friendly. At noon, we had a press conference. Tourist agencies
were present too.  
journalists at the press conference Ak Sofian, travel agents and journalists with us and JAMBO It was active, with lots of interest. We go in contact with them once we are back in Brunei Darussalam. The evening brought again an
invitation his Excellency and family. All Embassy staff was presents . High above Islamabad we dined. Unforgettful .  
Jaffar a great man and husband of Siti Norashikin The gentleman, Ak Sufian; the Foreign Ministry must be proud of him.
Saturday 8-3-08 The day was filled with work on JAMBO, which needed wear and tear parts replaced and working on the web page, that you dear
reader are not too upset with the delay, as a web page is often like a newspaper. Yesterdays news are today's old socks.
It was our last day in Islamabad, and the warm hospitality already the third day, continued in the evening with an invitation to dine in a
Thai restaurant. And dear reader you should know they played in tournament and won. Against mighty competitors.
In Badminton. The Brunei team just played "good-minton".  
An evening well worth to remember. Thank you all The out performers in Good-minton
 
The Judge Brunei Team with Malaysian Ambassador wife Sunday 9-3-08 By 6:40 Rampai pagi was on as every Sunday. Telbru and CFK made it possible  
Honorable follower of our events, you learned so much about friendship but that is still not all. Checking out from the guest house,
there was no need to pay. Three nights we stay and it cost not one cent. Feeling like children overwhelmed with presents we did not
know what to say or do. Just humble and very gratefully accept it.
How is such a generosity possible? We came as stranger. I reflected the fruitless letters I wrote to corporations and banks back home.
Some did not even reply. Here in far away Pakistan exist like an Island of kindness, a group of Bruneians, contributing to our expenses
from their own hard earned money. The answer must be the strong spirit and devotion for our beloved Brunei Darussalam! That it is!.
We speak the same language. Our journey is not one of private pleasure as some non contributors decided, but it is a journey into our
and our children's future. It is a proof that we Bruneian Malay can endure and master dangers, and care for each other in wise
thoughts and actions! As long as there are people such as you, be it in the High Commission of Islamabad, in Tehran, in Oman in
Abu Dhabi,Jeddah and so forth, with clear eyes and a heart greater than anything I can think of now, there is a bright future of our
beloved Brunei Darussalam. We never asked, but you gave, you loaded us, in a gesture of caring and compassion.
  When the Doa selamat was read by Pg Hj Juani, we had to fight the tears. These were very hard moments, leaving friends back in
Islamabad. May Allah bless your way through life. We hope to see you again in Brunei in not too distant future.  
Slim enough now? Ak Sofian, We reserve the car for your marriage
By 2:00 pm we had arrived in Lahore and went straight on to the Indian border. It was Sunday the 9-3-08 the sky was overcast. In a
canal, boys and buffaloes enjoyed the coolness of the murky waters.  
The formalities were swift on both sides, JAMBO was quickly inspected I looked at the Kilometer counter: We had traveled 41.122 km
since South Africa's Cape Town. A long way. You are not bored dear reader by now? Click INDIA where our journey continues.
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