Waiting for the Boom — page 4

Yet, there is undeniable beauty here. Offshore, protected from the open sea by the cliff-lined bay, Gwadar's fishing fleet bobs on the sparkling water. Beyond the horizon, not far away, are Oman, Iran and the oil wealth of the Persian Gulf. Perhaps I am missing something. Perhaps there really is reason to be hopeful. After all, even in the Garden of Eden, paradise was home to a serpent.

I escape the afternoon heat by taking a nap in my modest but clean motel, apparently the nicest place to stay in the bazaar. When I wake, I go for an evening stroll. Despite my earlier disappointment with the lack of visible activity at the large new property developments, Gwadar is certainly changing. Small signs of growth abound, with many houses and shops in the process of adding second and even third floors.

On closer inspection, Gwadar has much one would not expect to find in a poor fishing village. There is a place called the Global Internet Cafe, for example, and a video-game arcade packed with young kids in colorful T shirts. There are restaurants with televisions connected to satellite dishes, numerous public call offices offering international dialing and fax services, and even more numerous establishments advertising themselves as property dealers. There is also an amazing absence of seafood.

In the main square, I take a seat on a wooden bench under the night sky near a sign offering dishes of chicken and lamb. The owner of the restaurant comes to me, and after inquiring politely if I want to buy land, asks me for my order.

"Why don't any of the restaurants here serve seafood?" I ask him.

He laughs. "We can if you wish. But it is best to tell us the night before, so we can buy it fresh when it comes in. You see, we used to eat mostly fish. But now our fish commands such a high price that it is auctioned at the harbor and sent off for export. With the price we get, we can buy enough chicken for two men with a fish that would feed only one."

He seems pleased by this. My fellow diners are devouring chicken with such enthusiasm that I suspect they do not mind the change in their diet. Trade has brought them increased prosperity and access to goods they could not previously afford. That may not be the paradise I had in mind, the sanitized and glamorous paradise of a world-class tourist resort. But it is certainly a kind of paradise nonetheless, something for which most of Asia's billions pray every day.

On the morning of my flight back to Karachi, I am informed by Pakistan International Airlines that although my ticket says I have a confirmed seat, I do not in fact have one. I go to a public call office and phone Lahore and Karachi, trying to find someone who can sort out this problem. But it is a weekend, and I have limited success until a local man sipping a cup of tea beside me intervenes on my behalf. His name is Babu, and in addition to being a property dealer, he is also a telephone repairman. "Everyone knows me," he says. "And they all owe me a favor."

He takes my ticket and drives off on his motorcycle. Fifteen minutes later he is back, and my problem has been solved. I thank him, and we get to talking. I ask him what he thinks of the plans for Gwadar's future. "We are very happy," he tells me. "Here there has been no development for so long. We don't even have a hospital. Pakistan had forgotten about us. But now things are changing."

I remember walking along the beach a few days earlier and seeing the shattered glass that marked the site of the recent car bombing. I ask Babu why, if the people of Gwadar are so happy about the project, someone targeted the Chinese. "It was not one of us," he says. "But outsiders sometimes come. Strange people from Afghanistan and Peshawar and Islamabad. They do not come for business. We do not know why they are here. But I know that we did not do this thing to the Chinese."

He invites me to his home for lunch, and I eat with the men of his family. I ask them about reports I have read that tribal leaders in Baluchistan are opposed to the development of Gwadar, because they fear it will only benefit non-Baluch outsiders. They admit that this is true for some of the inland Baluch tribes, but not for the people of Gwadar itself. That said, they also tell me that they are disappointed that locals have so far been given few jobs. "We want other Pakistanis to come here and invest," Babu says. "But we should not be excluded. It will not be fair to us if outsiders buy all our land and leave us without work."

I think about this on the flight back to Karachi as my Fokker bucks and rears through a turbulent sky. I hope that there is indeed a plan to make sure the locals continue to benefit and that Gwadar does not become just a speculative game for the rest of Pakistan. Because although I did not on this trip find the paradise I was looking for, I did find what could be a source of hope for thousands of poor people in Baluchistan if Gwadar is managed correctly.

My search for paradise in Gwadar only reinforced my feeling that Pakistan is a land of both potential and uncertainty. This is not surprising, I tell myself as my Fokker banks sharply and comes in to land. After all, in the Sufi tradition, a successful quest for paradise always takes the searcher back to himself.

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Aug. 18, 2004	Aug. 19, 2003	Aug. 20, 2003