Golf
turn, pays for the course. Our golf secretary, ‘The Brig’, is one of the most delightful gents I have ever met and can handle himself on the track, however his heart and soul is in the course, which helps. For Ian Robson to come to
Pakistan was, I am sure, quite a culture shock, and during his trip we took him to Wagha Gate, the border between Pakistan and India. I would imagine that he has never been escorted by a convoy of troops with flashing lights before. For the uninitiated, Wagha Gate is where the changing of the guard takes place under the scrutiny of two ‘football stands’ full of representatives from Pakistan on one side and India on the other. During the change, there is a ritual ‘hurling of abuse’ at each other. It’s very funny, and well worth the trip. Despite the bizarre and somewhat intimidating circumstances of being accompanied everywhere by an army guard, Ian took it all in his stride and did a superb job, organising the grinder to be transported here and in the training of the staff. The grinder is an absolute must here, as there is a lot of dust in the wind which knocks the cut off the units pretty quickly. Our intention is to use it commercially, as it is the only one in Pakistan. Ian completed the training in the few days available, and gained great respect with his patience and relaxed manner. One consequence is that Baba Yousef, Chief of Mechanics, is now praying in the direction of Moscow, and chief
mechanic, Nadime, is praying towards Cape Town - nowhere near the direction of Mecca, because they insist on praying next to the grinder.
The moral to the story is, that if you want to work successfully in Asia, and even more so in Africa, you must become father, mother, doctor, and mediator to your team! And an expert in producing your own chemicals. But, most of all, appreciate that you have been lucky to have had the chance.
Hunter’s gatherer of information!
Ian Robson finds Pakistan a mixture of fear, humour, generosity, bizarre characters and lovely people
I ARRIVE in Lahore, my first visit to Pakistan and I am here to install a Hunter Grinders Series 5 Jupiter, and provide training for the greens staff. A driver has been sent to collect me in a Suzuki 4x4, and off we go from the airport down a sliproad to the motorway ... and come face to face with a wagon coming up towards us! My driver swerves, avoids the lorry, and slips onto the dual
carriageway with a loud and cheerful “Welcome to Pakistan, Boss!”
And so the scene is set. Several near misses later, having dodged oncoming traffic, gone around roundabouts the wrong way, overtook, undertook, ran red lights, and avoided all manner of obstacles in the road, we arrived at the first police block. At this point, the driver went faster (causing a minor panic to course through my veins), and didn’t stop until we reached a military check point. This was my first taste of how the military run the show, not the police. Defence Raya Golf and Country Resort is owned and run by the military. The ‘Brigadier’ rules and, although rarely seen, is constantly being used as a threat by Course Manager, John Tate, to get things done; “I will let the Brigadier know that you refuse to fix the pump”; “Wait till the Brigadier hears that you can’t deliver all of the fertiliser needed”. It seemed to do the trick, the pump got fixed, and the fertiliser got delivered on time. If it wasn’t so sinister, it was like threatening children with dad’s slipper. The ‘Brigadier’ also opened doors for the trip to the infamous Wagha Gate, VIP style. We raced through the streets of Lahore, complete with military escort, full sirens blaring, motorcycle lights flashing, and with little consideration for anyone in our path.
I stayed in a villa near the golf course with other operatives, including the golf course construction manager and the architect. Each day of my five day visit I was protected by an armed guard outside my door and driven, under guard, to the greenkeepers’ sheds. John assured me it was merely for my own peace of mind, and because the ‘Brigadier’
40 PC FEBRUARY/MARCH 2012 Ian and John at the Wagha Gate
insisted that I was to be given full military protection at all times.
The others ate in a communal area with food prepared by the resident housekeeper, but John preferred to send out for a takeaway curry every day! Usually, this was chicken and seemed to be based on the principle that nothing should be wasted, including every part of the chicken I would rather not mention. Needless to say, my stomach rebelled pretty violently. Work started at around 4.00am to avoid the incredibly oppressive
C and 90% humidity. The sheds were concrete and tin and, although modern enough, had no air conditioning. Even at this early hour, I could only work for an hour before retreating to the only air conditioned room (John’s office) for a refreshing ten minute coffee break.
temperatures of around 40 to 45O
where my bags were whisked out of my hand by a complete stranger. An instruction to “follow me” was obeyed without question. My bags disappeared and I was led through rooms and corridors until we reappeared at security ahead of a huge line of fellow passengers. Suppressing my
embarrassment and natural desire to apologise for jumping the queue, I turned to my benefactor who held out his hand. Just before I reached to shake it, he said “you pay me dollars?” He had to settle for the ten quid note burning a hole in my pocket, which is probably a month’s salary for him, if the truth be known.
Back on the plane at last. Did I mention I had travelled Pakistan Airlines? Don’t ever do it, unless you like curried scrambled eggs for breakfast - and I only know that because it was still on the seat from the last passenger! I was the only non-
The staff were brilliant, willing to learn, eager to please and very stoical about their conditions. Everything is about making do with what’s available. For example, I needed a driver or spline shaft to drive a unit. One of the men handmade one there and then out of a metal bar. All by hand, no lathe, just patiently working the metal into the required shape and size. They were a pleasure to be around, full of jokes and good temper. One character, who spoke good English, translated on the first day but was nowhere to be seen on the second. It turned out that his brother had been stabbed and killed the previous night. He was back on the third day without a word. Welcome to Pakistan! Brutal yet human. After five exhilarating days, I headed back to the airport,
Pakistani, English speaking person on the plane, which came in handy because it got round that I could fill in the UK entry visa cards. A queue rapidly formed and, being the helpful chap I am, I advised a would be visitor to the UK that it would be better if he didn’t state he was staying in the UK for four years, when his university invitation was only for eighteen months! And, finally, I was glad to be of help when one passenger asked which of his two passports looked most like him (although neither did) for getting through passport control.
I am a seasoned traveller, but I have to say Pakistan was a unique experience, a mixture of fear, humour, generosity, bizarre characters and, above all, good natured, lovely people.
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52 |
Page 53 |
Page 54 |
Page 55 |
Page 56 |
Page 57 |
Page 58 |
Page 59 |
Page 60 |
Page 61 |
Page 62 |
Page 63 |
Page 64 |
Page 65 |
Page 66 |
Page 67 |
Page 68 |
Page 69 |
Page 70 |
Page 71 |
Page 72 |
Page 73 |
Page 74 |
Page 75 |
Page 76 |
Page 77 |
Page 78 |
Page 79 |
Page 80 |
Page 81 |
Page 82 |
Page 83 |
Page 84 |
Page 85 |
Page 86 |
Page 87 |
Page 88 |
Page 89 |
Page 90 |
Page 91 |
Page 92 |
Page 93 |
Page 94 |
Page 95 |
Page 96 |
Page 97 |
Page 98 |
Page 99 |
Page 100 |
Page 101 |
Page 102 |
Page 103 |
Page 104 |
Page 105 |
Page 106 |
Page 107 |
Page 108 |
Page 109 |
Page 110 |
Page 111 |
Page 112 |
Page 113 |
Page 114 |
Page 115 |
Page 116 |
Page 117 |
Page 118 |
Page 119 |
Page 120 |
Page 121 |
Page 122 |
Page 123 |
Page 124 |
Page 125 |
Page 126 |
Page 127 |
Page 128 |
Page 129 |
Page 130 |
Page 131 |
Page 132 |
Page 133 |
Page 134 |
Page 135 |
Page 136 |
Page 137 |
Page 138 |
Page 139 |
Page 140 |
Page 141 |
Page 142 |
Page 143 |
Page 144 |
Page 145 |
Page 146 |
Page 147 |
Page 148