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I love great conversation. I like sitting with old friends or new friends and letting the hours slip by as we revel in stories, laughs and thought-provoking questions. I like sitting under a shade tree for impromptu talks. I like the randomness of those talks that make a road trip entertaining. I like long dinners that turn into dessert and then into after dinner drinks all because no one wants the conversation to end.
I like the way long walks can lead to unexpected stories. I like being in groups where the conversation teaches me something about someone else or even about my self. I like when someone invites me to meet at a coffee shop or when wine is served on the porch.
I just really like connecting with others during those precious moments of uninterrupted, soulful talks and I feel like life doesn’t necessarily serve up those moments enough to feed my appetite.
Maybe this is one of the reasons I liked Pakistan. It is a country filled with people who savor conversation, who love to ask questions and who are in no hurry to move along to another task
or life’s demand.
As I moved through Pakistan and met people from different regions, different backgrounds and different social groups, I quickly noticed a trend in the conversation. I could almost write the script before the questions were lobbied in my direction. Being the incredible hosts that seem to describe all Pakistanis, it was no surprise the conversation was focused on getting to know the visitor and making sure everyone felt comfortable and included.
“Where are you from?” Not surprisingly the first question always, unless you count the ever polite, “M’am may I ask you a question?” My answer of “United States” always seemed to lead to a brief moment of surprise or disbelief and once in awhile it was followed with wanting details of how long it took me to arrive in Pakistan, what stopovers I had to endure and where I first landed in Pakistan.
Sometimes there was a quick survey of my surroundings and I would get peppered with questions about if I was traveling alone, why I was traveling alone and if I needed anything. A white woman being alone, whether it was traveling, sitting at a
restaurant or simply shopping always seemed to draw a bevy of stares that sometimes led to a bevy of questions.
Inevitably the next question was the one I had to get most used to and I had to get there quickly because this question is absolutely mandatory in any conversation with a Pakistani person. “How old are you?” One of my Pakistani friends asked me this before I ever arrived and I politely educated him on how it is not proper to ask a lady her age. I dropped that little nugget of Emily Post etiquette within the first few hours of arriving in the country and just resigned myself to that fact that everyone I encountered would soon know how many years I have been on this earth.
The next question was almost always, “Are you married?” And with my affirmative answer, the follow up was, “How many years?”
Now this is where it gets tricky. The next question is ALWAYS, I cannot repeat this enough, it is ALWAYS, “Do you have any children?” My answer was always unexpected and the asker was always incredibly unprepared to handle my answer
of, “No children.”
Insert complete awkward silence and a moment so clumsy I considered making up some kids and using photos of my friends’ kids to cover my hasty lie. In the States, I just say, “No I have a dog instead.” But my concern about comparing parenthood to dog companionship in a country that seems to truly value families so far as to having multiple generations living seamlessly under one roof, might take offense to such a trite answer.
My answer to this question stalled so many conversations I even asked a few of my Pakistani friends about how to handle this question. I begged them for some guidance. It may not come as any surprise, they literally had no suggestions.
So I continued along and did this little conversation dance only to notice, it was also a bit alarming when I mentioned that I had no siblings. But that one is on my parents, so I didn’t have to spend too much time explaining this except when I added how thankful I was to be an only child.
Once I got to know my conversation dance
partner a little better, the questions became even more interesting. Time and time again, someone would ask, after they appeared to work up a little courage or at least some rapport, “How do Americans find Pakistan? The media portrays us in certain ways and we have a hard time changing that image. People do not think it is safe to be here.”
This question and the ones similar to it, always tugged at my heart a bit and I always felt myself being particularly careful how I moved forward. Obviously there are Americans that thought I was downright foolish to even want to go to Pakistan and that it was basically a death sentence for a woman to travel there alone. But, those Americans have also thought that about 20 other countries that I have visited in the past.
I finally settled on the most politically correct and sensitive way I could answer without waltzing into insensitive territory. “My father is very protective of me and not only is he ok with me traveling to Pakistan alone, he is excited that I am here.” The answer was completely genuine, authentic and accurate, all of
which are qualities valued by Pakistanis.
As my conversation dance card filled, I had some great questions to add to the list. “M’am is that your natural hair color?” “Can we take a selfie?” “How do you find Pakistan?” (This always seemed to be paired with a nervous moment awaiting my answer.) “M’am how much do you weigh?” (Seriously, this and my age?) “What is your religion?” “How do you feel about Islam?” “What nicknames does your husband call you?” (I couldn’t make these up!) One of my favorite comments that kept surfacing was commentary on how I spoke English. “M’am, I just love to listen to you speak.” “You have the perfect accent.”
Because of the government upheaval coinciding with my trip, I was asked multiple times how I felt about the prime minister, the vote to remove him and the person to take his place. Like a great politician, I danced side to side and turned the question back on them.
There were some aspects of Pakistani conversation for which I was not prepared. Upon arrival, it was suggested that I do not mention that I had ever traveled
to India. After being put into a corner several times with question as direct as, “Have you ever been to India?” I finally blurted out “Am I supposed to be honest when I answer this one?!” I quickly learned that was a piece of advice I could forget. Many Pakistanis had been to India and many more desired a trip to India. It was not a problem that I had been there many times and it often led to questions about how I experienced this neighbor.
I had also read that I should avoid all discussions of Israel as a state. Not too shocking as this could be a lightening rod in conversations all over the world. I also assumed it would never come up in any of my conversations. Wrong. So when I again found myself cornered, I answered to a Muslim friend, “Palestine.” I thought I was being so culturally savvy, however, that did not work. He made me repeat it four times without comprehension and I awkwardly yelled “Israel! I was in Israel!” He seemed completely unfazed by my answer.
The bottom line, Pakistan is the land of great conversationalists and
for someone like me who may choose to stay quiet when given the option, it was an incredible opportunity for me to open up and engage with people who seemed accepting of whatever you brought to the moment, even if you are married and choose not to have children.
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Kuan Yin
Karen Johnson
"How many kids?"
As a woman who almost always travels alone, I, too, get hit up with awkward questions. I will make up a husband, and when asked why he isn't with me, I say he has to stay home to work. But when asked about kids I've found the best way - and a way to save face for both me and the questioner - is to simply say "No," in a sad tone of voice. Most people will drop the subject at this point, assuming that it is a topic too sad for me to discuss.