The other day I uploaded a fairly sarcastic post about that time I travelled through Japan… so, continuing in that vein…
Welcome to: Adventures of a Sarcastic White Girl in Pakistan!
I was 21 when I decided I wanted to “research” Pakistan. My intention was to develop a really good argument for never ever going there.
As you might have guessed, the results were varied.
I was eventually led to the conclusion that Pakistan would be a wonderful place for a white woman to visit… if they consented to covering themselves from head-to-toe in concealing, unappealing cloth; had a dedicated guard of hired gunmen; and didn’t mind being publicly masturbated at by strange men on the streets. You could reason that ‘covering up’ would make the whole ‘being publicly masturbated at’ thing less of a problem. I figured that the conscientious public masturbator would hold back from amorous street activity in the event of a passing burka actually concealing a confused, cold, white man instead of a woman.
Think about it. It could totally happen.
If I was a freezing white man traipsing around the Himalayas, I’d probably wear a burka too, just to keep warm.
The need to hire a team of gunmen for protection posed another problem, because I immediately began to wonder if they, too, would be fiendish masturbators. That’s when I ruled out the public libidinousness myth. I moved onto other topics. The Internet seemed to be of the opinion that Pakistan’s idea of feminism was a stunted work-horse in contrast to the Western Black Beauty. I was convinced of this because of the deterioration of EVERY SINGLE thread of comments into the same circle of arguments:
1. White women are ‘hos.
2. Can we just ignore the Indian women please?
3. Pakistani women are perfect… mostly because you can marry as many of them as you want.
In reality, it seemed like the Indian women were only brought into the arguments for the opportunity to insult them. Afterwards, they were tossed aside again to address the main issue: polyamory vs. ‘hos.
Side note: Clearly, these arguments were all made by a bitter Pakistani man, whose Indian wife ran away from him to pursue a new life as a western lesbian.
Moving on: in no time at all, I had a pretty good image of the web-exemplified Pakistani woman. I knew that she was showered with money, bracelets, goats—basically, whatever she wanted—to keep her from nagging her busy-with-important-things husband. I imagined her being introduced to her husband’s eighteenth wife, and then being presented with another piece of extortion jewelry or compensation candy. I then saw her baking dinner for enough children and elders to form a powerful community cult (three cheers for stereotypes!). But that was nothing compared to the web-exemplified white woman. After a little light reading, I was well on the way to never trusting myself or any of my friends ever again.
There were many cautionary tales for Muslim men who had been tempted by the infamous ‘white woman,’ and were straying from their holier-than-thou paths to become prey to modernized, soul-consuming sirens. The standard timeline for soul consumption was a week. After which, the devilish white ‘ho would find a new victim, consequently consume his innards, and then return to her prostitution career.
Side note: The Internet was spot on with that one. I’ve consumed seven souls already this week.
Not all of the comments were so harsh. Some were almost complimentary, in a particularly ill-informed way. One man attested, “I love white womens because of their nice white skins. And there are very very dirty and good in bed.”
Good to know, Pakistani Stud.
Once the senseless screaming from the depths of societies keyboard-rappers began to give me a headache, I sucked in a deep breath and took the inevitable dive into deeper, more authoritative sources. I learned that there’s always somewhere worse. There’s always something worse.
The truth is, Pakistan seemed to be exactly what I expected it might be.
A third-world country.
So… I went there!
Here are some photos. Clearly I had a great time.
Moral of the story? Don’t believe everything you hear on the internet!
Side note: Sorry about the terrible quality of the photos. Most of them were taken over my shoulder as I ran away, dodging wild bullets. Or… I’m just a really bad photographer. Or… whoever was taking the photos was just a really bad photographer. Who knows at this stage. I clearly have brain damage from being tackled by too many terrorists.