Have you ever tried to shoot an arrow to the moon and pull it towards you? At times riding for Education has felt like that. Everybody has such a vivid opinion on such an important subject. Most likely they are right too. This is a ride for the people of three countries and making it one they can be proud of has taken ten months.

Sitting here trying to recall the experience of buying two more horses it wasn’t a funny episode but one long 23 hours adventure dosed up by fate – or whatever you believe in.

A flow of time. Boarding the luxury (??5) Daewoo Express at Lahore. Waking up seven hours later in Peshawar you feel like you’ve traveled Business class on Virgin Atlantic. Meeting some old friends at the bus terminal and driving back to the horse market. Back to last December when I’d l found myself face to face with the same old leathery faces and toothy smile of rugged Afghan horse traders. As hard mouthed as the steeds they sold. Peshawar reminds you why you travel. Its mystique and aura are justified and for me the horse market personifies Peshawar’s wild edge. Screeching horsemen, half built buildings, billowing dust clouds and nothing but horses, donkeys and moody cows. A place for the imagination.An old friend of Brooke Hospital for Animals guided me through the maze of madness in search of two Afghani mares that would carry me to China.

We narrowed the choices down to four mares. Mares are a lot quieter than horses and these four were virtually the only suitable ones in the whole market. The flow continued and choice narrowed further. One mare looked fine at the start until closer inspection showed her entire back was swollen from overloading and saddle sores. It was really sad to see. So many ponies at that market were physically in pain from maltreatment. Yet they were being sold as a state of normalcy. Tonga horses are often acquired far too young and regularly and develop acute arthritis on their lower legs which today looked like tree trunks. I commented to Dr. Javaid that he was living through the last great age of horses in Pakistan. He replied, “yet there is so much work to do here.”

Then there were two. One was a pure breed Afghani mare, short ears, wedge like face and powerful legs and body. She had recently been brought from Mazar-e-Sherif in Northern Afghanistan and was really bright eyed and alert. She was used to a life in the mountains and all the commotion around really interested her. There wasn’t a shred of doubt that she was destined for this journey.

The other mare, we commandeered from a cart owner who was just sitting by the roadside above the market, sipping tea and waiting for his next load. These guys don’t mess around though. As soon as he learnt that an Englishman was interested in his mare, the harness was off faster than the poor animal knew what was happening. As I test rode both horses together through the crazy traffic of Peshawar each mare couldn’t be more different.

The cart mare had spent most of her life pulling loads in some of the most dangerous and crazed traffic in the world. The other had spent her life in the high pastures navigating craggy mountain passes. Her ears flickered everywhere as titanic buses bore down on us but she didn’t panic. Both mares will eventually learn from the other as each traverses her own terrain in the future and there is still time to adapt them to traffic before leaving on 03 October 2005.

The morning quickly whisked us into negotiations. To the backdrop of fast paced horse market we crowded behind a low wall. The language was Pashto, my understanding zero. Dr Javaid was the star of the hour. He worked at the market every Friday healing ‘normal’ horses. He knew the right price and didn’t let either owner rise above that. The cart owner quickly settled. Dost Mohammad was another issue. A true Pashtun with toothy grin, long white beard and hard attitude. A tough nut who eventually cracked and I drafted a proof of sale contract. Yet the irony of the affair was for horses destined for a ‘ride for education,’ neither owner could read or write. Signatures were given as thumbprints!

We scoured the market for our truck, devoured chunks of sheep and left. Just like that.

The family of the truck

The Crew: Welcome to the tiny world of the three man lorry crew. Tight knit teams that criss-cross Pakistan in 1977 Bedford trucks transporting everything from mangos to horses. All Pashtuns from traditional Mardan. Our Drivers Rasul Khan (33), Maher Nabi (39, looked 50), one quiet, one loud. There only words of English either “”yes” or randomly “no smoking!” Men whom in times of heavy traffic or stress would screech “No smoking” and break out into crazed laughter. Then there was Mohammad Suber (20) a boy who just sat and laughed. Though he was the mechanical whizz of the team.

The truck: A thirty year old beast, brightly painted on the outside and literally gilded inside. The cabin felt like you’re sitting inside the glove compartment with tiny cubby holes everywhere for something. The drivers regularly swapped duties. As we ploughed down the middle of the GT road, the passenger driver would fling himself out of the moving vehicle to scale a ladder and sleep in a bed on the roof. I did the same. Lying on a soft mattress looking up at the stars wind in my face as we wafted across Pakistan. And if it rains? The drivers just cover themselves with tarpaulin and still sleep. Not to be outdone by our birdmen drivers, Mohammad Suber became the designated truck squirrel opening the door every half-hour to check on the horses or fix some mechanical failure.

The battle for Lahore

It took 17 hours to reach Lahore. The crew believed in regular tea breaks and nothing could break that routine. The GT road has rippled and buckled with the heat. This all meant we entered Lahore after the 7am curfew for trucks entering the city. The result was that I had to battle with three sets of corrupt policemen and the superintendent of a local police station to drop my horses off. This meant lots of brandishing official looking documents and shouting. It worked. Both mares are now stabled in an abandoned bus station owned by one a famous polo player called Hassan Ali Farrukh who was kind enough to allow me to keep both mares in Lahore for the next eight days until departure day on Monday, 03 October 2005.

The riding for Education campaign is now about to begin. With two new horses, a TV channel and much more. This ride is set to have an impact in Pakistan and beyond. Ten months in country have allowed me to reassess, focus and make this ride something I can be proud of. I hope you will be too.

Thankyou

I would like to extend my gratitude in particular to Prince Malick Atta for finding and recommending two mares almost a week before the above for foray to Peshawar. It was only through pure prgamatism that I did not accept his kind offer. Thankyou.

This entry was posted on Friday, September 23rd, 2005 at 8:33 pm and is filed under General, Pakistan. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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