Two government shutdowns in one year?

I'm down to my last 24 hours in Karachi. It's been a whirlwind of a trip. I don't think I'll ever get used to the driving. I feel like there's something wrong with driving 50 mph next to a cart being pulled by a donkey, especially when the cart's owner is also texting at the same time. Shouldn't there be laws on that - no texting while donkeying? But wait...there are no traffic rules...at least in most parts of the city. We drove through Defense a few nights ago to visit some relatives and the area was very well lit with grid-like street lights and signs that prohibited the use of phones while driving.

I wish the city was more accessible to foreigners. It's very difficult to go out and do things when you're not a local and are hindered by things like customs and language barriers. You're entirely dependent on people doing things for you. In some ways it's nice ("Yes, I'll take that third cup of tea") and in other cases it's frustrating, especially when I come from a country of independent people. I don't know if I can trust people. Should I hide my valuables? Can I go somewhere without a male chaperone? The more I've gone out, the more poverty I've seen. I've been seeing this for years, and it's not easy to forget, but it's something else entirely when you see it up close. There's some Slumdog Millionaire type stuff (missing limbs, eyes welded shut), but most of it is wretched and sad people trying to sell useless things, like flowers, balloons, and drawstring for your pants for money. And most of the time, if you're suckered into giving someone money (which you need to be wary of - it's organized poverty, so often times the rupees you're handing over to small children don't go to them directly), you're ambushed by every poor person in the vicinity. It's also why you can't throw scraps of food at the stray dogs and cats...no matter how many times the Sarah McLaughlin song plays in my head.

This is the wall that separates my grandmother's house from the street. This is commonplace for all homes, although I've seen many that are way more fortified than this, with built-in guard posts. When we were younger, the wall didn't have the wrought iron bars it does now. We used to sit on the edge and watch people go by, sometimes conversing with them, sometimes pelting them with mud (yeah...I don't know either). But things have changed.

The city has gone crazy...going through some type of government shutdown, known as a paya jam, or "wheel shutdown", here. People say it's normal and these things happen on occasion. There are protests against the recent slaying of some Shi'ite Muslims and years worth of unsolved murders. I made the mistake of tracking Twitter and the local news, and found all sorts of headlines that make me want to apparate back to the U.S. immediately. There are accounts of volunteers helping to distribute vaccines being murdered, and gang violence in Lyari (which is where one of our cars was mugged on the way back from the beach just days ago). But no one here seems alarmed. The shopkeepers seem annoyed because they're all being forced to close down for the day, which means an entire day's worth of business is lost in an already struggling nation. They started closing down roads earlier on Thursday, but the shutdown goes into effect Friday. Apparently you just learn about these things by word of mouth. Sarah and I have woken up to what sounds like gunfire the last two nights. Maybe it's celebratory fireworks, but who knows.

My stomach is ready for American food. I've eaten everything possible while here. I even had the opportunity to eat steak. But I think what I've eaten too much of is my grandmother's food. Who eats four chapatis in one sitting? A gluttonous granddaughter.