My Shoes Got Stolen

 My Shoes Got Stolen!

The Shiites stole my shoes- and other strange happenings at the end of Muharram:
Since Pashtuns are Sunni, the mournful month of Muharram had not really affected me in any way. Yet on the last day of celebration, Islamabad was- conveniently- shut down. Roads were blocked, every shop and business was closed. The story was they were striking because of the rising electric bill prices. I was taking a walk and decided to investigate one of the blockages to see if there were any active protestors. On the normally busy road was a strip mall area (markaz), apartments, and a grassy field where squatters and nomads usually set up camp. The entire area was shut down, closed off, with the grassy area completely obscured by curtains creating a fence of metal poles. The police and military were all over the area making sure nothing noteworthy would happen. Excited and intrigued to see what was behind the blockages and curtains (I was expecting, as the story went, a strike regarding electricity prices), I ventured on to the only small opening through the blockades, which was through a metal detector and police officers. Only being able to speak Pashto, I tried to ask the Punjabi police officer what was happening there. Not knowing what I was saying, he just motioned for me to come through the metal detector into the guarded go-off area. There were many people milling about, lots of groups of women and children, men selling talismans or snacks. Still not knowing what was actually going on there, I saw a sight that made me realize this was no strike or protest. Several men were carrying a large pole with a plague on top reading “Allah” with black flags on it into the grassy area that was obscured by the curtains even from inside the blockaded area. I recognized the iconic black flag- it was the Shiites and this was the last day of Muharram. Completely devoid of the usual Pashtuns that mill about in that area, I had difficulty communicating with the purely Punjabi crowd, but I confirmed my suspicions about it being a Shiite celebration from a man who proudly patted his chest and nodded when I said “Shiite?” The inside area crawled with police and military who were making sure this very despised religious minority would have no trouble or demonstrations of any kind. I followed a group of women past the curtains into the grassy area where the apparently Shiite nomads, squatters, and poor people in the cylinder block houses there lived. We went up a muddy hill past some cows and men selling talismans. There was a small, cylindered mosque adorned with the Shiite flags and completely bustling with people. We walked around the back, while I kept trying to ask what was going on and if we were going to the women’s section. They only nodded and replied “salaam Hussain”. We entered the women’s side of the mosque, which was filled with the smell of incense, women and children listening to the sermon over the loudspeakers and occasionally throwing up their hands saying “ya Ali, ya Hussain”, as well as many strange shrines, tomb shaped memorials, and symbols with Arabic writings. (See pictures above) I prayed for a while, saddened by the lostness and outright idolatry of praying to the pictures of Hussain, worshiping at the shrines. There was a very mystical and demonic atmosphere with many strange talismans. Almost everyone was wearing black in commemoration of their solemn and sorrowful month, whilst I was wearing the brightest yellow and also found myself to be the only white person. I usually slip in unnoticed with the lighter and many times blue-eyed Pashtuns and Chitralis- but in an entirely Punjabi crowd I stuck out like a sore thumb. But no one asked me any questions or bothered me. After a while, I decided to go out and investigate another area. To my surprise, someone had taken my plastic, dollar store sandals. Now shoeless, I continued along the path to investigate another area. I found myself in a Shiite graveyard with its impressive marble tombs and black flags. I followed some women past the graveyard to another mosque that was situated on the top of a hill, hiding in the trees under the shadow of the big Sunni mosque openly displayed on the roadside. From a vantage point I could see many other Shiite graveyards and cylinder block settlements down the hill obscured from view by the posh, Westernized, airs Islamabad puts on. In such a wealthy and modern city, there still lurks between the cracks between the poor and the downtrodden. I felt at a loss without being able to speak their language, offering them nothing but the dirty shoes they took. Pray for the Shiites to find the real Savior who is coming back soon.
I go back to Peshawar soon! I was supposed to go back on Friday, but they extended the starting date, so I was there on Thursday to register, but had to come back to Islamabad.  I was happy to be back in my element in the capital of the Pashtun district of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, where Urdu is neither needed nor appreciated and I blend in perfectly and am able to tell stories and share truths in their native language. Pray for me as I look forward to going back in a few days. Pray I meet back up with those who took the book last semester and want to follow up on what they’ve read. Pray for a new friend who just received the book yesterday.
 
Thank you for praying! Khoda haafiz!⁩
 
Kendall Freeman
Sept 1st 2024