Journey to Pakistan

March 23rd

2008-03-24T14:16:00.001-07:00

These are a few images from the tribal regions of Pakistan that accompany a story written by Betsy Hiel of the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review. You can view this story along with several other stories, slideshows, and videos from Pakistan at http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/news/specialreports/trib-in-pakistan/

March 23rd - Pakistan's Lawless Tribal Regions Slideshow

2008-03-24T14:08:00.000-07:00

March 16th 12:00AM

2008-03-18T10:21:00.001-07:00

March 16th - Pakistan Media Video

2008-03-18T08:25:00.000-07:00

March 3rd 9:00PM

2008-03-04T10:22:00.000-08:00

Islamabad—American writer, Ursula LeGuin once said, “It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” As I sit here in my hotel room, a place that now feels more like home than my own home, my journey to Pakistan is coming to an end. Having spent over six weeks here, it is going to be hard to go back to my life as it was. Each day here has been a new adventure, full of excitement, fear, anger, sadness, joy, worry and stress. Every second was full of the unknown. I’ve witnessed so many things during my time here. I’ve seen terrorism first hand, the tragic loss of life in a suicide bombing, the face of children who beg for money but are happier with a piece of food, the voice of democracy as protestors take to the streets seeking a new freedom, the pride in a man’s eyes as he pulls back a barbed-wire fence with his bare hands only to get to the other side to shake the hand of a policeman, the sound of police and military beating their batons and firing teargas into a crowd, the pride in a woman having the opportunity to vote, the anguish of a hope lost with the assassination of a beloved leader, tears of joy and hope. Pakistan is a country constantly evolving and unfolding before your eyes. It’s a country on the verge. With each new day, Pakistan becomes an ever more integral part of the international community, and its war, if lost, will be have grave consequences around the world. Time is the only solution, and in time its path will be revealed. I’ve been very fortunate to be a witness to such remarkable-historic times. I hope for the sake of all the great people that I’ve met, and now call my friends, that peace returns to these lands, that their hopes are not left to fade, and that democracy and freedom rise above the horizon, dawning a new day in Pakistan. While my time here is up and I must soon leave Pakistan, Pakistan won’t soon leave me. I’m proud of the work I’ve done here. I’m proud that I didn’t waste a minute, and worked each and every day—even today, my last day. I’ll continue my posts even after I return home. I have so many more photos and stories that I look forward to sharing. These are a few images of some of my great Pakistani friends that I’ve met throughout the last six weeks.

February 26th 1:50AM

2008-02-25T13:27:00.001-08:00

Rawalpindi—This morning as I awoke I pulled back my curtains, revealing the Margalla Hills and all the morning activities outside on the street. I went through my morning routine of checking email, preparing gear, reading the newspaper, and checking out the wire for recent events. As I turned on the T.V., flipping through the channels I stopped on a favorite movie of mine--Braveheart. I sat down on my couch with the newspaper in my lap and watched the movie as I’ve done so many times before. This time it was it was different. As I watched the scenes of the men fighting for their freedom, I looked out the window and pondered what is freedom’s cost. Even today people are still laying down their lives for the smallest taste of freedom. I thought a lot about one line in the movie where the William Wallace character says, “Fight and you may die, run, and you'll live... at least for a while. And dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days, from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take...Our freedom!” I thought about how many times I’ve awoken from my bed at my home and never once thought about all the freedoms I have, and then I wondered how many others have taken the same freedoms for granted. After that I could hardly sit still. I had my mind made up that I was going to go out and find some images. Not soon after that I received word of a suicide attack in Rawalpindi. I wasted no time and headed downstairs to get a car with Betsy. The drive seemed to take forever. When we finally reached the scene the road was blocked off so we headed closer on foot. I approached slowly, trying to test the water as to how close I could get and to decipher the whole scene. I saw a good position across the road and moved closer. Looking around I realized that I may be one of the few U.S. photojournalists still here at least at this scene I didn’t see any others. The scene was quiet despite hundreds of police, military and investigators. Only the occasional ambulance siren broke the silence. The suicide bomber, dressed as a beggar, killed the Pakistan army's surgeon general in the highest-level assassination since President Pervez Musharraf joined the U.S. war against terror. The lone bomber targeted Lt. Gen Mushtaq Baig’s vehicle killing him, his driver, guard, and five other civilians. The scene was complete carnage. The cars, nearly a half dozen, were mangled in a pile of steel and shattered glass. The workers picked up human remains and placed them in bags as hundreds of onlookers watched on. The debris stretched as far as a half of a block. Next to me a man stood by the vehicle he was driving when the blast went off. His windows were all blown out and a large piece of shrapnel tore through the backseat. I couldn’t imagine how we felt. As the scene died down, we decided we had enough and headed back to our car. Now, having covered my first suicide-bombing scene I truly hope it is my last. Enough innocent blood has been spilled in this country!

February 22nd 1:30AM

2008-02-22T04:07:00.000-08:00

Islamabad—I woke up this morning, pulled back my curtains, reveling the majestic Margalla Hills in the soft morning light, and pressed my face to my window. Looking just up the street I looked to see if there was any activity near the judicial colony where so many protests had taken place. I had thought there might be one today, and I prepared my gear for it. Checking back to the window several times, I eventually noticed the military parked a tank at the entrance of the road, their sign to the protesters that “we are ready for you.” I turned on the local news to see if there was anything new on their end. They were reporting a protest by lawyers and members of civil society who protested at the courts in Karachi. As the protest turned for the worse, they showed footage of people being beaten by police and hit with pepper spray. I knew the same scenario would soon unfold here in Islamabad. Looking out the window again, I saw dozens of police vehicles heading into the colony. I was certain now. After a few hours of pacing my hotel room floor, ready for some action, I decided to run down to the local market to pick up some supplies I needed. After about an hour at the market I returned back to the hotel to see a crowd of people gathered on the street that runs directly in front of my hotel and the road that leads up into the judicial colony. I rushed out of my car, hurried through security and up to my room to grab my gear. When I hit the street I picked up my pace as I neared the colony. As I looked up the road I saw that the protest had begun. Wasting no time, I fought my way to the front of the protesters. A small group of Western journalists where all gathered together between the police and their barbed wire barricade and the flag waving protesters who chanted and screamed for the release of chief justice Iftikhar Mohammad Chaudhry who is being held under house arrest in the judges colony. Within minutes they begun pulling away the barbed wire with many of us photographers trapped in the middle of it. It wrapped around our legs, tripped us, and knocked us over. We all scrambled to our feet and quickly found refuge on the opposite side of it with the police at our backs. As I always do, I looked for my escape route if things got real bad, but soon realized there wasn’t any. I was trapped. I remember one thing going through my head, “this is what I’m here for,” and with that I jumped into the chaos. The protesters charged the police, pushing their way into their wall of shields and batons. People where falling over, pushing and yelling as the photographers jostled for their positions. The police seemed to use incredible restraint. At times they were even laughing at the antics of the protesters. On the other side, the protesters where not so light hearted. This was their democracy they were fighting for and they are ready to battle until they feel they’ve won it. Although, the protesters took particular care not to injure us photographers, even at one point stopping their charge to allow the photographers to free themselves from the barbed wire. Just as the event began to lose its momentum, a convoy of cars pulled up the road. The crowed immediately surrounded the vehicle. It was Nawaz Sharif, the leader of the PLM-N party, who rose from his seat in the car and propped himself out the window to wave at his supporters. Those photographers who were close by clamored around the SUV and the large crowd followed. The vehicle moved a bit further up the road, and Sharif again came out from the window to address the crowd on a megaphone. He continued his calling for Musharraf to step down and for the restoration of the judiciary. Despite my attempts to find a way though the crowd, I couldn’t get as close as I had hoped. Elbowing and pushing is a common practice by the local media, a style that I never like to use when I work. I did my best to find a spot and raised my camera for a few hail Mary shots, which I absolutely despise, and headed back out of the crowd to find another angle. As he finished his speech and climbed back into the window his car and convoy that followed pulled into the compound of the Ministers Enclave. Everyone was restricted to stay on the other side of the gate and not allowed in. After about 20 minutes passed, I noticed a few Pakistani media crews being escorted through the crowd and into the compound, so noticing an opportunity I approached the armed guards and said, “I’m the U.S. media and I need in there.” He asked me how big my crew is and I said just the two of us, so he opened the gate and I slid by the rest of the media and entered the compound. I didn’t have the slightest clue why I wanted in or what the rest of the media was doing, but was quite proud of myself for getting by the security. I followed the rest of the media down the road to a house. I asked one of the photographers, “What is going on here.” He told me that Nawaz Sharif was inside and will be leaving to meet with Asif Zardari, the co-chairman of the PPP party. So, I pretty much figured there was nothing to get here. Just then a photographer introduced me to Sharif’s personal photographer who invited me inside for tea. Again, always wanting to go where others were denied I said of course. I passed through security inside the house and was invited into a room to have tea with Sharif himself and a group of people. The photographer instructed me to not take any photos, so I sat back and enjoyed the tea and laughed to myself that I had gotten myself into this place. Soon after I left and walked back to the hotel. When I got to the room I was exhausted, but could hardly wait to see what my camera captured. Just another day in Pakistan.

February 20th 4:15PM

2008-02-20T03:16:00.000-08:00

Here are a few more images from the last few weeks from across Pakistan.

February 20th 4:00PM

2008-02-20T03:03:00.000-08:00

Islamabad—Well, we are back in Islamabad after traveling to cover the elections. Now that I have internet capabilities again I’ve decided to update my blog with some images, stories, and videos from the last few days and weeks. We’ve had the chance to meet some amazing people including an economist and former commerce minister, a senior advocate of the Supreme Court of Pakistan, Pakistan's Minister of Interior, a former captain in the Special Investigation Group (SIG), a former Army Chief of Staff & General, the grandson of one of Pakistan's twelve founding fathers, and a former president of Pakistan just to name a few. These are some photographs of these amazing men.

February 18th - Pakistanis Vote Video

2008-02-20T02:59:00.003-08:00

Here is a video I put together of the election day here in Pakistan. You can also view the video and read Betsy Hiel's story at http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/news/middleeastreports/s_553119.html.

February 18th - A Nation in Crisis Video

2008-02-20T02:59:00.001-08:00

This is a video I put together of the issues facing Pakistan. You can also read more about this subject in Betsy Hiel's story at http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/news/middleeastreports/s_552848.html.

February 18th 5:50PM

2008-02-19T12:25:00.000-08:00

Karachi—As night begins to fall I watch time pass by from my hotel window. The end of this day brings an end to the elections in Pakistan. The past weeks have been filled with anticipation for the coming election. These people have looked to this election with so much hope and yet so much fear. It is hard to imagine living in a country that you love so much, but not having the freedom of a democracy. For those who choose to step from the shadows and risk their own lives to vote is something few Americans would understand. The people of Pakistan want a government that they can trust—a government that can lead their country. Leadership comes in many forms here, but their ability to lead is often dampened by the hand of corruption and violence. Imagine if you held an office in the U.S. and your constituents didn’t agree with your choices so they would simply threaten your life or even murder you. How can one lead under such circumstances. How can a government filled with such corruption ever find truth. Today, the people of Pakistan used their voices. Those who went to the polls went with the greatest of all hopes. Voting ended less than an hour ago, and now the people of Pakistan and the world wait for the results. The massive violence that was expected did not come. Although several bombings, kidnappings, and attacks did occur the scene here in Karachi was for the most part—quiet. The streets, which are usually filled with the hustle of the 16 million people who live in this city, today were empty. While the presence of people was missing the presence of paramilitary forces and police were not. At every polling station armed men stood guard as men and veiled women lined up to vote. They showed their thumbs, marked with indelible ink with such pride, quick to tell you that they voted today. We visited several different polling stations to find much of the same at all of them—low turnout. Those who we talked to had little confidence in the system and feared this election would be like so many before which were tainted by the hands of those in power. When I asked them why take part in a process that you have no confidence in they simply answered that they want to change the system, "enshala" God willing.

February 17th - Dera Ghazi Khan Video

2008-02-19T10:31:00.000-08:00

Here is a video I put together from Dera Ghazi Khan. You can also check out the story by Betsy Hiel at http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/news/middleeastreports/s_552938.html.

February 17th 7:00PM

2008-02-19T10:23:00.000-08:00

Dera Ghazi Khan—As the election approached we packed up our stuff and headed off to meet up with Pakistan’s former President Farooq Leghari in Dera Ghazi Khan. We had to fly from Islamabad to Lahore from Lahore to Multan (a place that no foreigners are allowed), and from there we had a three-hour drive to DG Khan, deep into the interior of Pakistan. We were the personal guests of President Leghari and were invited to stay at his home, a beautiful walled-compound where wildlife wondered the grounds and palm trees stood sporadically across the manicured lawn. President Leghari is one of those rare people—truly a gem of a human being. A charming man he makes everyone feel welcomed and at home. He is a prince, and is loved and looked upon with great respect by the people of Pakistan. They simply call him Sardar—which means leader.
We had an amazing dinner with the president and one of his sons, Jamal, who is also a Senator. As we finished our meal the two discussed the plans for the days campaign rally. It was 10:30PM and time to head to the rally. We jumped in Jamal’s SUV and headed off. President Leghari was to leave a half-an-hour behind us. As we drove along the narrow one-lane dirt road a convoy of security followed close behind. Nearing the event hundreds of people rushed the car to see Senator Jamal. They threw rose petals at him and chanted his name, they reached their hands to the window to shake his hand or offer a salute. As the crowd grew and the street became congested we chose to walk the rest of the way. At that point Sen. Jamal was completely surrounded and getting close to him was nearly impossible. As we jostled our way through the crowd the sounds of the fireworks filled the night. It was chilling to hear their booms and bangs. Just a few hours back we received word of a bombing at another such event in northern Pakistan, so everyone was nervous and on edge. Even Jamal felt bad about this event. They feared the same sort of attack on them, even so much so to not have President Leghari’s other son attend the event so that at least one Leghari would survive to carry on the family’s name and duties. As I made my way through the crowd it was hard to not think about the dangers, but this is what I was here to do and pressed on. We only stopped when someone would light up a bunch of fireworks. The crowd would separate so that the projectiles wouldn’t hit anyone as they lit up the night creating thick white clouds of smoke. Nearing the stage I tried to find a spot at the bottom. President Leghari, who drove himself to the event without any security, was already seated on the stage and gestured for me to come up on stage along with Betsy. I found a spot near his feet to watch the event unfold. It was quite a sight. The people would break into songs and chants, “Long live Leghari.” It was impossible to move from my spot. The crowd had pushed its way up to the stage and seemed to continue down the street for as far as the eye could see. Armed men stood guard, but few had any confidence that they could prevent an attack by a determined militant. This was politics in Pakistan at its purist. As the event ended we were whisked off the stage and directed into the President’s SUV that was parked directly behind the stage. I jumped into the backseat as the crowd quickly surrounded the vehicle. “Watch out for the machine gun,” Betsy said to me. I reached down between my feet to pull a sub-machine gun up. “I’ll take that,” Jamal said as he climbed in with me. “Just wave to them,” he said about the swarm of people, “that’s all they want.” As the crowd parted for the President’s vehicle to pass we headed off, back to his home. Having been traveling most of the day we were exhausted and headed off to bed. We woke today and tried to get caught up on some computer work, although we would have to get by without the internet. Later in the day we joined President Leghari as we went to visit a small village to pay his respects for an elder who passed away. I could hardly tear my eyes from the window. The long fields seemed to go on forever, only broken up by palm trees and small villages along the way. I could hardly keep count of the great photographs we were passing, but having been in this country long enough to understand I just sat back and enjoyed the ride. My pictures would come. As we headed back after visiting the village we packed up our bags once again. It was time to head to Karachi to cover the election. . No one knows what to expect tomorrow. Not sure what to cover or where to go we decided the best bet for action would be in Karachi, which was everybody’s guess for violence. I was anxious to see what was going to happen on this long anticipated day.

February 16th 12:00PM

2008-02-19T10:14:00.000-08:00

Islamabad— The last few days we have continued to meet with dignitaries, citizens, and members of civil society. We spent several days out on the streets trying to find the real pulse of the people. We visited several towns and villages around Islamabad. As the days passed, life on the street was relatively subdued compared to what was expected and what was happening just days before. I kept waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. The protests seemed to have dwindled off and campaign activities were sparse. It is very hard to get to any rallies because they are not openly advertised, but rather last minute ordeals. No one seems to know when or where anything will be until after it is done, so it’s very time consuming trying to follow everything that is going on in Islamabad let alone the rest of the country. It can also be quite frustrating. One day I went downstairs to the lobby of the hotel to visit the barbershop to get my beard trimmed, which was desperately needed. (At one point the elevator operator wouldn’t let me onto the elevator because he thought I was suspicious.) In the lobby several journalists where rushing into a conference room. When I read the sign I realized they were holding the release of Benazir Bhutto’s book for all of Pakistan at our hotel. I had no idea and of course they hadn’t advertised sooner. So, I rushed back up to the room to get my gear and headed back down to the conference room to cover the event. My beard would have to wait for now. After passing through security I entered the large room that was filled with filled with more journalists than people. The video cameras lined the room in an L shape with two cameras deep. I had counted over 100 and that isn’t counting the reporters and still photographers. It was a zoo. Not having the pressure to produce anything in particular I worked the outskirts of the room. At one point I basically crawled along the floor to the front of the room. I was the only photographer from that vantage point. Directly across from me was Getty Images photographer John Moore, who had shot the last photos of Benazir. I stayed for about an hour, bought a copy of the book, and headed off for my needed barber appointment. With the event still going on next door to the barbershop I was worried that if there was a bomb blast while I was getting a straight razor shave the barber might jump and slice my throat. Its funny the things you think of in a place like this. The sad part is you have to. Luckily though it didn’t happen, and now my beard is a bit more manageable. That is how it is here. One second everything is quiet and calm and the next second your thrust into the story of the day. For now, I’m left to pack up my stuff and begin my preparations to go to Multan and then Karachi to cover the elections.

February 10th 11:00PM

2008-02-10T12:42:00.000-08:00

Islamabad—Today we visited a Christian community in the heart of Islamabad. We visited as the sun was setting on the day. It was an extraordinary sight. From the rooftops children flew their kites in the cool evening breezes as the sun set behind them. It was as though nothing was wrong in their world, and for that matter, at that moment, in my world either. They smiled, they laughed, and enjoyed meeting us as we toured their streets. They waved at me as I shot their pictures and followed us as we walked. I know I’ve said it before, but I’m constantly reminded that children are the same all over the world. Their smiles will be burned in my memory and etched in my heart for a very long time. While we were there we visited one of their two churches, a modest building with a red cross on the roof. From behind the barred windows you could hear the sound of hymns being sung. Inside, a handful of parishioners were gathered for Sunday worship services—quite a remarkable sight in a Muslim country. It was hard to imagine as we looked at this community that nearly 4,000 people live in an area that doesn’t cover much more than a ½ mile square area. These people have very little. They have no running water, no sewage system, and little sources of income. The streets are narrow and made of dirt. At times, the streets crumble at your feet and traversing them is quite difficult. Through the middle of the town is a polluted stream, filled with sewage, garbage, and rampant with diseases. When I think of churches in the U.S., I wonder why no one helps these people. These churches have no fancy carpets. In fact, they have none. They don’t have beautiful stained glass windows. They don’t even have glass in their windows. They don’t have soft cushioned pews. The few pews they have are wood and cold metal. All they have is their faith. Perhaps, Christians in the U.S. could learn something from them. I know I have. I’ll be back to visit them again.

February 9th 6:30PM

2008-02-09T12:01:00.000-08:00

Islamabad—As we drove back towards the hotel from an assignment tonight things seemed different. With the election nearing, now 9 days away, you can feel the tension rising in the atmosphere. Our hotel sits in the heart of Islamabad. From my window I can see the Parliament building, the President’s residence, the prime minister’s house, the Supreme Court, and the diplomatic enclave. Nearing the hotel the streets we used to travel were now blocked by police, standing behind blockades and barbed wire. Along the road soldiers stood guard. It seemed the military and police presence was on every corner. Typically their presence is known but not this number. All around you could hear the sound of sirens filling the darkness. People were moving in all directions along the streets. Finally arriving at the hotel, I could see hundreds of police lining the street. More people passed by our car heading in the opposite direction, many of them covering their nose and mouths. I knew something was happening. Just then we received word there was a big explosion in Peshawar. I jumped out of the car and headed in the direction of all the activity near the hotel. The streets seemed to be chaotic. There were people everywhere, passing ambulances, and the sound of police announcing something in Urdu on loudspeakers. Not long after getting to all the activity, everything was ending. A thick cloud of teargas hung in the night air. My nose began to burn. My eyes watered. Disappointed that I had missed such an event, I walked back to the hotel. As I passed though security I noticed a stack of gas masks sitting near the lobby. It seems as though everyone’s thoughts that the elections were going to bring more violence was true. I want to be mad about missing everything tonight, but have a strong feeling that this is just the beginning.

February 8th 3:30PM

2008-02-08T04:36:00.000-08:00

Islamabad—Yesterday the people of Pakistan mourned for their beloved martyr, Benazir Bhutto. It was the Chehlum, a Shi’a religious ceremony that occurs forty days after the martyrdom of someone. For the people of Pakistan, in particularly the people of her party the Pakistan People’s Party, Bhutto was more than just someone. Her name, Benazir, mean “matchless” or one who has no example; one who is unique, and to them she was just that. I visited the site of her assassination, Liaquat Bagh Park, in Rawalpindi where several hundred mourners gathered to remember their fallen leader. The ceremony was held in the same spot where Bhutto herself addressed a crowd on December 27, 2007 just moments before being killed. The security was extremely heavy. The road had been blockaded, and myself, was searched three times just on the street. I was searched another two times once inside of the fenced in area. Inside, the crowed was huddled beneath a large tent as rain fell flooding the ground in several inches of water. The ground was covered in blue tarps, which did nothing more than collect the water on top of them. Nobody seemed to even notice the water or rain as they stood clutching PPP flags and photographs of Bhutto, many with tears streaming down their cheeks. At times the speakers comments would send the crowd into cheers and chants. The sound at times was deafening. I moved with ease through the crowd. There were dozens of other photographers, although, most of them were squeezed into a small area at the front of the ceremony watching the speakers. As I often do, when faced with other members of the media, I chose to say on the outskirts of the crowd. I paced back and forth looking for the image no one else was seeing. After some time, I noticed two women on the side of the crowded stage. One was clutching a photograph of Benazir, the other, an elderly woman, was openly weeping. I moved closer towards them and began shooting. As the speaker spoke they became even more saddened. The elderly woman clutched a post for the tent crying and raising her hand to the sky. I needed no interpreter; I understood she was asking “why.” No long after that the rest of the media crowded over my shoulder. I felt I had what I needed and left them to elbow and jostle amongst themselves. Moving outside of the tent, I walked to the large open field where men stood beneath umbrellas, their hands cupped to the heavens in prayer. The field was muddy with puddles high above my boots. I didn’t mind. I walked right through the water. I was happy to be shooting real emotion. That was the one thing I had been lacking in my work here. I need to show how these people truly feel, the loss they have faced, and their hope for all that Benazir stood for to continue. The one thing for certain its that even after her Chehlum, she will not soon be forgotten and the mourning for what could have been will continue long into the future.

February 4th 1:30AM

2008-02-04T23:30:00.000-08:00

Rawalpindi—Tonight I had the rare opportunity to witness something few westerners ever have—martyrdom. The seminal event in Shia history is the martyrdom in 680 CE of Ali's son Hussein, who led an uprising against the "illegitimate" caliph (72 of Hussein's followers were killed as well). For the Shia, Hussein came to symbolize resistance to tyranny. In this event Shi'a Muslims strike their chests during the Remembrance of Muharram until they bloody themselves. These events are often targets of anti-Shi’a sentiment. For us, we had to take extra measures of safety. We were joined by a former Captain of the Pakistani Army and now a security specialist to the location of the event, which was kept secret until the last minute. Checkpoints where placed at every entrance to the small street where gunmen stood atop the buildings. As we entered the area, hundreds of men filled the tiny street, removing their shirts as they joined the parade of men of all ages who beat their chests in a rhythmic thump that echoed through the night. Along with these men were several hundred others who sang religious songs and chants as they marched down the crowded street. Even children took part in this event, which brought many to tears, both in pain and in sorrow for the death of martyred Hussein. At times the crowd was so large that movement was impossible and often I was even hit by the flailing arms. I tried to find a spot along the wall, able to work the little light there was to make an image, with both feet straddling the sewage drain along the edge of the street and the rows of homes. The smell of sweat, blood, and sewage permeated the night. After about an hour, the event ended as they reached the end of the street. We were met by the village leader who invited us back to his home for tea and food, we reluctantly agreed, being tired and full from tea and dinner at the Captain’s home. In the leaders home several other men joined us as we sat around and discussed the events of the day, thanking everyone for letting us be a part of it. The event and the religious conviction of these men moved me. I’ve never seen anyone take their religion so far. These men are extremists in every definition of the word, the difference between them and other extremists is the only violence they resort to in on themselves. After leaving the ceremony we stopped back at the site of Benazir’s assassination. At night the site took on a whole new life. It was somber and quiet. Only a few people where there. There were candles lit near the flowers, and one man who has been staying there was in his bed at the site. This country continues to amaze and mystify me.

February 4th 4:00PM

2008-02-04T02:39:00.000-08:00

Islamabad—The last few days I’ve spent trying to get caught up on work at the hotel. I’ve filled two hard drives with videos and haven’t been able to work on them until now, and even with the little bit of time I’ve had to work on them in the last few days I’ve barely made a dent. I’ve also been busy editing through all of my images trying to pick the best ones and to fit them to the stories we will be filing soon. There are so many stories happening here, so there is never a lack of work. Having been traveling now for over two weeks we’ve not stopped working yet. My normal days consist of me getting up around 8AM, making sure my batteries are all charged, my cards downloaded, the video camera charged and video downloaded, preparing my gear, trying to get breakfast, burning DVD’s and transferring files to my hard drives. We usually head out on assignments around 10:30 AM and usually don’t return to our rooms until 11:00 PM or later. The great thing about being abroad is that all you do is work. You don’t have the daily distractions of life to hinder your ability to work as hard as possible. Despite what some believe great photos don’t just happen in places like this—you have to work for every single frame. Myself, I love this challenge! The hardest part for me is my inability to ever be satisfied and the insatiable thirst for a better image. I’ve been fortunate to see so many things that westerners rarely get to witness, so I feel very deeply that my images must convey these things properly. Last night was one example. We were able to witness a moving religious ceremony that words, and I really believe images, could never entirely capture. I worked every corner of the light to find my image of the event and yet still feel it just barely shows all that had occurred. We are fortunate in this day of technology to have the ability to capture such things in multiple mediums. I utilized all of them--my still camera, the video camera, and audio recorders. Though my first priority is and will always be the still image.

February 1st 9:00PM

2008-02-02T23:41:00.000-08:00

Rawalpindi—Today, I decided to head to Rawalpindi to visit the site where Benazir Bhutto was assassinated. Photographically I feel it is important to document this site. I feel, in theory, this is where my story in Pakistan beings. After getting a taxi from my hotel along with my translator, we negotiated a price of $200.00 rupees to get us there. The driver complained that with the gas shortage here that was not enough money for him, but agreed to take us anyway. Rawalpindi is known as the twin city to Islamabad and is only about 20 minutes away. We pulled up to an area where about 20 people where gathered. There were banners and signs with Bhutto’s face on them along with writings in Urdu, the local language. On both sides of the road, there were people selling memorabilia. It was very quiet except for the hum of passing auto-rickshaws. Most of the people who stopped by would pray for a moment, their hands cupped towards their face, their heads bowed as they stood beneath the giant banner with the image of a gentle Benezir. To these people she was their hope. I had met one man here who witnessed the events of that fateful day. He pointed out to me a building across the street where he believed the assassin made his fateful shot. He also showed me the exact spot where Benezir’s car was when the blast occurred. In a strange occurrence just then, a lone donkey walked down the middle of the road, stopping at that same spot the man was pointing out to me. The donkey then continued down the road, without anyone else even noticing. The man told me that he will not leave this site until they erect a statue in her memory. He has been living there since Benezir’s death, and plans on staying as long as it takes. I was quite moved by everything I was seeing. This is a very special place to these people. It’s the last spot of their hope. It’s from here that the future of Pakistan rests. The people come here to find some part of Benezir remaining. They stand at this spot, touch the photos of her, and quietly pass continuing on their way.

January 31st 10:00PM

2008-02-01T12:04:00.000-08:00

Islamabad—We left Islamabad today to head north to a small village a few hours from the hotel. The drive out of this city did not disappoint, each turn in the road brought us a new vista—a new Pakistan. This country keeps unfolding itself in a myriad of shapes and colors, textures and layers. From my backseat view, I watched the gray mountains looming in the distance grow nearer and nearer. As we passed the rocky cliffs you could see communities scattered across the terrain. Sometimes you could even spot caves where people were living. It’s hard to imagine in this technical era that there are places in the world where people live like this. Not that I think it’s a bad thing at all, but the fact that on one side of the globe people have computers that fit in their pockets and cars that tell them how to get where they are going and on the other side of the world people are still living by candlelight and riding on donkeys. Even with all these things that separate our worlds, and as I told one of my friends here, we are all the same. A smile is universal. A child’s smile is the same in Pakistan as it is in Paris or Mexico or even Pittsburgh. We all know what fear feels like and we all know the comfort of family and friends. Our world has no borders. The borders we live by are simply writings on pieces of paper that someone decided one side would be this and the other side would be that. As we drove further north, I was getting more excited at seeing yet another part of this mysterious land. As we finally approached our destination, a small village along a dusty two-lane road, I could hardly wait to start shooting. It was a photographers dream. The tiny road was barely big enough to squeeze our car through. As we meandered our way through the crowded street, we had to stop to let a mule-drawn cart pass. The people lining each side peered into the windows, curious to whom we were. In the street children skipped along hand-in-hand, old men sat in the shade their faces withered with time and warn from the ages, and veiled women whispered in each other’s ears. Traveling in these small villages, particularly on these small narrow streets, it makes one very uneasy. It is no secret that the Taliban inhabit these places, and it is nearly impossible to tell them from the other people. These streets give you a feeling of Closter phobia. There is no quick route out and in some places, even opening the car doors is impossible. Once we arrived at the home of the leader of the community he informed us that not soon before our arrival a roadside bomb blew up a truck on the same road we traveled. I can’t imagine what life is like for these people who live each day with such violence. Unfortunately, the bombing left the leader uneasy and unwilling to allow me to photograph here. I was pretty disappointed but understood that is the way it works and I have to live with his decision. As we headed back through the street, we again passed the spot of the bombing and looking to see the damage I was shocked to see nothing. Life had continued on. There wasn’t the slightest sign that anything had even happened. Continuing on is their only option. They are determined to not let this war stop them from their daily lives. We stopped on the way back to Islamabad at a small restaurant/car wash/park/guesthouse. It sat on a small bluff overlooking the Kabul River. Having not had any opportunities to shoot in the village, I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to make a few frames here. I quickly climbed down the sandy hillside to the river bottom below. I noticed a man sitting on the bank and began to photograph him. After a few minutes I walked up and talked with him (through my translator). We were soon joined by another man who thought I was Iranian. I had to laugh. I told him no I was from the U.S., and he smiled. I sat down between both of them and talked to them. I heard him tell my translator something, and when I asked what he said he told me, “You are very beautiful.” “Huh,” I said. “He said you are very nice, and your beard is so beautiful,” my translator said. Now I really had to laugh. Looking at the man, he was sitting very close and looking right at me with a big smile on his face. In this culture men are very kind to each other. Seeing two men walking hand in hand is a common thing. I understood this, but still had no response but to smile and say thank you. I have to admit I was pretty happy about the beard comment though. I’ve been working hard to grow it in nicely and it was nice to have my hard work noticed. I spent nearly an hour shooting along the riverside before heading back up to join the rest of my group for lunch. Lunch was interrupted several times as bomb blasts could be heard not far off. Although, no one, other than me really even noticed. It’s just another normal day here in northern Pakistan.

January 31th 1:30AM

2008-01-30T12:06:00.000-08:00

Islamabad--I've had some people inquire about the gear that I am using here. I am shooting with a Nikon D200 and a D2Hs as a back up. As for lenses I'm using Nikon's 17-35 f2.8 and a Nikon 70-200 f2.8. I'm also using a Canon high-def video camera and of course my trusty MacBook. The last day or so, I've spent most of my free time trying to organize hours upon hours of video footage and many still images. Trying to find enough space to hold all of these files and the time to download them has been really tough. I've also faced difficulties at just about every assignment with the lack of light. Pakistani homes are not as well lit as homes in the U.S. Also, there are power outages about four times a day in Islamabad, lasting as long as an hour, and more in other areas which could last as long as 23 hours a day. Trying to shoot with existing light is the ideal situation because the person you are photographing doesn't notice how many different shots you are making and often become oblivious to my presence. If you plan on using flash for a portrait, after about 5 frames you better have your shot, because they become wary and concerned. Many times you are photographing people who have never been photographed and can't understand why you would take so many photos of them. Flash is a last resort! Of course this makes it difficult with most digital cameras. Thank God Nikon has came up with the D3. I just wish I was using one. I feel safe to say that most of the images I've made at people's homes I've done at 800 ISO or above at 1/4 - 1/16th of a second...deep breath, hold tight, don't move...fingers crossed. That is how I have to shoot over here. Trust me I love every minute of it, but think those thinking of traveling abroad to do work should have some suggestions on what gear to carry. If you are traveling to do an important project be sure to take along the best technology available. Of course some other suggestions are ample space on external hard-drives, extra power cords, and a lot of flash cards...traveling light but prepared is the key.

January 29th 11:00 PM

2008-01-29T19:50:00.000-08:00

Islamabad—Today I spent most of the day getting caught up on computer work. The past week has really taken its toll on me. Some days we are working as much as 16 or 18 hours. Its hard to get work done on the computer when we finally get back to the hotel, sleep is the only thing I can think of. The past 48 hours have been really tough on me. I have been a bit sick since Karachi, but think I’ve finally kicked it. This evening on our way to a meeting I was reminded of the dangers of working in a place like this. Usually the most dangerous part of your journey is while you are driving. We witnessed a horrific accident where a motorcyclist was hit by a van. He slid across traffic and several lanes, flipping head over heels, with sparks flying everywhere. Just ahead of us the van turned over on its side with a whole family inside. One passenger’s head was sticking out of the window, pressed between the van and the road. We could hear the screams of the passengers inside. It was a reminder of the fragility of life and the dangers that exist in places like this.

January 29th 10:00AM

2008-01-28T22:14:00.001-08:00

Islamabad, Pakistan---We arrived back in Islamabad last night after a few days traveling throughout Karachi, Hyderabad and into the interior tribal areas. Leaving Karachi in the distance, we drove for nearly 2 hours through the plains of the Sindh province, eventually arriving at the home of the tribe’s chief, a religious leader. His father had just passed away and members of the community were gathering at his home to pray and pay their respects. Following Sindhi tradition we entered the home, removed our shoes and simply sat down on the soft rugs and pillows. After the chief said a prayer we could then rise and shake hands with him. After doing so I was invited to go wherever I wanted to shoot photos. The tribal leaders along with myself, and my travel companions where invited into the chief’s home for more conversation, tea, and food. I chose to stay with the rest of the common people outside beneath a large tent. They were moved at my choice. Choosing common people over tribal elders in unheard of. When they tried to explain to me that I could go inside, I placed my hand over my heart (a common gesture here) and lowered my head and told them I choose to be with them. They all smiled. Sometimes I feel as though the way to win this war is to win their hearts one at a time. I moved slowly though the crowd of about 40 people, pausing at each incredible face, gesturing with the camera to ask permission to photograph them. I found it amazing that these are the faces America fears. These are considered to be our enemy. They would look at me with their stern-weathered faces, unsure of me as I am them, and after a few frames they would smile. I would often show them the back of the camera so that they could see their photos. They all shared amusement in that. After the urging of my guests I eventually went into the home for tea. I found an empty seat in the corner of the room. Not long after sitting I was surrounded by local media who instantly began asking me questions. They wanted to know if I thought they had a free press and if there would be an election. I couldn’t answer their questions I told them. I said they are asking me the questions that all Pakistanis are asking. They know the answers better than I do, I told them. They continued to ask me the same questions over and over until several servants brought out trays upon trays of food. My new friends were quick to fill my plate with one of everything. I tried to be polite and began trying some of the food, and with each bite they all sat and watched waiting for some sign that I enjoyed it. The first thing I tried was actually quite good, but by finishing it so quickly it meant that they immediately replaced it on my plate. In the end I tried everything, including the boiled goat (not a favorite), which I made sure not to finish to quickly. After finishing our meal we began to leave. The chief met us each at the door and gave us each a traditional Sindhi cap and an Ajrak, a shawl, which is given as a sign of great respect to an honored guest. As we drove off everyone gathered outside and waved goodbye. We were touched by our visit. Waiting in the airport the following day. We heard word that we were quite the buzz in the Sindhi press. All the newspapers reported on our visiting the village. On our drive back to Karachi, we stopped to visit an orphanage. It was built in the heart of Old Karachi, a dusty decrepit part of the city. The orphanage, is perhaps one of the only things in the vicinity that hasn’t been neglected, it stands as a sign of hope in otherwise bleak surroundings. Meeting the children was really great. Most of them are from the interior, very poor areas, but here they were given a chance at life. They were given clean clothes, a bed to sleep in, medical care, food, and most importantly an education. I sat down with all of them as they ate lunch. I was invited to have tea with the workers of the orphanage, but chose to instead stay with the children. After they finished lunch I made a photograph of each one of them, showing them their image on the back of the camera after they were done. It’s hard to imagine an orphanage in this part of the world. Muslims do not agree with adoption. These children will never be given new homes or parents to love them. They will live out their childhoods inside the walls of the orphanage. Seeing them made me think of my son, how much I missed him, and how happy I am to have him in my life. We left there as the evening prayers were beginning and the sun was setting. The children stood in the doorway and waved as we drove off.

January 26th 8:00PM

2008-01-26T07:16:00.001-08:00

Karachi, Pakistan—We flew into Karachi yesterday afternoon. Karachi is the provincial capital of Sindh province and the largest city in Pakistan. It is also one of the largest cities in the world with nearly 16 million people. Karachi is located on the northern shores of the Arabian Sea, west of the Indus River Delta. It was the original capital of Pakistan and remains the cultural and economic hub, as well as being the largest seaport of the country. As we drove through the streets, I couldn’t help but think that Americans have little understanding of what Pakistan is really like. I know what my own thoughts were. Having been to India, I was curious of what similarities and differences would exist in these two countries, and I can say without hesitation that the Pakistan I have come to see and know is a very impressive one. The people are warm, charming, and welcoming. Many of them show more manners than most Americans. Each day I’m greeted on the streets with assalam alaikum, a traditional Muslim greeting which means “peace be with you,” doors are always opened for me and I’m constantly arguing with everyone that I can carry my own bags. Pakistanis are tremendous hosts. In their homes and businesses they cater to your every need and want. You cannot go into anyone’s office or home without begin offered tea or coffee. They are happy to sit around for hours over tea discussing the politics of their country or ours. Visiting schools the children all rise from their seats when an adult enters the room and offer a gentle salute, a common welcoming gesture in this country. I had to laugh when I thought of the behaviors of children in U.S. classrooms. I’m also impressed that those I’ve met from the upper class of society show great concern for the classes beneath them. Today I had the luxury of traveling throughout Karachi, visiting hospitals, schools, blood banks, mosques, and extreme religious communities. Even though the wealthy show great concern for the poor, there is a wide gap between the lifestyles of the two classes. The hospital for the poor is run by government subsidies. Outside hundreds of people lie on soiled blankets, some writhing in pain as they wait for treatment. The sounds of rickshaws fill the air, which is thick with exhaust. Inside, the situation isn’t much better. There is little or no lighting, the walls are crumbling concrete seemingly held together with flecks of paint. The hallways and stairwells are crowded with even more patients waiting for medical care. It smells of urine and some sort of cleaner that doesn’t quite cure the problem, but instead adds its own foul stench. The beds are cramped together, 8-10 to a room and often with several patients to a bed. When I spoke with the head of surgery he was quite angered by my suggestion that there was a problem with this situation. “We have no problem here,” he said. “These people are happy to wait,” he exclaimed rather confidently. At first he refused to let me photograph anything, but after some time and a tour of the hospital he agreed to let me take a few “snaps” as he called it. After about 4 frames of one person and a half-dozen of another, he quickly whisked me away and thanked me for visiting. After leaving the government hospital I was taken by my friend, who by the way asked me to accompany him today without my fixer or reporter, to a private hospital for the upper class. The hospital was less than 15 minutes from the government hospital, and sat on several acres of land. Complete with sprawling lawns, a large lake, manicured gardens, giant palm trees, marble benches, and the sweet smell of flowers. Inside, the quiet waiting room was filled with people sleeping on the black leather chairs and benches, reading newspapers, and laughing with family members who where waiting with them. Occasionally a nurse, dressed in the traditional nurses uniform would come out and call out a name and they would head off into one of the 4 private clinics. Outside on the lawns some waiting families where enjoying a quiet lunch, some reading books, and others taking a leisurely stroll along the paved sidewalks. Interestingly enough, I was not permitted to take any photographs at this hospital. It proves the point if you have something to hide you fear the camera because it reveals the truth. At the school I visited, also subsidized by the government, about 30 students neatly dressed in blue sweaters and dress pants were crammed into a dark room without electricity. As always they rose when I entered the door, some quickly tucking in their shirts or fixing their hair. I asked the teacher to please continue as he was, and he went on to teach about the differences of liquid, solids and gas. Education is a luxury in this country. The children who attended this school some 349 were very fortunate, which they know perfectly well. Education is their only chance in life to better their lives. Despite having difficulties trying to make photographs, today was a productive day in the better understanding of this country. I hope that in the coming weeks I’ll be able to document many of these things. They are all tied into this was on terror. It’s these people who the Taliban relate with most. These people want change and they aren’t getting it from their own government, so they will look to anyone who offers them hope. And hope is a powerful thing, especially when you’ve lived so long without it.

January 24th 3:00PM

2008-01-24T05:15:00.001-08:00

Islamabad, Pakistan-After sleeping in today, I awoke to sounds of people screaming and yelling. As the sound got louder I went to the window to see hundreds of people gathering on the street in front of our hotel. I hurriedly got dressed, grabbed my gear, called Betsy and headed downstairs to see what was going on. As I got outside everyone was gone, so having to get my visa and passport to our fixer, I went back inside to meet him and Betsy as planned. I found Betsy in the restaurant and gave her the copied of my documents. When our fixer arrived I asked him where the crowd might have been going. He told me they were heading to the chief justice of the supreme courts house just up the road. “Well that is where I'm going,” I told him. “We'll wait here to make sure your ok. Do you want a pistol,” he said somewhat jokingly. “No, I'm a peaceful person,” I replied. “And there's no reason to wait for me. I'll be fine,” I said. And off I went. As soon as I walked out through the security of the hotel my heart began to pound. I could hear the crowd in the distance. This is what I've been waiting for! I began getting my gear ready as I quickly walked up the road. As I approached the chief justice's home I could see the crowd at the end of the private driveway. Most of the press was standing out on the main road. I didn't come this far to sit on the main road, so not seeing any real danger I headed up the private road towards the chief justice's home. At the end of the road, I stayed back a bit assessing the situation. The crowd was very large and there was a lot of screaming at the front. All of the sudden there was a large commotion. I could see pushing and shoving and the next thing I knew they police were shooting in tear gas. I quickly grabbed my handkerchief to put it over my eyes and mouth. As the cloud dispersed, I found my way to a fence where a young boy was peering through. Letting the crowd cool down a bit I began to shoot the young boy. After sometime he noticed me and began smiling, I handed him a piece of Juicy Fruit gum (In my travels I've learned Juicy Fruit is a favorite of the children, so I always carry a bunch of it in my camera bag.) and headed back into the crowd. I ran into AP photographer Ed Wray who had mistakenly thought I was Chris Hondros. I had to laugh being friends with Chris, but told him no I wasn't Chris. He was impressed that the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review was here in Pakistan. His visa was expiring in a few days, but he shared with me the best places for photographers to hang out and socialize in Islamabad. “You're here at the right time,” he said. “Those of us who came in after Bhutto's assassination are all heading home now, our visas are all expiring. This is the place to be and now is the time to be here.” Just then the crowd turned and headed back down to the main road. Following quickly with them, I turned back to Ed and yelled, “It was good meeting you.” And with that I double-stepped alongside the now determined mob. With sticks, flags, signs, and megaphones they chanted along their procession towards the main street of the government offices. As a police van passed through the crowd they all began hitting it with sticks, kicking at it and pushing it as it just continued to push its way through the crowd. Having heard so many warnings about big crowds in Pakistan, and with all the recent bombings at events such as this, I found myself constantly wincing. Almost like a kid turning the handle of the jack-in-the-box, slowly preparing yourself for the sudden boom. I was ready for it if it came. Even in all the chaos and commotion I kept my back to a way out and watched everyone. As the crowd approached a large police line, the police strung barbed wire across the road and formed a wall three deep with those in the front holding shields. As the crowd reached them, one boy with a large stick pushed aside the barbed wire. I got myself ready to be tear-gassed again. The crowd pushed right up to the police yelled for a few minutes and then turned and began walking back the same way we had just come. I looked back at the police line and one woman stood there all by herself with her back to dozens of police. After shooting her for several minutes I ran back to catch up with the crowd. I followed them for over a mile until they gathered again at someone's home chanted for a few minutes and then finally dispersed. Now this was the Pakistan I was waiting to see.

January 23th 2:00AM

2008-01-24T03:16:00.000-08:00

Islamabad, Pakistan—I’m back in my room after returning from Lahore. Today we went to President Leghari’s home. We had a really incredible visit with him as he shared his thoughts on the future of Pakistan. After our interview he asked us to join him for lunch. As we ate we talked about one of the presidents favorite hobbies—hunting. He shared a story about visiting a Cabela’s while in the states. He also joked about never wanting to go hunting with Vice President Cheney. It was a really charming experience to sit with a former president at his home and have such an informal discussion. We talked of U.S. politics, the states that he’s visited, and his time at the Mayo Clinic. After lunch I asked him if I could make a portrait of him in his study, which he quickly agreed to. “Wherever you want me,” he said. He asked me about my cameras and shared his interest in photography. Then he asked me if I would email the photos I took of him. Of course how could I refuse, so he asked his servant for a piece of paper and started to write down his email. Halfway through he forgot what the rest of it was, so he sat down in his green leather chair, picked up his rotary phone and called his assistant, asking in Urdu. He handed me the piece of paper and then posed for a few photos with me. We strolled around his gardens as we waited for of fixer before saying our goodbyes to the president. Dr. Zubair Khan, another friend we’ve met on this trip, asked me I’d like to come with him to see the real Lahore. Eager to do just that I quickly jumped into his jeep. “Watch out for my pistol,” he said. At my feet was a large handgun. As we drove through the crowded streets, that had the charm and feel of India, he told me a story about a person who was sitting in traffic. Someone approached the man’s vehicle, opened the door, and sat in the passenger seat as the man driving was sitting at a light. The intruder, wearing a suicide bomb vest instructed the driver to drive until they find a military vehicle. After nearly 15 minutes the intruder, looked at the driver and said, “This is your loss, you could have became a martyr today, but you couldn’t find a military truck.” He then got out of the car and the driver drove off to warn the police. “See,” said Dr. Zubair, “Don’t look at anyone who approaches the car,” as a young man begs at my window for me to buy a newspaper. “You just never know here,” he continues, “Anything can happen in Pakistan.”

January 23rd 6:00PM

2008-01-23T14:06:00.000-08:00

Lahore, Pakistan--So you think gas prices are high in the U.S. I saw this today and just thought it was funny. I should also say that the photos that I'm posting on my blog are not my documentary work, but rather photos of my experiences while in Pakistan. I will be eager to share everything with you all when I return home.

January 23rd 9:30AM

2008-01-23T13:44:00.000-08:00

Road from Islamabad to Lahore—I had little sleep last night as I had difficulties with my video camera. It kept me up most of the night trying to find a way to download the videos I had shot so that I could take more videos today. After several hours I believe I’ve fixed the problem. I awoke to the morning newspaper that is placed each day under my door. Today brought news of continued violence in the NWFP. Nearly 40 people were killed in fighting that has continued to escalate. For us we are heading to Lahore for an interview. The drive from Islamabad to Lahore was on a newer highway, which since its construction has cut the travel time from 7 hours to 4 hours. The road serpentines its way through the rugged mountainous terrain and eventually fades into long-lush plains that seem to go on forever. Through many parts of the road signs warn of dangers including falling rocks and quick turns. At one point we passed two police officers running a speed trap, sitting on the side of the road next to their car reading the newspaper. I’m anxious to see Lahore. Our fixer and fellow friends here have spoke highly of it. So far I’m very impressed with Pakistan. Most of the people I’ve met have been more than welcoming and very interested in the US’s politics with Pakistan. They are eager to talk politics and curious as to American’s thoughts on them. Most of the people I’ve met at this point are well-educated individuals who have a better understanding of the US and Americans. They have absolutely no hatred or anger towards Americans. From what I’ve seen so far I believe that the anti-American sentiment is common mostly with those who are uneducated. The US needs to focus on reaching out to those individuals not with policy or force, but with things that are useful to them—schools, food, medicine, and similar such needs. It may surprise most Americans that Pakistanis are very much against the actions of the Taliban. Terrorism is a great concern for them, and they understand that for their country to continue they must defeat terrorism at any cost.

January 22nd 12:30AM

2008-01-22T12:14:00.000-08:00

Islamabad, Pakistan—After getting some well-needed rest last night, the sounds of the morning call to prayer woke me from my sleep. I reached for my cell phone, which I use as an alarm clock, mainly because it has three alarms and I surely couldn’t sleep through all three. Today, I didn’t need any of them. The clock read 6:45AM, and I was ready to go. I jumped out of bed, took a long hot shower, dressed in the clothes I had laid out the night before, and packed and readied my gear. I had planned to meet Betsy for coffee at 9:30 AM but couldn’t wait to start my day, so I went down to one of the hotel’s restaurants to enjoy a good breakfast. Those who know me know how much I love a good breakfast. Betsy soon joined me and then our contact arrived and rushed us off for our first day of work. We headed off to the mountains. As we entered the foothills of the Margalla Hills, we began our assent nearly 5,000 feet up the steep-windy road. At the top, we were just a few kilometers from the North-West Frontier Province (NWFP). The NWFP is regarded as a "radical state" due to the rise of Islamist parties to power in the province and purported support for the remnants of the Taliban who are believed by some to be hiding in the province. The entire length of the road was filled with scenic vistas that overlooked Islamabad. It was hard to imagine so many bad things happening in such a beautiful place. We enjoyed a lunch high atop the hillside and were joined by monkeys which inhabit the area as well as leopards, wild boars, barking deer, Russell’s viper, Indian cobra, the Himalayan pit viper and Saw scaled viper—to name a few. Another friend along with us on our journey also spoke of rumors of lions inhabiting the area, though he is quick to mention that he has not seen any. After lunch we headed back down the mountain. It felt good to start shooting, but I’m anxious to make some real images. There is an excitement in the air here that something could happen at any moment. It keeps you sitting at the edge of your seat. I’m looking forward to the rest of the day.

January 21st 11:30PM

2008-01-22T11:50:00.000-08:00

Islamabad, Pakistan—We arrived in at our hotel in the heart of Islamabad, and settled into our rooms. Outside of my window I can see the Margalla Hills just off in the distance. They dominate the horizon with their lush hillsides and white rocky tops. I can also see the security gate at the front of the hotel, which has dozens of guards patrolling (always a comfort). I enjoy watching them check out cars that enter the compound of the hotel. The hotel is very nice and the staff couldn’t be more welcoming. After getting most of my stuff unpacked, we walked a few blocks away to a market to buy some supplies for our trip—cell phones, sim cards, and the ever important—bottled water. We had a lot of curious looks as they watched the reporter, Betsy, and I walk along the street. You should know that Betsy is blond, a trait not common in this part of the world. Several taxis even pulled along side of us and stopped, honking their horns as if to coax us into a ride. We returned to the hotel and both headed off to our rooms to try and get caught up on some sleep. After a few hours we met up in the lobby to meet one of our contacts, we then joined him for a quiet dinner at a private club. We shared many of thoughts on the politics of Pakistan and the fascinating-historic times they are facing, and we talked of what we had hoped to do with our time in Pakistan. He shared our enthusiasm for getting the story and assured us that we will do some great work here. Later we headed off to bed, anxious to finally start working tomorrow.

January 21st 7:00AM

2008-01-22T11:34:00.000-08:00

Islamabad, Pakistan--Our flight from Dubai to Islamabad was only a few hours long. I had been so tired I slept most of the way. As we started to approach Islamabad, excitement had taken over and I found myself leaning over the gentleman sitting next to me so that I could catch a glimpse of Pakistan below. The sun had begun to rise, casting a lavender hue across the dark-mysterious mountains that stretched the horizon. You could feel a bit of anxiety, curious of what lies below and what is in store for me on this adventure. It was easy to see from above the difficulties of fighting a war in this region. The rocky terrain went on forever, speckled with small modest homes that seemed balance atop the high mountaintops and steep cliffs. I could hardly sit still in my seat. I was ready to get to work, but I knew all to well that working in these places the one thing you need to have is patience.

January 20th - Video

2008-01-20T09:08:00.000-08:00

Dubai, UAE -- A video of the Burj Al Arab.

January 20th - Video

2008-01-20T09:02:00.000-08:00

Dubai, UAE -- A small video of the ski slope in the Mall of Emirates.

January 20th 6:00PM

2008-01-20T07:19:00.000-08:00

Dubai, UAE -- Dubai has a unique ability to take an impossible idea and make it reality—such as the Mall of the Emirates, which has a ski slope complete with a four-man chairlift. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Dozens of people all bundled in matching rented blue snowsuits making their way up and down the snowy slopes all inside of a mall with over 400 stores. We also visited Souk Madinat Jumeriah, a market along a man-made canal. We posed for some photos with the Burj Al Arab in the background, but soon tired from our travels and had to retreat back to our hotel as jet lag started to set in. We depart Dubai at 3:00 A.M.

January 20th 8:30AM

2008-01-20T07:12:00.000-08:00

Dubai, UAE -- Our long flight came to an end as we left the shoreline of Iran below and then crossed the Persian Gulf, the sun rising on our left. In the distance, Dubai peaked out of the blue waters, a thin line stretching across the brown hazy skyline. As we got closer I could see the iconic Burj Al Arab hotel, sitting at the edge of the gulf. The skyline was a shimmering mix of twisted steel, bright glass, and mirrors. The buildings reached high into the sky, including the Burj Dubai, the tallest building in the world.

January 19th 10:40AM

2008-01-20T07:10:00.000-08:00

JFK Airport, New York, NY -- I took my seat at the very back of the plane, trading seats with a woman so that I could have the aisle. I relaxed back in my seat, preparing for our 14-hour flight to Dubai. The woman sitting next to me, Ann, was heading home to Kenya where she just heard word that opposition forces had burnt down her family home and farm, killing all of their animals. She was in the U.S. visiting her daughter who just had a baby—her first grandchild. Back home in Kenya, her other three children, and 9 other children she cares for were forced to flee the violence. She had tears in her eyes when as she spoke about them. She had planed on staying with her daughter in the U.S. until May, but now is rushing back with fears for her children safety in Kenya. As the plane lifted off, Ann looked out the window at the New York skyline, lifted her hand to the window and waved. She knew it would be difficult to come back to see her daughter and grandchild again anytime soon.

January 19th 2:30 AM

2008-01-19T22:20:00.001-08:00

Greensburg, PA -- My alarm clock rang out its wake up call---2:30 AM. Its funny how your bed never feels as good as it does at the exact moment you have to leave it. I turned to my wife, kissed her forehead, told her I loved her, climbed out of bed and put on my clothes that I neatly laid out the night before. Quietly, I snuck into my son’s room using my cell phone to light my path through the toys strewn across the floor. Careful not to wake him I gave him one last kiss. He wiggled in his blue pajamas, and nervous of the repercussions of waking him, I quickly left his room, pulling the door shut ever so gently. I had taped a photo of him and me in his crib the night before. I was curious what he would think when he found it in the morning. My wife met me in my office, gave me a hug, and told me, “I love you and be careful.” I asked her as I often do, “Does this match,” speaking of my outfit. “Yes,” she said, “It looks good,” as she crawled back beneath the blankets of our bed. I headed down the steps to peak out the front door to see if my driver had arrived yet to take me to the airport. My luggage, packed and ready, sat by the door. After pacing the floor for nearly 30 minutes, scribbling off a note to my wife, I saw the lights of the car pull into my driveway. I grabbed my gear, trudging it through the cold, climbed into the car and off we went. My journey to Pakistan had begun.