3rd June 2014

Today has been potentially the worst day of our entire journey…in fact, scrap that, it HAS been the worst day.

We returned from the wedding in Karachi to find our new parts had been delivered. A couple days later and Peggy is ready.

She has her shiny new axle fitted, she has oil, she has a seemingly straight drive shaft and we have our police escort waiting for us to hit the road. The armed escort would take us 260km south to the regional border of Balochistan and the safer region of Sindh. There they would leave us to complete our 1000km journey to Islamabad.

The mechanics, who are just so lovely, assure us that Peggy is safe and completely fixed. We have pictures taken all together smiling, beaming, so thrilled to have our home back and to be on our way. We have our NOC which allows us to drive to Islamabad where we can extend our visa’s to be allowed to exit the country, we have it all…except food, we have no food but that can wait.

Four armed police officers fill the truck in front of us and we pull away from the Serena Hotel, our home for the last 21 days, filled with hope and excitement about getting on our way.

The armed guards act like a tag team, one group will drive us so far, meet with the next convoy and we continue with them and so on. Some stops are mere meters apart, others are 20-30kms. We had travelled maybe 5km and were with our second escort (a tank) when Peggy filled with thick white smoke. I shouted ‘the van is on fire’ and jumped up to investigate finding nothing in the smoke.

We screeched to a stop in the dirt at the side of the busy main road. We were still in the middle of Quetta city and around us donkeys pulled carts, people were butchering meat on big tables and rickshaws were whizzing around trying to make the next gap in the traffic. Alex jumped up and started frantically trying to figure out where the smoke was coming from. He was out of the van in a flash looking at the axle to see if it was the wheel again then he saw smoke coming out of the fridge vent. He found a smoking electrical cable there but it didn’t explain why the inside of the van was full of thick, rancid choking smoke.
As I desperately pulled the van to pieces looking for the main source the armed guards surrounded us blocking the people from coming near us, the tank blocked the traffic and the guards eyes were everywhere watching for danger.

I saw the penny drop on Alex’s face, he went grey and ran to the back of the van and started pulling up the bed. ‘THE BATTERIES’ he shouted! Sure enough the two marine batteries that we use to power the electrics in the van were on fire.

When Peggy had been towed/ dragged back to Quetta they had tipped her on such an angle that everything had become dislodged. The 2 huge heavy marine batteries were now on top of the mains electrical wire (which is charged directly from the van engine) and had eaten through its rubber casing. The naked wires were still sparking and the plastic of the batteries was melting, creating the thick white electrical smoke and allowing battery acid to leak out all over the place.

The hissing and popping continued as we struggled to fight the weight of the batteries off the wire. All the while we were being urged by the police that we were not safe and we must leave immediately. They were struggling to hold the gathering crowds back so we pushed a makeshift support against the batteries to stop them moving again and wrapped the thick exposed wire with electrical tape.

We were escorted back into the front of Peggy and rushed away from the scene with the tank sirens wailing and clearing the traffic ahead, all of this before 8am.

My heart was in my mouth and my stomach had a heart beat all of its own. We slumped in our seats and followed our tank in despondent silence.

Little did we know that the electrical fire was just the beginning.

We were aware the entire time we were driving that the repairs may not have been solid and the mechanic had warned us to check the axle oil whenever we could. He explained that we could not fill the oil ourselves but a mechanic with a special tool would have to do it. We asked him would we make the 260km that we had to cover that day and he said of course, just check it with a mechanic once you reach Sindh.

At one of the check points maybe 15km into our 260km day we stopped for chai and photographs (this is a regular occurrence and quickly turn what should be a 4 hour journey into an 8 hour one, but its always fun) and Alex took this opportunity, surrounded by guards to peer under the van and check for any leaks.

Sure enough, there were 3. One from the axle housing, one from the drive shaft and one near the newly replaced wheel.

We alerted the security team, they crouched down as they do and watched us drive back and forth and watched the pink oil drip onto the dirt. Then they shrugged and motioned for us to follow them. Chai break was over, they wanted rid of us before the real trouble started.

They handed us to the next team and after another 5km the sound coming from the back wheel changed dramatically. We stopped, waited for the guards to stop and got out to check the axle. The oil was pouring out.

We dug out the jack and jacked her up on the narrow road in the empty desert. The guards ummed and aaahed and smoked weed, we explained in our almost perfected sign language that this was a new axle and that the damage would be bad if we carried on but they insisted it was an issue with the brakes and that they would take us to a mechanic, only 40km away.

We protested but had no choice, we needed a mechanic or we were going nowhere. Of course, in true form, the jack wouldn’t go down so we had to drive off it which just added insult to injury, not to mention yet another war wound to Peggy’s already battered body. We followed along slowly and were handed to yet another team with no exchange between the two sets of guards. They had no idea we were having problems and raced ahead through a small traditional town. The thin road snaked through the mud houses and people sold their meagre wares along its dusty edge.

We passed several shanty towns on our way out of Quetta

We made it to the next check point before the bearing exploded.

The guards tried to make us continue but we refused. If the axle snapped again we were doomed and Peggy would be left in the desert to rot and we would be left with no home and no hope.

The guards agreed to go to the next town and bring the mechanic.

To cut a long story short we sat in the desert at a security stop for 10 hours while they bodged Peggy back together. Luckily we had another spare bearing but the mechanic arrived without any tools. He had to flag down passing cars to borrow things and every car load he stopped had to come and have a picture with us, smiling on the outside but all the while our hearts were breaking.

We are at breaking point both physically and mentally. How much more of this can we take? The stress, pressure and worry of driving through Balochistan is big enough without the added worry of having a vehicular failure every ten minutes!
What would happen if we got across the line in the sand that separates Balochistan and Sindh and our guards left us to go our own way and THEN we broke down again? What if, because of a breakdown and because of a downright stubbornness to get this damned van across the globe we got kidnapped, or worse?

As much as being here in Pakistan has been an enlightening experience, filled with unexpected adventure, culture and some of the gentlest, friendliest people we have met; it has also been filled with stories of terror, kidnappings and killings. Of IED’s, martyrs and terrorists and all of the terrible things that the west associate with this part of the world. The resilience, resourcefulness and ‘damned if we wont get through this’ attitude of the Pakistani’s is inspiring, heartwarming and applaudable but for us it seemed impossible to be reminded constantly that our lives are at risk and to sweep it under the carpet with a ‘devil may care’ flourish of the hand, the use of the word ‘Insh’Allah’; or with yet another lacking repair.

We talked over all of the scenarios in-between fighting off the offers of goat stew (the goats were watching) and diabetes inducingly sweet tea. I wept and tormented myself with all of the good times we had had with Peggy and we waited for the verdict from the new ‘mechanic’, who must have been all of 17 years old.

10 hours later the axle was cleaned of melted metal and plastic, the new bearing was in and the wheel was back on. We again drove off the jack and the guards excitedly ushered us to leave. They wanted us to continue on our route out of Balochistan and into Sindh but we refused.

We insisted they return us to Quetta and to the Serena hotel. We laughed that we maybe had Stockholm syndrome but in all seriousness we knew deep in our hearts that we weren’t going to make it very far. The leak was still there and we knew we probably had just about 30km before the bearing blew out again.

Finally the guards agreed and we retraced our stressful steps, each guard change welcomed us with questioning faces and hot tea but escorted us regardless.

The guards that took care of us during our ten hours in the desert

Night was falling around us and the desert became serene and the outskirts of the city a hive of activity. Every inch of flat space was taken up with a cricket team, how they kept track of who’s ball was who’s is beyond me. As we made it into the city I began to relax a little, maybe we were being dramatic and Peggy was fine!
We still had 5km to go but I felt inwardly confident we were going to make it, I saw a man pushing a makeshift trolley, its well worn wooden wheels wobbling on their broomstick axle and joked that he might loose a wheel before we do. Alex cursed me and said not to say another word until the fat lady sings.

I got giddy when I could see the roundabout that is outside the hotel. The roundabout is a monument to the three guiding principles for Pakistan “Faith, Unity, Discipline” and I could see it over the wall that surrounded the hotel so I knew we were close.

I excitedly exclaimed that we had made it, we are back at the hotel and I had barely finished my sentence when, yet again, the all too familiar sound of the axle snapping stopped me in my tracks and turned my joy into pure devastation.

Alex swerved to the side of the street, literally across the road from the hotel, and switched off the engine. I was already weeping as Alex looked at me and stated the awful, heartbreaking truth.

“it’s all over”