Karachi Chronicles Chapter 1

Years ago, returning from Europe, I was stopping over in Dubai airport. Exploring the cavernous terminal, I found myself needlessly gliding along a travelator, when something abruptly commanded my attention. Drifting across my field of vision, like a cloud blocking the sun in an otherwise vacant sky, was a group of guys draped in flowing white robes. Clad in black and sporting a large, messy afro, I was the shade behind the cloud. On the outside, we shared no resemblance. 

Slowly transiting past, we awkwardly exchanged fleeting smiles and respectful head nods, before they were swept from my vista in an instant. With my curiosity piqued, I impetuously doubled back to see where these characters were going. Eventually catching up, at a far-flung gate, I stumbled across a large group of pilgrims heading for Karachi. Quickly checking my geography, I realised they were returning to Pakistan, a place I’d always been intrigued by.

Growing up watching cricket, the country was on my radar, to some degree. As I got older and became interested in exploring, I learnt how Pakistan was home to K2, and many more of the World’s highest mountains. Beyond these towering peaks of the Karakoram Range, there are also many other natural wonders such as the imposing Trango Towers, mighty Indus River and wild Hunza Valley. In addition to such natural beauty, a vibrant culture and the fact that not many people travel there, make it one of the more unique destinations on the planet. 

During the pandemic, as with many others, my aspirations of travel to such exotic locations took a significant hit. Around the same time, amongst the chaos, the miraculous arrival of our first child shifted my focus even further from jet setting. Temporarily shelving any dreams of travel and becoming ensconced in parenting a newborn, sleep was now my top priority. Learning on the job, part of our evening routine was to get the bub asleep on my chest, while mum took a couple hours of well needed rest. To be clear, I don’t profess to be some kind of hero, as it mostly involved sitting still while admiring my kid and sometimes watching television. 

One of those evenings laying on the couch, too scared to move for fear of disturbing the peace, I was again reminded of Pakistan. Specifically, it was during the historical Australian Cricket Tour of 2022. Along with the hard fought on field action, I can still clearly remember the crowd’s heartfelt reaction to hosting international cricket. Enamoured by the scene, I was amazed how a simple game could spark so much joy for the locals. Sprawled on my lounge back in Ballina, this excitement was rapidly tempered by the realisation that I would never experience the same situation. 

Months later, I chalked up a personal milestone as I turned forty. Before having the chance to bemoan life in the fifth decade, I got involved in the Over 40s Cricket scene, where they were selecting an Australian team. Knowing full well I was only an outside chance at selection, I still threw my hat in the ring with the same amount of hope as a jackpot chasing, casual lotto player. Unfortunately, I didn’t perform and threw away my first chance to make the team, who toured New Zealand. Accepting the outcome, all I could do was prepare for the next trials selecting a team to tour, unbelievably, Pakistan.

Knowing I’d blown my first chance to impress the selectors, I was eagerly awaiting another opportunity to prove myself. Accepting that my inclusion was now extremely unlikely, all I could do was put the head down and work hard. I continued pushing my training, even after our regular season concluded. Often hassling people for a net session or sometimes just bowling by myself, like back when I was a boy. All the time visualising how I was going to bounce back from my disappointing performance last time around.

Just as my training was gaining momentum, I received an email that insinuated the dream tour of Pakistan wasn’t going ahead, due to security concerns. Reading that email, while sitting on the same couch where the idea was initially sparked, I was deflated. Being far away from the scene in Ballina, I hastily trawled social media for some clarity, to no avail. Without a clear answer, I went with the information I had and packed away the dream. Disheartened but no longer needing to protect my body for trials, I went back to my everyday life and resumed another passion of mine, skateboarding. Unfortunately, days later, I fractured my lower tibia, ending a 25-year innings without a known broken bone from skating.

Having a broken ankle was a major inconvenience but there was comfort in believing that the trials for Pakistan were cancelled. About a week later, my calm acceptance was shattered, when I received email correspondence from Veterans Cricket Australia. I was already bummed out but reading that email inviting me to trials for the Pakistan tour, made me physically sick. Accepting full ownership for breaking my own ankle, I was left to lament the fact there wouldn’t have been any skating if I knew the tour was still on. Rocked by the revelation, I spent the following six weeks in a very dark and depressing abyss that I don’t think anyone, except possibly my wife, can truly understand. 

Thanks mostly to my family, I eventually saw the light and began to get life back on track. Soon after, the day arrived for me to be driven to Lismore and be set free from the cast that was shackling me. However, there wasn’t much excitement as I was struggling from a surprise birthday dose of food poisoning acquired the previous day. Slightly dazed and fighting off waves of nausea, the trip up the Bruxner Highway was unexpectedly interrupted by a call from an unknown number. Deciding to answer, thinking it may be someone calling from the hospital, I was about to have a moment that would make me question if I was even still in touch with reality.

On the line was an executive from Veterans Cricket Australia. Basically, they were calling to inform me that I was selected as a shadow player for the Pakistan tour. Although I’d been unable to trial and push a case for selection, they were putting faith in me as a backup if any of the bowlers became unavailable. Blindsided by this welcome but unexpected news, it was still hard to accept that I would probably miss out on a dream by the shortest of margins. Another play and miss that would go down as a dot in the scorebook of life. Once again, I put it behind me, fought of my churning stomach and moved on with my now cast free life.

Weeks later, I received a call from Kingy, the coach for the Pakistan tour. He just wanted to touch base and inform me that, as a reserve, I needed to be across a host of information about the tour. After divulging all the pertinent details related to the trip, he wanted me to go away and speak about it with my family. Making sure all bases were covered; it was preparation just in case I got asked to come on the Pakistan Trip. Obviously, there was plenty of information to digest and some serious things to consider. Regardless, it didn’t take long for my wife and I to conclude, that if asked, the only answer should be yes.

Later that same week, I was back in my hometown staying at my mother’s place for her birthday weekend. I’d been out having a few Friday afternoon refreshments with my childhood mates and had just returned to mum’s house. Winding down after a fun afternoon, I was sitting in the same room I had spent the first twenty-one years of my life. That’s when my phone rang, slightly late for a Friday. Answering, I quickly realised the reason for this was due to the caller being located in Western Australia.

On the line was Kingy, who was calling back about our earlier conversation. After confirming my availability, he replied “congratulations, welcome to the Australian team, you better brush up on your Urdu.” Having already accepted my dream was dashed month’s before, I didn’t really know how to react. Although I was delighted, it was also hard to comprehend I was now going to be on the trip of a lifetime. Fittingly, I was sitting in my room, where the posters of my childhood heroes had long ago faded and been removed. It was now impossible to separate dream from reality. 

With only two pre-trip months left, I was walking on eggshells. Although all my mates were supportive, there was still a lot of negative chat around the tour. Some of it was well meaning, some of it political and a bit jealousy. Blocking it out by listening to my family's advice and trusting gut instinct, I managed to keep a steady hand in the lead up to departure. Fear of the unknown can be extremely crippling, but I had already resolved to hold my nerve and get on the plane. I pushed through the rehabilitation of my ankle, while trying to catch up with as many people as possible. 

When the day of the trip finally came along, I rushed out of work, picked up my kid from daycare and headed to Brisbane for an overnight stay. Mentally I was in a heighten state and concerned about what was about to unfold but I kept my eyes firmly on the prize. Next morning, I met the Queensland boys at Brisbane Airport. After receiving my gear, we jumped on a flight and met up with the rest of the squad in Melbourne. This initial leg was uneventful except for it being Steve McClymont’s first flight at the age of forty-six. Upon arrival he hilariously proclaimed, “it was a long time,” not realising his stripes were about to be earned on the ten-hour jaunt to Colombo.

Finally gathering with the lads, after all the hours of rehab, online meetings and phone calls to Milts and Kingy was a huge relief. In that moment, around people who were on the same mission, any seed of doubt was quickly washed away. After having a quick drink and a bit of a team bonding session, we were soon boarding our flight to Sri Lanka. About midway through the flight, I remember pausing my Clint Eastwood marathon to check up on McClymont’s progress. Turning back, I spotted him head in hands in the middle of four seats. Playfully, I enquired how his second ever flight was going, which was met with a far from enthusiastic response. 

After a couple more movies, under the cover of darkness, we landed in Sri Lanka. Tired yet charged with excitement, we were off to a nearby hotel for the night. All of us were paired up and my roommate for the trip was Mark Leard, from the Central Coast. After a long day’s travel and on a tight schedule, I think most of us were keen for a bit of shut eye. Accordingly, we grabbed our room keys and high tailed it for a few hours’ sleep. Upon arrival to our room, we were hit with a minor setback, when we found only one bed between us. Contacting reception, we were informed the hotel was full, so there was no other option. Too tired to care, the only option was to get acquainted with my roomie for the next three weeks and spoon up.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t get much sleep as my mind was racing about what would greet us in Karachi the following day. To add further tension, my phone decided that it would be a perfect time to stop charging. Using further precious sleep time, I quickly set up my spare phone as I wouldn’t have a working SIM in Pakistan. Due to two factor authentication, this meant most of my apps wouldn’t have functioned, making contact with home or accessing the team WhatsApp chat almost impossible.

Eventually, I awoke from a few hours slumber to the overcast, monsoonal skies. After a massive buffet breakfast and a quick wander, in the blink of an eye we were boarding our final flight to Karachi. Onboard, we were greeted by an almost empty plane, with the team making up most of the passengers. Consequently, we all had a row to ourselves, with every seat from the wings to the back completely empty. Briefly I enjoyed the space to collect my thoughts. However, before long my Zen state was pushed aside when I caught myself thinking, why was no one heading to Karachi? Now at the point of no return, it wouldn’t be long until I could decide for myself, firsthand.

After an uneventful flight, where the highlights were receiving a business class meal, closely followed by Raders marking exams, we started our descent across the desert. As we bobbled down towards the sprawling, dusty, urban landscape it was like a scene from a movie. In that moment, with my dream now only minutes away, all I could do was passively watch the first act roll on.

After what felt like a few seconds, we were back on terra firma and rolling up to the gate at Jinnah International Airport. An empty flight made for an easy exit, none of the clamouring that is the chagrin of most seasoned travellers. As we alighted the aeroplane clad in the Australian Uniform, we proceeded through a clear aerobridge, that projected a mix of retro and Jeston’s vibes. Meanwhile, playing across the public address system was a foreboding message warning of heavy penalties for the importation of any contraband. That was when I would have my first, on the ground, impression of Pakistan.

Halfway along the aerobridge, my eyes skirted the tarmac and locked on to a heavily armed military officer, who was overlooking the plane. In the same instance, he spied me looking down and locked his attention on us. As our gazes met, he beamed up a huge smile while simultaneously patting his chest and giving me a reassuring head nod. As a triumphant wave of relief and euphoria washed over me, I quickly shot back a huge thumbs up and followed through with a reciprocal tapping of my right hand onto chest. Without a word being exchanged, any lingering doubts, melted away quicker than a sorbet in the Sindh sun.

Entering the terminal, there were more stern warnings about not taking photography or importing prohibited items. Shuffling into an immigration area, after some small talk, they got to stamping our passports. Once mine was sorted, I collected my documents and started heading off with the others. Suddenly, the calm was broken with a stern, “Oi, you come here,” from the immigration official. Startled, I wheeled around as he signalled me back into his box. I nervously tried to process the scene, while he furiously riffled for something in his pocket. He swiftly retrieved a mobile phone, leant in, snapped a selfie and left me to go off on my merry way.

Relieved I wasn’t in any trouble, we were met by our official contacts. During our introductions, they presented us with traditional flower wreaths, before we encountered quite a few excited locals at the front of the terminal. Little did they know, we were just as surprised as them. With the number of curious onlookers rapidly building, we jumped onto our minibus to head for the hotel. Racing through the chaos of the sprawling cityscape in a police convoy, this would be the first of many armed escorts. 

Although traffic had been cleared, chaos still surrounded us. Thousands of motorbikes somehow danced around each other, a spectacle as beautiful as it was unnerving. Many riding without helmets and some bikes transporting a family of five, it was obvious we weren’t in Melbourne anymore. After about twenty-five minutes the squad arrived at our secure complex. We had made it, against many obstacles and I’m sure there wasn’t a bloke doubting their decision at that moment. 

It was an unbelievable rush to finally step foot in such an intriguing country. Hours upon hours of preparation had come through and the group was charged with positivity. Safely nestled in the relative calm of our new sanctuary, we were left to decompress from the journey. Now, the main thing lingering was an air of anticipation about what Karachi would have in store for us over the next three weeks.