The conditions of my stay her in Gilgit are such; I will help in the two schools with various needs we determine, in return they will find and provide accommodation for me.   As a result I am staying at the home of one of the teachers, Maryam, her husband Islam, and their two children, Alizay, 4, and Kainat, 9.  Since they are my host family and are my introduction to the town and life here, my story must start with them.

            However, I don’t really know where to begin.  I am ashamed to sit here and accept their hospitality.  I entered their home and arrogantly unpacked my gifts, still on display in my new room.  I am disgusted with how casually I flaunt my wealth and take for granted the comfortable living we assume in the west.  I look into the eyes of a man who is proud of his little four room home, knowing how hard he has worked to provide for his family.  I now occupy one whole room in that house for myself.  There is also a tiny kitchen which includes a small stove with two burners, one table, and a cupboard.  Their whole family occupies the other bedroom which has one bed.  Connecting the three rooms is a small common room where a fridge is present.  As a luxury for guests both bedrooms have bathrooms.  They now have a small stand and television in the main bedroom, but other than that there is no furniture, tables or chairs in the entire house.  A lone picture of their spiritual leader hangs in the common room.

            My pocket money is probably their combined income for the month.  My camera equipment and clothing may equal the cost of their entire home.  But as is the custom of their area and their beliefs, they are providing for me.  This means that not only can I not buy my own bottled water, but they will accompany me to go get it.    As a good guest I must accept all this without complaint.  My simple gifts of dollar store trinkets pop open the eyes of their daughters.  Their generous hospitality turns my stomach at the inequity of our standards of living.

            Outside, Islam shows off his small garden which he tends to with some simple tools.  It is no more than five meters square and the ground is hard as a rock.  In good weather he has access to purchase river water piped in, with all this he has planted some vegetables and some small trees, still too immature to bear fruit.  They share the property with Maryam’s parents, and also share a cow and two goats.   It is plain to see that living here is about survival and the effort needed to live.  The area is essentially rock and dust, but the people here make it work.

            Inside Maryam has taken the place of my surrogate mother, and a watchful mother she is.  As is the culture the women do all of the cooking, cleaning and attend to the home.  I am feed very well each morning, afternoon and night.  Breakfast is a fried egg with flatbread and milk tea.  Lunch is a vegetable dish with flat bread and tea.  Dinner is a new dish with flat bread and tea.  We eat with our fingers, sopping up the daily dish with the bread sitting cross leg on the floor.   When we had chicken I was given to have the best part.  I can not stop eating without continually being told, “You take more Aaron.”    As a treat one day I had fresh cows milk at her mother’s house.  Then each night Maryam makes my bed on the floor, a padded mat, two blanket and two sheets.  After my self made routine of stretching and yoga exercises each night, I remake the bed folding the blankets under and over so that I get a little more cushion under me without sacrificing any warmth.  I go to sleep like I am part of a giant flannel taco.

            The next morning I wake up enter the bathroom with my plastic slippers and freshen up for the day.  Every second or third day is a treat as I get to take a quick shower with a bucket of luke warm water which they prepare for me.   To start each morning I stop and squat over the hole in the ground they call an Indian toilet.  Actually I am getting quite comfortable with it now, however I am obsessed with toilet paper and I covet it like gold wherever I go.  My clothes were washed in my third week, just as I was in rotation of wearing my underwear backwards.

If I wasn’t felling guilty enough about my situation here, I was struck with a case of Montezuma’s revenge on only my second day.  It is the first time I have ever been afflicted with such a stomach sickness.  I spent the next afternoon lying on the floor in cold sweets.  However, I don’t know what was worse, my internal disorder or the shame Maryam felt about having her guest sick.  She took it upon herself to prepare dishes and an environment to nurse me back to health.  Ironically it must have been something I ate at the banquet for the Karakoram International University conference which I secretly slipped into the night previous.

But alas I recovered, my immune system is strong and despite how hard it is to sleep on a floor, twenty hours of rest had me back to school the next day and then later out for a small hike. Of course a small hike requires the supervision of Islam who must protect my security wherever I go.  Their hospitality and kindness is rather stifling at times.  I hate to admit that on another occasion I purposely set a blistering pace to my walking in the hope of earning some personal freedom in the future.  It worked, he did get blisters and I am allowed to go for some local walks on my own now, but I am still not allowed to go out after dark alone.

The family is overjoyed to share their house with a foreign guest.  It is a symbol of honour in the community and they are very happy to practice their English.  The daughters are teaching me Urdu, to no avail, as well as the local language Burusheskee, which I find even more baffling. Kainat likes to talk and sing and dance, while Alizay is very shy and seems to be able to laugh and giggle in four different languages.   They both are a great help with household chores.  Of course their parents are very proud of them.  Everyone I meet is overly kind and accommodating.

The entire experience is a stern lesson in simple priorities that shakes the very soul of me.  I have enthusiastically survived with only water and tea and the heartiest of simple meals picked or killed fresh within the previous day.  I have not watched television my entire time here, except miraculously catching highlights of the first game of the Montreal Boston series as I checked into a hotel one weekend  (My father phoned me after game seven).   My time here has been a rigorous test in good manners and warm hospitality that never let up.  I could never have imagined how people can live so happily in such hard conditions, yet everywhere I look I see smiling faces, and always mine is smiling with them.