I live at the end of a cul de sac, a fancy term for what feels like (and probably is) a dead end. I’m told the location affords me great security, since any robbers will have to pass the far grander, better-looking houses up the road before they get to mine. It’s cruel but true that my security system at present basically involves hoping potential robbers go first to the house of Mrs. Marzi, an 80-year old who lives two doors up and wears all her diamonds all day long, in the manner of a self-loving rapper/royal/renegade.
Never underestimate the old. In 2010, when I had my first-ever burglary in New York (there’s always a first time), the police told me that by chance they had gone into the apartment below and, while Mrs. Gonzales was not the thief, she did have a collection of men’s noses in her freezer. You never know, is all I’m saying…
But Mrs Marzi of Lahore, her marvelous bling aside, has failed me miserably as a security decoy. I found out a few days ago that someone had secretly climbed onto my roof and stolen a lot of wiring that I didn’t know was there; this was mere days after my water pressure pump went missing. I now stalk my little lane cautiously, channeling Hercule Poirot as I wait for someone to betray a length of wire (and therefore their guilt) in what is obviously a mounting campaign in my neighborhood to scare the s*** out of me.
[quote]Mrs Marzi asked me if I knew anything about poisons[/quote]
So far two house-owners have asked me why I keep staring at their gates. Then, out of the blue, Mrs Marzi asked me if I knew anything about poisons. I walked away but glanced back, and I swear she was mouthing the words “I’m watching you” in a silently threatening manner. I really think she’s become a late-in-life serial killer.
Self-protection in Lahore is becoming increasingly necessary. Karachi has been so bad for so long that most people carry cypher mobiles, inexpensive sets they can hand over when they are invariably robbed at traffic lights or stores. This used to happen less in Lahore but that’s changed. Why, just the other week several masked men broke into a friend’s house in an upscale area close to where Imran Khan lives, and held the family at gunpoint for a few hours while they raided the house. Thankfully no one was hurt, though that’s hardly a given. Then, around Eid, my parents were told that a house a few doors down from them had been completely cleaned out. The men came in just after daybreak, overpowered the security guard (usually a geriatric), locked up the residents in a single room and then brought a massive van to carry the stuff away. (The van remained parked outside the house while the men shifted large TVs and sofa sets out of the house.)
Pretty much everyone living here has heard of, or been the subject of, similar horror stories. Some have been held at knifepoint, others have come face to face with a gun. While pondering my petit thefts I realized I have no real way of protecting myself in the event of an emergency, other than a bitchy comment or two, and really, how effective would a one-liner (in English!) be against a gun? So, haunted by my own fears and the specter of Mrs. Marzi, I went to get some protection.
[quote]I can’t do hand-to-hand combat; I look like I’m “Vogue-ing” during a fight[/quote]
I didn’t want a gun, mainly because I’d likely shoot myself by mistake before getting anyone else (the same is true for hand-to-hand combat; I look like I’m “Vogue-ing” during a fight). I asked an Army friend of mine what to do and was told of the two things that anyone on their own here must have. First up: Tasers. These are the little handheld devices that provide a jolt of electricity to your opponent and are familiar to small white girls in the West and the would-be rapists who follow them. One swift shock, and you have enough time to flee your masked and by-now-convulsing attacker. I went to a computer center here to get one and was truly amazed at the sheer range of protective accessories in Lahore. I now own a Taser that looks like a mobile phone, the idea being that when asked to hand over your phone, you instead hand them a few hundred volts of glorious “screw you” and run like Forrest Gump.
The second and vastly more effective method is a dog. I’ve already been to several kennels in search of “Lucius”, my dog-to-be (steal that name and I’ll come after you with my Taser) but so far I haven’t found him. I briefly considered getting a Great Dane before I realized that they outweigh most horses and require bedding more expensive than that of their owners. Then I considered the slender Doberman, a dog so vicious that it rips off others’ ears; the Bull Mastiff, who have faces only a mother could love; and briefly even a Dalmatian. Like everything else, the canine market here has evolved to deal with the specific problems that Pakistanis face. We don’t breed dogs for domestic use, it turns out, at least not exclusively. The trainer whose place I was visiting said most orders he gets are now for sniffer dogs, trained to be able to detect explosives from 20 paces away.
You can’t trust anyone anymore. That’s what my mother says. With a dog and a Taser, I maintain you don’t really need to trust anyone anymore. Unless your neighbor asks you about poisons. In which case you must sleep with one eye open…
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