Working as a foreign journalist in Pakistan is not easy. Freedom of the press is more a principle than a fact, permissions are needed to travel almost anywhere, and many Pakistanis are distraught in the face of a journalist … woman.
A man met in Peshawar – very sympathetic by the way – asked THE question that tormented many of his compatriots. “How is it possible that a woman her age is not married?” “Visibly perplexed by this” incongruity “, the man looked away to ask the photographer of the Duty Renaud Philippe. “You can ask him the question directly,” Renaud replied to our Pakistani counterpart. ” No no… “
Throughout the encounters, dotted with scents of tea and intoxicating generosity, hints of incredulity appeared here and there, always enveloped in modesty and delicacy: how is it that it is she who asks the questions and not the man who accompanies him? Why is she not with her children?
Sometimes the shock was more brutal, especially when men bowed their heads as I passed or refused to look me in the eye when I spoke to them – even though I was wearing the veil. I have never been able to shake hands during these two weeks spent in Pakistan. And in restaurants, we have always eaten behind curtains or in rooms reserved for families and women.
A question of respect and culture to prevent women from being bothered by men, explained our to stare – a local journalist who accompanied us on all our trips and who did the translation. But which has the consequence that women are almost absent from public space in Pakistan.
My presence sometimes upset morals. Our to stare had to negotiate on certain occasions for me to be admitted to the hujra, the room reserved for welcoming (male) visitors in Pakistani houses, or even in a madrasa, filled to the brim with hundreds of male students and their teachers, without the slightest female presence.
But on several occasions, my discordant existence has led to sublime encounters. Once the interviews were over, I was sometimes escorted alone inside the houses, behind the doors of the hujras, to meet the women of the house.
Privileged moments, of great humanity and filled with a touching female bond despite the language barrier. Like this time when a young woman showed me the paintings she was making in her bedroom, telling me that her father refused to let her go to study in Islamabad, or when a woman and her sister-in-law wanted me at all costs. sew a Pakistani dress and let me taste the fruits of the orange tree that grew in their yard.
No objection
Our stay in Pakistan was also punctuated by the multiple authorizations that had to be obtained to carry out our reports. For foreign journalists, a visit to the Ministry of Information in Islamabad is almost a must. Basically: we wait a long time, we drink a lot of tea and we hope to come out with a ” No objection certificate (NOC) ”in hand. A printed sheet, signed by a director of the Ministry of Information, on which it is stated that the government of Pakistan does not oppose your presence in such or such city. A holy grail with which some journalists leave, but others not.
The supervision of the press is therefore obvious, and even goes as far as a certain surveillance. Government agents are said to be in the lobbies of hotels where foreign journalists stay, the two told us. fixers who took turns accompanying us during our stay. One of fixers even texted us when we were next to him and near two men in a hotel lobby telling us to get out right now to chat away from their ears.
A scenario worthy of a film, but difficult to know if it was a fiction or a documentary …