Kasur

A thick haze of pollution choked the road to Kasur. Wood smoke, exhaust, dust, and ground fog mixed to create a thick brownish haze. At times we could see no more than 10 feet from the front bumper.

Once in Kasur, the stench of leather tanning chemicals, open sewers, and rotting animal flesh added to the mix. My head began to spin, and just as I thought I was seriously in danger of fainting, someone handed me a medical mask. I clasped it gratefully to my face. The leather tanning industry makes up about 40% of Kasur's business, and though there are leather-free parts to Kasur, I didn't spend much time in them.

The sights were no better than the smells. Flat carts passed laden with slick, jiggly, grey "animal fats." Excrement from every sort of creature, including human, seemed to be everywhere. The residents dressed in rags, one young man wearing a woman's black knitted cloche hat adroned with a black-knit flower. I imagined an American woman tossing it into a Goodwill bin. There was an overall air of ill-nourishment - the children were scabby, clots of greenish snot dripping from their noses as they shot marbles across the garbage-strewn brick paving stones.

In the west we take the basics for granted -- clean water, clean air, sewer systems. I cannot imagine how people can get up every morning of their lives to face this kind of grinding poverty, slogging it out in these chemical sewers just to a dollar a day (if they're lucky) and do it all over again the next day.