Imran rang from Karachi. He had been digging for information about the Orangi water project and the proposed new dam on the Hub River. He was excited.
‘Do you remember that Roman Polanski movie, Martin? The one with Jack Nicholson? Well Karachi is Chinatown in spades. Water is everything. In the years after partition the city expanded so rapidly that water supplies were simply exhausted. But the place carried on growing, further and further into the desert, with no one even thinking what all those extra millions were going to drink. Orangi is one of the informal settlements where people have to drink polluted water from filthy streams or awami tanks run by local mosques and community groups. Those who can afford it pay for private tankers; those who can’t go thirsty or die from cholera. I have a report from researchers at Karachi University that I can send you, so you can see the scale of the problem.’
I asked Imran what made him think the Orangi dam project was anything other than a genuine attempt to tackle a pressing problem. He laughed.
‘Nothing is genuine here. You need to look behind the headlines. This has a little bit to do with improving people’s lives and a lot to do with making other people very rich. Whoever controls the water supply wields power and influence. The politicians and the crooks – the big crime groups – fight for control of it. And this contract is part of their game.’
‘Okay, I’m not disagreeing with you, Imran. But we’ll need more than just rumour and speculation if we’re going to tackle Javed Shafik; if we’re going to prove that Ibrahim’s death was connected to the building of the dam.’
‘As of today I don’t have documentary evidence of Javed Shafik’s corrupt practices in the Orangi scheme, but I would be surprised if he isn’t creaming off millions from public funds. What I do know is that the project is already mired in controversy. When I send you the academic water report I will attach some articles about this.’
‘Thank you. And have you been able to establish whether or not Shafik actually needs Ibrahim Rahman’s land for the construction scheme? That’s the other crucial factor.’
Imran said he was waiting for clearance to view the planning documents connected with the water project and would let me know when he had done so.
‘The dam scheme is being trumpeted as a shining example of public–private cooperation to benefit the community. And that will be helpful for us, Martin. I have renewed our request for an interview with Mr Shafik. I have told them we wish to highlight the social impact of his work in deprived areas. Although they have not formally agreed, the noises coming back from them are positive.’
In the weeks that followed, Imran’s messages became less cheerful. He was continuing to pursue the information I had asked him for, but with a frustrating lack of success. The Karachi planning office had refused him permission to consult the land documents connected with the dam project, citing considerations of commercial sensitivity. Javed Shafik had still not confirmed our interview. Ayesha, too, had fallen silent, in accord with our agreement.
I used the time to recast my manuscript, removing any details that would identify the real people involved. The book became a fictionalised version of the truth.
Imran’s documents arrived. The first was a photocopied sixty-page report on the chequered history of water supply in Karachi. I flicked through the opening section on the establishment in the 1950s of the Joint Water Board and its attempts to secure supplies from Lake Kalri and the Indus River eighty miles from the city. Bureaucratic rivalry, infighting and corruption dogged the JWB’s efforts. The network of conduits and pumping stations required to bring the water into Karachi took years to complete, by which time the pipes were leaking so badly that half of the water was lost en route. The Indus would never provide more than 260 million gallons a day; by the 1980s, Karachi needed twice that. The Hub River was dammed north of Karachi to form a reservoir that furnished another 100 million gallons, but the water pumped from it depleted the river’s flow and stretches closer to the city began to run dry.
Orangi and other districts were left waterless. People began to break open water mains to siphon off supplies. Illegal hydrants were set up, water was drawn from leakage points and private boreholes, pumped into donkey wagons and pushcarts to be sold to families in the poorest neighbourhoods. The authorities pronounced the water unfit for human consumption but did not intervene. People were forced to use it because they had no alternative.
The shortages fostered entrepreneurial invention then commercial rivalry and finally, inevitably, corruption. The practice of breaking open the existing system of pipes to steal water was done with the connivance of Water Board staff. In cases where the stolen water was contaminated by sewage, officials were bribed to certify its purity. Rival gangs of tanker operators fought turf wars to safeguard their monopoly of deliveries. Each crime group had its own territory; each had political protection from factions in the city government. The profits grew in line with the shortages. A 1,200-gallon tanker would bring in four hundred rupees; a 2,400-gallon tanker seven hundred and a 3,600-gallon tanker over a thousand. At times of drought or breakdowns in the municipal system, the rates would double or treble. Tanker operators learned how to bribe Water Board officials to create artificial crises by shutting down pumping stations.
The city authorities responded by rationing mains water. But more people began to make illegal connections to secure greater than their allotted share. Water mains were vandalised, pipes and equipment stolen. When the city tried to introduce its own fleet of tankers with water purified for drinking, it met fierce resistance from the commercial operators. Municipal tankers were attacked and set on fire. The organised crime groups running the illegal deliveries persuaded their political placemen to force the scheme’s abandonment.
The situation got out of hand. With growing numbers of households having to rely on contaminated water, diseases spread. Cases of cholera rose and public protests broke out in Orangi and other settlements. When water riots seemed inevitable in the late 1990s the city called on its last line of defence. The Pakistan Rangers, a paramilitary force used in border security and anti-terrorist operations, were deployed to restore order, tasked with breaking the hold of the crime groups and taking over the tanker distribution system. The Rangers’ efforts were opposed by politicians connected to the mafias; the force’s commander had his work cut out.
The presence of the troops maintained a precarious equilibrium, but the underlying problems were unresolved. A survey of existing water mains found most of the city’s underground pipes to be suffering from leaks, with many damaged beyond repair. The shortfall in water flowing into Karachi was growing larger by the month; demand was rising inexorably, supplies from the Indus and Hub rivers dwindling. The Rangers could not be expected to remain indefinitely and the city’s leaders feared the explosion of unrest that might follow their departure.
The academics’ report ended with a pessimistic vision of the future: ‘Water has become our city’s most pressing and most redoubtable problem,’ the authors wrote. ‘The authorities must bite the bullet. Big investment schemes, including the building of new downstream dams and the construction of extensive conduits and pumping stations are urgently required. Unless decisions are taken now, Karachi faces economic and social meltdown.’
At the bottom of the report, in red ink, Imran had scribbled, ‘Shafik has them over a water barrel!’ with a smiley face and two exclamation marks.
The rest of the documents in the envelope were cuttings from Urdu language newspapers, with Imran’s translations or synopses. Most of the articles hailed the announcement of the Orangi water scheme and the new Hub River dam, giving official figures for the extra water it would bring into the city and reproducing quotes from government spokesmen lauding the foresight and wisdom of the politicians and entrepreneurs involved. One cutting took a different tack; Imran had underlined the relevant sections.
PROTEST OVER NEW DAM SCHEME: A large number of employees held sit-ins outside the office of the Water and Irrigation Department on Monday in protest against ‘massive’ corruption in the department. The Sindh Trade Union leaders who organised the protest demanded that the Chief Justice of Pakistan, Chief Justice of the Sindh High Court, army chief, heads of NAB and Rangers and other authorities take notice of the large-scale corruption in the Water and Irrigation Department and deal with the corrupt persons with an iron hand. They alleged while addressing the protesters that higher officials of the department had, in connivance with contractors, usurped Rs4 billion reserved for construction of barrages and excavation of canals. No work was carried out physically but their fake bills were prepared and payment claimed, they said, adding that paper contracts had been awarded for a scheme of Rs40 billion, of which nearly a fifth was swallowed up by corruption. Massive corruption of one billion of rupees was made in the Ghaziabad canal excavation and Rs550 million was made in the excavation of Mansoor Nagar, Gulshan-e-Bihar drain, but nothing was spent on the ground.
When I rang Imran to thank him for the documents he sounded excited.
‘Martin! Your call is perfect timing. Javed Shafik’s people just telephoned. The interview is all systems go!’