Being Muhammad Ali

In my life as a journalist I have had the great pleasure and honour to know two Muhammad Alis.

The first Muhammad Ali, of course, is the one recognised by most of you as the greatest boxer of all time.

I interviewed the three-time heavyweight champ at the nadir of his long and distinguished career as a sportsman and civil rights leader -- after he had hung up his gloves and before he re-established himself as a humanitarian icon at the Atlanta Olympic Games; which perhaps explains why I had my hero all to myself when I interviewed him that day in Birmingham, England.

I've got this lovely picture of myself with Ali. I’m wide-eyed and open mouthed. Ali is charismatic, physically beautiful and, as always, has half an eye to camera.

In the background are two boys--too young to know the legend--laughing at me, this dumbstruck reporter. It was that apparent.

My second Muhammad Ali was as small as his namesake was tall, modest of mouth and speech, where the American boxer was loquacious, loud and boastful.

But, like the more famous man, he was also tough and determined and committed to fairness and equality.

The scion of a 200-year-old carpet trading dynasty fallen on less prosperous times, Muhammad was also a gemstones dealer. I first met him in 1991 in Peshawar's Green's Hotel, long a favoured haunt for journalists covering the never-ending Afghan wars and myriad insurgencies. He was working out of the gift shop. It was like at first sight.

In 1996, the year the former Cassius Clay was wowing a worldwide audience by lighting the opening Olympic flame in Atlanta, Muhammad Ali and I were exposing the exploitation of child workers in Pakistan.

With his help, and my journalistic nous; we filmed village children, the youngest only five-years-old, stitching soccer balls that were being made for export and sanctioned as official merchandise for the UEFA Euro ’96 Championship.

It was a major scoop and the story went “viral” before such a term had been coined.

On the day of release the report and video was picked up by 150 major media outfits. I was interviewed by TV stations in Britain, Holland and Germany. It even made the Financial Times.

Such personal glory, we know, is transient and pretty irrelevant in the wider scheme of things.

But most importantly, our report, and a follow-up we did to coincide with the 1998 World Cup, had a profound impact in changing conditions for the better for thousands of working children in the sporting goods industry based in and around Sialkot.

Reebok, for example, opened a new football factory where no children under 15 are employed. A child labour free authentication scheme was launched and many other improvements instigated.

I am not na?ve enough to claim that any or all of these projects are running problem free. This after all is Pakistan, a land of infinite variety and exploitation. A nation, one hastens to add, not unique in these unwelcome attributes.

Over the years many groups--international trade unions, charities and international labour organisations among them—have claimed the credit for the work that Muhammad Ali and I did in Sialkot.

But we always knew the truth.

Muhammad was my devoted friend and guide in Pakistan for almost 30-years. He was a man in whom I placed absolute trust.

Without him I could not have completed so many successful investigations of child labour in different industries, such as medical instruments, carpet weaving and brick making.

Without him I could never have entered Pakistan’s lawless tribal areas abutting Afghanistan on countless occasions to report on the region’s drugs trade.

Without him I would have been just another “feringi” ready for the pot.

This week, after a long illness initiated by the narcotic pleasures of the legendary North West Frontier, Muhammad Ali died of a heart attack in the arms of his wife.

In his faith, Islam, he went to a better world. If so, he certainly deserves his place in Paradise.

Khuddur Hafiz, dear friend.

For me, like "The Greatest", you’ll always be a champion of the world.