Karachi's Clifton Beach is a hazy place of vast horizons over rolling, foam-capped waves. Camels decked in bright pompoms pace the sand sedately, occasionally startling me with a snort or bellow. Sindhi hawkers in embroidered caps ply their trade selling sweet treats or lover's trinkets.

Here I met our first two Pakistani Osamas today - a pair of cheerful college students, impeccably polite and full of academic promise. One of the Osamas was born and raised in Saudi Arabia and even had a "bin" in his name. After the windows of his home were blown out by one of The Bad Osama's own bombs exploding four doors down the street, he binned the bin.

As I stood there in the sea breeze thinking about what I'd do if someone heinously evil suddenly ruined the name Farrah for me, I was distracted by a strange and hypnotic music coming from behind me. Then I met the beady-eyed and sinuous Nang Raja and his charmer, a Jogi whose forefathers and their fathers have caught and charmed cobras for as long as he knows.