I have to die one day anyway. That is Allah's decision.
In the scorched borderlands of Balochistan, Pakistan's largest and poorest province, thousands of men load their motorcycles with smuggled Iranian fuel and ride into temperatures that can melt the very containers they carry. The trade — illegal, dangerous, and worth an estimated billion dollars a year — has surged as geopolitical conflict disrupts regional oil flows and leaves an already desperate population with no other path to income. These riders are not outlaws by temperament but by circumstance, navigating a landscape where drought, unemployment, and the absence of state investment have made the risk of burning alive preferable to the certainty of having nothing. Their story is one of survival at the edge of what human endurance can bear.
- Plastic fuel canisters strapped to overloaded motorcycles can ignite and explode in 50°C heat, and smugglers die this way with grim regularity — yet the convoys keep moving.
- The US-Israeli war against Iran has tightened regional oil flows, driving up smuggled fuel costs while sale prices stay flat, quietly eroding the already razor-thin margins these workers depend on.
- With 2.4 million of Balochistan's 15 million residents tied to the smuggling economy, Pakistan's oil refineries are sounding alarms as official petroleum sales hit a 27-year low.
- Pakistan finds itself in a contradictory position — publicly cracking down on smuggling while quietly tolerating a trade that is the only economic lifeline for its most neglected province.
- Riders like Mazaar and Irfan — a drought-displaced farmer and a man disabled by childhood polio — embody the human arithmetic of a region where the danger of the work is simply less frightening than the alternative.
Mazaar can barely fit on his own motorcycle. Five seventy-liter containers of Iranian petrol, nearly 272 kilograms in total, are lashed to its sides with rope. He bought the fuel at an open-air market in Mastung, Balochistan, and now faces a 220-mile ride through one of the hottest places on Earth. In temperatures reaching fifty degrees Celsius, the plastic containers swell and soften. If they split, the fuel ignites. Smugglers die this way regularly. Mazaar, who turned to this work after drought made farming impossible, supports a large family on what he earns. When asked about the risk of death, he answers without drama: "I have to die one day anyway. That is Allah's decision."
Fuel smuggling from Iran into Pakistan has existed for decades, but recent months have seen a sharp escalation. The US-Israeli war against Iran disrupted oil flows through the Strait of Hormuz, pushing regional fuel prices upward. In Pakistan, where official petroleum is expensive, smuggled Iranian fuel has become essential to survival across Balochistan. Leaked intelligence estimates put the trade at one billion dollars annually, involving roughly 2.4 million of the province's fifteen million residents. Pakistan's five major oil refineries have formally warned the government that the illegal trade is crowding out official sales, which have fallen to a 27-year low.
Balochistan covers nearly half of Pakistan's landmass but holds only six percent of its population. Rich in minerals yet starved of investment, it has poverty levels comparable to some of the world's poorest regions. Fida Hussain Dashti, former president of the Quetta Chamber of Commerce, puts it plainly: even university graduates end up in the fuel trade because there is nothing else. Another smuggler, Irfan, contracted polio as a child and carries diesel rather than petrol — less likely to ignite if he cannot move fast enough to escape a fire. For both men, this is not a choice freely made.
The politics are layered with contradiction. Pakistan has positioned itself as a mediator between Iran and the United States, even as Iranian fuel flows openly across its nine-hundred-kilometer border. Crackdowns have been attempted and have failed repeatedly. Observers note an unspoken tolerance within government — an acknowledgment that for Balochistan, smuggling is survival. Oil companies themselves avoid parts of the region, deterred by security risks and the impossibility of competing with cheaper illegal fuel. Mazaar's earnings have already fallen since the war began, from roughly thirteen pounds a day to eight. The war that was supposed to be distant has reached him through price shifts and dust storms alike. He rides on regardless, because for him, stopping was never really an option.
Mazaar's motorbike sits so heavily laden with plastic fuel canisters that he can barely fit on the seat. Five seventy-liter containers of petrol, weighing roughly 272 kilograms, hang from the sides of his bike, lashed down with rope and string. He bought the fuel at an open-air market in Mastung, a town in Balochistan, Pakistan's largest and poorest province, where it had arrived via smuggling routes from across the Iranian border. Now he is preparing to ride 220 miles through one of the hottest regions on Earth, heading toward Sindh province to sell what he carries.
The heat in Balochistan can reach fifty degrees Celsius. At those temperatures, the plastic containers swell and soften. If they split or leak while Mazaar is riding, the fuel can ignite. Smugglers die this way regularly—burned, sometimes killed in explosions. Mazaar, who is in his late thirties and asked that his real name not be used, has been doing this work for three or four months, ever since drought made farming impossible. He is the main earner for a large family that includes his child and several brothers. When asked about the risk of injury or death, he speaks with the flatness of someone who has already accepted the worst. "I have to die one day anyway," he tells the BBC. "That is Allah's decision."
Fuel smuggling from Iran into Pakistan is not new. It has been happening for decades. But in recent months, the scale has grown sharply. The US-Israeli war against Iran has disrupted oil flows through the Strait of Hormuz, sending fuel prices upward across the region. In Pakistan, where official petroleum is expensive, cheaper smuggled Iranian petrol and diesel have become essential to survival for thousands of workers in Balochistan. Intelligence reports leaked to Japanese news outlets in 2024 estimated that fuel worth one billion dollars was smuggled across the border annually. In May of this year, Pakistan's five major oil refineries sent a letter to the government warning that cross-border smuggling was increasing. The Oil Companies Advisory Council reported that official petroleum sales had hit a twenty-seven-year low, partly because of the illegal trade.
According to the same leaked intelligence report, approximately 2.4 million people in Balochistan's population of fifteen million are involved in fuel smuggling. The work is illegal in Pakistan, carrying penalties ranging from fines and vehicle seizures to prison sentences. Yet for a region with poverty levels comparable to some of the poorest places on Earth, it has become a lifeline. Balochistan covers forty-four percent of Pakistan's landmass but holds only six percent of its population. Although rich in mineral resources, it has been starved of investment and opportunity. Fida Hussain Dashti, former president of the Quetta Chamber of Commerce and Industry, argues that the government has failed to create jobs. "Even a student who graduates with an MA degree ends up joining this oil business," he says. "People are helpless and have no other way."
Irfan, another smuggler whose name has been changed for safety, contracted polio as a child. Movement in one of his legs and one of his hands is severely limited. He has been smuggling diesel for several months—diesel rather than petrol, because it is less likely to ignite. "I can't carry petrol because what if it catches fire?" he says. "If I can't stand up, I'll get badly burned." For him, as for Mazaar, smuggling is not a choice made freely. It is the only work available.
The politics of the trade are tangled. Pakistan has positioned itself as a mediator between Iran and the United States, even as fuel smuggling from Iran flows across its border. The country has attempted crackdowns at various points, only to see smuggling levels rise again. The nine-hundred-kilometer border is remote and difficult to police. There is also, according to observers, an unspoken understanding within Pakistan's government that for many in Balochistan, the work is survival. Oil companies do not deliver fuel to some parts of the region, deterred by transport costs, security risks, and competition from cheaper smuggled products. Several smugglers have told the BBC that Pakistani officials and security forces turn a blind eye in exchange for bribes, though Pakistan's government denies this. It says Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif has directed law enforcement to crack down on smuggling, and that security forces seized fuel worth approximately five million dollars in the past year.
Mazaar's earnings have deteriorated since the war began. The price he pays for smuggled petrol has risen, but what he can sell it for has remained flat. He used to make about thirteen pounds a day after expenses. Now he makes roughly eight pounds—still twice Pakistan's minimum wage, but a sharp decline. "The war started and we were ruined," he says. As he and a group of eleven other motorcycle riders leave Mastung to head home, they are hit by a heat storm, a prolonged heatwave mixed with dust. The dangers are multiple and overlapping: the physical risk of fire and explosion in extreme heat, the economic squeeze of rising costs and stagnant prices, and the broader instability of a region where decades of conflict between Pakistani forces and separatist insurgents have left thousands disappeared. Mazaar continues anyway, because stopping is not an option he has.
Citações Notáveis
We do this because we don't have any other option. The weather is hot, the prices are high and we spend day and night on the road.— Mazaar, fuel smuggler
Even a student who graduates with an MA degree ends up joining this oil business. People are helpless and have no other way.— Fida Hussain Dashti, former president of Quetta Chamber of Commerce and Industry
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why has fuel smuggling suddenly become so visible now, when it's been happening for decades?
The war disrupted oil flows through the Strait of Hormuz. Prices spiked. In Pakistan, where people are already poor, the gap between official fuel prices and smuggled Iranian fuel widened dramatically. The economics changed overnight.
But Pakistan is supposed to be mediating between Iran and the US. How does the government tolerate this?
That's the contradiction at the heart of it. Pakistan needs to maintain relationships with both sides. But it also knows that in Balochistan, there are no other jobs. Cracking down completely would devastate the region. So there's a kind of tacit acceptance, even if officials deny it.
Is this actually organized crime, or is it just desperate people doing what they have to do?
Both. Observers believe the main traffickers are linked to Iran's Revolutionary Guards, using smuggling to circumvent sanctions. But the people on the motorcycles—Mazaar, Irfan—they're not criminals in any meaningful sense. They're farmers whose crops failed, people with disabilities, fathers trying to feed their families.
What happens to someone like Mazaar if his fuel catches fire while he's riding?
He burns. Possibly dies. It happens regularly enough that smugglers talk about it as a known risk, the way you might talk about weather. The heat makes the plastic containers swell. A leak, a spark, and the whole bike becomes a fireball.
And the government knows this is happening?
Yes. The oil refineries have written letters. The government has acknowledged the problem. But stopping it would require either creating actual jobs in Balochistan or accepting that people will starve. Neither seems to be happening.