The Long and Winding Road(s)

Whew! It’s been a crazy, action-packed and very exciting past few days for me! I’m in Rudrapur and there’s so much to tell! If I promised last post to be a short one, I promise this one will be a long one. Or else it won’t capture everything I’ve done and seen. Or probably both.

This post is named after the Beatles song because as I was thinking up a title for it, I was sitting on a rickshaw cart, my feet swinging off the back, and had a long and winding road as my view. There have been two significant long and winding roads for me these past couple days, so I thought it kind of worked…

Have you ever passed a vehicle on the highway while it was passing another vehicle? As of Tuesday, I have. In a bus. On a highway that’s only one lane in each direction.

The bus ride from Dhaka to Dinajpur was perhaps the most terrifying 8-hour event of my life. The driver was an excellent swerver, and always seemed to want to play ‘Chicken’ with other oncoming buses and trucks. After a few hours, I thought I was getting used to it, but some close calls jolted me back to the edge of my seat.

We stopped for lunch at some designated rest-stop restaurant, where I proceeded to make a fool of myself. There was a counter with a few food items, which I thought provided pretty limited choices, but for some STUPID reason, thought was the only option. Instead of looking behind me and seeing other people ordering from menus and eating real meals (In my defense, I was unnerved by the stares when I walked in and just wanted to keep them at my back. Some days are much worse than others for letting the stares get to you.). Anyway, after ordering this hamburger-like thing, the guy who was sitting beside me on the bus, and who promised Ansel (the Dipshikha staff member who brought me to the bus station in the morning) to make sure I was ok during the trip, came up and lead me to a table. THEN, my foolishness continued as I ate the hamburger-thing while he watched me with a “what are you doing”-kind of face. Then a waiter brought him rice and curries and he said, pointing to my burger-thing, “This is snacks. You want real food?” and it finally clicked. I ordered the chicken curry.

Another interesting moment (which I found kind of unnerving) was when I paid, I pulled out my money, and handed the waiter a bill. He brought my change, blah, blah, blah. But back on the bus, my neighbour warned me NOT to take out my money like that in a restaurant. He said they are watching your money and will pick your pocket on the way out. Of course I know this about beggars and salesmen on the streets, but it had never occurred to me for inside an establishment like a restaurant. I have never even considered the possibility of a waiter trying that in Canada. Am I naïve?

The city/town (I don’t know the size) of Dinajpur was not much of a looker. It was kind of like the dingier parts of Dhaka, with, as per usual, a ton of people milling about. But I didn’t stay long. The Dipshikha area manager for Rudrapur, Sepal (Pronounced Shep-All) was there to meet me, and he called a sort of mini-truck type thing to bring me and my baggage to Rudrapur/Dipshikha (Side note: Normally, I would have just ridden with my luggage on Sepal motorcycle with him, but I guess I have too much stuff. I know I generally over-pack, but I feel as though there’s not much in my bag I could do without. Except maybe books. I have a lot of those, on Melinda’s advice. Thanks Melinda :p )

The ride from Dinajpur to Rudrapur/Dipshikha was glorious, and was the first “long and winding road” experience. The road was narrow and bumpy, with steep, sharp edges down to the fields. Since the truck was so small, and I’m big compared to most Bangladeshis, I banged my head on the hard metal ceiling on the big bumps, and once almost had my luggage slide out. But it was fantastic. I was now, simply, rural. Rice paddies and corn and jute fields stretching in every direction, as far as the eye can see. Every now and then, a cluster of trees would mark a few mud or straw huts. People working in the fields. A woman passing, pulling 4 or 5 cows with her. There was a delightful breeze as it was getting on evening, and I was just so happy to be there. The sun set as we drove and it got dark quickly, but then there were loads of fireflies. I don’t just mean like one or two you see in your backyard at home. I mean more than you could count. It was so beautiful.

You hear of people falling in love with countries like Bangladesh. I think this type of experience might be why.

Arriving at Dipshikha, it was pretty near pitch black, but Sepal, the Dipshikha caretaker (a delightful man. I forget his name, but he always says hello to me and asks if I have any problems), and the night guard (his name started with a Ch- sound, but I don’t interact with him much now) lead me to my room, in the Dipshikha guest house. It’s similar to my room in Dhaka, with similar amenities, but the bathroom’s bigger. No air conditioning though (Yes, I had air-conditioning in Dhaka. But I didn’t always get to use it because of the electricity. Sometimes even when the electricity was working, turning on the AC caused us to lose all electricity. Switching it back off made the lights come back on.).  Just a ceiling fan.

My room. Sorry for the mess. The green material hanging on my bed (on the left) is a mosquito net, just in case you're curious. I also have a little table on the left outsdie the frame. Door is behind me.

My bathroom. It has toilet paper!!!!!!

Probably one of the coolest things about the compound (from now on, this term will refer to all of the Dipshikha programs and facilities in Rudrapur including METI, DESI, and some other programs. If you’re saying “I don’t understand those acronyms”, worry not; I’ll get to that soon. The ‘compound’ is divided from the village by walls and fences, so it seems to fit) is that a lot of stuff runs on solar power! There are lights along the path from the main buildings to the guest house that run exclusively on solar, so even though the power was out when we arrived, there was no problem finding the way. My room also has a solar light in both the main room and the bathroom, and this is pretty standard for all the Dipshikha buildings. Unfortunately, the fans don’t run on solar, so it’s pretty hot when the power’s cut, but at least with light it isn’t completely debilitating like it was in Dhaka. You can still read, eat, cook, whatever, independent of the electricity.

My room is also a veritable zoo, with the main attractions being insects and the like. I think the number of species I have in my room probably surpasses the number that Aristotle catalogued in his life time. Every day I see plenty of new varieties, just steps (or even centimetres) from where I sleep! Cockroaches are the number one inhabitants, far outnumbering the ones in Dhaka. I have finally mustered the nerve to kill them, but disposal is always tricky. Luckily, I can call upon my ant friends to help out. They are EVERYWHERE, and in especially large clusters around dead insects. I have a new system where I flick dead cockroaches to the crack of my door, and just let the ants come and pull it away. It’s kind of disgusting and kind of fascinating. I have also hosted geckos, centipedes, and once a gigantic-mondo spider. Luckily (or unluckily?), at the time I was suffering from heat-related illness, and he was on the other side of the room, and there were other people over there and I hope they dealt with it (the heat illness is another story I’m probably not going to get into. It was only for a short while. Too much sun, not enough water/salts. That’s Bangladesh life, sometimes).  But, on the other hand, there’s nothing quite like the experience on falling asleep to the sight of a firefly. Anyway, I have an extra bed if any budding entomologists want to come by to kick-start his/her career!

Now, back to the chronological narrative:
The evening of my arrival, the night guard and caretaker brought me to dinner in a room with 22 young men all eating their rice and curries. These are the students of DESI – Dipshikha Electrical Skill Improvement. DESI is a two-year electrical skills training program, for 20 students who have completed grades 11 or 12, but who are not in a financial situation to attend university and/or finish grade 12, but who show intelligence and promise nonetheless (note that technically grade 10 is the last year of high school, so all of these students ‘have their high school diploma’ so to speak. Grades 11 and 12 are taken in ‘college’, and are required to subsequently attend university). The average age, is 22 years old, and there are several who, like me, are 19. Right off the bat, they and their teachers, Roman and Uttam, were very friendly, and have continued to be great company in my time off and a lot of fun to be around.

Wednesday, Sepal – who is a really nice and approachable man – started the day by giving me a tour of the compound, showing me particularly the administrative offices, the DESI building and the METI building. METI stands for Modern Education and Training Institute, and is the main Dipshikha project I’ll be working with during my time here. Basically, it’s the equivalent of a JK to grade 10 school in Ontario (so and elementary and high school in Bangladesh). METI is made up of several buildings, but the main building, which they call simply the METI building, is quite interesting. I don’t have my own pics yet, but I think googling ‘METI Dipshikha’ or something similar may yield some results. Which also reminds me: very recently, Dipshikha went online! Check out www.dipshikha.org if you’re interested.

The rest of the day, Sepal told me to just observe the programs and activities, and since the METI coordinator was out of town Wednesday and Thursday, that’s how I spent Thursday as well. It was a little exasperating that I still haven’t gotten into the meat of my work, even though we’re how far in? but on the other hand the observation was a nice orientation. I spent some of my time in DESI, observing both the practical and technical lessons, and some of my time poking my head into classrooms to introduce myself to some students and teachers, and to look at the facilities in more detail. I didn’t have the nerve to interrupt all the classes, though, and some of classes were in phys ed or doing other out-of-classroom activities, so I certainly haven’t met everyone. Particularly, though, I met with the Grade 6 class, whose teacher is the main English teacher at METI (and therefore rotates often between classes), and the Grade 7 class, where when I first arrived they were on break, and the teacher wasn’t there. It was actually a lot of fun because there were only a handful of them, and we tried asking each other questions in the other’s language, to moderate success. They’re just at that age where they giggle behind their hands at my accent, and elect an unofficial representative to do most of the talking. I also spent some time with either Roman or Uttam when they weren’t teaching (they switch off, usually, except for some practical classes), so they could show me more or teach me about how some things work, or in one case solder an electric fan to the solar outlet connection, so that now I have a little fan that will work even without electricity (this was the moment I suddenly realized all of the wonderful things that could come from living next door to an electrical skills training facility)!!!

Both Wednesday and Thursday after school hours, I joined the DESI guys at their ‘hostel’. The students are from many different regions of Bangladesh, so they live at the ‘hostel’ which is maybe a 7 minute walk from the compound. Some can manage to go home on weekends, while others must spend their entire time at the ‘hostel’. It’s a fairly basic facility, with just bedrooms, bathrooms and a sort of rec room, where we played a bit of ping pong (I lost every time). They played Bangladeshi and Hindi music for me, and showed me some of their talents (one is an awesome artist; another does this weird thing with his hand). Mostly, though, we asked questions about each other and our respective countries. A few of them are particularly welcoming, and make good hosts. Some others, unfortunately, while being very nice, don’t approach and talk to me much on their own. Apparently this is because their English is weak, and they don’t feel they can communicate. This makes me a little ashamed of my Bangla but also all the more determined to improve it.

Wednesday afternoon, a few of the guys brought me on a walk from Rudrapur to another neighbouring village just a few minutes away, where there is a little market. One of the boys, Bokul, grew up in this village and so he knew everyone (and thus introduced me to most of them) and could identify all the buildings. We bought some bananas and ate them outside Bokul’s old high school, about which he didn’t have very many good things to say. METI, he said, has much better teachers.

The field where we ate the bananas. This cow was enjoying eating up our peels. The cricket boys, who are to be found in any open field, are just out of sight on the right.

On the walk back (after the mandatory tea break), we were hailed by this wizened old man with a crazy white beard, a gnarled walking stick, and teeth in only one half of his mouth. But his smile was huge, and he was very agile and energetic. He waved about and grinned and spoke Bangla too quickly for me to follow, but my friends translated that he was inviting me into his nearby home. His home had a sort of straw fence around it, and inside were a few buildings. And it became immediately clear to me why he had invited me. Proudly, he stood before his little Hindu temple and invited me to take photos of it. It was small but truly beautiful, with bright colours and vivid images. I thanked him for showing me, and asked him his name. To the best of my ability, I think it was “Ponindro Nat Goshane”. I wrote it down right away, because I don’t ever want to forget it. Because I know I won’t forget that man. Apparently, thanks to his temple and his age, Ponindro Nat Goshane is the local go-to guy on all things Hinduism. In fact, Rudrapur and surroundings have a Hindu majority, very unlike the rest of the country (Muslim majority, by far). I find this very interesting and exciting, since I know so little about the Hindu faith.


Ponindro Nat Goshane and his little temple.

Friday – the weekend, as a reminder – I was invited to visit the Kantanagar Temple. Roman’s family – wife, daughter, and parents – was (is still, at the time of writing) visiting, and so they also wanted to see it. The six of us plus Uttam, then, made the journey from Rudrapur. Uttam, Roman’s parents, the baby and I rode on the back of a rickshaw cart (yes, a single man pulled us on a bike for an hour and a half. And then all the way back. I don’t envy him), while Roman and his wife took his motorcycle and did the trip in probably less than half the time. Anyway, the rickshaw ride was great because I was able to really enjoy my surroundings. The day wasn’t too hot, with a nice breeze, and so was very comfortable. Again we passed fields and patties, little huts and farmers working. It just has the rural feeling: goats running freely (a note on the goats: whatever subspecies the local goats are is very cute. They are quite small, growing no bigger than the average dog, and so their babies – of which there are many – are tiny, adorable little things. They’re pretty much everywhere. And they bleat with their cute little mouths and it almost sounds like children. My friend’s father once said something to effect of, “If there is a God, his greatest creation was the goat. He put all the best qualities in them.” Previously, I had had little experience with goats, but now I see exactly where he was coming from. I really, really like them.), cow patties used to seal the holes in mud huts, and toddlers playing naked in the dirt. We passed a man on a bike, transporting three live goats. He had them swaddled like babies and they just hung there, heads sticking out. There are cows, which are tied to a stake, which is then pounded into the ground. They spend the day grazing, but don’t need to be overly supervised. In the evening, the owner comes back to get them and brings them home. Also, Roman’s baby daughter is adorable, and made the ride lots of fun too.


Straw hut by the side of the road.

Kantanagar Temple took my breath away when I first saw it. It’s a unique orangey colour, with what appears to be every square inch of the outside covered in tiny little carvings. And it seems as though each carving is subtly unique. It’s a three-storey Hindu temple, built in 1752 by Pran Nath. You aren’t able to go inside, but the outside was so gorgeous that I didn’t feel I needed to. There were some floral motifs, but the most impressive and interesting was the figures. They depicted everything from wars to elephant rides, to marriage ceremonies, to mythical Hindu stories. I just found it fascinated, and wished I could climb up to examine every square inch (does it need to be said that I wasn’t allowed?).
We also met a DESI student whose home isn’t far from the Temple. I forget his name right at the moment (memorizing 20 names, none of which I’ve heard before, is a little difficult), but he seemed very excited to show off his local treasure. Here are some of the various pictures of those of us who were there (and note that Bangladeshis just don’t smile when their photo is taken. I don’t know why, but they don’t. This can also be seen with Ponindro Nat Goshane, above, whose smile I wish I had captured):

Kantanagar Temple. Roman and Uttam at bottom left.

From left to right: Roman's father, Roman's mother, Roman's wife, Roman's baby, Roman, me.

The intricate carvings (maybe a little blurry- sorry!)

The DESI student and I in front of the Temple. Yes, he's wearing my hat.

The ride back (after tea, again) was much like the ride there – relaxing and beautiful. The one difference was that about halfway back to Rudrapur, the sun set and we rode through the dark. And the perfect moment occurred as we came around a corner and on one side of the road was a small stream. And along both banks of the stream was the largest collection of fireflies I had ever seen. I thought on that first night I was seeing a lot. But this was just breathtaking. Just twinkling, hundreds or thousands, in the warm night air. I might even go so far as to call it magical. It’s too bad a camera can’t even begin to capture magic.

I’ve decided to end this post here. There’s plenty more to tell, because I’m so far behind, but if I catch up now, this will never get posted. And, this will allow me to devote my next post to me seriously starting work, which has now (finally!) properly begun. So enjoy these pictures, and look forward to some more work-related info in the next little while!

-C

Goodbye Dhaka

Short post tonight. Promise.

Tomorrow morning, I leave for Rudrapur, in the Dinajpur District. The bus ride will be between 6 and 10 hours. Yes, that’s a really big range of time. But in Bangladesh, we don’t always know. Too many unknowns. Anthony thinks it will be closer to 10 hours. Whoopee.

As my last night in Dhaka, I’m trying to reflect a bit on my experience. It’s been melancholic cleaning and packing up my room. I’ve come to like it. Which must mean that I’ve come to like Dhaka, in one way or another. Riding in the CNG today to my last Bangla class, I tried to be extra perceptive, like I was when I first got in. And yes, I think I have come to like the craziness and busyness that define this city. I passed goats, like usual, and people swimming in a small lake, and the good ol’ National Assembly which I pass every day, and even, for my first time in Bangladesh, an elephant. YES, AN ELEPHANT JUST WALKING DOWN THE ROAD!! It was so exciting! I wanted to get a picture, but it was just before where I needed to get off, and I had to concentrate so the driver didn’t just whiz right by. But still, very exciting.

I have a lot of thoughts about Dhaka that I need to process. I know I’m learning a lot, but at this point, I can’t necessarily put my finger on exactly everything I’m learning. I’m also being challenged. Challenged in ways I didn’t expect. And to be sure, I expected challenges. But I guess to be there and see is always different than sitting comfortably at home in Canada, thinking about ‘exotic travels’ or something. Anyway, perhaps things will solidify in my head a little more once I leave the city.

OR, maybe they’ll all just be swept out of my head by the new experiences and wonders of village life. Snigdha has told me a lot about the differences between Dhaka and village life. They eat different foods, speak differently, act differently, and value different things. I hope not too much, because I’m just getting used to the Dhaka way of things!!

But back to Dhaka for a moment. One of the things it has shown me is my position as a human being on this planet. Now, the easy thing to say is that “I am so fortunate to live in Canada, and come from a good home, and even have the opportunity to visit a country like Bangladesh”. And all of that’s true, and of course I feel that way. How could I not? But what I’m feeling goes beyond that. What is my place in relation to the people I have met – whether those I passed briefly or those I’ve come to know quite well – and how can I help them? Can I even help them? Or can I help some but not others? If so, which ones can I help? Does paying a high price for a CNG because I don’t bargain too seriously for a lower price equal to giving money to an amputee beggar? After all, both are asking me for money so they can feed themselves, or their families, or their bosses families. Right? These are all questions that are spinning around in my head. I think I’ll experience more of this in the village, but maybe after a couple more months I’ll have a few answers.

Other than the elephant story, I’m not entirely sure the purpose/interest/use of this post. Sounds to me like there’s a whole lot I just don’t know right now, and that I can’t effectively process. But I guess maybe I’m just sharing it to try to show you my mental state.

As a tribute to Dhaka, here is a photo of me and Shumon, from that day at Lalbagh Fort. He's a great cook, and has shown me around Dhaka quite a bit. I hope there's someone in Rudrapur who can be just as supportive of my continued transition into Bangladeshi life! The second photo is just of a fleeting moment in Dhaka. On a bus ride that same day, we stopped at an intersection (or was it just a traffic jam??) and looking out my window I saw these men near the side of the river. They were dredging, essentially by hand. Standing over the hole, the one man's holding two long bamboo poles with scoops on the end. He jams them down into the clay/sand, manoeuvres them to close, and pulls it up. The other men watching- they are actually switching off, since it's such hard work. I felt it really represented the labourious nature of daily life in the city.

Anyway, when I talk to you next, I’ll be in Rudrapur.

Until then,

-C

Shumon and I - Lalbagh Fort

Dredging, with very simple tools, by the side of the river.

Tourist Weekend

My name is...

First off: The mysterious fruit! What is it? I am very disappointed in the number of people who made guesses; thanks to Julien and Uncle Jason (sorta) for at least trying. To the rest of you: I am disappointed in your Googling skills.
But anyway, the answer is Jackfruit. It’s the national fruit of Bangladesh. I haven’t tasted it yet, and I have heard that most foreigners find it slightly revolting. Nonetheless, I feel I should at least try their national fruit, no? We’ll see. Above is a close up for you.

Days 16 and 17. This was my last weekend in Dhaka. I have a couple more days of Bangla classes, and then on Wednesday I head north to Rudrapur to finally get to work. I admit that I am really anxious to start, because that’s why I’m in Bangladesh in the first place. I’ve been in Dhaka longer than I thought. That being said, I guess I should also say that I have had a few other responsibilities for my time here. On top of learning Bangla, which will be essential for the village, I have also had a handful of required readings. They are all Dipshikha reports and publications, and I’ve been asked to read them to be up to speed on how Dipshikha operates. I’ve also had a couple meetings with Anthony to discuss the organization a bit more. But the specific details of my own work will become clearer when I get to Rudrapur and can speak with the Area Manager there.

Seeing as it was my last couple days off in the capital, I decided to make the most of it and try to hit up at least a few of the tourist destinations in Dhaka. Shumon had previously invited me to visit the Mirpur Zoo, and so Friday morning that’s where we went.

How to describe my feelings on the zoo? I don’t know. I guess, overall, I didn’t like it. I like zoos in North America. I think that, despite what some animal-rights groups scream about jail-like imprisonment, North American zoos have progressed to become something quite valuable. Huge amount of money are spent on research, medicine, and roomy enclosures, and zoos are usually instrumental in re-introduction programs and protecting endangered animals from extinction.

I’m not sure the Mirpur zoo is quite like that. First of all, I think it’s safe to say that it would fail inspection in Canada. Many of the enclosures were very, very bare. Whether it was monkeys, snakes, birds or lions, many of them were alone in a very cage-like structure. Some of the other enclosures were more open, but still small. And these ones had very little security. Had I wanted, I could have easily hopped the fence to the zebras or hippos or wildebeest (which, might I add, was spelt Wilda Beast on the English sign). The zoo visitors also didn’t have the respect for the animals that I would have hoped. They rattled cages and knocked continually on glass, and were always pushing for the opportunity to feed the animals. Signage discouraging all this was limited; I saw one sign, on only one cage, just near the end saying “Do Not Tease the Animals”. It was being blatantly ignored. There was no staff to be seen doing anything about it either.

All that being said, I do like animals and I do appreciate the opportunity to see them. There was quite an impressive diversity of animals. One benefit to the small cages was that you were often physically closer, and I could study the little monkey faces close-up. I will not pretend to have been able to identify whether the animals were “sad” or “wanted to be free” (though there was a baboon, alone in his cage, who just sat motionless in a corner, head down), but I would say that, like humans, they probably make the most of their situation. The monkeys in particular seemed to be having fun, jumping around the sides of cages, poking each other. A lot of the bigger animals just lounged about, but is that really any different from any other zoo?

My last major complaint was the amount of garbage. Whether inside or outside the zoo, Bangladeshi garbage disposal seems to be virtually non-functional. There didn’t appear to be any garbage cans in the zoo, but even if there were, I guess it wouldn’t matter. When people open their ice cream wrappers, or finish their water bottles, they just drop them. Since the zoo is basically just a light forest with enclosures interspersed between the trees, the garbage can’t even really be swept up, and so the whole ground is just littered with, well, litter. And the worst part was when it got into the enclosures. Empty bottles floating in the crocodile water, wrappers in the spotted deer field.

Oh wait, I have another complaint, too. The stares. I guess because there were just so many people, but the staring really got to me. It was constant, with tons of people watching me. It was most annoying because I seemed more interesting than the animals to some people. While I snapped a picture of an elephant, I saw in my peripherals everybody the whole length of the fence nudging each other and turning their heads so that soon a good dozen people are all staring at me, not the elephant. I don’t mind so much if people smile, or say “Hello! How do you do! Welcome to my country!” or whatever in English or Bangla. I just smile back, or try to reply, and that’s fine. But especially middle-aged men have this tendency to look directly into your eyes, unsmiling, and not at all deterred by you making eye contact. I always try a small smile, but if it doesn’t work, I just stare directly back, no expression, in response to these non-smilers. Hopefully I get accustomed to the staring soon… Though I think the village will be worse…

Aww... look at the cutie! And notice his barren cage...

When we finished at the zoo, Shumon invited me to his Auntie’s house, in the maze of back streets of Mirpur-2 (so same area, different neighbourhood from Dipshikha) for lunch. I guess to make up for the missed marriage day dinner. I didn’t understand the relationships between everyone I met, but I do know that I met his Auntie (father’s sister) and her husband, who is a chicken salesman. Here is a poorly-taken photo of his shop:

An FYI for Dad

Most of the time in the Auntie’s house, I didn’t see her nor her husband. They went in the back room, and left me to sit in the main room with Shumon and a young boy (someone’s nephew?) and a young woman (I think the wife of Shumon’s cousin, maybe). They did come out when the meal was served, but I was asked to eat at a table, alone, with my back to the rest of the room. It was very awkward, because I would have loved to at least attempt some small convo with my hosts, but my position made that impossible. BUT, the food was delicious! Not as spicy as I had feared (maybe Shumon warned them not to use too many chilies), and very tasty. There were several dishes, too – vegetable, chicken and fish curries. I even managed to weakly, and with some help, say “delicious food” in Bangla to my host. I think that was a good moment. When we finished eating, my hosts disappeared again, and we left, and so the only person I could properly thank was the young woman. Bengali culture and language are strange to me in that politeness is not explicit, but always implicit. Therefore, they do not really have a word for thank you (or at least the word that exists is basically never used), and so maybe that’s why the hosts disappeared: There is nothing to be said.

To carry on this concept for a moment, Snigdha and I have talked about it extensively in my Bangla class. She says the word for thank you is rarely used in Dhaka (mostly by foreigners) and that you will never, ever hear it in the villages. Please also does not have a word (though the English word is sometimes used by Bangladeshis trying to emulate Westerners), but many words or structures imply ‘please’. As Snigdha describes it, instead of a word meaning, say ‘give’, it means ‘please give’. Bangladeshis also do not say ‘good morning’, and rarely ‘hello’. Usually, they ask ‘How are you?’ and this is meant to imply all of that. Snigdha has said that this may be the biggest challenge for foreigners. A lot of people get very frustrated with the perceived lack of manners, and Snigdha said some have even left the country early because of it.

Friday evening, Sophie invited me to a little get-together in Shamoli neighbourhood. It was at the office of another NGO, whose name, unfortunately, I didn’t catch. Hopefully, I’ll be able to figure it out someday. Anyway, they are an NGO that deals with labour issues and labourer rights. They are very progressive, and have tons of international contacts. The purpose of this get-together was to say goodbye to a German student, completing his Master’s, who was heading home after 3 months with the organization. His name was Andrew or Andrei or something, and I’m frustrated that I can’t remember, but there you go. Started with an ‘A’. I guess Sophie has come to know this NGO through a German she met at her own Bangla classes back when she first arrived. The visiting foreigners come and go, but Sophie has kept her ties with the original staff and is welcome always. Anyway, when we arrived, some of the staff was there, and they were very kind and very liberal. The women were treated as equals, and laughed and joked in perfect English, and hugged Andrei when they had to go (this is NOT something that is generally acceptable). We had a delightful dinner, then sipped beers and chatted into the night, as the staff one-by-one went home, leaving just the three of us Westerners. Yes you heard correctly: beer! It’s very hard to come by in Bangladesh, because of the 97% of the population that is Muslim and therefore cannot drink it, but it does exist. I admit that I hadn’t expected to see it in Bangladesh. Anyway, when it was just the three of us, we could chat openly about what we loved and hated and didn’t understand about Bangladesh (though, to be honest, we could pretty well do so when the staff was there too. Most of them have been to Europe several times and understand how Bangladesh is different). It was refreshing and nice, and, though I didn’t realize it until it happened, very much needed. It felt so good to express frustrations and joys and problems with people who could really understand.

The NGO had guest-rooms where we could sleep so that we didn’t have to take a CNG back at night (Night driving in Dhaka is super dangerous), and so that we could see ‘A’ off at 5:30am when he headed to the airport. We then took a CNG back to Dipshikha in the misty morning, where Sophie herself packed up and headed out to catch a bus. She was headed back to her rural village (called Ghoraghat), to continue her work. Though I will likely see her again in the next couple months, it did leave me as the only Westerner at Dipshikha. Hopefully it’s not too lonely. Though I guess I’ll be gone in just a short while too!

A bit later Saturday morning, Shumon and I headed out to see a bit of Old Dhaka. I had hoped to be doing this sightseeing with my friend Shannon who’s also in Dhaka (but who I haven’t yet seen), but unfortunately she was sick and couldn’t join me (Shannon: If you’re reading this, I hope you’re feeling better!!). Dipshikha staff didn’t want me downtown Dhaka alone, and so Shumon joined me. This was both good and bad. On one hand, navigating our way into the heart of Old Dhaka was not easy, even with Shumon speaking with our CNG driver in Bangla. We got lost/took some wrong turns and can’t imagine what it would have been like alone. On the other hand, I was sorta at his mercy about how long we spent at places, and exactly where we went. There were a couple things I would have liked to see, but alas it didn’t happen.

Our first stop was the pink palace of Ahsan Manzil, in Sadarghat, Old Dhaka. It was built in the late 1800’s, and its builder, Nawab Abdul Ghani was a very wealthy man. He donated a lot of money to local projects and charities, and also entertained many British officials and VIPs, and hosted at Ahsan Manzil the first meeting of the All-India Muslim League (anyone who knows a bit about Indian/Pakistani independence would find that tidbit kinda neat). The building itself is quite beautiful, with such a distinct colour, but the smell (coming from the nearby Buriganga River) was terrible in the grounds, and the fact that the electricity was out made the inside museum portion a bit less than ideal. It was hard to tell, sometimes, what I was looking at, and the labels were almost always too dark to decipher. I couldn’t take photos, but here is a terrible picture of Nawab Abdul Ghani’s favourite elephant’s skull, which I took before I realized I couldn’t (also I took the picture because I wanted to use the flash to see what I was looking at. It was kinda shocking for a moment that it was a huge skull). But some of the rooms that were well-restored showed great opulence and were very aweing, and the collections that I could see were sometimes quite interesting. To be rich and/or British in India during British rule must have been quite the life…

Ahsan Manzil

It would be my favourite elephant too.

We then took a rickshaw through Old Dhaka to Lalbagh Fort, in Lalbug neighbourhood. The ride over was very exciting, scary, and may sum up Dhaka as I’ve come to know it. The roads are terribly narrow in Old Dhaka, and there are gaping holes that open into, I guess, part of the sewage system. So our trip consisted of many traffic jams of rickshaws as everyone tried to go in every direction, and we continually narrowly avoided having a tire slip into a hole (which would have undoubtedly tipped our whole rickshaw). We passed metal workers and vegetable salesmen and shoemakers. There was a constant change of smells – from the disgusting whiffs of the Buriganga River, to spices like turmeric and cumin, to human sweat, to flower blossoms. Quite the adventure. We also passed (but, of course, didn’t stop at) the Sitara Mosque. It’s decorated with Japanese and English china-tiles, making it look very unique. I tried my best to get a decent photo as we whizzed by:

Sitara Mosque

 

Lalbagh Fort was pretty neat. It was built by the Mughals in the late 1600s. Or at least, started. When the death of Shaista Khan’s (the second ruler responsible for its construction) daughter died, it was taken as a bad omen, and the Fort was never completed. Still, it’s quite a sight, especially tucked, as it is, in the heart of Old Dhaka. The grounds are meticulously-kept gardens, and the stone is all a bright brick orange. We saw the mausoleum to the daughter (though you can’t go inside), and the Fort Mosque- though because it was prayer hour, or because Shumon didn’t want to (I’m not really sure which) we didn’t go inside either. But we did go into the Hall of Audience, where a staff member showed me around the royal baths, through a collection of Mughal weapons, to the Persian dishware, which, allegedly, changes colour if poisoned food is served on it. Of course, he asked for a little ‘tip’ for his services. But by my standards, it wasn’t a lot and it did help to be shown around. Shumon’s friend also joined us later in our visit to the Fort, and we walked along the walls, and relaxed on the ruins. I quite enjoyed it.

Lalbagh Fort. Ahead is the mausoleum part. And notice how Dhaka looms behind it.

We went with Shumon’s friend from the Fort, through the neighbourhood of Old Dhaka, and stopped for some cool drinks before heading back to Dipshikha by bus. Now, during the day, we didn’t really eat lunch. We had a few snacks, but I wasn’t really hungry – or perhaps I was just so thirsty from the intense heat that I didn’t notice my hunger. Anyway, missing lunch, for me, wasn’t a huge deal. But for Shumon, I guess it was. He complained on the way back, and asked if I would eat when I got back. I was exhausted from the day and told him I would just sleep. Fast-forward a few hours to 8:30pm, a little while before dinner. I’m sitting on Dipshikha’s patio in the evening breeze, and Shumon comes over. Asks me if I’m hungry. “Yes”. Then he tells me that he’s starving, because he didn’t eat anything either when we got back! I was highly exasperated. Apparently it was my fault that he was so hungry, even though there was nothing stopping him from getting his own food, especially since he’s a cook (couldn’t he just fry himself an egg???)! I don’t really get it, but there you go. Lost in translation or something.

Anyway, that rounds out my weekend seeing Dhaka! I guess the length of this post will make up for the lack of recent noteworthy posts!

-C

Dhaka and its Fruit

A round-about at a place called Farmgate, near my Bangla class. I thought I was hearing wrong when people referred to it, but I looked it up and apparently not.

There's hasn't really been very many noteworthy events the past couple of days, so I thought I'd take this post to share some pictures, especially since the last few have been severely lacking. Just two quick items of note. 1) It's raining! FINALLY! The first time since I've been here! It's really cooling off because of it, which is so nice. I hope the coolness last through tomorrow, because right now I can't take advantage of it (window must stay closed to keep out mosquitoes). 2) I bought sandals today, rounding out a Bangladeshi wardrobe. I wasn't really in a rush to get them (when it's a bajillion degrees out I'm not so worried about my feet, but more so the fact that my shirt is drenched in sweat), but everyone here at the office seemed to think it was a priority! I got the largest size possible (8) which is still a little small and wouldn't have cut it in Canada. But better than the size 6 which one vendor was trying to convince me would be fine. Um, I think if I'm buying it, I would know best what I want? Anyway it is nice to let some air between my toes.

Now, a few general pictures of life in Dhaka, from my various cross-town trips (see also first picture):

Farmgate

At sunset, down a road which I believe is Manik Mia avenue. It's important because it passes in front of Parliament.

The Bangladesh Parliament building. It's quite big and unique. Hopefully I can snap a better angle in the future.

Here's the area along the river/lake (see picture below) that Sophie and I sat the other day. I guess it serves for public assemblies? Directly across is where we were harassed by kids.

The same area where we relaxed. This looks like a river to me, but from what I gather, it's actually a narrow lake. I think it was in Dhanmondi neighbourhood.

You'd think you'd left the city! This is a green space that just seemed to appear out of nowhere from the urban bustle. Behind me is honking, traffic jams and tons of people.

These bananas I posted because they relate to a funny story. When I was sick, Shumon brought them to my room and told me that they were good for the belly. That’s fine, and I think I ate one. But only a couple hours later, max, he asked me if I had finished them! Look how many there are! I couldn’t eat those all in such a short period when I’m healthy, let alone with an unsettled tummy!

Sweeter (and smaller) than our bananas back home!

Now, some more fun with fruits! I took these pictures in the yard by my Bangla teacher’s apartment. In the first picture, can you locate the mangoes? (hint: they’re not in season yet!). The second’s going to be a bit more of a challenge: Can you identify the fruit that is growing on these trees? If you know or have a guess, please feel free to comment. I’ll post the answer in the next blog post. If you are in or have been to Bangladesh before, you most certainly cannot answer.

See the mangoes?

What am I??

A (blurry, sorry!) close up to help you out!

Here’s another local fruit that I have fallen in love with: litchis! I don’t think I had really had them before (or maybe on only one occasion?) but we picked some up in the market the other day and OH THEY ARE GOOD! I’m slightly addicted, having to use a lot of self-restraint in not eating them in one sitting. But they are so sweet and have such a unique, delicious taste (and are bite-sized)! I also had fresh mango today: yum! However litchi still wins the fruit supremacy race. Perhaps mangoes will close the gap in a few weeks; they aren’t yet really properly in season.

Just look at them! Begging to be eaten!

All for me!!!

I just briefly re-read this post and found it dreadfully boring. Honestly: sandals and litchis. I hope the photos make up for the lack of excitement!

-C

Don't Order the Chawmine

First and foremost: HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, MOM! It’s a bit of a painful mother’s day for me, since it’s making me think of home so much more at a time when I’m already feeling a bit homesick. But I miss you Mom and love you lots! J

It’s been a bit crazy these past few days, with plenty of ups and downs. Much to tell! By the way, we’re now at day 11 of my 100 days! Over one tenth of the way through! I’ve been gone from home for just over a week (though it feels much longer than that!) and yesterday marked one week in Bangladesh!

Tuesday morning, Robi brought me to get my SIM card working; now I have a Bangladeshi cell number! I’m pretty sure the guy ripped me off completely with what he charged, but that’s kind of just the downside of being white in Bangladesh.

In the afternoon, I had my first language lesson. Robi accompanied me in a CNG, which makes driving in Dhaka that much more frightening (which, to be honest, I didn’t think was possible). CNG stands for Compressed Natural Gas, which is what it runs on, but it’s also known as a baby taxi. Basically, it’s a cage on wheels. You cram in the back, and are divided from the driver by hard metal mesh, which also makes up the rest of the body of the CNG. Since they are small, CNGs love to weave around other vehicles, making it a hair-raising experience.

Snigdha, my Bangla teacher, is very nice and very good at what she does. She is very fluent in English, and clearly understands the common issues and mistakes Anglophones make in Bangla. Plus, her classes are structured in a very practical way. The first lesson, for example, I learned how to hire a rickshaw or CNG, which is basically essential here in Dhaka. Some things about Bangla are really easy and make so much sense, while other things seem unnecessarily complicated. Numbers, for example. While in English, our number system has a pattern (twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three) with minimal exception (eleven & twelve), Bangla numbers do not have as much of a pattern. Basically every number up to one hundred is different!

In the evening, a little while before dinner, Shumon invited me to join him for another trip to the market. I was wearing my brand-new lungi (a reminder to those that missed it or forgot: a long sarong-like cloth you wear kinda like a long skirt. Or kilt. Yes, for masculinity sake, let’s say kilt), and because it was just an informal trip to the local market it was ok to leave it on. We bought some fish, which was interesting, because the salesman takes the scales off right in front of your eyes. Then we went to Shumon’s favourite vegetable salesman. He and Shumon are obviously close friends, because they laugh and joke a lot. They tell me to “sit, sit” and the salesman sent the boy who works for him (his son I presume?) to get tea and biscuits for us. Everyone was especially thrilled with my lungi. “They say you are real Bangladeshi now,” Shumon said. While I appreciate it, I do not yet feel like a real Bangladeshi. Still lots to get used to.

After dinner, Shumon and I sat outside in the hot night air (it doesn’t seem to cool down at all) and talked. [This next bit is just what I gathered/interpreted. Since Shumon’s English is limited, and my Bangla virtually non-existent, it’s hard to know for sure if I understood everything correctly.] Shumon told me about his family. His wife and kids live outside of Dhaka, and he only gets to see them once every two months or so. He is Christian but his wife is (or was) Muslim, which was a big deal for his parents who did not really support this idea (it was only thanks to his brother, a Muslim, that they could work things out). We talked about poverty in Bangladesh. Shumon, for example, is very poor. His family owns no land, and this is why he needs to work and live in Dhaka to properly support his family. Even so, he does not make very much. At Dipshikha, I gather that most of the employees are pretty well-off. Shumon, then, provides my only real immediate contact right now with a lower economic class.

Wednesday, Sophie invited me to visit a photo art gallery in Dhanmondi, another neighbourhood of Dhaka. We planned to visit it before my language class, but unfortunately it was closed until after my class. So, we instead retreated to a small café for tea and chatting. While sitting there, we laughed about the menu. It was in English, but had some strange items. For example “fried chicken lollypops.” We were curious, though, about the menu item ‘Chawmine’. We asked the waiter what it was but we were obviously misinterpreted (you’d think a café with an English-only menu would have waiters with some English, no???) and instead he just brought it for us. It was noodle-based, with egg and vegetables. There seemed to be no real reason to waste it, so I ate it. It was quite bland and apparently had some small shrimp pieces too. What I’m doing here is called foreshadowing.

We left the café and took a rickshaw to a park area on the river. There was a kind of large open area facing a river, with some columns, and then a large semi-circle of short wall which we could sit on in the shade. It’s quite a beautiful area, with lots of green. However, we were immediately set-upon by begging children, and children trying to sell us small candies. Obviously we had no intention of giving up and cash, but they just kept on asking us. To me, it became more and more ridiculous. I had no idea what the child was even saying, and so his steady stream of almost-whining sales pitch was even more pointless than normal. And so, at this thought, I laughed out loud. What a mistake. The children suddenly became much more annoying, probably in the hopes of getting another reaction out of me. But to me, it kind of crossed the line when they began physically poking me. I was no longer amused. Luckily for us, a local came to our rescue (another case in which it was probably only because we were white…) by shooing them away. Now able to take in our surroundings, I noticed a game of cricket being played behind us by another group of kids. While I couldn’t understand them, I could see the universal characteristics of children playing sports: fighting over whether the ball was in bounds or not, asking bystanders who were obviously not paying attention to referee the last occurrence, and shamelessly blaming teammates for the last missed opportunity. Cute.

After my language class, Sophie and I returned to the gallery. Stopped in traffic in our CNG, a motorcycle pulled up beside us and the two riders asked (Sophie’s translation) how far we were going and what we were paying for it. The driver told them, and they sped off, laughing their heads off. It’s not that we didn’t know we were being overcharged, it’s just that there’s not much you can do. Skin colour helps determine price. The photo gallery was of the International Press Photo Exhibit (or something to that effect. I forget the actual title). So, it wasn’t a super-duper ‘Bengali’ experience, but still very interesting. Fascinating, beautiful and emotional picture capturing everything ‘2011’, from the Arab Spring, to the Norway shootings, to the Japanese earthquake. Then there were photos that were simply taken in 2011, but that were more “everyday life”: the war in Afghanistan, the world’s largest cave, child marriages, rhino hunting, green spaces in Moscow. It was a really neat exhibit, and I recommend it to anyone else who gets a chance to see it!

Sometime in the wee hours of the next morning, my trip took its first major downswing. Remember the chawmine? I think it’s to blame. I was vomiting often, and not even water would sit. Dipshikha staff was super great about things, and brought me to an English-speaking doctor. However, he was across town (in the district known as Gulshan. Known to be more upper-class), and the traffic was terrible. Given the heat and the fact that I couldn’t keep water down, this was pretty bad (not that, really, staying in my room would have been any less problematic). So when I got to the doctor’s, I was severely dehydrated, and they put me on an IV to get some fluids into me properly. This was a bit scary, since I’d never even had an IV in Canada, but the doctor did really inspire trust, and the IV made me feel a lot better.

I was prescribed some medicine, but stayed bed-ridden up until yesterday, when I finally started getting better. Perhaps the most difficult thing about this whole situation, though, was communicating about eating. There seems to be this idea here in Bangladesh (Sophie and I independently came to the same conclusion) that one of the most severe health conditions is an empty belly. I don’t just mean literally starving, because of course that’s bad. I just mean skipping a meal. When at first I couldn’t even keep down water, I was brought rice and fruit and told that eating would make me feel better. I begged to differ. Once my belly had settled but was still a little sore, I was suddenly offered the regular spicy foods, which included vegetables that would “make me feel better”. But as far as I was concerned, nothing spicy could do that for me! It’s been a struggle, especially with my reduced perseverance to be understood due to health. Luckily, Bangladeshi DO understand dehydration really well (with heat like this, how could you not?). They had rehydration formulas on hand immediately, and brought me green coconut water, which is very thirst-quenching and truly does calm the tummy.

Today I’m completely back on my feet, in time for the parade of office staff coming back to work (remember, Sunday is the first work-week day), and all asking me tons of questions about my sickness. They really are all great people and I’m so fortunate to be with an organization that can be so supportive!

The other exciting thing today was that I rode to and from my Bangla class completely alone! Babul ordered the first CNG for me (and also, thus, got me a good price), but I ordered the one home (and also, thus, paid twice as much! Good thing taka is a weak currency…). This means my Bangla is good enough to give directions, understand price, and tell a driver when to stop. Though, that being said, on the way back, the driver just eventually stopped and told me we were there. We weren’t and I didn’t recognize my surroundings (though I had 5 minutes previously). Anyway, I knew I must be fairly close, so I just ordered a rickshaw and asked for the well-known hospital beside my office, and it turned out to be just down the street! Ah well, rickshaw rides are SO MUCH FUN! I should try to post of video of one in the future… (which reminds me. Sorry for no pics… a) I haven’t been taking all that many recently, and b) computer and internet complications make it harder for me to get them up. Hopefully more soon. Who doesn’t like pics?)

So anyway, that’s what I’ve been up to! Another long post (they’re just getting longer and longer, aren’t they? I’ll try to stop sharing mundane things), I know, but there you go. I just want to share EVERYTHING with you guys :D Cheers!

-C

Mishti, murgi, lungi

So... there is some tiny bad news. I wasn't able to go to yesterday's marriage day celebration :( Some more guests arrived, and Shumon (I have decided to switch to this spelling. I think it's the most accurate phonetically) had to prepare food for them. I was pretty disappointed to be missing out on this opportunity, but I don't think I was as disappointed as Shumon. He looked real sad when he told me it wouldn't work out.

I'm not exactly sure the main purpose for these guests' arrival. Either it was a) their daughter has some sort of stomach problem and they needed to see a doctor in Dhaka or b) they are related to a Dipshikha employee who just got in this morning from Germany. He's a regional manager and went to Germany to meet with members of a charity that sponsors Dipshikha. He - like most Bangladeshis - had never left the country (except one day in India once) and so his return heralded much fanfare.

Now, I think that over the course of their lifetime, every individual should have an experience of having a bat trapped in their room. That being said, I've had that experience camping in Canada, and I didn't need it again. Going to bed last night, I opened the door to find a bat flying around the ceiling. I thought I was equipped to deal with this situation; I would just hit it out the window. BUT the window has bars and I felt it would be unlikely that I'd be able to get it out. My next consideration was to ignore it. But then it swooped at me and I knew I couldn't deal. So I called Shumon. "Bat is no problem. No problem." He deal with it.


Today the office was open for the first time since I've been here. So after breakfast, Anthony came to get me and he introduced me to all of the staff members. They are all super friendly and pretty good with English too! Of special importance was meeting Mr. Robi Rozario, who was my original contact at Dipshikha. I had heard lots about him from my friends who have previously worked with Dipshikha, and so it was great to meet him at last.

Going off on a tangent for a moment here: I really need to publicly thank some people for getting me this opportunity. Now, there are tons of people who have helped me get here, from family to close friends, to new acquaintances. But I must specifically express my appreciation to three people: Jonathan P, Melinda J and Connor B. The three of them have each spent roughly the same amount of time as I will be with Dipshikha, and they were the ones who got me in contact, informed me the most about the country and organization, and convinced me on how to spend my summer. They answered numerous questions (and decoded emails in broken English) for me, and I am so grateful. Also, they are just amazing and inspiration people in general and I want to be them when I grow up. End tangent.


Robi took me out to go shopping for some essentials: mainly clothing. A Dipshikha employee drove us into Central Dhaka (I'm in the part of Dhaka called Mirpur, in the north west of the Greater Dhaka Region). Traffic was horrific and there were numerous jams.

I bought a memory stick, a SIM card (which doesn't seem to work with my Blackberry. Yay.), some shirts and some pants. I don't understand pants in Bangladesh. I might as well have brought my own. They are suitable for Canadian winters, NOT Bangladeshi summers. I would have thought that they would have adapted better clothing for the environment, but I guess they probably just have higher heat tolerance. AND, I guess there are some cooler clothing alternatives. I also bought a sheet of cloth called a lungi. You will probably know it as a sarong. You wear it kind of like a skirt I guess. Unfortunately, it's more casual; I will probably only wear it on weekends and evenings, rather than during the work day. But I think it will be much more comfortable in this heat. Speaking of which, Robi was complaining about the heat today. So it must be bad.

Robi also needed to visit the Immigration Services building (I'm not sure why. Something to do with a brother's passport maybe?). I didn't do much, just waited. But it was kinda terrifying. It was jammed with people, it was poorly lit, the ceilings were low, and there were lots of armed guards. And then, this random employee offered his hand to shake, and when I shook it he said "This is Bangladesh courtesy!" and then started yelling in Bangla, which I don't understand because I shook his damn hand. Robi didn't seem to find any reason for concern (maybe the man wasn't even angry???), and just told me to sit and wait while he did his thing. Oh well.

I also met with my Bangla teacher, Snigdha, and arranged daily Bangla classes starting tomorrow. It should be fun. I'm already picking up some key words: pani = water. Shobji = vegetables. Murgi = chicken.

After all this, Robi asked me to come to his house. It was very close to the market, and it was an exciting day for him. His 15-year-old daughter (oldest child) just received her 10-level marks (basically grade 10 report card). She got an A+ GPA, and this was big. Robi bought mishti, ultra-sweet, deep-fried pastries that are kinda like Timbits (those who eat at Indian restaurants might know them), for her and when she came in the door (we got there first) she cried with happiness in her mother's arms. Her English was superb and accent-free, and so we were able to chat a bit. She told me that these marks are "something everyone is waiting for their entire time in school". Anyway, it was great to meet Robi's family, and see his home, and I even got some sorbet, which was very, very welcome after the brutal sun.

The day has drained me, and so I think a pre-dinner nap is in order. That's me saying "bye for now"


-C

All Eyes On Me

Today has already been an interesting day, and it’s only early afternoon. I’ve gotten to see a bit more of Dhaka and I’m loving it. Let me fill you in a bit on yesterday and today:

Yesterday after posting my last blog entry, we had lunch. There was a vegetable-based ‘curry’ (note: while ‘curry’ in itself technically doesn’t exist – it’s just a British invention to refer to many Indian dishes – I don’t know enough Bangla yet to catch what they are all called.) and fish, and lots of rice. I’m amazed at how much rice Bangladeshi’s eat. I don’t just mean they eat it at virtually every meal (that’s what I expected), but that they just seem to eat a large quantity of it. Every part of the meal must be mixed together with rice. So while at home, I would have rice sort of as a side, I am required to eat at least double that amount when I mix with both the meat and vegetable dishes. And it’s filling. If anyone’s concerned that I’m not eating enough, sleep easy. I am actually trying to carefully reduce the amount of food I’m eating, without appearing rude. And I definitely do not want that. Shuman (I’m still not sure about spelling, but I know I have the name right) is genuinely an excellent cook!

In terms of eating with my hands, I think I am getting better. The Bangladeshis have a rice mixing technique that is really fast and creates balls of food to be raised to the mouth. I’m trying to emulate them, but I am much, much slower.  Sophie, the German girl, today gave me a tip: You scoop with your first three fingers and then shovel into your mouth with your thumb. I tried at lunch today, and it is indeed much faster. We had fish at dinner as well (identical meal to lunch), and today we had chicken. Shuman is a Christian, so he does not have a lot of food restrictions (he professed to me that he adores pork especially), but since a lot of staff are Muslim, I will have to see what else we have. Also, shout out to Grandma (she was curious): I am expected to wash my own dishes after meals! J

Yesterday afternoon, despite my best efforts, I succumbed to my third nap of the day. I set an alarm to wake up after 2 hours max, but apparently slept through it. I awoke suddenly to darkness and a mosquito in my ear. It wasn’t actually as late as it looked, but I cursed myself for not having prepped for sunset. There seems to be virtually no mosquitoes during the day, but they come out at night of course. My bed has a mosquito net, but I didn’t have it around me for my nap. And my window was open. Luckily, I only had two bites, but I’ve learned my lesson to be more vigilant about anti-mosquito measures.

After dinner, Shuman, Babul (another staff member), Mr. Mong (I think he’s another staff member. I have no idea where he came from, but suddenly he was with us for dinner) and I sat outside in the warm night and chatted. I was asked a lot of questions about my family and was told a lot about the other’s families. While we were there, the recurring joke of Babul being an old man came up. They called him the “old man of Dipshikha”. He’s 46. I laughed along, thinking that it was only in reference to the other staffers being in their 30’s. But then I realized, kind of sickeningly, that he is in fact an old man by Bangladeshi standards. It is not at all unusual for men to die in their early 50’s.

I was still very tired and went to bed at 9:30 or so. I was going to have a shower, but cut it short when the cockroach freaked me out. There is at least one in both my bathroom and bedroom, but my policy towards them is now to just try to look away. The thought of crunching them under my shoe gives me the shivers, and I’m scared it wouldn’t even die. Plus, what would I do with the body?

I was obviously still jet lagged last night; I got up about every 2 hours, and got up for good at about 5:30am today. I had a full shower, which is just scooping water from a bucket and pouring it on myself. I do actually have a shower head, but since the water is so cold, I actually opted for bucket-style for more control.

After breakfast, Shuman invited me to join him at the market. It was so neat! Live animals and vegetables galore: we bought a chicken and watched it be killed and cleaned in front of us. Incidentally, Peter might be interested to know that there was a TV in the chicken stall. They were watching the Discovery channel in Bangla. I think “Breaking Point” was on. The episode with the bus.

I didn't get very many market pictures (I already had too much attention) but note the vegetables on the left, and the rickshaws.

At the vegetable stall, I was invited inside. “Sit, sit,” they urged me. It was kind of awkward. I just sat there facing customers as Shuman did his transactions. The boy working the cash register (I would guess about 13 years old-ish) said “hi, how are you?” but that was the extent of his English. Another woman came up to me and just talked and talked in Bangla. I could only smile. She started pointing to things and naming them for me to repeat, and I think I impressed and delighted her when I knew egg to be “dim” even before she said it (I learned at breakfast today).

It seemed everyone in the market was watching me. I read about this and heard about this, but it’s still a bizarre situation. People called out to me and asked me things, but all in Bangla. Maybe a maximum of one or two phrases in English. People on bikes stopped in the street and stared at me. Everyone stared at the white boy. My Lonely Planet said I should expect to be first asked my country, followed by my academic qualifications. Instead, I’ve found myself asked first whether I smoke, and then my country! Shuman also bought us each a cup of sweet ginger tea. I was urged to sit in the shade again, but the tea was really, really good. Tea is the staple drink, and I love it.

When we returned, Sophie invited me to join her on a shopping trip. She has been very nice to me, providing me with helpful hints and translations, offering to take me around (like this excursion), and she is of course very understanding of my Western perspective on things. We took a rickshaw to the store, which was an adventure in itself. The driver (on the bike portion) seems oblivious to anything behind or beside him, but does his fair share of honking at those in front. The seating is meant for Bangladeshis, of course, who are generally smaller people, so my knees were bent up and I was squished in beside Sophie. But it’s actually a really fun way to travel! Again, we got tons of stares. How odd it must be, for them to see two white people side by side.

The store we went to was fairly “high-end”. The prices are fixed (unlike markets where you can barter) and also significantly higher (Sophie tells me) and there are Western-emulating employees. A lot of employees. I actually cannot believe they can afford to hire so many! They are constantly standing around, or dusting the same places over and over, and they open the door for you, etc, etc. Despite my need for clothing, I didn’t buy anything. Mostly because of the price, and Anthony’s earlier commitment to help me get clothes tomorrow. We then went to a supermarket, which had a fair number of Western brands (though mostly in shampoos, perfumes and deodorants).

On the way back, we stopped just outside the Dipshikha office and bought green coconuts. Since they were “to go” the seller peeled back some of the skin and tied the two together, which was kind of neat. We drank the insides when we got back inside. It’s apparently the “safest thing to drink in Bangladesh” because there is no risk of water-borne bacteria, arsenic, or poor filtration. It tastes pretty good; kind of like a mix between cucumber and watermelon (I don’t know if that sounds good to you, but it’s very refreshing). Then, we cut them open and scooped out the soft inside. Same kind of taste, but with a slimy texture.

Drinking green coconut water (and repping JDSS)

Amazng these things become those brown furry things, eh? The peeled part is where mine was tied to Sophie's

I’m really excited for this afternoon. Shuman has asked me to accompany him to his “Auntie’s son’s marriage day” – so basically the one year anniversary of his cousin’s marriage. I am kind of nervous about how much I will be expected to eat (Sophie warned me that it will likely be a ton), and the honest truth is that, as sad as it may sound to us, I will probably just be to show off; apparently it is quite an honour to have your house visited by a white person. I think that’s a bit of a shame; I’m of course not much different than they are and it’s more of an honour for me to be invited into their home! But I think it will still be a very neat experience and taste of Bengali culture! My next post I’ll be sure to let you know how this ‘marriage day’ celebration goes!

I hope this post wasn’t too long or rambly but there’s just so much to tell! Anyway, you’re all free to skip or skim of course.

Until next time,

-C