Confessions of a guilty expat

Two brief experiences in the last week have shown me what expatriate life can be, and taught me that I’m not exactly comfortable living this kind of life.

The first was our visit to the British High Commission. Despite my joy at the gin, and my ogling of the tantalizing swimming pool, I experienced distinctly mixed feelings at being their. While it might be a nice place to retreat if everything gets a bit much, it strikes me as odd that you’d want to spend much more than an occasional afternoon there. The place is so removed from what the rest of Dhaka is like, it felt a little like I’d temporarily left Bangladesh for some sort of heated up version of the UK.

What’s more, the guy who did our security briefing added to my reservations. I don’t which was my favourite comment: that Bangladeshis don’t have anything better to do than stare at foreigners walking down the street (about the staring culture), or that Bangladesh is grateful to Britain for its education system/civil service/law and order situation. With that last comment, I think there’s a pretty good chance that he was just attempting to rile us up, as do-gooding volunteers who leap onto their high horses at any invitation. But as for the first… it does raise some interesting questions.

My second flutter of guilt came when we made our abortive visit to the Bagha Club on Friday. Again, a potentially quite attractive place after months in the villages, but the whole experience left us all feeling a little uncomfortable. Perhaps we simply haven’t been here long enough to appreciate the purpose it serves (in fact, I reckon this is fairly likely); but again, that feeling of incongruity returned. The fact that we spent about 2000 taka each in one night (a monumental sum by local standards) made me feel terribly frivolous and wasteful. And while it was highly interesting, to mingle with the local expat community and meet lots of new and interesting people, part of me felt a little uncomfortable being there.
Probably, these feelings are my fresh-faced idealism showing through. Idealism that can be fresh-faced because it’s only been here 15 days. And probably I will learn to love the expat scene. But at the moment, I think I shall be retaining my 40 quid for when I’m desperate for some home comforts.

Two elections in the 'desh 26/10/08

Politics has been on my mind a lot over the last few weeks. After multiple briefings and some careful perusals of English newspapers, I am slowly building up a general idea of the background to the national elections due to take place here on 18th December after a 18-month long state of emergency. Then, of course, there is the US election in less than a fortnight, and everyone here is really interested in it. Whenever Trish or Keith reveal the fact that they’re American, someone will inevitably make a comment along the lines of ‘George Bush – na, Barack Obama – ji’ (this is a direct quote from a stall holder I haggled over the price of beans with the other day). It still seems strange to me that an election in a country so far away should be followed so closely by everyone here. Obviously, it’s fair to say that the result on the 4th will be pretty significant for the world, but the fact that this stall holder would express an opinion on the election when many Americans (and Westerners in general) don’t know where Bangladesh is reminds me again of Western (and especially my own) self-absorption and ignorance.

I feel lucky to be in Bangaldesh at such an interesting time, so I’ll do my best to explain what’s going down here at the moment…

Following significant political instability in 2006, President Iajuddin Ahmed resigned on 11th January 2007 and declared a state of emergency. This instability seems to have arisen mainly from tensions between the two dominant political parties, the Awami League and the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), who have alternated in power since independence, and who are responsible for immense corruption in Bangla politics. For four years in a row prior to 2007, Bangladesh ranked number one in Transparency International’s league table of corrupt countries; Sheikh Hasina and Khaleda Zia (leaders of the Awami League and BNP respectively) have only recently been released on bail from prison, where they were held on charges of corruption.

In January 2007, the President handed power over to a Caretaker Government led by Dr Fakhruddin Ahmed, a former governor of Bangladesh Bank and senior staff member of the World Bank. By all accounts, this military-backed government has been largely successful in quelling the political instability that it was formed to tackle. Although it’s difficult to get an objective view, the Caretaker Government reportedly enabled the restoration of economic activity by cracking down on hartals (strikes), which are traditionally used by the opposition party to stymie the government. Hundreds of MPs were arrested on corruption charges in part of a massive anti-corruption campaign. A voter-registration drive and the formation of an Independent Electoral Commission have hopefully laid the foundations of free and fair democratic elections, which are set to take place in under 2 months.

Feelings about the Caretaker Government seem to be generally positive. Most people (well, VSO and the good people of the British High Commission at least) seem to think that it’s done its job as well as can be expected. Unsurprisingly perhaps, it now wants to wash its hand of the whole affair. So far, things are proceeding fairly smoothly towards 18th December: the parties are engaging in talks with the Caretaker Government, and are beginning to register with the new independent electoral commission. What’s more, the Jamat-i Islami (a reportedly Islamic fundamentalist branch of the BNP) has changed its name from Bangladesh Jamat-i Islami to Jamat-i Islami Bangladesh, which apparently indicates a distancing from fundamentalist Jamat-i Islami parties around the world.

However, doubts do remain. Despite the fact that the leaders of the two main parties were imprisoned for most of the Caretaker Government’s term, little has changed within the parties. That Sheikh Hasina and Khaleda Zia will lead their parties into the election is a clear indication that little has changed. It seems that although the political structures of Bangladeshi politics have been reformed, the reforming zeal of the Caretaker Government has been unable to reach the substance of Bangladeshi politics. If this is the case, it seems likely that whoever wins in December may continue much as before. But we shall have to see.

The Lash in Dhaka 25/10/08

Having been told time and time again by returned volunteers that it’s very difficult to get your hands on alcohol here, and hence the lash is a rare occurrence, my experiences of the last week have proved that this is, in fact, a lie. You definitely have to pay for it, but it is there. Let me document my experience of the lash thus far to illustrate this exciting discovery…

Incident Number One: Drinks on the British Tax-Payer
On our visit to the British High Commission earlier this week on a particularly hot and sweaty afternoon, we enjoyed our first alcohol in Bangladesh, courtesy of the glorious British state. After plucking up the courage to ask for it (having been offered only beer initially), I enjoyed an icy gin and tonic, feeling guiltily like an old colonialist. This is the life!

Incident Number Two: Dinner at Bruce’s
Bruce, a volunteer from Uganda, invited Laura, Megan, Ollie, Keith and I over for dinner the other night. We had amazing beef stew (I get excited every time I eat meat, as I don’t yet have the balls to go out and buy it), made even better by the production of cold cans of Kingfisher at the end. Mmm-hmm. Bruce refuses to disclose his supplier’s name to us, but clearly this guy has the goods. We also had our first encounter with rice wine, a specialty of the Hill Tracts region: it’s pretty potent stuff, smelling like paint stripper and tasting a bit like a combination of whiskey (the vapour) and vodka (the taste). Clearly, there is much potential for the lash here…

Incident Number Three: My first party in the ‘desh
It was another volunteer’s birthday last week too, and again Bruce played host to much delicious food, abundant alcohol and much revelry. I also met the mysterious supplier, but failed to get his number (bugger). There was extremely sweaty dancing, lots of covering the birthday girl in various edible substances, and I racily didn’t get to bed til 1am!

Incident Number Four: The Bagha Club
On Friday night (Friday being the new Saturday, dontcha know), we decided it was time to visit the Bagha club. Bagha, meaning ‘tiger’ in Bangla, is an expat club in Gulshan, the expensive embassy area of Dhaka. On arriving, hoping simply for a quiet drink, we discovered our several faux pas. Firstly, you can’t register at 7.30 on a Friday night. Secondly, there was a big party going on for which tickets had to be purchased. Having come only for one drink, I had a measly 500 taka with me, which turned out to be sadly insufficient for the night ahead. Thirdly, there is clearly an active party-scene in Dhaka and everyone there (NGO workers, military contractors, embassy staff, the rich kids of Dhaka) was dressed to the nines for the party. I was wearing mud-spattered trousers and a non-matching shirt and orna. Cue immense embarrassment on my part, and some swift conversion of said trousers into shorts.

Despite this collection of blunders, we were determined to have a good night. Through a cunning mixture of pooled resources and a hasty trip to an ATM (thank you, Ollie!), we amassed quite a few thousand taka and proceeded to blow it all on gin and 2 packets of crisps. All in all, it was a pretty weird experience (see later), but one that was worth it. While this record may make me sound a little like a wino, as after only 2 weeks here I’m not exactly getting withdrawal symptoms yet, it will definitely prove useful after many months in a tiny and probably almost totally dry village.

5 bideshis on the loose in Dhaka 17/10/08

Today was the first day that we have been left to our own devices. Pretty risky, perhaps, because we’ve only been here five days, but I think we coped admirably.

It turns out lie-ins aren’t possible here, because it just gets too hot. So I had a fairly lazy morning, reading in bed and sweating. We decided to go to Rifle Square Market to sort yet more phone stuff out, and generally to see what it’s like. Hence, our first experience with public transport. The selection is diverse, and wholly unsafe, but very much fun. We picked CNG today because they’re slightly more anonymous than rickshaws, where it looks a little like you’re sitting on a throne, high above the masses, yet are also at the bottom of the pile in the transport food chain (except for pedestrians, who are fodder). CNG are like Thai tuk-tuks or Indian auto-rickshaws – motorised go-carts that bez along and zip into any available space in the heaving melee of traffic, honking their horns at random. The ride was great fun – it’s almost as cool as a/c, but you get to see much, much more.

Rifle Square Market, communicated to our driver in broken Bangla and some apparently universal hand gestures, turned out not to be the busy bazaar I’d imagined, but a flashy air conditioned mall. In the Grameen phone shop, we got into a conversation with some customers who first took our photos on their mobiles, then accused us of killing Princess Diana AND ruining all of Bengal through colonialism. I don’t know which was the bigger crime in their eyes. Martin and KR Mullah turned out to be really friendly, if a little crazy. They took us for very sweet coffee and singara (like samosas), and assured us that we would all be real friends forever now. KR Mullah can apparently help us wherever we are in Bangladesh because he is a big man in customs, which includes getting us whiskey and beer. I stored his card away safely for when things get tough.

That’s another funny thing about Dhaka – in that mall, if you’d changed the writing, you could have been almost anywhere in the world. Perhaps it was ignorant of me to think that you wouldn’t be able to find data cables here – but you can, and you can get them to fit almost any make of mobile phone. You can also buy a burger, fries and a coke from the fast food joints, and the complete series of almost any programme on TV. The fact that these can be bought for less than a fiver does suggest you’re not in London, but nevertheless…

One of the highlights of my day was when Laura decided to play bouncey ball with a kid in the mall. You should have seen the crowds it drew. I don’t think anyone knew what to make of a bunch of bideshis laughing as their overexcited friend tried vainly to bat this ball back to the kid, but everyone got involved in helping her out.

Not tempted by the fast food, we got street food for lunch, fresh from the boiling oil. Sitting in a tiny open-fronted room which contained only a fridge, a hob, a table and some chairs, there was no doubt we were in Bangladesh. The smiling young man who served us spoke no English, but we managed to order some more singara and some sugary puff-pastry concoction that, along with condensed milk char (tea), made the perfect lunch.

I’m definitely enjoying this life so far. Bangladesh is a very welcoming place, and it is certainly full of surprises. Considering I’ve only been here five days, I’m sure there’re a lot more in store. It still doesn’t feel real, the fact that this will be my life for the next year and more. I don’t know if I’ll ever get my head round it, until it actually happens. But I’m ok with that. Although it still feels a bit like a strange dream, it’s one I’m liking so far.

You've got to make it Bangla 15/10/08

Bangla the language, that is. ‘Bangla’ is the name of the culture and language of this country, and ‘desh’ means country or land; so we are in the land of Bangla. So far, everyone seems to be enjoying the lessons. Pulak (note, Pu-laak, but Pu-lack: ‘you have to make it BaNGla,’ remember) is a great teacher, who points out on his own tongue which exact part of it should be touching where in.

After 3 hours of ‘repeat after me…’, we left for a tour of Gulshan, the embassy quarter. While it is full of beautiful old buildings in high-walled compounds, and has many lakes and tree-filled parks, it is still undeniably Bangladesh. So much greenery sprouts and rickshaw-wallahs swerve dangerously wherever you look. Despite the yellow number plates on SUVs, the armed guards and the signs which read ‘To Let: Foreigners Only’, Gulshan cannot cut itself off. Brightly-clothed street sellers still squat by the road sides, mould still festers on the walls of the embassies, and the driving is still abominable.

While we waited in the car for Judy, Clarifel and Hanny to visit their various embassies, the English and Americans began a wildly hilarious conversation about different slang words we all use. Explaining what the words ‘cad’ and ‘bounder’ mean proved more difficult than I’d imagined. All part of the bonding process I’m sure, but nonetheless I can’t quite believe that American hardware stores have sections for flange tools. In fact, I’m sure they’re making it up.

My favourite part of the day was our first trip to the local food markets. On our side of the road in Lalmatia, things are pretty calm. We get the odd stare, but it’s nothing too overwhelming: no-one is to surprised to see a bunch of sweating bideshis ambling aimlessly.

On the other side of the road, in Mohammadpur Market, things are wildly different. For the first time, I’ve seen what I imagined Bangladesh to be like: heaving markets, filthy gutters, hundreds of rickshaws, and huge crowds come to stare at the bideshis and their bizarre behaviour. Naked toddlers trail us for hundreds of meters, smiling and laughing at us, seeming to dare one another to go closer. Amid the immaculately stacked vegetables, we draw a crowd as Thaddeus buys squash. I shakily try out my Bangla, and get laughter in response. Three bideshis drinking sugar cane juice on a street corner appeared to be the highlight of many people’s afternoon.

My proudest achievement of the day was not, however, learning Bangla. It was finding our way home from the office for the first time. No driver, no guide. Just us and the Extrem Boys.

Has anyone seen the Extrem Boyz? 14/10/08

After another hectic day of induction and greetings, I slowly feel like things are starting to fall into place.

Today we had our first little stroll around our ‘hood. Until now, I’d been feeling a bit isolated from the world, as we’re ferried around in our air-conditioned VSO minibus. Today, Marufa, who is in charge of induction at VSO-B and absolutely lovely, showed us a tiny bit of Lalmatia. We visited some local landmarks, such as various supermarkets that are surprisingly full of imported goods; the local Nando’s (no lie); and an art gallery that lies nestled behind palm trees in a walled compound off a main road – an icy paradise of art and chilled out café that looks set to become our local.

I’m not sure why, but I was so surprised to find this here. Dhaka is not what I expected of it: it is both more developed and more familiar than I expected it to be. Perhaps this is due to the area we live in? Lalmatia seems fairly affluent after all. But I can’t wait to explore some more of the city!


On our way home from drinks in the café, the Induction Flat crew decided to strike out and find our own way home. 2 problems arose: One, it was dark. Two, our map only shows the route from our flat to VSO’s offices. And we were not there. Cue much striding confidently, proclaiming that, finally, this street is familiar, only to peter out after a few minutes, mumbling something about a wrong turn, or every bloody food stall looking exactly the same. We made it home with the assistance of several extremely helpful locals, and the unforgettable graffiti that is opposite our block: the phrases ‘Extrem Boyz’ and ‘Fuck the Law’ tell us that we are home and dry.

Has anyone seen the Extrem Boyz?

14th October 2008

After another hectic day of induction and greetings, I slowly feel like things are starting to fall into place.

Today we had our first little stroll around our ‘hood. Until now, I’d been feeling a bit isolated from the world, as we’re ferried around in our air-conditioned VSO minibus. Today, Marufa, who is in charge of induction at VSO-B and absolutely lovely, showed us a tiny bit of Lalmatia. We visited some local landmarks, such as various supermarkets that are surprisingly full of imported goods; the local Nando’s (no lie); and an art gallery that lies nestled behind palm trees in a walled compound off a main road – an icy paradise of art and chilled out café that looks set to become our local.

I’m not sure why, but I was so surprised to find this here. Dhaka is not what I expected of it: it is both more developed and more familiar than I expected it to be. Perhaps this is due to the area we live in? Lalmatia seems fairly affluent after all. But I can’t wait to explore some more of the city!

On our way home from drinks in the café, the Induction Flat crew decided to strike out and find our own way home. 2 problems arose: One, it was dark. Two, our map only shows the route from our flat to VSO’s offices. And we were not there. Cue much striding confidently, proclaiming that, finally, this street is familiar, only to peter out after a few minutes, mumbling something about a wrong turn, or every bloody food stall looking exactly the same. We made it home with the assistance of several extremely helpful locals, and the unforgettable graffiti that is opposite our block: the phrases ‘Extrem Boyz’ and ‘Fuck the Law’ tell us that we are home and dry.

So here we are. 13/10/08

So here we are. Finally. After so many, many weeks of waiting, we landed in Zia International Airport at 6am local time. And now, as I sit here in our living room, I feel I need to take some time to process everything that’s happened today.

The flight was fine. In fact, it became positively enjoyable when I realized that BA gives out free alcohol. Every person who asked ‘how long are you going to Bangladesh for?’ gave us a wary look when we chirpily told them, as if we might well be escapees from an insane asylum. Although this didn’t seem to bode particularly well, most people also showered us with praise for what we were doing.

So it was with mixed apprehensions, and sleep-deprived dazedness that we landed in Bangladesh. A word about that – as the plane descended, it appeared we would be landing in an extremely misty pond. There appeared to be no area of dry land large enough to park a car on, let alone a bloody plane. Thankfully, by some twist of fate (or perhaps engineering genius), the airport is built so as not to flood. The minute we touched down, the windows misted over – telling us scarily quickly that, even though it was only dawn, the temperature was already climbing outside.

Laura, Ollie, Megan and I met up with Hanny, a short-term volunteer from the Netherlands, in customs; and after what Ollie described as a ‘pleasingly thorough’ wait at customs (they painstakingly entered data from several different forms, one finger at a time, then ignored most of what we’d put anyway), we made it to arrivals. A little VSO flag, held by Marufa, greeted us. Immediately, we, plus Keith and Trish, two American volunteers, were whisked from the heaving, sweaty forecourt of the airport, into the blissfully icy confines of our VSO minibus.

After a slow, horn-filled journey, dodging pedestrians, beggars and rickshaws going the wrong way up one-way streets, much reminiscent of travels in India and Nepal, we were deposited at our swanky apartment. For the next month, I will reside in the Induction Flat, a couple of minutes walk from the VSO Bangladesh programme offices, along with Megan, Ollie, Trish and two Filipina volunteers, Carifel and Judy. My spacious, airy room has two massive four poster beds with day-glo mossie nets separating them from the rest of the world. The window beside my bed looks down onto a scrubby little courtyard and a huge coconut tree. I still can’t get over the fact that I can see coconuts from my bed! That’s one thing I love already about the ‘desh: it’s so green. Everywhere you look, there’re plants and trees swarming up from the grimmest of holes, in search of the sun.

To cut a long story short – a long story about our first meal of rice and daal, about being greeted so warmly by the programme office staff, about receiving our first month’s pay in a fat envelope – we have made it here, and I love it already. I’ll finish this entry with just a taste of the things I have learned already:

1. Everything takes so much longer here. We made tea last night, which involved boiling water over a small gas ring to put through the filter, then reboiling filtered water for the tea itself. Perhaps a little long-winded, but we WILL be healthy! Luckily, we have Firoja, who cleans the flat and filters water for us. Although this makes me feel like a lazy git, I’m not complaining.
2. No-one goes to bed here. Ever. I woke up a lot last night, but there was never any silence. Even at 2am, kids were screaming, grown-ups shouting, horns a-hooting. Apparently, they do later on, but I’m not so sure.

Nerves and Packing 11/10/08

Finally ready. Well, at least my stuff is. It is zip-locked, silica-gelled and crammed haphazardly into an assortment of bags. After several dodgy moments on the bathroom scales, I'm not truly convinced that it weighs less than 25 kilos. I'm not even sure if 25 kilos is the limit, or if it's in fact 23 kilos, or if I'm actually allowed 2 bags. Oh god. What if they confiscate one of my bags at check-in? What if I arrive in Banglades with a million zip-loc bags and half a kilo or silica gel, but no knickers!? What if they lose my bags on the way? What if I have to wear sandals and linen trousers FOREVER!

As you might be able to tell, while my stuff is ready, my head certainly is not. Having spent the last few days haring across the country and saying various drunk and weepy goodbyes, I don't really believe that tomorrow afternoon I'll actually be leaving the UK for 13 months.

Gulp.