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.