The hills, the hills! 7th-9th March

Since I first learned that I’d be going to Bangladesh to work with indigenous peoples, I’ve had the fabulousness of the Chittagong Hill Tracts rubbed in my face. Everyone I got in touch with pre-departure either raved about just how much they loved it there, but how different it is to the rest of the country, or complained about the difficulties of living in the plains and how much better life is in the hill tracts. At the time, this made me a) panic that the most of the country, and more particularly, my would-be home, was some nightmarish place that would have to be endured rather than enjoyed, and b) green with envy at the tales of drinking and merriment that (apparently) is all that ever goes on there. Since arriving, I’ve realised that this is not really a fair picture: as I hope I’ve made clear, there’s lots to love about Bangladesh, and I’ve grown very fond of my little corner of the country. However, the tales of jungle juice and bamboo chicken that emanate from the hills via my esteemed colleagues who work there have remained highly intriguing, so you can imagine my delight when we managed to bully our programme manager into holding one of VSO’s jargon-filled workshops in Khagrachari (one of the three main towns in the CHT, and by all accounts heaven on earth… )

Now, a word about the CHT for the uninitiated: the hill tracts are a (surprise, surprise) hilly and forested (well, jungled really, but I’m not sure if this is an actual word) area in the south east of Bangladesh. Fairly cut off from the rest of the country save for a narrow strip of land around Chittagong city, the area borders Burma and some of the lesser-known states of India (such as tripura, which is also, interestingly, the name of one of the indigenous groups there) and is home to many of Bangladesh’s indigenous peoples. These indigenous communities are the most well-known both nationally and internationally, perhaps because they live in more discrete communities than the indigenous peoples of the plains and are more successfully maintaining their distinct cultures, or perhaps because of the long and bloody struggle for regional autonomy they fought against various governments of East Bengal, East Pakistan and Bangladesh. Although the fighting was officially brought to an end by a peace accord in 1997, many problems still remain: land disputes are ongoing with Bengali settlers encouraged by successive governments to migrate to the CHT; the army and the police, apparently needed to ‘keep the peace’, continue to harass indigenous people; and it is nigh on impossible to mention the term “indigenous peoples’ rights”, let alone work on behalf of these issues.

So it was with some trepidation that I set off from Dhaka to attend a workshop on the progress of VSOB’s indigenous peoples’ rights programme. After a minor panic about the fact that I didn’t have my passport details with me (as a foreigner visiting Khagrachari, you are required to have prearranged permission to visit and you must sign in and out as you go), my trip to the hills began.

That was the most arresting thing, at first: seeing a HILL. It’s a funny thing, but I have become accustomed to seeing a horizon as flat as a pancake, and to suddenly see a hill, however small and insignificant, was very disorientating. The hills in the hill tracts are very peculiar, too: they are not large, but they are very abrupt. The sides are steep and wooded, and the main road from Feni to Khagrachari (note, the idea of a ‘main’ road should not be taken too literally here) ribbons through them at what feels a frightening angle after so many months of bombing down perfectly flat, straight roads. It’s easy to see why competition for land is a problem here – flat land, suitable for rice cultivation, is a rarity, and paddy is tucked into the tiniest pockets of flat land.

The second, more insidious thing you notice (if you are an observant type, like me) is the number of army observation posts. As an esteemed friend of mine remarked, everywhere you go as a bideshi in the hill tracts, there really is someone watching you there. Again, with all the land taken up by army barracks and camps, you are reminded why there is competition for land. What’s more, as a force that is meant to be there to keep the peace, it is interesting to note who is holding the huge, old-fashioned rifles.

I was only in Khagrachari for one very busy day and two equally busy nights, so I’ll reserve further comments for my next visit (in April, for Bangla new year – a week of celebrating that requires some stamina, apparently). But I’ll give you my two highlights of the visit:

1. Alotilla: this is a scenic spot just outside Khagrachari town (although, annoyingly, it’s outside enough to require bideshis to check in and out at the check point and be back in town by 6pm). Alotilla literally means ‘light hill’: it’s a tunnel that goes upwards through the hillside, so that when you approach it from the bottom you really are moving towards the light. It was brilliant fun – I’m a big fan of the outdoors, so clambering up rocks and wading through a stream in the dark with only a length of bamboo filled with kerosene to light the way was just my cup of tea.

2. The rice wine: I’ll be honest. This is what the hill tracts are most famous for among volunteers. Obviously there are other reasons the CHT are brilliant, but when it comes down to it, bangla pani is what I was most looking forward to. In a country in which alcohol is officially unavailable, drinking openly in a restaurant is pretty damn exciting. Now, rice wine isn’t the most drinkable of alcoholic beverages. It has a pretty noxious whiff and I really can’t stomach it without a mixer (though I’m told that it’s the chemicals in the sprite that are responsible for the hangover, rather than any properties intrinsic to this raw form of alcohol…). But it’s the social act of having a few drinks with friends that I’ve missed since leaving home, and which I thoroughly enjoyed whilst in Khagrachari. I even carried a few litres back with me to share my colleagues here (well, those who don’t consider taking the infidel juice as a sin, anyway).