Four bideshis cause a scene in the sticks 3/11/08

This last weekend, we had our exposure visit – a whirlwind trip to visit a volunteer who has been out in placement for a while already. And my, what a whirlwind it was…

Half the group went north, to Sylhet and the tea estates. As for me, I went south to Patuakhali, to visit Rhori who works with four community based organizations (CBOs) in the Good Governance programme area.

Patuakhali is a small town, not far from the Bay of Bengal coastline. It’s not particularly far from Dhaka, but is separated from the capital by a maze of waterways that finally gave meaning to the oft-repeated description of Bangladesh as a ‘riverine’ country. It took us 13 aching, non-AC hours to get there (due to a 4-hour wait for one of three ferries). However, it was the most pleasant journey I’ve made by public bus in South Asia: the weather was perfect, and as the roads are pretty much straight and flat, there was a delightful breeze from the 80mph we were traveling at.

Having spent the last weeks dodging traffic and choking on exhaust fumes in Dhaka, it was unbelievably refreshing to escape to the countryside. The first thing you notice is the sheer green-ness of it all. ‘Green’ isn’t enough of a word to describe the myriad colours of all that vegetation – it’s just everywhere, every open space is occupied by trees and flowers and paddy and creepers and endless other types of natural growth. What with all the ponds, streams, canals, rivers and lakes, you’re just overcome by the verdant glory of this country.

The second most noticeable feature is the sheer abundance of people. There are no unoccupied spaces: it’s just one village after another. And between each settlement, the roads are just full of people and rickshaws. Probably unsurprisingly now, everywhere we went, we drew stares. I suppose we were more noticeable than in Dhaka. I suppose trying the old three people to a rickshaw trick for the first time was bound to draw more attention, especially when it was three bideshis in a small town where there are no other bideshis, and when the bideshi on top has ridiculous ginger hair, and when it’s 10pm and all other women disappeared from the streets hours ago. I suppose we were probably asking for it. Probably.

Wringing my hands
It was a real eye-opener to actually meet ‘the community’, as those people that VSO’s partners work with are respectfully referred to. After a long bus journey and an endless rickshaw ride down narrow muddy lanes between paddy fields, we finally arrived at the Muslim Para village. Greeted by a congregation of women seated in a clearing among corrugated iron sheds, we were confronted with a list of the community’s problems, read out by an appointed spokesman. Covering every conceivable problem that could face a deprived community, we were then asked if we had any advice for them. The awkward and rather stunned silence that followed was not one of my proudest moments: I could only mumble about being sorry, before we were quickly hussled on to see the next part of the organisation’s work.

This whole experience was then repeated later that night, when an entire char-dweller community was roused from its roadside shacks in order to meet us. I’ve never felt more helpless and useless than when I was introduced to some particularly poor members of this community, by way of an illustration of their problems. Char-dwellers are those who live on small spits of land or banks, created by the erosion of rivers and the accumulation of silt. Over time, the chars are washed away by the natural development of the river, taking these people’s homes and possessions with them. Some of the women I met have lost their homes six or seven times since cyclone Sidre in 2007. Many make a living making string out of discarded plastic bags, for which they are paid less than 50p per day.

All in all, it was an overwhelming and moving experience that really upset me. But it also made me realize, for the first time really, that perhaps my being here is genuinely one way of helping, in whatever small way I can.

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.