Cows

All day, every day I see them eating good, healthy grass but they’re still really skinny. I don’t understand it. And they really do say “Mooo!” don’t they?

Another day, another new experience.

Every day there is something new to do, look at, smell, eat, learn or discover. My senses and mind are being overloaded (in a very good way). “Wide eyed”, I think the term is. Sometimes the experience is big, like seeing Dhaka for the first time, or my first time in a village school. Sometimes it’s really quick, like the man carrying 12 bricks on his head who caught my eye as I was whizzing down the road in a bus (there is a lot to see on public transport); or in Hajiganj, seeing the biggest fork of lightning I’ve ever seen. Sometimes it’s a realisation, like conjugating a verb or a slight change in position when I’m eating with my hands which enables me to get a good mouthful as opposed to a pitiful one. Sometimes it’s a taste sensation, like this mad, dried, shredded, sweet ginger someone gave me on the train the other day. See? There. Like that: “…someone gave me on the train the other day” – I say it as if that’s the most normal thing in the world, but really, I don’t think anyone has ever given me food on a train before.

I was standing at my front gate the other day, talking to Anik (Mr Hussain’s 16-year-old son – and my current Bangla teacher – who is staying with us while he’s on school holidays). Out of nowhere, I started hearing this fabulous music – drumming and a trumpet – far off in the distance. I was intrigued and needed to find out what it was. It sounded like it was coming from near my work, but then I realised that it was getting further away. I told Anik that I needed to hurry so that I could catch it, and he reluctantly followed. We half walked, half ran towards my work, picking up various people along the way who were obviously wondering what the “Bideshi was up to this time”. When we got near to my work we saw the musicians and a crowd of about 40 people walking along the train tracks towards the river. They were part of a Hindu pre-marriage celebration and they were going to the river to collect water for the bride-to-be to bathe in, as well as to bless all the lovely spices and other paraphernalia that were to be used to adorn her during the actual ceremony the following day. Apparently a Hindu wedding celebration lasts for four days.

The Muslims claim that their weddings are very short in comparison, but I beg to differ. Last night I was invited to a Muslim pre-wedding celebration, where the groom’s family (11 siblings in total for this one) feeds him loads of mishti, which he eats off a fork, and then he feeds some back to them. Then all the women of the family rub raw turmeric (looks like mud) all over his face, hair and hands, which is supposed to give him a brighter complexion for his wedding day. When I arrived at about 10pm last night (I was only told about it at 8.00), I was ushered straight to a chair (as always - “Please sit down”) and then a man carrying a massive “7 News” style camera ran over to me and flicked on the Light (I use a capital L because to use lower case would be doing the Light an injustice – spotlight material), turned on the camera and I was in action. Just sitting there. The Bideshi. Before I arrived I was wondering whether it would be appropriate for me to take photos, however once the Light was shining in my face, I thought, well, what the heck? A bit of give and take can’t hurt.

The Light was my companion for longer than I would have chosen, however I was eventually upstaged by the star of the show. The Wedding Cow. The Wedding Cow was white, shiny, with painted pink horns, and quite possibly the largest cow I have ever seen. As a matter of fact, I would say that if cows could be stallions, this cow would be one. The Stallion Wedding Cow. A magnificent specimen, standing there all humble and glamorous in his stable. The “7 News” cameraman got a good shot of him.

Today was the actual wedding, which I was invited to last night, but it was in Comilla and I had to attend a memorial service for the founder of BACE (30 year anniversary of his death today. Another interesting experience. Got to see a whole lot of Muslims praying together, which I have never seen before. They use incense and flick rosewater over everyone and put rose oil on everyone’s hands. It was beautiful. The smell of the room was amazing. After they finish praying, everyone wipes their face with their hands).

Tonight the Wedding Cow is going to be killed. I was also invited to that, but after much deliberation I have decided not to go. (It is also at 3am, so that was another factor in making my decision.) Tomorrow there will be a post-wedding lunch. We will eat the Wedding Cow. I am invited to that and I am attending, so I’m going to don my high heels for the first time and get a bit glam.

So that’s at least three days of celebrations, which I think puts the Muslims up there with the Hindus in the Lengthy Wedding Celebration stakes.

Little Observations, Big Generalisations

The buses don’t stop:

Ø to let people on and off (they just slow down);
Ø for little kids who get car sick (they have to vomit out the window);
Ø to let old men and women take their seat without falling over (so they fall over, usually);
Ø when they are overtaking on the wrong side of the road and there is a truck coming in the other direction (the truck just flashes its lights and hopes for the best);
Ø for a break when I’m busting for the toilet (but that’s just my bad luck).

CNG drivers are fearless.

Rickshaw wallahs work REALLY hard. They all have 0% fat.

“Mutton” here is not sheep, it is goat, so it gives the saying “Mutton dressed as Lamb” a whole new meaning.

Most physical labour is done by hand. A large donation of wheelbarrows would do wonders here.

In the cities, different areas are known for selling different things, e.g. if you want plants, you go to Mirpur Road, if you want books you go to Newmarket, if you want flowers you go to Kamal Ataturk Avenue, if you want an aquarium you go to New Elephant Road. So when you get there, you see about 5000 plants, books, bunches of flowers or fish tanks, all exactly the same, lined up along the street. Surely this can’t be good for business.

Everyone loves it when a foreigner tries to speak Bangla, no matter how badly it is executed. It’s the effort that counts.

Paan rots your teeth and turns your saliva bright red.

There is an abundance of “doormen” in Bangladesh.

There is a lot to see on public transport.

If you want to “just be good friends” with a member of the opposite sex, you have to call them your brother/sister (not your friend), and then it can be socially acceptable.

There are some MASSIVE mosquitoes in Bangladesh. I’m talking a 10cm diameter.

Good pillows are not available in Bangladesh.

Bangla is not a difficult language to learn.

Not all Muslim women wear a head covering.

Not all Muslim men pray five times a day.

Squat toilets are better in every way.

Everyone really does REALLY love cricket.

If you pick your nose in public, no-one bats an eyelid.

There is always an exception to the rule.

Food!

I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without writing an entry about FOOD! Those who do not share my passion for this subject might as well stop reading now, because that’s all there’s going to be.

Perhaps one of the reasons why I’m so happy here is because most of the food I’ve been eating is yellow, due to all the turmeric that is used in the preparation. My fingernails on my right hand are also yellow because I’ve been eating “Bangladeshi style” whenever I’m not eating at home (e.g. today’s lunch). The first few times I ate like this I felt like I was on “Double Dare” and someone had given me a Physical Challenge. It really took me back to my childhood days of playing with my food. But now that I’ve done it a few times I think it’s great fun. A real relationship is developed between the eater and the food, and while the atmosphere is lovely when there’s a big table of people sitting around, not a lot of talking is done, because everyone is too busy mixing and moulding and squelching and squeezing and picking and flicking and shovelling their food. Sounds gross, but I love it.

My breakfast is as “western” as I can get it at the moment – some chipatis (like naan bread) spread with Australian “Beerenberg” Strawberry Jam which I purchased from a Supermarket in Dhaka. I’ve also been having some freshly made mango jam (!!!), which Upsana made. It is really lovely. My lunch and dinner are usually the same, but by dinner time the food’s gone cold, which is why I’ll be opting to start making my own dinner as soon as I can get set up (I have a fridge and gas burner so far, but no pots and pans or cupboard items). One thing I’ve noticed is that Bangladeshis all seem to eat the same foods all the time. It’s all delicious, but you’d think it would get a little tedious with three meals a day, every day.

There is always rice. Chicken curry with potatoes is also very common (double the carbs, Daniel. Gotta love that). The potatoes are really cheap, but really good quality – like the kipfler potatoes you buy in the gourmet section – and they soak up all the yumminess of the curry. The chickens are bought live from the market and killed and plucked in front of you, which is a bit difficult to get used to. Fish is always excellent and fresh and is usually fried up with some turmeric and other spices and sometimes some vegies. The veggie dishes are the most varied – I’ve had lots of good ones. The best so far have been eggplant coated in spices and then fried; and a variety of red spinach-type stuff which has a slightly bitter taste, but tastes amazing. Okra is also popular, but I’ve had too much of it now and I’ve gone off it a bit – with that jelly-like texture, you think I’d be into it, but strangely enough, it’s not my thing anymore. They also do some interesting things with eggs here. Hard boiled and then coated in spices and fried; or an egg curry which is really different and nothing at all like mum’s curried egg sandwiches. And of course, there’s always dhal. Very yellow dhal.

I am going to make an effort to get a little recipe book together while I’m here, so rather than simply saying, “coated in spices”, I can actually tell you exactly what spices they are.

For dessert (special occasions only), there is either doi (sweet yoghurt) or mishti (little milk and sugar-based tasty balls – a bit like condensed milk balls), both of which I have grown very fond of. And today I had a sweet vermicelli noodle dish which was delicious, and very unexpected. These people have extremely sweet teeth, and I am not complaining. Even the tea is made with condensed milk AND sugar (!). Nana would be appalled! One thing I have noticed about the sweet foods here (besides the fact that they are SO SO SO sweet) is that the time that they are most lovingly consumed is in the early evening, at about 6pm. I guess it makes sense, giving people a little sugar hit to get them through the evening before they hoe into their dinner at about 10pm.

The fruits are really great quality. Mango season has just begun and everyone is really excited about it. All over the place people are getting out their long sticks and knocking their “Pukka Ums” (Ripe Mangoes) out of their trees. In the past three days I’ve been given a total of 14 mangoes as gifts from people. Lychees are also being plucked from the trees, and Raju has told me that when we go to Dhaka this weekend, he is going to buy 100 of them!! There is also a new fruit I’ve never seen before. It looks like a baby pear, its skin has the colour and texture of a jalepeno pepper and the inside is like a nashi pear. It tastes like a cross between an apple and a lime. It’s quite wonderful. The watermelons taste like they used to when I was a kid. Pineapples would have to be my favourite though. They are the sweetest and yellowest (no turmeric!) I’ve ever eaten, and apparently pineapple season hasn’t even started properly yet. Can’t wait for those pukka anarosh to come along.

Most people here love food just as much as I do, and a lot of their socialising is centred around either tea or food. There is no alcohol, so I’m getting my kicks from sugar instead. The locals here are proud of their fruit, so much so that Sohel has organised for me to try every single fruit that Bangladesh has to offer by the time I leave. Fruit is also a very common gift and sentiment (vis a vis the abovementioned 14 mangoes), and you tend to get brownie points when you hand someone a bunch of lychees or a guava or whatever.

So I am definitely being looked after in the food department. If ever I get peckish, I can pretty much go and visit anyone and I will be guaranteed a munch on something delicious.

Ploppy Disk

When I was in Dhaka I went to an Indian restaurant and ordered Palak Paneer (my favourite). I was a little shocked to hear the waiter with such a strange speech impediment. He called it “Falak Faneer”. Later, I told Badrul about it, and he laughed and said that often people in this country have a difficult time distinguishing between their Fs and their Ps. Since then I have noticed this quite often, but I’m used to it now. For example, when Upsana says to me, “Apni oppish jaben?”, I know she means “Are you going to the office?”. But the other day I was in my oppish and a couple of the men were working on the computer. They seemed to be having some trouble with something or other, but I didn’t really take any notice. Then I kept hearing them saying “Ploppy” this and “Ploppy” that. I found it hilarious that they were trying to work out a problem with the “Floppy” disk. I really couldn’t contain myself. They just kept saying Ploppy all the time.

Very funny.

One Month Down

I can’t believe I’ve already been here for one month. I hope the time doesn’t go this quickly for the next five months, because if it does, I’ll be very sad. During pre-departure training in Canberra, we received some advice, stating that we should spend the first few months establishing our relationships, and then worry about work later. Well I have taken that advice well on board, and am feeling very glad that I did.

I am having a wonderful time getting to know the local sense of humour. Even though the language barrier means that our jokes often go over each other’s heads, and we have quite different styles of humour, I have loved simply laughing at them laughing. They are such happy people.

I went on the bus the other day to Hajiganj (a larger town with more facilities than Shahrasti), with Raju “Cast by Hindus”, Masud “Amazing Smile” and Sohel “Likes to Write Notes to Me in English Rather Than Say Things Out Loud” from my office. It was just a simple shopping expedition, but having such wonderful companions, it became a really memorable event. We did our shopping and I watched them bargaining with the shopkeepers. Then the sky turned a deadly black, the wind started thrashing things about and everything seemed to turn green. (You know how this creates a crazy atmosphere.) Fat raindrops began to fall. We went to “take tea” (and refuge) in a teahouse. We took tea. (“Gilliand. Will you take tea?” Sure, why not.) Then we ordered some “doi” (very sweet yoghurt). I had made the mistake earlier of telling Raju how much I liked “doi”, so when we got to the teahouse he made sure I got some. (“Gilliand. Will you take some doi?” No, I’m OK thanks. “OK? OK.”) Then he asked me if I liked “mishti” (very sweet round balls of deliciousness), and by answering “yes” to this question, I had made another fatal mistake. He ordered me one mishti. (“Gilliand. Will you take mishti?” No thanks. I’ve had enough. “Just one. It’s very small.”) Then he asked me if I enjoyed it, and I answered “yes” once more. Another fatal error. (NOOOOO!!!! “Just one!”) A second mishti. But what could I say? No-one asks me if I want another one, or some more. They simply say, “Did you like that?”, and if I answer in the affirmative, I can expect another helping. If I say no, then I run the risk of offending someone. So there’s no way out.

Living in this rural setting, I am getting a taste of what it’s like to be famous. The people here have had very little experience with westerners, and EVERYONE knows who I am now and EVERYONE wants to know all about me. It is not uncommon for local women and kids to walk right into my room (often bearing flowers or fruit, which is lovely) and just stand there looking at me or the things around my room. I have now learnt to say, “I’m working” and “I’m busy” in Bangla, because I was having trouble getting them to leave! I’d say (in English), “I’m really sorry, but I’m very busy at the moment, (blah, blah, blah)” and it had no effect whatsoever. I think that the locals get a kick out of being able to try out their limited English on me, too. It’s often just “hello” or “how are you”, but I had a little giggle to myself the other day, when I was walking to work and a man was walking towards me. I was getting all ready to say the usual Bangla greeting (“Asalam Walekum”), when he strode right up to me with an extremely confident, “THANK YOU!”, and went on his way.

In Hajiganj the other day I bought a fridge (with Mirja’s help). As soon as I stepped off the bus, people started staring. I went into the fridge shop and chose the one I wanted. When I looked back up at the entrance, I saw a line of about 20 men disappearing out the door! At first I thought they were all there to give me some sound fridge advice, but then I realised that they just wanted to watch. The shopkeepers, in exchange for personal information regarding my country of origin, length of stay in Bangladesh and marital status, poured me a glass of lemonade (they kindly rinsed out the glass first) and told me to “Please sit down!” on a little stool they dusted off for me.



The kids here are really special. I have had so many different reactions from them while walking around the village. If they are on their own, some of them just look at me, and if I smile or say hello, they might just continue to look at me with their wide, dark eyes, or sometimes their face will change into a HUGE, teethy smile. In a big group they usually think I’m absolutely the most hilarious thing they’ve ever seen. It feels weird to have large groups of kids laughing and pointing at me as I walk along the street, although I too think it’s quite hilarious. One other little girl was happily walking home from school with her friend, until she looked up and saw me. Shocked, she turned around and bolted all the way back to school with her friend calling after her. Every now and then she’d stop and turn back to look at me, and when she saw that I was watching her she started running away again. The other day a group of little boys (about 7) were in the back of a small truck (CNG) when they drove past me. They stared at me in silence, mouths agape, until they were about 20 metres away and then they all burst out laughing. Then they asked the driver to stop, turn around and drive past again. This time I said hello, and they all cracked up again. Some kids walk right up to me and start a conversation (in Bangla, so I can’t really say much in return (but I’m getting better), which they also think is funny). Some of them come up to me and give me flowers. Most of them call me “aunty” (how appropriate). They are all so beautiful though. I have a real soft spot for the little Muslim boys in their Punjabis and hats that they wear to the mosque. They’re real little men. And of course, Oishi and Tasin are still my favourites, although there are some others who have come up in the running.

I was at work the other day and a village man came into the office. We often get people walking in and out, so I wasn’t too surprised, except that I noticed he looked quite dishevelled and was holding what looked like an ultrasound photograph, some other documents and some money. He said something to Mirja, and they had a short conversation. Then Mirja took out 100 taka and gave it to him and the man left. I asked Mirja who the man was and he said that his wife was very sick and that he didn’t have any money, so he was walking around the area asking people to help. I was really moved by the genuine effort to help people in need here in the villages. I find it a difficult situation when someone in Sydney, or even in Dhaka, asks for money because my first reaction is to wonder whether they are genuine. Here, the question isn’t even asked. If someone needs help, others are there to offer it.

These are just a few of my little observations over the past week or so. One month in, and I’m still being overwhelmed with new discoveries and being nicely surprised by the little things the people of this country do and say. To pass on a quote from a fellow youth ambassador, “The beauty of Bangladesh is in the detail, not the vista”. Although I think the vista’s beautiful too.

This is a big one!

I have started noting down all the interesting, strange and memorable things that I have been observing so far in this amazing country. Each day brings with it something new to record.

The Bangladeshi Tourist Board has a slogan: Come to Bangladesh. Before the Tourists Do. I would hate to see what would happen to this country if a whole lot of tourists did come here. It is already so over-populated, polluted and falling apart. So far, I’ve seen people bathing in the village ponds which are also often the destination of the contents of the pipes from the village toilets; men urinating in the street “willy nilly” (pardon the pun); people throwing rubbish on the ground (there are very few rubbish bins here); cows walking the streets, eating said rubbish; various mountains of waste, often overflowing into the abovementioned ponds; a “road” being constructed out of nothing but tessellating bricks;… the list goes on. It’s difficult to imagine what effect more tourists would have on this country, given the reputation of tourists and the current environmental disasters that are happening here.

Despite all this negativity, there is so much for a tourist to see in Bangladesh. I have just returned from a weekend away in Sylhet in the north-eastern corner. Another youth ambassador (Will) has been living there for the past six months, so a few of us went to visit. Sylhet is rich, tea garden country. Many of the wealthy Bangladeshi businessmen living in London apparently come from Sylhet. It is a beautiful and varied part of the country. Highlights included a walk through the tea gardens at dusk; special fried wontons at the local Chinese restaurant; a BBQ at one of Will’s friend’s houses where I met a guy who is doing exactly the same job as me, so was able to get some good ideas; a trip to Jaflang, a beautiful river system where we took a ride on a little boat and watched all the locals at work; and a visit to the Indian border.

I was looking forward to going back to my quiet little village tomorrow, but Raju just phoned and said that he is sick, so we won’t be able to go back now until Tuesday. Will stay in crazy Dhaka and try to buy some things to make my room look a bit better, as well as taking advantage of the excellent broadband internet connection I have in this mansion-style apartment I’m staying in. My friend is house-sitting for someone who obviously has quite a lot of money and lives in the upmarket area of Gulshan.

In my village, everyone takes it pretty easy. I’m living in a teachers’ residence with three other teachers and the principal of a school, similar to a TAFE. My room is separated from the other four rooms, which allows me a little bit of privacy (but not much). We have a lovely lady who cooks and cleans for us and I’m in the process of gaining some excellent Bangladeshi cooking tips from her. Her name is Anju, and she calls me Apu, which means “sister”. I think that’s nice.

When I first arrived at Naora, Mr Haq, the Director of BACE said to Mr Hossein, the principal of the school, “She should want for nothing! If she needs anything, you must make sure she gets it. I don’t want to hear of any problems. If she has a problem, you need to endeavour to fix it as soon as possible.” “Wow!” I thought, “I’m really being taken care of”. Now I wish he hadn’t made such high demands, because every couple of hours, Mr Hossein says to me, “Any problem? If any problem, you make sure you’re frank and we can fix the problem. We like to make your life with no problem, so you tell me. Any problem?” and it’s driving me a little mad.

Work is very relaxed. Everyone has a job, but no one works very hard. I, like many of the other AYADs I’ve spoken to, pretty much have to create my own work, so I can make my working day as busy or as relaxed as I like. Mirja likes to make sure that I’m not working too hard. We drink lots of tea. Very sweet, but I’m getting used to it. Raju and I go out on the bike to visit the local schools. There are 25 that I will eventually have to see. So far I’ve seen about 7. I walk to work. Gradually the stares on the way turned into nods, which turned into smiles, which turned into hellos, which have now turned into “Asalam walekum! Kamon achen?”s! [Hello, how are you?]. It hasn’t taken long for my face to become familiar.

I go home for my lovely lunch that Anju cooks for me – rice, dhal, fish, vegetables. Sometimes chicken, but I’ve gone off them a bit. Chickens are bought fresh (live) from the market. You choose the one you want and they kill it and pluck it in front of you. It is difficult for me to eat an animal I’ve watched being killed. Luckily I haven’t had to do this very often.

After lunch I stay home and finish my working day preparing my upcoming training course on my computer. The people at work are totally fine with this. At 5.00, the teachers come home from school and we go for a walk around the village. Maybe to the market, or sometimes to the girls’ college down the road. The other day I went with Dolil (teacher) to visit the girls and we sat and chatted for a while. One of them started singing. It was the most beautiful moment. Everyone was quiet, and she had an amazing voice. When I left all the girls gave me a little poesy of flowers. There are two little kids who live down the road – Oishi (girl, 7) and Tasin (boy, 3). They have become my favourites. Will take photos of them to show you what I mean. Sweeties.

Every night the power goes out for a few hours. If there has been no afternoon storm to cool things down, it becomes unbearably hot during these times, because the fans switch off. We all light our candles and I can hear the teachers laughing and talking to each other in Bangla. Shorip usually starts practising his harmonium. I used to wander around the room, keeping watch for scary bugs, but I’ve gotten used to them a bit now. Now I practice my Bangla or stand outside watching the fireflies. The other night we went into Upsana’s (teacher, female) room and played cards. That was interesting.

I have a sit-down, flushing toilet and a shower! What luxury! Although I must say that the squat toilet thing is starting to grow on me. They are actually a lot more hygienic than the other sort, because you don’t have to touch anything, which is definitely a good thing. We had no electricity or running water for two days last week. I was tempted to bathe in the pond (a clean one – no sewerage pipes in this one), but felt it might be a little uncomfortable (and counter-productive) going in my shalwar kameez!

So after a lovely long weekend away and in Dhaka, I’m actually missing my little village. Looking forward to the quiet life again.

Hock a Loogie in Bangladesh.

I have seriously never heard so many people hocking loogies in my life. And it’s not even as if Bangladeshis eat all that much dairy. People here are hilarious. If they’re not hocking loogies they are burping or picking their nose or other such things that we “Bideshis” find completely socially unacceptable. I don’t know how I’m going to go with six months of loogie-hocking ahead of me. I was introduced today to a very important member of the Shahrasti political circle. Immediately after the introductions and formalities, the man who introduced us, my colleague Mr Raju, let out a massive burp and no-one even flinched! It’s interesting to think that, had I burst out laughing (which I very nearly did), it would have been me on the receiving end of the tut-tutting and head-shaking.

Perhaps the reason that I’m noticing all these disgusting bodily functions is because it is SO quiet here, so I can hear them all, even from a long way away. I was originally under the impression that I would be living in a small town of about 30,000 people. Well, in actual fact, I am living in a village of only about 2,000 people (which is tiny by Bangladeshi standards), and I’m surrounded by rice paddies, a few ponds, cows, goats, a few rickshaws and a surprising number of schools. Oh yeah. And THOUSANDS of loogies. Yuk.

It is so picturesque. The birds sound beautiful, and because it’s harvest time, there are lots of people working out in the fields. I walk to work (it only takes about five minutes) via a little path that winds through the rice fields. In the rainy season I won’t be able to do that, because they will be full of water.

My office is in a fairly sizeable but run-down building, and we have the most magnificent view from the balcony. As far as my project goes, I pretty much have to use my own initiative to create my own work, because Mirja and Raju have not been given exact instructions from the Director as to what I should do. They are, however, extremely enthusiastic about me and my work and are very supportive and have a huge amount of respect for me. Language is an issue, but both Mirja and Raju speak a little English, so between the three of us we can understand each other ok. My Bangla is progressing on a very steep learning curve.

Yesterday I had a discussion with Mirja and Raju. They asked me to tell them all about the teaching methods that I use in Australia and how these could help the schools here. This was an extremely weighted request, but fortunately I was able to give them some good ideas off the top of my head. I felt relieved when I saw them nodding their heads and smiling in agreement, although I lost them both when I got a little too carried away, and this was evidenced in part by Mirja falling asleep in his chair! (It was a long conversation.) Somehow, out of nowhere, I luckily and accidentally made a reference to the current textbooks that the village schools are using. I offered a simple suggestion and, I suppose because they could relate to the idea, their response was amazing. I doubt I would have received a better reaction if I had told them that the Bangladeshi cricket team had won the World Series (or something). In a mix of English and Bangla I hear: “Khub [very] interesting!!! Gilliand is good teaching method! [smiling and pointing,] Participatory Learning. Hæ [Yes].” They were so excited that they wanted me to begin training the teachers right away.

And the conversation just got better from then on.

[NB – “Gilliand” is not a misprint. That is what they call me. They started out by calling me “Kennedy”, so I don’t have the heart to correct them again. Besides, I probably pronounce their names wrong too. Additionally, the principal of the school where I live calls me “Miss Gillie”, which I think is quite cute.]

Bangers Installment No. 2

I had the opportunity to meet with my supervisor, Mirja,  the other day.  One thing is certain.  I am DEFINITELY going to have to learn Bangla, and I am DEFINITELY going to have major communication issues once I arrive in Shahrasti.  Having said that, the supervisor is a lovley man, who speaks some English, and he is as determined to brush up on his English skills as I am to learn Bangla.

After having a chat, we travelled to the BACE (Bangladesh Association for Community Education - the organisation I will be working for) "Head Office" in Dhaka.  This was an extremely bizarre experience.  The office was a very run-down and quite unfriendly looking place - dirty and dingy - something you might expect to see in the backstreets of Bangkok (or even Dhaka, as I discovered). I met Mr Azizul Haq, the director of BACE, whom I had spoken to on the phone in Australia.  He, unlike his office, was an extremely colourful character, 70-odd years of age, and he welcomed me with a lovely smile which put me right at ease.  We had a little chat (his English was better than Mirja's), and then he led me into a room with a huge table in it - a sort of board room, I suppose.  He sat me down at the head of the table, and as I looked up, I was horrified to see his entire staff - about 12 people - walking in behind me.  They sat down with expectation in their eyes.

Mr Haq asked me to give them a little speech about who I was and what I would be doing in Shahrasti.  I was hoping that my little speel would fool them, even though I, myself, really didn't have any idea of what I was going on about.  I was met with 12 blank expressions, which I discovered later were more a result of the language barrier as opposed to harsh judgment.  I was feeling a little uneasy.  Once I had finished, each staff member then introduced him or herself to me, stating their name and position in the office.  As lunch was served, Mr Haq asked his staff to ask me any questions they liked.  These included "Do you like Bangladesh?", "Have you ever been to Bangladesh before?" and "Are you married?", among others.  We ended up having a bit of a laugh, and the tension eventually eased.  I asked about whether there were any other "Bideshis" (westerners) in Shahrasti, and one of the men said that once, 25 years ago, there was a lady from England who came to Shahrasti, and she received a lot of attention, but, he said, that was probably because she was tall and fat and she stood out a lot.   

As I went to leave, I was handed some flowers, and the women came up to me and fixed my "orna" (the traditional scarf I was wearing).  One of them took my hand and commented about my white skin, saying, "It's so soft!".  A guard at the front door saluted me as I walked out.  I had a little giggle to myself as I got in the car to head back to the guesthouse.

It was such an unusual couple of hours, but I was so warmly welcomed by everyone that I left with a really positive feeling about everything.

I leave for Shahrasti on Saturday morning.  I will be travelling on the bus with Mirja, which is good, because we can practice our Bangla/English and hopefully he can help carry my (now, extremely full and heavy) suitcase.  I have bought a whole new wardrobe full of the traditional attire, although I have managed to find clothes that also have a little bit of "me" in them, so I don't feel completely uncomfortable.

I am off to the Australian Embassy tonight for Thursday Night Drinks (Friday is the weekend here).  It will be my first drink since the plane trip from Singapore, so you can imagine how that first beer is going to go down, especially in this heat!

 I had an interesting taste sensation today.  It's called "Paan" and it is beetle leaves filled with all sorts of interesting things, including perfume and spices and cherries and saffron and salt and honey and weird and colourful things, and to eat it, they wrap it up in foil and you have to put the WHOLE thing in your mouth (including the foil) to get the taste sensation.  It was so weird.

 

Hello from Bangladesh

It's really nice to be able to touch base with you all after my first few days in Dhaka.  I have had very little access to any sort of technology that would allow me to converse with anyone other than those in my immediate vicinity, but I suppose that is merely a sign of things to come.  As I write this, I am recharging the batteries for my laptop, camera and mobile on my new "multi plug" powerboard, which I bought today from the "Shop 'n' Save" around the corner.

I, along with my fellow youth ambassadors, was greeted at Dhaka airport by our lovely in-country manager, Badrul, a local man who is taking care of us at the moment.  We are staying at a gorgeous guesthouse, which is somewhat of an oasis from the mind-bogglingly crazy streets of Dhaka.  No amount of warning could have possibly prepared me for the complete and utter chaos that awaited me on the roads coming out of the airport, and there are no words that I could use that could possibly do it justice.  However, to give you some indiciation (without any exaggeration whatsoever), technically, traffic should flow on the left-hand side of the road, however in reality, it is basically whatever gets you there fastest.  The roads are completely packed with cars, trucks, buses, rickshaws, CMVs (auto-rickshaws) and baby-taxis (all tooting their horns and ringing their bells, not necessarily out of frustration, but merely to let other people know that they're there, so that they don't get hit), and pedestrians simply walking across the road without any warning.  The only advantage of such a traffic "system" is that the roads are so busy that no-one can really go very fast. Crossing the road is interesting.

As soon as we venture outside of our oasis, we are greeted with a thousand eyes staring at us.  I think it's quite amusing that we are as interesting to them as they are to us.  While I'm starting to get used to it all now, I have been feeling like I'm living in some sort of picture or movie, and am half expecting to walk around a corner into a place that feels normal again, with normal cars and buildings, etc. 

But I'm loving it.  I just keep smiling and laughing at the fact that I'm actually here. 

And the heat?  Well, as I sit at this computer, at 6.15pm, I can still feel the sweat rolling down my back, despite the fan over my head and the tiny breeze that wafts through the window every few minutes.  But that's all good too.  The oasis has air-conditioned rooms, so sleeping is not an issue.

My Bangla is coming along nicely.  I have learnt how to hail a rickshaw and give a few directions, although today I got mixed up and I said "Go straight" instead of "stop", but I had my friends to help, so that was good.

Today I found another oasis, which I am planning on escaping to at every possible moment whenever I come up to Dhaka.  The Mango Cafe.  It reminded me slightly of Bar Doppio in Alice Springs, where you feel like it's your kind of place and the music is great and the food is FANTASTIC.  I had a thai noodle soup and a banana frosty (kind of a banana/coffee/chocolate milkshake) there today.

There really is just so much to say, and I'm doing my best to take it all in.