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.