Bengali whirlwind

I'm having trouble with the photos again, so I've put them at the beginning. The really long blog explains them:) 

This man is hand-weaving cloth. Can you see the other men peeking in to see me?

The persuasive cow owner is on the left!

At the morning money collection meeting

Me with the girl who insisted on picking me mangos

7-layer tea!

Bangladesh has not ceased to be a whirlwind for me. This past weekend I was invited by a BRAC volunteer (a British-Bengali who has been far too nice to all of us wee little interns) to visit his parents’ home in the Sylet district of Bangladesh. We left very  late at night to avoid the mass exodus of traffic from Dhaka on a Thursday night (the start of their weekend), so our van didn’t leave until 10:30 p.m. We arrived at about 3:30 a.m., and we were beyond delirious. The power was off (as usual) and all four of us ladies sweated profusely as we tried to fall asleep. His family treated us like kings and queens, and this experience really proved to me that Bengali hospitality is without parallel. They could not have been more welcoming or gracious. For breakfast they served us special vegetables, awesome flat bread, spicy noodle bowls, fruit, and special sweet desserts called mishti. It was ridiculous! It was warm outside that morning so two of his cousins even fanned us with hand fans. I t was too much. We quickly found out that “food” was the word of the day. We never stopped eating, and this, I came to find out, had really unfortunate effects on the tummy later. We literally had four full meals and couldn’t refuse any of them.

We started the day by  visiting a tea estate. What a treat! I have never been to an estate, and I was really surprised by how short, stocky, and robust tea plants are. Only the tops are a bright green, and this what the ladies pick for tea. Suhel arranged for a really nice man (I think he was related somehow) to take us around, and we walked in the sweltering heat, but we couldn’t handle it for too long, so we turned back. It was beautiful to experience the silence and beauty of the rolling hills. It was also nice to experience the fresh air after being in Dhaka for about a month now. The man touring us around didn’t say much, but he led us to his home and insisted that we sit in the parlor. I’m finding that most Bengali establishments and homes have a nice sitting room, and I kind of like this formality. Suhel had suggested that they serve us a light snack of fruits, but this turned into colas, the most amazing pineapple I’ve ever had, a mountain of french fries, roasted chicken and noodle bowls. I felt obligated to eat a little of everything because the food was beautiful and I questioned whether or not the family would have prepared such nice food for one of their own special occasions. I almost felt guilty taking such food from a seemingly humble family, so I think I ate even more than I should have to compensate.

We drove around for a bit in the Sylet region that day, and I was  impressed by its beauty. Sylet receives the most rain of all of Bangladesh, so it’s especially green, and it has many wonderful ponds that the children play in. It also has beautiful, vibrant green rice paddies. It was refreshing to see such healthy fields of rice, and the varying fields of green were impressive. It looked almost like a patchwork quilt. I enjoyed looking out the window and watching the women, beautifully wrapped in their saris, maneuver enormous bundles of hay and keep a few goats and cows in line. They seem so graceful in the fields. Then men, on the other hand,  toiled in the sun with huge oxen mixed the watery soil. I really wanted to stop the car and run through the paddies barefoot, but we had a special tea shop to go toJ

I insisted that we visit a tea shop listed in the Lonely Plant book (okay, okay, I know), but I’m really glad we did. It is famed for it’s 7-layer tea. When we arrived we saw that they had a whole menu, but I stuck with the classic. Apparently  nobody is allowed in the kitchen to see how this mysterious tea is made, but all I know is that when it came out there were seriously seven distinct layers. The varying densities of the different teas allows the layers to form, and I could clearly discern five (sorry, not a strong seven) flavors: cinnamon, ginger, sweet ginger, a red tea taste, and a super sweet layer. Yum. Suhel later invited us to his cousin’s house (but everyone here is called sister, brother and cousin, so I never know exactly how they’re related). I find this really interesting in fact. Because families are usually really close-knit and cousins more or less grow up with each other and are always in each other’s homes, it really doesn’t matter if they’re a cousin or a brother/sister. It’s all the sameJ In any case, Suhel’s generous offer to go to different homes in the day was extraordinarily special, and I think they enjoyed it a bit as well! The evening visit was really funny in fact because one of the little girls danced away for us and seriously knew all the music video moves to multiple songs even though she was only four (or nine, according together).

Sounds like a peachy experience in the midst of beauty and wonderful people, right? Yes, but then my body decided to reject one of the many things I ate that day. Needless to say, I have never been so sick in my life, and I will never take Immodium AD again; it’s useless. Note to self as well: when feeling nauseous do not take a van on bumpy village roads to a waterfall. It will result in multiple stops on the side of the road, extreme embarrassment, and the general feeling of death for five hours until you reach home again. Suhel arranged for me to see a doctor on the way back, and we stocked up on serious meds, but I tried not to take them all. All I really wanted was sleep!

His family was so wonderful that I wish I could have spent time with them in a healthy state. It was quite funny though because as I was trying to sleep a parade of women came in and started talking. I woke up thoroughly confused, and the dehydration, fever, and inability to speak Bangla didn’t help. I honestly could only smile so much before I decided that I didn’t care if for once I offended a few people (it was the extreme sickness in me talking), so I simply closed my eyes and played deadJ They got the hint and finally left, and he later told me that they didn’t realize that I was sick. They, like the rest of Bangladesh, just wanted to see the foreigner I suppose. Despite my sickness, Suhel’s family did manage to teach me a very popular Bengali game (kind of a mix of pool and air hockey), and I thought their system of putting flour on the board instead of a fancy air system to keep the puck slippery was ingenious. When I also felt a bit better I went to their backyard, which is really an understatement. I should say “back garden” because they have their own man-made pond that they fish from. The little cousin hopped in to scare the fish (he swears it works) while the older cousins used a huge net. 

We drove back to Dhaka, and there was something really refreshing about glancing out the car window down to a lake or pond with some water lilies and seeing an older woman or some children playing or bathing themselves. The Sylet district was my first exposure to the beauty of Bangladesh’s rural areas, and I’m itching to go back. Suhel had a flight to catch to London that evening, so we left in due time, but blame it on the sickness gods that the fan belt broke.  I actually thanked the gods that this did not happen the prior day in my extreme sickness, so I stayed put and waited while men tried to prove their worth with the car. One hour turned into two, which turned into more, and we continued to wait. I kind of liked sitting in the car and watching the people go by me in the window. It was fun to just observe people coming and going. What was most hilarious to me though was the insane number of people who managed to stop by the hood of the car in the time we were there. It’s not as if they can help either; they just stroll by and think, “oh, a problem, let me go stick my nose in it”. So they come over and look, stand with their arms crossed, and act like they’re doing something. Or they just simply stand there. Regardless, once they’re done being bored, they move on, and the next wave comes.

Suhel finally gave up on them and found another car to take us to Dhaka, so we hopped in, got gas, and were off. By the way, Bangladesh uses Compressed Natural Gas (CNG), which requires us to get out of the car when filling up to avoid being killed if the car blows up. Hmnnn. Just as we were filling up, however, the driver of the other car (the family car and trusted driver) called and said they had fixed the belt. We put our stuff back in the initial car and were off! The only problem was that he was short on time for his flight, so the driver thought it would be wise to take all back roads. Oh, silly driver. This meant a good hour of bat-out-of-hell driving and me trying not to hit my head on the roof during bumps in the road. (Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but it was intense.) We finally reached the airport, Suhel went in, and…Suhel came back out. He missed his 10: 30 p.m. flight! They were nice enough to drop me off at my residence extraordinaire, however, and I had a few hours to sleep, wash laundry by hand and get ready for a 7 a.m. pick-up for a three-day field visit with my supervisor.

Going to the field for BRAC work was an extremely humbling experience, and I think this trip had more of an impact than others because I was the only Westerner on the trip this time, and I was only accompanied by my supervisor and a (wonderful!) translator. I went to two areas (Pabna and Rajshahi), and again, it was calming to see all of the goats, ducks, chickens, and cows milling around and the people tending to their fields. We had the opportunity to meet with BRAC personnel in different divisions, and having the translator help me during my supervisor’s meeting was amazing. I noticed that I was extremely nervous to ask questions, however, and I think I am in general more shy that normal in these surroundings. I’m not quite sure why, but this needs to stop!

We met adult female leaders of the adolescent development program I am researching as well as staff that helps in the adolescent microfinance program. We asked about the kids of jobs the girls have in the region, and I definitely have my work cut out for me. We also had a chance to meet the girls themselves at some of their club meetings, and yet again I was painfully shy in these clubs! I think it’s a mix of not knowing Bangla and the feeling that every single move I make is being watched. Imagine 50 pairs of eyes on you (constantly). Visiting the clubs always throws me for a loop. I’ve been to three such meetings now. The girls are usually extremely shy and leap instantly to their feet when we address them or ask them their names. We immediately have to tell them it’s not necessary to stand whenever we speak to them. The club meetings usually take place twice a week from 4-6 p.m. and about 30 girls show up. We arrived at 5 pm and only two girls were there. Within 5 minutes, the whole village was packed into the schoolhouse, and it makes me wonder how much the girls actually go when visitors aren’t around. I tried to divide the girls in two groups informally so that I could have more one-on-one conversations, but inevitably the other group constantly looked over and tried to hear what I was asking. I’m also realizing that I can’t just pop into a village and expect to sit down, chat for 5 minutes and dive into questions. There are too many people gawking to see me; people even stand outside of the schoolhouse and look in from the windows! I have to admit, at first I kind of liked the celebrity effect, but now it’s wearing on me.

One striking observation I had involved the girls’ eagerness to work in handicrafts but their inability to find suitable markets and interest to sell their goods. One girl showed me a beautiful pillow cover she had made and a small shirt with painstaking detail. As I handled the fabric I marveled at her skill, and I naively asked her where she sells her creations. She laughed and said that everyone in the village knows how to do this work and nobody would buy it. I then asked her why she doesn’t send it to a market, and she said that she doesn’t know anybody who could take it for her. I started to inquire about this and found that some very savvy businessmen in Bangladesh have tapped into this rural handicraft labor pool in some villages; they go to the villages, distribute the cloth, sequins, and thread and come back to collect the goods and sell them in Dhaka for quadruple the price. The girls are merely used for cheap labor. I thought this was despicable at first, but my mind is slowly changing. What’s worse—a feeling of worthlessness and isolation from markets which leads to no productivity or being used for labor and not being paid fairly? These girls need to get their products to markets, and I’m not sure what had been done to help them. The linkage of labor and markets is so complex that different NGOs (including BRAC) are trying to solve this problem in a fair way, but only a handful of villages are being served. BRAC, for instance, has a retail chain called Aarong, which sells goods that are produced in certain villages, and the goods are sent to the main cities. The problem is that the quality standards are very high, and the reach is small.

The best experience I had on the trip was during a morning meeting to collect the girls’ weekly payment. There was a really persuasive and tough woman there among the big turnout, and she got laughter and fiery conversation going, so I was hooked. She was a rail of a woman, but I noticed how artfully she had tied her sari and how her smile seemed to light up her entire face. She let it be known that most girls went to school, which is a good indicator for me, and she tried to serve us water and mango, but due to my recent sickness I thought it best to decline.  Apparently I wasn’t getting out of these sans mango, so they figured that if I wouldn’t eat the mango they had so nicely cut up for me that I would just have to take whole mangoes, so a young girl sprung up into the mango tree we were sitting under and picked me two fresh mangos!

The pushy woman also was very proud to announce that she had acquired and now cares for 11 cows. I could see the cows, and one of them was honestly the biggest cows I have ever seen (and in Bangladesh many cows are quite skinny, so I was impressed). She asked me how I like them, but little did she know, one of my strange dreams is to milk a cow, so I really wanted to ask her. My supervisor thought I had gone completely mad, so she didn’t ask her, but I have promised myself that I will milk a cow before leaving Bangladesh!

Being in the field with BRAC also allows us the opportunity to stay at the BRAC Training and Resource Center (TARC) facilities, which is a gamble. Some are really nice and others not so nice. We had amazing luck, however, and the staff at one place in particular really made me smile. They immediately served us mango, tea, and crackers as soon as we walked in and insisted on treating us like royalty. There was this one particular man who made it his mission for the 24 hrs. I stayed at one TARC to make my stay perfect. It was so over the top that all I could do was laugh and constantly tell him to stop. I am eating with my right hand a-la Bengali, so it gets covered in food at the end of meals, so I like to wipe it with a napkin. This guy literally stood to my left during the entire meal waiting to hand me multiple napkins. On the way back to the room I told him everything I know in Bangla, which is a whopping five sentences, but one sentence is “I love mango”. This was a 10 p.m. mind you, and a half-hour later, he delivered three beautiful cups of mango to us! Then in the morning he saw us leave our room for breakfast and literally sprinted to the dining hall like his life depended on it to alert the troops that we were coming. Then he acted like nothing had happened and that he wasn’t panting. Too much.

During our time there we went to a mango market (yes!) because mangos are the particular specialty of the town, and you’d think I’d have a wonderful town strolling past countless humungous baskets of delicious mangos. Wrong. “Strolling” involves dodging careening buses with people literally hanging out windows, sidestepping rickshaws and motorbikes, averting TONS of piercing stares, wiping sweat off my arms from men bumping into me, and hopping over huge puddles of garbage. Combine all of this under 40 degree Celsius heat. As we were standing among the craziness at the mango bazaar my Bengali friend muttered “I wonder when Bangladesh will be a developed country?” and for some reason it made a strong impact on me and my way of thinking about my work here. I was surprised at my own thinking in fact. I realized I have been thinking that Bangladesh may never develop to first world standards. In fact, my fear is that the situation will only get worse as global warming worsens and as the 150 million- person country expands even more. Her comment has made me stop and think about my efforts, ambitions, and future work in development. I think I have been focusing too much on making the poverty more inhabitable rather than eradicating poverty. How many generations will it take to fully develop Bangladesh? Is this really attainable?

Another thing that really struck me was BRAC’s lack of Information Technology infrastructure. I am not a technologically adept person, but I could not believe that project managers seriously have to travel five hours to meet with another manager to exchange data. Why is there no inter-BRAC database? Why aren’t the spreadsheets of basic information online? It’s all about cost I think. So long as labor supply is in excess and people are comfortable with paper and pen methods, BRAC will not likely change its IT infrastructure. Wouldn’t it be amazing if a village girl could Skype with someone from the Dhaka office? We shall see.