Final thoughts

I cannot believe the ridiculous amount of negotiating that goes on in Bangladesh. Just in the past 24 hours I have negotiated the price of the following items: multiple rickshaw rides, a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a suitcase, and roadside tee-shirts. I even found a way to negotiate my meeting time with Professor Mohammad Yunus. Yes, you read that correctly. I made the ultimate negotiation! (I was invited to meet him on Thursday but was going to be in Nepal so I will meet him Sunday). I have been trying all summer to speak with him, as he and Grameen Bank are Nobel prize winners, and I really admire the lifetime of work that he has dedicated to eradicating poverty in Bangladesh. The irony is that despite my incessant emails and phone calls to the Bank all summer, I will be meeting him on my final evening (and hours) in Bangladesh. I am anticipating our one-on-one meeting very much.

Interestingly, Grameen Bank is far better known than BRAC on the world scale. Perhaps this is because Dr. Yunus has a very charismatic personality and happens to have a Nobel prize behind his name. For whatever the reason it’s interesting that BRAC was actually formed before Grameen (early 70s), yet the world knows Dr. Yunus, and only Bangladeshis and very interested others know who Mr. Fazle Hasan Abed is.  I marvel at the differences in branding, notoriety, and media reach. I also question how much the drastic difference has to do with management and a concerted, continuous effort to attract media attention.

For this reason BRAC has finally published a book written by Ian Smillie. It’s titled Freedom From Want, and it chronicles the entire history of BRAC, its most important players, and programmatic evolution. I think it’s very interesting that the founder and the majority of heavy-hitting original program directors are still on board. I am fascinated by what will happen to BRAC once the senior management retires and how succession will affect BRAC’s mission.  Grameen and Yunus himself have published very famous books such as Banker to the Poor and Creating a World Without Poverty, but up until one month ago, BRAC had not. Therefore, BRAC staff is hoping that students and others worldwide will read this book, and I attended the official book-launching ceremony last week. Acclaimed Bengali writers, economists and professors were present, and I was interested by some of the critiques of the book.

The book highlights some commonly raised critiques of BRAC itself. For example, some claim that BRAC’s primary schools are substandard in quality. Yes, there are 38,000 schools nationwide serving millions of children, but many question the rigor and quality of what’s taking place within the schoolhouse. Therefore, some critics argued that spreading “generalizing substandard education is doing no child any favors.” Additionally, the BRAC/Grameen competition in Bangladesh was raised, yet many Bangladeshis refuse to cede that such a competition or tension exists. The point that interested me most, however, was BRAC’s relationship with the often-criticized Bengali government. One scholar at the book launch said that there is a “peculiar tension between the state and the third sector” that is involved in a “clandestine state of cold war”. Both parties share a common goal to promote development that is serviceable to all, but constructing bridges between institutions has proven very difficult. He also said that the because Dr. Yunus and Mr. Abed are so well-known within Bangladesh and to varying degrees abroad, the government should use these great men as ambassadors around the world because they have access to kings, presidents and other influential world leaders. Instead, the Bengali government maintains a cold, calculated distance from the organizations when it has great potential to more creatively integrate these NGOs and MFIs into the development process.

I have tried very hard to understand how adolescent girls maneuver and are treated in Bangladesh, but I have realized that I need much more than one summer to do so. In the past two months I have sat in the offices of CEOs and Presidents, the floors of mud huts, the beds of many girls and mothers, overheated city buses and many a rickshaw and buggy in order to learn about the realities of life for young girls in Bangladesh. In this process I have also come to learn an incredible deal about myself and how I react to new, difficult, and often challenging situations.

I had the opportunity to speak with a very eager group of high school interns last week at BRAC, and I was interested in the questions they had for me. One girl asked me if I had plans to come back to Asia to work in the future, and prior to coming this summer I would have likely said “no” with unwavering certainty because my interest has always been Latin America. However, I took a pause and reflected on my answer. Bangladesh has introduced me to living in a Muslim Asian country, and I’ve found that while wearing multiple layers of clothing in the summer heat isn’t fun, it’s manageable. And even though I don’t speak much Bangla I can manage on my own. At the end of the day, poverty is a gripping need all over the world, and while the door to Asia for me is not swinging wide open, it has been cracked; if given a wonderful and meaningful opportunity to work in the region again, I think I would take it. 

I will miss the amazing curries and naan, mangos, women beautifully dressed in saris, rickshaw rides, trying to communicate in Bangla and laughing a lot while doing so, seeing lush rice paddies, interviewing the girls, interacting with the two beautiful maids at the house, being the only girl working out at the Bengali gym, thinking of new ideas for the project, seeing goats and cows on the side of the street, observing children playing and making toys out of very common materials, passing impromptu tea stalls with men crowded around, and being exposed to at least one new thing every day. Things I will not miss, however, include: the most insane traffic I have ever experienced, pollution, sellers attempting to charge me outrageous prices all the time, not being able to go out unaccompanied in the evenings, men spitting (and more) in every which direction, beggars and particularly child beggars who make me want to cry, and incessant sweating during daily power outages.

Bangladeshis on the whole have been a very curious people. The all typically ask me my country, and they are very eager to know how I like Bangladesh. I usually say that I like some parts and not others, and they never cease to ask me to elaborate on the parts I don’t like, but I just smile and say that Banglaesh is “khub shundur” or very beautiful. It is a gorgeous country, but it lacks development and infrastructure in some areas like I have never seen. I will jump for joy the day that BRAC has an interconnected internet network among all of its branch offices so that its staff doesn’t have to travel across the country to manually fill out spreadsheets of information. I will also jump for joy the day that “ready made garment” workers are paid a fair wage. (Note: the U.S. is the largest importer of Bengali-made garments, so I challenge you to do research on where your clothes come from when you buy them.)

Now that I am leaving in a few days a common question is “When will you come back to Bangladesh?”, and I hesitate to answer because the reality is probably never. Undoubtedly I have enjoyed my stay here but for reasons completely different from past travel. I feel as though I have better understood human suffering on this trip. I have talked to girls who no longer go to school because their brothers and fathers squander money. I have met women whose lives have been shattered by poverty. I have traveled the country on a research hunt only to be reminded that the wonderful young girl who works in the house I’m staying in, Parveen, is only 17 and has been working for the family for years. She has largely skipped any semblance of a childhood and is very busy ironing the beautiful saris of the 18 year-old daughter of the house who will soon start university study in America. Parveen only finished grade 5. Seeing the sadness in her eyes disturbs me, yet what shakes my core is that at 17 she is sending money home to her parents to live, and this existence is actually a blessing of sorts for her. What is her alternative? Living in a tin shack with nine brothers and sisters and parents who do not make money. There is a very strong part of me that would love to have someone iron her sari for a day.

I thank the wonderful, hospitable people of Bangladesh for my enlightening and growing experience. I’ve been stretched to dimensions I never thought possible. I would again like to thank Harvard University and Nancy Klavans for their generous support in this adventure, which enabled exposure to and learning from a world I’ve never known. To my readers, thank you for keeping up with my blogs! I hope you’ve enjoyed, and I apologize for my lengthy entries. Brevity has never been my strong point, but I hope through my descriptions you have come to see the beauty, struggles, and potential of this diverse country. 

The Queen of Awkward

I have been put in a ridiculous number of special, yet incredibly awkward events in the past week, but before I dive in I thought I’d mention a wonderful meeting I had with the U.S. Ambassador to Bangladesh, James Moriarty. I have (thankfully) never been to a U.S. embassy while traveling abroad before (as this would signal a lost passport, etc.), but given my interest in foreign service and development careers, I persisted and asked for an appointment with the Ambassador. This was apparently uncommon, but the Ambassador liked the idea, so he contacted Grameen Bank and asked that they send all of their interns as well, which meant so long, private meeting, hello press conference! Regardless, it was a wonderful opportunity to ask questions about U.S./Bangladesh relations, his career path as an ambassador in Asian countries, and his insights concerning the future of Bangladesh. They were also nice enough to host us for a lunch with entry-level professionals, and I was beyond elated to have an American lunch (spaghetti!).

The next day I went back to the U.S. embassy because I had questions for USAID, the development agency of the U.S. Government. I am particularly interested in working for them in Latin America, and I enjoyed meeting with their gender expert. Because my project at BRAC centers around adolescent girls I had targeted questions about USAID’s involvement in adolescent development programs in Bangladesh. I was surprised to learn that there are in fact no direct programs for girls, and the assumption is that the girls will be adequately served as a by-product of USAID’s nutrition and other programs. I think this is something all too common. Girls are not necessarily being lifted out of poverty by learning about healthy nutrition. They need targeted, specific interventions, and they cannot be treated under the “womenandchildren” (yes, one word) bubble.

This past week was interesting in that I had experiences at the (cold) institutional level and also in a Bangladeshi home. I was fortunate enough to be invited to my boyfriend’s best friend’s engagement ceremony and party in Dhaka. His friend is Bengali, and they have been friends since grade school. I had been looking forward to this event before I even arrived in Dhaka, and it was nothing less that what I had anticipated. It was a particularly interesting situation for me to be in, for the wedding is quasi-arranged, I don’t know the family terribly well, and it’s quite rare for such a traditional process (i.e. Western Bengali returns to Bangladesh for his bride and has all of his ceremonies here) to take place. His grandmother, nanu, introduced the two of them, about a year ago, and next summer they will marry here in Dhaka. I don’t even know where to begin in explaining my observations because it’s an experience that was completely saturated with rarities, new experiences and extreme awkwardness.

The night before the engagement I was invited to the grandmother’s home for an exchanging of gifts. It’s customary for the groom’s family to send family members to the bride’s house to deliver the sari she will wear for the engagement along with a ridiculous amount of mishti (sweets) for the family. The mishti are fried dough balls soaked in honey/sugar water, and they are the sweetest things I have ever eaten. (I am also not permitted to eat just one.) Additionally, the bride’s family drives over and delivers the man’s outfit (in this case he decided to wear a suit and not a traditional Punjabi tunic) along with more sweets. I arrived and was ushered into a massive amount of people laughing, talking and eating a delicious array of food (with their right hands of course). Something I find very funny here is how people use beds here as additional seating space. There were fewer than ten people on the bed eating dinner.

Zuhair’s family is incredibly fun, and one of his uncles thought that having a quiet family dinner just wouldn’t do, so earlier in the day he went out a hired a Bengali band that apparently is famous in London with the Bengali community. They had beautiful voices and many members of the family also sang (many of the girls are trained), and it was beautiful.

The next day was the ceremony, but given our 3 a.m. bedtime, the stirring didn’t start until noon. I loved how so many people slept over at the grandmother’s house. Aunts, uncle, cousins, etc. all got up and couldn’t get enough of each other. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen so much love under one roof before. They didn’t have to be busy doing activities; they were content to just be with each other, and oftentimes they would all pile onto the family bed and squish to fit everyone. As there were many people and only one dining table (and two cooks), there was an unspoken rule of shifts of eating. As one group finished the other group would form at the table until everyone had eaten.

I don’t think the idea of nuclear family exists in Bangladesh. Both of Zuhair’s parents have multiple brothers and sisters, but I don’t think it would make much difference should someone be an only child. First cousins are seen as being siblings oftentimes, as many families live on separate floors of the same house. Additionally, the Bengali language is very rich in familial terms. There is no general word for “aunt” or “uncle”; instead, relational terms are very specific (i.e. “mother’s sister” or “father’s mother”) so that there is no ambiguity when describing someone.

Engagements are typically a close family affair, but because there were 200 invitees to this event, it closely resembled a wedding to me. In order to prepare for the event I went to a Bengali salon with Zuhair’s little sister and cousin to get our hair done (a.k.a. teased like in the 80’s and cemented with the stickiest hairspray known to man). The best part was wearing a sari for the first time, and one of the ladies at the salon intricately folded the seemingly endless piece of bright pink silk that surrounded me. (I have the most beautiful photos, but there seems to be a problem with my computer, so I hope to have them up soon.)

We got back to the house ready to go, but to my surprise, the majority of the family still wasn’t ready yet. Apparently it is customary for Bengalis to lounge around all day and then act as if a crisis has hit when it’s time to go. I observed the screaming and high tensions as 15+ people tried to get ready, but I smiled, as this happens in most families I think☺

The party was at the Sheraton hotel, and as soon as we arrived I found myself in a beautiful sea of saris and traditional dress. There is yet another exchange of mishti sweets at this event as well, and I was asked to carry a tray of sweets to place before the altar Zuahir and his bride would sit at. As I entered the room I saw the most incredible altar imaginable. It was nothing short of divine. For Bengali wedding ceremonies the bride and groom sit at the front of the room on this stage-like structure (which I think would be quite uncomfortable), and it was decorated with a dizzying array of beautiful white orchids, gladiolas, crysanthemums, etc. There were also soft golden lights hanging behind them and backlighting that lifted the stage into a heavenly glow. I have never seen anything like it, although those around me confirmed that similar arrangements are at most similar ceremonies.

The ceremony was remarkable, and it truly was a coming together of two families like I have never experienced. Both sides gave short speeches (although the grandma was unstoppable once the microphone was put in her hand), and the heartfelt and sincere love floating around was wonderful. Zuhair and his sister also made a hilarious movie/slideshow of the couple coming together in the past year, and it had the invitees in stitches. After the speeches and comments came what I’ve termed the “Parade of Jewelry”. Special friends and family approached the stage one by one and gifted the bride and groom with beautiful gold necklaces, bracelets, watches, etc. I later asked about Islam’s ruling on gold, however, because I thought that Muslims weren’t supposed to wear much gold. It turns out that there is a law or general understanding that you are not supposed to wear more than a certain amount (2.5 grams?), which I find interesting. During this gift ceremony I noticed that Zuhair and Mariam (bride to be) would kneel down to the guest’s feet, touch their shoes, and bring both hands to their chest two times. It was confusing to me because it appeared to be a form of extreme respect, and some guests allowed them to perform the motion, and others nearly wrestled them to the floor while grabbing their arms to disallow it. Apparently some people are very uncomfortable with the practice and think that the couple adequately demonstrate their respect in other ways.

On the way home in the van, one of Zuhair’s 10-year old cousins asked me a question out of the blue that took me aback. He said, “Um, Lauren, don’t you feel, um, well, awkward with all of this stuff?” I indeed had felt incredibly awkward at the event, and appreciated his understanding. Leave it to 10-year olds I suppose. I asked him to explain what he meant and he said, “Well, everyone around you is different, you don’t speak Bangla, the food is different, and you are trying to wear the special clothes but you say you keep tripping”. I laughed. This child was way too perceptive. I found his question really refreshing, and the whole way home we talked about courage to try new things and what he could do to help people feel better when they feel awkward. I had found a new friend by the end of the night. In fact, as he left with his family (3 a.m.), he turned to me and said, “okay, you’re valid” and gave me a hug for the first time. I laughed again.

Zuhair and his family had beat us back to the house, and when I walked into the room, I noticed that he was laying on the bed falling asleep, but the most endearing part was that he was holding his grandmother’s hand. As if the day hadn’t been long enough, the family still sat with each other and chatted until 3 a.m. The prior night I had slept with two other people in the same bed, but that night there were even more people, so we slept five in the same bed! Personal space does not exist in this country. People would rather sleep under the mosquito net together than sleep on the couch by themselves. I don’t quite get it.

This experience made an amazing impression on me, and I feel so honored and thankful to have been included in it at such a personal level. I think my idea of love, togetherness, and family support has been deepened, if not somewhat changed. After seeing a scrapbook Zuhair’s little sister painstakingly made for her future sister in law (complete with personal bios and fun, quirky facts about everyone in the family) I agreed with the final quote she included: “There is only one thing in excess in this family, and that is love.”

Give the girls a chance

I experienced a very humbling and rewarding two days in the field this week, and I often found myself smiling while marveling at the opportunities for ground-level interaction that had been laid before me. I interviewed many people from a village called Dhamrai. It was an exhausting process that involved a really sweaty bus ride there (gasp! public transportation is not for foreigners, let alone women!) and hours and hours of interviewing through my tireless translator, Galiba, a spunky 3^rd year student at BRAC University who has really impressed me. Not many young women would do the translation work she is doing for multiple reasons (time spent away from home, the grit of the field, disobeying her mother to perform a typically male-dominated role). Galiba and I, along with a BRAC staff member, hit the road on rickshaws and interviewed multiple adolescent girls (both married and unmarried), shop-owners, community leaders, etc.  in an effort for me to identify the viable markets for income-generating activities for the girls. Sometimes I found myself sitting inside of a tin-wall hut with mud floors. Other times I was at a formal desk or sitting inside of a shop, and I politely accepted many a cup of very sweet tea. (I still cannot seem to sit cross-legged very well.) On the whole our interviewees were beyond gracious and inviting. They provided information about their shops, their friends’ livelihoods, etc., but it was really hard for me to probe into subtleties. I think it’s only human nature for people to report the good and gloss over the bad.

I enjoy interviewing the girls because their stories never cease to surprise me. One girl told me that “she might be 18” (she’s either lying or doesn’t know because she wasn’t issued a birth certificate) and works at a garment factory one hour outside of her town. She goes at dawn with the other ladies from the village and earns 3,000 taka, less than $50 a month for her work. Another girl’s father died in the army and she said that she can’t even remember his face in a very matter-of-fact way without a shred of sadness in her voice. Another girl is studying in university. Another girl married into an extremely wealthy family and just comes to the girls’ club for socialization. All is not perfect in her life, however, as her niece accompanied her, and the little girl has severely misshapen hands and feet and is severely disabled both mentally and physically. Some girls have completed grade 10, others have only reached grade 2 even though they are the same age.

By and large, the girls do not realize the amazing skills they possess. They embroider and sew with mastery, and one girl even insisted that she show me a dress that she worked on for a year. I later asked if we could take a group picture, and she insisted that she wear her orange masterpiece in the photo (see above picture).

I really wonder about what incentive these girls have to learn and advance themselves. Their mothers tend to work at home rearing chickens, ducks, and maybe cows. They are often uneducated because families tend to be large; not all children can attend school. I was particularly saddened when I sat with a group of 20 girls and asked them to individually close their eyes and think of a successful woman they know in their community. Nobody could seem to come up with an example. Then I asked them to think of any woman they know or have heard about regardless of where she might live. Only one girl raised her hand, and she told me that her aunt works for Grameen Bank and is able to use a computer.

These girls lack access. They need institutional and personal connectors to have even the slightest chance of success, and I am feeling more inspired and frustrated every day that I am with them.

During my trips into the market I stumbled upon a really interesting Hindu festival. Bangladesh is primarily Muslim, but there is a strong Hindu minority here, and they were celebrating in the streets with painted faces, statues and flowers. I know that there have been many clashes between the two groups, and I have read a book by Taslima Nasrin, a famous author who was issued a fatwa for her writings about the religious conflict. It was nice to see such a vibrant community thriving, and I was taken aback by how differently the people dressed and adorned themselves. Interestingly, dress itself is a modern source of tension. Most Bangladeshi women wear saris, which tend to reveal a lot of skin in the midsection. I commented on this to a Muslim friend here because I found this custom contradictory to the very conservative tunic and baggy pants ensemble I wear every day. She laughed and agreed that the saris are revealing. She blamed their presence in Bangladesh on the Indian influence and opined that Bangladesh isn’t really religious. Not religious?!! How is that possible when I hear the call to prayer five times a day and I observe women washing their feet every day in the bathroom so that they can pray? I thought her comment to be extremely interesting and provoked a lot of consideration. She seemed to lament Dhaka’s modernity and praised the rural villages and Bangladeshis who live abroad and, in her opinion, are often more observant than those who live here.

I also had an interesting experience today because I visited the “American Club” in Dhaka. I had heard a lot about it, but I was not ready for the perfect tennis courts, basketball courts, gym, pub, and multiple restaurants that I saw when I entered. I realized that I had never been to an expat club before. I have to admit that the ability to run in shorts and order lemonade and a chocolate chip cookie later was amazing and much needed at my half-way point of being here. I saw them assembling a huge red, white, and blue tent, and it took me a while to realize that 4^th of July was the day after! I missed yet another 4^th of July, but I hope you all enjoyed.