Rambling and nearing the close
“Travelling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese
I thought I was on such a roll a couple months ago, sitting down regularly like clockwork, spitting out stories about where I live and how I live so that you can all experience it along with me... then to my horror I realized just how many weeks had passed since I had sent out an update and I can’t say that work is the only thing to blame. The thing is, over the past month and a half or so, we actually developed somewhat of a social life. I wouldn’t believe my eyes if I were reading these words in October but it’s surprisingly true. Our friend Ayesha, one of the dearest people we have met here, had invited us upon our very first meeting to her wedding which was a couple of weeks ago and it came with a mehendi, a nikaah, a reception, a waleema, a dinner at her parents’ house, an evening of matching and tying bangles together to give out as gifts to all the girls... well needless to say we became quite acquainted with her family and to some extent her circle. One night after a dinner at her house we (on the spur of the moment) decided to go to a party with an american volunteer who had also attended the dinner. It was then that we became acquainted with yet another lifestyle in Chittagong. The rich expat and Bangladeshi boys and their girlfriends. From far away we could hear the hip hop, smell the cigarettes... (if you closed your eyes you were at home but that freaked us out too much so we tried not to do it)... we couldn’t believe where we were. We couldn’t believe that despite all of this, there was a darwan at the gate and a million rickshaws at the bottom of the hill.
Anyways just to set the record straight, this abovementioned crowd has not become our social life, far from it... we’ve met lots of nice women (men are harder to become friends with here) in similar circles and we’ve decided to make the Expat Club a somewhat regular hang out on Thursday nights because they serve good food and play good music. Thus.. after all this plus figuring out our futures, finishing work assignments and having ice cream at our dvd rental place, we don’t often have a prolonged moment to sit in front of a computer and share with our friends at home...
It’s actually quite funny, this suddenly “not having time” business... although our hours are more filled with activities than a couple months ago when we would sit around our dining table, colour and draw pictures and rent the occasional Bollywood movie... now we have things to do and people to see.. we teach spoken English classes to local teachers, and we’ve taken up new hobbies such as reading books which we’ve had access to recently with our new British Council library membership, and my personal favourite has been to do the crossword everyday in the newspaper.
... But there is still something missing, and no matter how we try, say to improve our tasteless meals in the office with some parathas that we get from the dhaba nearby, or to stock up on sarees and buy earrings to keep us from missing our clothes at home, something is amiss. Maybe cause although I can’t complain too much about the weather, the nights are cold, we didn’t bring enough warm clothing and we have to boil water for our showers…
Petty things aside, the obvious reason is that we undeniably miss our families and friends so much, it’s wonderful yet painful all at the same time to receive emails because they’re coming from lightyears away. Another is that – as much as I sound like a petulant child on the verge of a tantrum – there is nothing to do here! And I mean just something simple that we would take for granted back home or even 200 miles away in Dhaka... you can’t just pop into a cinema and watch a movie.. you can’t grab some coworkers and get some food with them, you can’t even go into some restaurants alone if you’re only girls... you can’t go out and come home whenever without arguing with the darwan... you can hardly put on a pair of normal trousers and a shirt (with a shawl of course) because you’re feeling nostalgic, without a hundred pairs of eyes glued on you in the streets.. although that is still the case when we wear shalwar kameez, cause our appearances apparently scream foreigner.
At around 11 pm the gates outside are locked up and if we want to return later (from a wedding for example) we must ask for explicit permission. Not only is that gate locked up but also one inside, separating the apartments from the parking area. The first time I saw the big padlock on it, preventing us from leaving the premises, I felt very claustrophobic. Isn’t this a fire hazard of some sort? No wonder we sometimes feel trapped, you can’t make this stuff up!
Anyhow, I know all this sounds very negative... don’t get me wrong, I’m not bitter about it, and I’m not standing by the door with my bags packed ready to bolt.. I’ve grown to really love this country and its people and its culture and traditionalism. I think it’s fascinating that as I write this in our dining room I can hear the azan, and I think it’s the most beautiful sound. I love (and hate) how we bargain for everything here and how the rickshaw wallah sings as he rides along, how there’s always music playing and how, although I am a very obvious minority as a foreigner, at the same time I’m not because I have roots here (or near here anyway). I find it fascinating that most of the people here are not only Bangladeshi but Bengali also, their ethnicity, their language, their religion, are all congruous, like they’re from one family but there are millions of them, all within the same state. It’s the diametric opposite of home where all different colours are mixing and mingling amidst a sea of white faces..
Another thing I love about Bangladesh is the fierce pride that is evident in everyone’s eyes when speaking about their country, their language. This country has suffered through immeasurable atrocities to be where it is now, independent of Pakistan, independent of India, independent of the British. Free to speak their own language and co-exist peacefully and respectfully with all religions. To borrow a selection from my roommate and colleague Sehr’s blog, I think she explains it perfectly.
The Bangladeshis are so proud of their nation. An argument broke out between a CNG driver and his fellowmen on the roadside just as we got into his car. He apparently owed someone money to someone and all the other CNG drivers who were parked beside the road started to surround his car and join in the discussion, yelling and shouting. After 5 minutes of watching this dispute and becoming nervous that the verbal dispute would turn into a physical fight, the YPSA staff member who was beside us said to the lot of them: “Hey, these girls are foreigners; is this what you want them to think of your country!?” and just like that the dispute slowly subsided, people scattered, and we were on our merry way.
This is one of the few things I love about this place that I have called, temporarily, home. There are so many ups and downs, and I haven’t really been vocal about the downs. Although we complain amongst ourselves in the safety of our apartment, it’s like complaining about your hometown or your sibling, and then fiercely defending anything negative anyone else has to say about it/him/her. We have come across several people who have displayed a rather negative attitude about their situation here and if that’s the way they choose to deal with the adjustment then I feel sorry for them because what is the point in the end? I can’t complain too much because I chose to be here and I had decided to consider every moment to be an experience unlike any that I would have at home because that’s all living here is: different. In so many ways it’s better and in so many ways it’s worse, so it evens itself out to just being different. And I know that I couldn’t live here forever but I’m grateful that for six months I am able to witness and explore and experience what is unfamiliar to me, that I am welcomed with open arms into this most random and beautiful place on earth....
***
There are loads of pictures to catch up on.... here are some albums illustrating our visits in November to Sylhet, a district about 10 hours north of Chittagong with a gorgeous waterfall and tea gardens; to Cox’s Bazar where we searched for Buddhist temples and lazed on the very beautiful but very conservative beach; and Dhaka which made us think twice about where we were. Enjoy :)
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=190i8ygb.x9tth5z&x=0&y=21hlc7
(click on 'view photos without signing in" or "create an account later")
I thought I was on such a roll a couple months ago, sitting down regularly like clockwork, spitting out stories about where I live and how I live so that you can all experience it along with me... then to my horror I realized just how many weeks had passed since I had sent out an update and I can’t say that work is the only thing to blame. The thing is, over the past month and a half or so, we actually developed somewhat of a social life. I wouldn’t believe my eyes if I were reading these words in October but it’s surprisingly true. Our friend Ayesha, one of the dearest people we have met here, had invited us upon our very first meeting to her wedding which was a couple of weeks ago and it came with a mehendi, a nikaah, a reception, a waleema, a dinner at her parents’ house, an evening of matching and tying bangles together to give out as gifts to all the girls... well needless to say we became quite acquainted with her family and to some extent her circle. One night after a dinner at her house we (on the spur of the moment) decided to go to a party with an american volunteer who had also attended the dinner. It was then that we became acquainted with yet another lifestyle in Chittagong. The rich expat and Bangladeshi boys and their girlfriends. From far away we could hear the hip hop, smell the cigarettes... (if you closed your eyes you were at home but that freaked us out too much so we tried not to do it)... we couldn’t believe where we were. We couldn’t believe that despite all of this, there was a darwan at the gate and a million rickshaws at the bottom of the hill.
Anyways just to set the record straight, this abovementioned crowd has not become our social life, far from it... we’ve met lots of nice women (men are harder to become friends with here) in similar circles and we’ve decided to make the Expat Club a somewhat regular hang out on Thursday nights because they serve good food and play good music. Thus.. after all this plus figuring out our futures, finishing work assignments and having ice cream at our dvd rental place, we don’t often have a prolonged moment to sit in front of a computer and share with our friends at home...
It’s actually quite funny, this suddenly “not having time” business... although our hours are more filled with activities than a couple months ago when we would sit around our dining table, colour and draw pictures and rent the occasional Bollywood movie... now we have things to do and people to see.. we teach spoken English classes to local teachers, and we’ve taken up new hobbies such as reading books which we’ve had access to recently with our new British Council library membership, and my personal favourite has been to do the crossword everyday in the newspaper.
... But there is still something missing, and no matter how we try, say to improve our tasteless meals in the office with some parathas that we get from the dhaba nearby, or to stock up on sarees and buy earrings to keep us from missing our clothes at home, something is amiss. Maybe cause although I can’t complain too much about the weather, the nights are cold, we didn’t bring enough warm clothing and we have to boil water for our showers…
Petty things aside, the obvious reason is that we undeniably miss our families and friends so much, it’s wonderful yet painful all at the same time to receive emails because they’re coming from lightyears away. Another is that – as much as I sound like a petulant child on the verge of a tantrum – there is nothing to do here! And I mean just something simple that we would take for granted back home or even 200 miles away in Dhaka... you can’t just pop into a cinema and watch a movie.. you can’t grab some coworkers and get some food with them, you can’t even go into some restaurants alone if you’re only girls... you can’t go out and come home whenever without arguing with the darwan... you can hardly put on a pair of normal trousers and a shirt (with a shawl of course) because you’re feeling nostalgic, without a hundred pairs of eyes glued on you in the streets.. although that is still the case when we wear shalwar kameez, cause our appearances apparently scream foreigner.
At around 11 pm the gates outside are locked up and if we want to return later (from a wedding for example) we must ask for explicit permission. Not only is that gate locked up but also one inside, separating the apartments from the parking area. The first time I saw the big padlock on it, preventing us from leaving the premises, I felt very claustrophobic. Isn’t this a fire hazard of some sort? No wonder we sometimes feel trapped, you can’t make this stuff up!
Anyhow, I know all this sounds very negative... don’t get me wrong, I’m not bitter about it, and I’m not standing by the door with my bags packed ready to bolt.. I’ve grown to really love this country and its people and its culture and traditionalism. I think it’s fascinating that as I write this in our dining room I can hear the azan, and I think it’s the most beautiful sound. I love (and hate) how we bargain for everything here and how the rickshaw wallah sings as he rides along, how there’s always music playing and how, although I am a very obvious minority as a foreigner, at the same time I’m not because I have roots here (or near here anyway). I find it fascinating that most of the people here are not only Bangladeshi but Bengali also, their ethnicity, their language, their religion, are all congruous, like they’re from one family but there are millions of them, all within the same state. It’s the diametric opposite of home where all different colours are mixing and mingling amidst a sea of white faces..
Another thing I love about Bangladesh is the fierce pride that is evident in everyone’s eyes when speaking about their country, their language. This country has suffered through immeasurable atrocities to be where it is now, independent of Pakistan, independent of India, independent of the British. Free to speak their own language and co-exist peacefully and respectfully with all religions. To borrow a selection from my roommate and colleague Sehr’s blog, I think she explains it perfectly.
The Bangladeshis are so proud of their nation. An argument broke out between a CNG driver and his fellowmen on the roadside just as we got into his car. He apparently owed someone money to someone and all the other CNG drivers who were parked beside the road started to surround his car and join in the discussion, yelling and shouting. After 5 minutes of watching this dispute and becoming nervous that the verbal dispute would turn into a physical fight, the YPSA staff member who was beside us said to the lot of them: “Hey, these girls are foreigners; is this what you want them to think of your country!?” and just like that the dispute slowly subsided, people scattered, and we were on our merry way.
This is one of the few things I love about this place that I have called, temporarily, home. There are so many ups and downs, and I haven’t really been vocal about the downs. Although we complain amongst ourselves in the safety of our apartment, it’s like complaining about your hometown or your sibling, and then fiercely defending anything negative anyone else has to say about it/him/her. We have come across several people who have displayed a rather negative attitude about their situation here and if that’s the way they choose to deal with the adjustment then I feel sorry for them because what is the point in the end? I can’t complain too much because I chose to be here and I had decided to consider every moment to be an experience unlike any that I would have at home because that’s all living here is: different. In so many ways it’s better and in so many ways it’s worse, so it evens itself out to just being different. And I know that I couldn’t live here forever but I’m grateful that for six months I am able to witness and explore and experience what is unfamiliar to me, that I am welcomed with open arms into this most random and beautiful place on earth....
***
There are loads of pictures to catch up on.... here are some albums illustrating our visits in November to Sylhet, a district about 10 hours north of Chittagong with a gorgeous waterfall and tea gardens; to Cox’s Bazar where we searched for Buddhist temples and lazed on the very beautiful but very conservative beach; and Dhaka which made us think twice about where we were. Enjoy :)
http://www.kodakgallery.com/I.jsp?c=190i8ygb.x9tth5z&x=0&y=21hlc7
(click on 'view photos without signing in" or "create an account later")
posted by Salima :) at 5:45 a.m.
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