The Rickshaw Wallah Blues

One topic of conversation that almost never fails to come up when a group of newish expats get together is the appropriate price of a rickshaw ride, and tips on how to effectively haggle with the wallah (make the first offer; be willing to walk away; wait until the ride is over, hand them what you think it should cost, don't make eye contact etc). There is no question that foreigners are charged at much higher rates than the locals, and this seems to really bother certain people for both moral and financial reasons. Some see it as more of a game, that they "win" by paying near local prices. 

The guidebooks even offer their own differing perspectives. After giving general negotiating tips (i.e. find out what a reasonable price is, stick to your guns and walk away if necessary ) Brandt says:  "Do remember that most of these hard-working wallahs can stretch Tk10 much further than you can..." Fodors (talking about India, but same concept) offers the following tip: "Don't bargain too aggressively -- These guys pedal hard for a living, and many are kindly old gentleman." I won't even bother to open up Lonely Planet to see what it has to say, since it is the worst guidebook ever written. (One of the reviews on Amazon is written by me.)

It probably comes as no surprise that I subscribe to the Fodors view of things. I pay at least Tk50 for almost every ride (an exception was when he got lost and took me in a circle and I ended up farther away from where I needed to go than when I started) and if the driver really breaks a sweat I give him Tk100. For those of you not up on your taka to dollar conversion rate (approx. 70 to 1) that amounts to about  $.70 and $1.42 respectively. I actually think my philosophy is more like the anti-Brandt. At the end of the day I have a weekly stipend in American dollars that allows me to live a very comfortable lifestyle (which says more about the cost of living here than the amount of my stipend). I think nothing of spending hundreds of takas on dinner or even on an iced frappuccino. Rickshaw wallahs are incredibly poor, the vast majority are illiterate, many come from surrounding nearby villages and most likely live in the slums of Dhaka (which has been described as nearly Medieval  conditions). Yeah they can stretch Tk10 further than I can, because they have to. The grossness of Brandt's philosophy is it seems to assume that all other things are equal. OK -- if you find me a westerner here who is making anywhere near the equivalent of what a rickshaw wallah makes then they are more than welcome to do all the negotiating they want. Anyone being paid in Euros, Pounds or Dollars is, very likely, not in this situation.


Not surprisingly, my philosophy on this has garnered some pushback. Some feel that it causes the wallahs to think they have to rely on foreigners to get by (perhaps true -- but way bigger problem than a single rickshaw ride). Some think it causes them to target foreigners (definitely true, but not going away ever, unless there is somehow an influx of poor westerners to Bangladesh). Others are just not swayed by the argument that Tk10 means a lot more to the wallah. I had this discussion with Jack (the husky Christian college kids who gets more stares than I do wherever he goes) and he had my absolute favorite retort: "I guess I'm just hard-hearted about it. I mean you kind of have to be hard-hearted if you are 300lbs and riding a rickshaw."

and yet Another Interesting Thing

Today BNP, the opposition party, has called a nationwide hartal or strike. This used to be a more  common occurrence, but has not been done in 3 1/2 years, (partly because there was a state of emergency declared for 2007-2008 and a military caretaker government was in control, and protests were made illegal). The last hartal occurred in 2006 and was led by the Awami League (the current party in power) against BNP.
Today's hartal is evidence of the increasing tensions (always simmering just below the surface in the best of circumstances) between the two parties. This article does a good job of summarizing BNP's public demands, and this a more behind-the-scenes glimpse.
Everyone is a little on edge, as these have a history of turning violent. Generally the hartal stays out of Gulshan / Baridhara / Banani and as there is an increased police / military presence in this area as to prevent any foreigners / embassies getting swept up in the possible violence. (I guess this is something both sides agree would be bad for the country.) But even so, everyone says to stay home just in case.

To give you an idea of how I'm coping, I'm currently watching Superman 4 on HBO India. It's at the part where Superman and Clark Kent go on a double date with Lois Lane and Mariel Hemingway. Hilarious hijinks ensue.

A Very Long Afternoon

I am currently sitting in my apartment, the rain is pouring, Ayub is in the kitchen, and Mr. Dhar has decided to stay here all afternoon. At first I was kind of glad to see him, as I am normally gone during the day, so I haven't run into him at all. We talked about the world cup of course, and I asked him some questions about the other people that live in this building (a Korean family, 4 Japanese families and an Indian family). Ayub made pancakes for lunch, so Mr. Dhar joined us. Now he is just sitting here. Occasionally I try to make small talk but it doesn't really go anywhere. Although he was very interested in asking me how much money I will make after I graduate.

Lunch Out

Friday I met up with Nafisa (who I had been put in contact with by a law school friend) who's parents are Bangladeshi, but grew up in Columbus Ohio, did a Fullbright here after college, met a Bangladeshi guy, fell in love, got married, went back with him to America, is getting her PhD at Berkely but is here for the summer doing some research into NGOs and microlending. I met her and her husband, Sumon, for lunch in Banani. This meant I had to take a rickshaw from Gulshan 1 (where my office is) to the neigboring area. As luck would have it, Nafisa called me on my cell right as I had flagged down a rickshaw wallah, and so she was able to direct him (which if I had tried would invariably have ended in disaster).

While Nafisa was speaking to the rickshaw wallah, an old woman approached me with her hands outstretched. Normally, as I have written about many times, I don't tend to give money to beggars, but because she was by herself (so I didn't have to worry about being swarmed by other beggars) and I happened to have some small bills easily accessible I decided to give her 10 taka. I handed her the bill and proceeded to get on the rickshaw. She said, what I thought was expressing gratitude, but then to my surprise handed me back the money. She pointed to her arm said the words “operation” and then said “100 taka” (all in English). I was taken aback, and handed her the 10 taka again. She grabbed my hand and kept saying “Madam 100 taka,” The rickshaw driver yelled at her to leave me alone, and I had to wrench my arm free of her and motion for him to start pedaling, and she tried to follow. This is definitely the last time I will ever give money to a beggar. I will probably continue to buy the children little treats, if the opportunity presents itself, but this experience was just so disturbing, that I do not want it repeated.

Besides the rather traumatizing start, the rickshaw ride itself was rather nice. There are 2 bridges between Gulshan and Banani (as they are separated by a lake). Before this I had only taken the northern bridge as it is much closer to my apartment. The southern one is more modern, and provides a much more scenic journey. Although using the word “scenic” here can be slightly misleading. The lake looked nice, the kids jumping into the lake from the side of the bridge were adorable, and the bridge itself was very fine piece of engineering, but (of course there was going to be a but) it also goes right by the Karail slum where about 15,000 Bangladeshis live in abject poverty, sandwiched between two of the most affluent areas in the city. As you reach the Banani side of the lake, Karail is to your left, and a nice, guarded apartment complex is to your right. The houses are open air shacks, packed right next to each other, and many sit on stilts above the lake. There were naked children hanging out near the entrance to Karail, and they all seemed like they were having a fun time. We smiled at each other as I drove by and one them waved at me. (Disclaimer: I didn't take the above picture, just found it on the internet.) 
I think in some ways I am coming to terms with all of this, in the sense that I just am realizing that there is no way to come to terms with it really. I can spend my time here sad, miserable, and most importantly very guilty or I can accept it as part of life (regardless of right or wrong or whatever) and take as much of it in as I can without judgment. This is so much more easier said than done obviously, but it is something I really am trying to work on.
Anyway, I met Nafisa and Sumon at Coffee World. We also happpend to run into J.R. (the grad student from Tufts I had met last week) and so he joined us as well. Nafisa and Sumon were both incredibly nice and both really interesting. JR told us about the field visit he had been on this past week to very rural towns in Bangladesh. Some of the people he met told him that he was the first foreigner they had ever seen. When he went to a market he would attract about 100 people following him, and touching him. It sounds like it was a pretty incredible experience.
Today I had planned to finally do some sightseeing, and yet of course it has rained all day so I am stuck at home.

Expats Expats Everywhere

Thursday night I went to Ciara's birthday party (Ciara is the Irish girl working on her dissertation on Bangladesh's transgendered community). I knew it was going to be a potluck type thing, but had no idea that it would actually turn into a real party. I asked Ayub to make us some dishes to bring, and he of course did a great job – yummy fried shrimp and fried rice. (Both were huge hits.)

We arrived, unsure if we were at the right apartment. A British girl named Zoe opened the door and confirmed that yes, it was Misha and Ciara's place. Ciara and Misha were still getting ready so we waited in the living room with Zoe, and 2 Bangladehis that Ciara knew through her research. They were both hijras, one was dressed as a woman,. The other was dressed more like what we think of as more typical urban gay man style (tight jeans, and a stylish tight, light-pink fitted vneck tshirt – would definitely have fit in on Seattle's Capitol Hill). Zoe told us that she had just gotten to Bangladesh today and was working for the same organization that Ciara was using to do her research. Zoe was originally from Oxford but had lived in London for the past few years.

After about 15 minutes Misha and Ciara joined us and more guests started to arrive. These included Naium, who is the first Bangladeshi Kenyan I've ever met. His parents are from here but his Dad works for the UN so he grew up in Nairobi, then went to the University of Syracuse, and is now working for the UN on climate change stuff. I liked him right away because after he told me what his job was, I said that it sounded really interesting, and he said it sounds much more interesting than it is, and that he spends most of his time in meetings that don't really go anywhere. It was a nice change of pace to hear someone honestly describe their job instead of trying to make it sound fancier or more important (which I think is very common especially with 20-somethings working in the NGO field). Tom who is a songwriter from NY here with his girlfriend, Lindy, who is on a Fulbright scholarship. Emma, an English lawyer working on human trafficking issues, Tibo (not sure of the spelling) a French naval engineer not sure exactly what he is doing here, but when his stint here is over wants to sail back to France by himself. Amy, an American spending her second summer here, not sure exactly what she is doing but she really likes Bangladesh, and really hates America. There were quite a few more people but I didn't get to meet everyone.

Here are some of the better parts of the night: 

• The French guy being a little snotty about Americans, so in return me being a little snotty about the French football team. 
• Watching one of the hijras (I never learned her name) do a really cool dance for all of us, first to Kylie, then with a little Shakira waka waka thrown in.
•  Being at a party that was so good that it got broken up by the landlord, who lives in London(!)
• Staying out late and being able to give people a ride back, (we paid our driver overtime to stay out late).
• Hearing about the "Tesco Girls" who are from what I gathered, designers of some sort for Tesco and who have made a name for themselves by walking around Dhaka always wearing very short skirts.

 All in all an awesome night. Reminded me a bit of Prague. It also felt really nice to start to get plugged into the expat community.

Normalizing?

NASA once did an experiment in which they had astronauts wear convex goggles that inverted their vision (meaning up became down, down became up) at all times. This obviously caused extreme disorientation for awhile, but by about a month into the experiment the astronauts had gotten used to it, and this new down-up, up-down world was normal. This anecdote (a cursory google search turned up no concrete information about it) is used by many self-help gurus to illustrate how we can always change what we view as "normal."

I think this is what has finally happened to me (about a month in too). Bangladesh no longer seems completely foreign and bizarre. I no longer feel the urge to document everything I see as evidence of what felt like an alien world. Like this morning, I took a rickshaw by myself, the driver totally misunderstood me and ended up taking me in a big circle. While on the rickshaw I saw numerous sights that would have previously been a shock to the system (2 men w/ about 40 dead chickens in the baskets on their head, people having a picnic on the sidewalk, toddlers sleeping on piles of dirt on the side of the road) but that now just seemed like another day in Dhaka.

Starting to Settle (in)

Believe it or not, but I am getting very close to the halfway mark. Tomorrow I will have been here for 4 weeks, and will have a little over a month left.
I am so happy I decided to keep a blog, because my perceptions of Bangladesh keep changing (practically every day) and it will be nice when this whole experience is over to remember how I felt at various points throughout my stay.

Yesterday I went to the Indian Embassy to try and get a tourist visa. The guidebooks and expat websites are filled with horror stories about how difficult this can be from here, so I was prepared for the worst. It opened its doors at 9, and I arrived by 9:10. The bottom floor already completely filled with a huge number of people. I prepared for at least a few hours wait. (Afterward Sayed told me that people will spend the night outside the embassy with the hopes of getting to the front of the line.) As I headed towards the back of the line one of the guards stopped me and asked what I needed. I told him I wanted a tourist visa. He told me to go to the 3rd floor. I headed up the stairs (and on each stairway was a pot of flowers with an aromatic incense stick burning) and found the foreigners visa office. I had to wait for about 5 minutes before they showed me into a private office. (This is just another ridiculous example of how much better white people are treated pretty much automatically.) The guy asked me when I was planning on going to India, and I told him I wanted to leave at the end of July. He told me that I needed to come back 10 days before I'm going to leave and he will give me one then. I asked him numerous times if I would for sure be able to get one, and he said yes, that it would be "no problem." I'm not sure how it works in India (maybe someone can clue me in), but after being here a month whenever I hear the words "no problem" a red flag immediately goes up, and I brace myself for a very big problem. (Like when Mr. Dhar tells me it will be no problem to fix my ceiling, which still has not been done.) Right now I am operating under the assumption that my visa will be good to go...

Later that night, Alizeh picked Charlie and I up and we headed to the American Club to meet her friend Misha (a different Misha than the one with Dengue fever from Cornell). He is a member and was able to sign all of us in as guests. This meant we got to eat pizza, nachos, buffalo wings and drink alcohol. It ended up being a really fun night, and makes me even more annoyed that our application is taking so long. I also ended up meeting a girl who's parents are from here, but who grew up in L.A. and was so excited when she found out I went to Michigan Law. She told me it was her dream school. (Don't worry my fellow Wolverines, I said only positive things about Michigan, but did caution her to think long and hard about law school itself.)

Because no blog entry would be complete without an extreme juxtaposition between my life as an American expat and the complete and utter poverty that fills Dhaka (noticing a trend?) on the way back the streets were filled with many beggars pounding on windows of the car. In particular the most gut-wrenching was a little boy who was pushing his very disabled mother in some sort of cart and both of them crying out for money.Thinking about it now honestly brings tears to my eyes.

The Birth of Bangladesh

Yesterday I went to the Liberation War Museum with Charlie, Eshanthi and 2 new American friends Ravid, who was born in Connecticut but who's parents are Bangladeshi and is here for a year as an R.A. for a few professors, and J.R, who is originally from Cleveland, lived in China for a few years and is now getting his Masters in International Relations at Tufts and is doing a summer internship with Grameen. Eshanthi randomly knew both of them through a friend of a friend, and invited them to join us.

Here is my oversimplified Cliff's Notes version of how Bangladesh became Bangladesh and what the Liberation War was all about: 
Before 1747:  Ruled by various Buddhist, Hindu and Muslim Kings (in that order).
1747 --> 1947: Ruled first by the British East Indian Company then by the British Crown in what is known as the British Raj. Famine racked the country at various points, millions of people died. (The British Raj extends over the entirety of the Indian subcontinent).
1947-1971: The British leave (for various reasons) but before leaving have to divide up the area into new countries. They basically decide to put all the Hindus in India, and all the Muslims in Pakistan. To complicate things, the area that is now known as Bangladesh is comprised of Muslim Bengalis. (There are also Hindu Bengalis who live in the Indian state of West Bengal right across the border.) Instead of keeping all Bengalis together, they decided that Muslim Bengalis should be a part of Pakistan. This area becomes East Pakistan.
A map shows how crazy this made things.

To complicate things further, Pakistan and East Pakistan speak different languages (Urdu and Bangla respectively) are comprised of completely different ethnicities and completely different economies. Pakistan decides the best way to handle these differences is to force the Bengalis to become more like their Western Countrymen. Urdu becomes the state language and Bangla is banned.
In 1970 Sheikh Mujib (a Bengali) wins the election for Prime Minister (over all of Pakistan) the powers that be arrest him and refuse to recognize the election. The Bengalis declare independence and a very bloody war is fought. Millions of people die and millions other become refugees. George Harrison and Ravi Shankar hold The Concert for Bangladesh raising awareness in the West of the atrocities that were being committed. India joins the fight (against Pakistan) and Pakistan loses. Bangladesh is formed in 1971. Many consider it to be the worst genocide since WWII.
The Liberation War Museum basically tells the above story in a very compelling way with tons of heartbreaking pictures and artifacts. It served as a good reminder for me about how young Bangladesh is, and how violent it's birth was.

After the museum all five of us had dinner at the apartment. Everyone was incredibly impressed with Ayub's cooking and couldn't believe how lucky we were to eat so well. They also couldn't believe how great our AC was, and that it stays on when the generator is on, which none of them had ever seen in a residence. We all had a really great time, and hopefully we will all hang out again.

"Very difficult, Bangladesh people. No good."

The above quote is from everyone's favorite Bangladeshi landlord, Mr. Dhar. He was in and out of the apartment even more in the past few days as the leak in my bathroom finally got bad enough (the foam ceiling tile above my shower actually caved in, luckily while I wasn't in the shower at the time) that he realized he needed to fix it. I have no idea how many people work at this apartment complex, as whenever there is a problem there is always an assortment of new faces that will come to try and fix it.  I guess Mr. Dhar was annoyed with a few of the workers and felt like they weren't doing a good job causing him to mutter this statement.

Earlier in the day he had stopped by 2 times to hang out I guess, even when Ayub told him that Charlie's boss was here, going over stuff.
This is one of the worst parts of having a problem with the bathroom, every time I go to his office to tell him something like, "Hey Mr. Dhar my ceiling just collapsed" he takes that as an opportunity to come and sit with us for at least 20 minutes as he sends his workers to go check it out. 

Ayub was very annoyed with Mr. Dhar all day, mainly over the leak situation. He kept going to his office to try and find him and tell him he needs to fix it. Of course, when you want to find Mr. Dhar he is nowhere to be seen. Ayub said that he also spends a lot of time with the Koreans that live in the building. When I asked Ayub if he thought it would ever get fixed he said, "that man, she no care, she just want to talk and talk." (Ayub sometimes mixes up "she" and "he" and always makes me laugh when he is talking about Mr. Dhar."

The above-quote is also evidence of another trend that I've noticed among a few Bangladeshis, that they absolutely hate their fellow Bangladeshis. Sayed has never said a good word about them. Mr. Dhar thinks they're terrible. Ayub is always worried that any interaction we have a Bangladeshi will result in us getting robbed. I'm not sure if they tell us this because they think it is what we want to hear, or if it is how they truly feel. Either way it is very sad and makes me a bit uncomfortable.

Friday night and I find myself Watching Soccer with a group of College Kids

America was playing Slovenia in the World Cup on Friday night, so Charlie had arranged for us to meet up with some of the people he has met through church to watch the game. (As one can imagine there aren't a whole lot of church services here, he is attending an Assembly of God service at the Westin of all places.)

We met them at The Bench, a kind of sports bar type place sans any alcohol of course, but with 2 large flat-screen televisions. Jack, the kid who had invited Charlie, is a very husky, (I would guess 6'5" about 300lbs)  former football player, life of the party type. He told us how wherever he goes Bangladeshis have a habit of laughing and pointing at him. (Bangladeshis are small.) On occasion a complete stranger has come up to him and said, "You are very fat. Why?" He was taken aback and responded, "I guess because I stopped playing football, but didn't stop eating like I did." Another time a completely different person came up to him and said "You are very fat. You must be very healthy." In some sense being larger is a status symbol. Prostitutes even take the same kind of steroids that farmers use to fatten up their cattle, because Bangladeshi men like bigger women.  From what I have gathered this doesn't hold true for the Bangladeshi elite, as many of them have lived in Europe or the U.S. and thus subscribe to the skinnier the better viewpoint.

Jack is from Kansas, but the rest of his group are from the University of Colorado. They are here with some sort of Christian group that is does a cultural exchange every summer. Hanging out with a group of 18-21 year-olds made me feel old. Like really old. One of the guys I talked to named Ryan told me how when he and his friends were here last summer the CNGs (AKA auto-rickshaws AKA baby taxis) did not have little gated doors like they do now. Ryan and his friends developed a game where they would get points while riding in the CNG for everything they touched outside. I was horrified, and was like "but that is sooooo dangerous!" Not only would I never dare to stick my hand outside of the CNG, I almost completely refuse to take them (following the advice of the U.S. State Department I might add). I guess if I want to make myself feel better I can recognize that I have always been extremely risk-averse and cautious, and it has nothing to do with age. I have just always been boring!

A second group of students from Oklahoma, who were also with the same Christian exchange,  joined as about half an hour after we got there. They had just arrived in Bangladesh yesterday, and had that dazed, slightly panicked expression, very familiar from my first few days here. I chatted with one of the girls, and tried to explain that although things here will never seem exactly normal they won't seem to be completely insane after a few days.

The "bar" was about half-full. We were the only Americans, and the rest were upper-class Bangladeshis in their early 20s, who eyed us bemusedly as we enthusiastically cheered on the U.S. The boys all wore typical Western clothes, and the girls were in their fancy, designer, silk salwar-kameez. Mosquitoes filled the air, and so the waiters, after awhile, thought it would be a good idea to spray the entire restaurant with insect repellent (all the doors and windows were closed). I for one was fully in support of this decision, mosquito bites are irritating now, the cancer that may develop from the inhalation of chemicals is at least a few years away.

I couldn't help but be amused at the situation I found myself in. Back home, I can't even imagine in what realm of possibility a scenario that would result with me hanging out with a group of Christian college kids watching soccer (not that I have anything against Christian college kids). Here, it was definitely an above average way to spend a Friday night. 

Some Thoughts on The World Cup

For about 95% of my life I am extremely oblivious when it comes to sports, which makes it kind of odd how obsessed I get about certain sporting events. This includes the baseball playoffs, the Olympics (both summer and winter) and now the World Cup.
Last World Cup I was in Prague, and didn't have a TV so only saw a few games when I happened to be at the beer garden (which had a big screen). It was exciting to be involved as Prague is such an international city that the night of the final (which was France v. Italy) there were tons of people from both countries all decked out in their national colors. I didn't really care about the games as much as the atmosphere.
This time it is totally different. Much of this probably stems from the fact that there isn't really a whole lot else going on here at night, and that it is the number one topic of conversation but I am OBSESSED. I have seen almost every game (I only tend to miss the last game of the night, as it comes on here at 11:50pm, way too late for a week night). I am becoming aware of all the developing story lines, shocks and upsets (like Spain v. Switzerland the other night, which was crazy, or poor Nigeria being down to 10 players and losing to Greece). I can't wait for each new round of games.
One thing that is kind of funny about the "World" Cup is that although Asia has about 60% of the world's population, the only Asian teams are Japan, South Korea and the People's Democratic Republic of Korea (AKA North Korea, and quite possibly the most misleading country name ever). Asian giants like China, India, Indonesia and Bangladesh (which believe it or not has 160 million people, which makes it the 7th largest country in the world) are totally absent. In fact less than 25% of the world's population is represented by the 32 teams in the tournament. Europe makes up about 11% of the world's population and represents 40% of the teams.  The funny thing is, judging by Bangladesh, and from what I have read about India nobody seems to care. People here just pick a team (Argentina or Brazil) and go just as crazy for them as they would if Bangladesh was in the finals. (I'm not kidding -- when Argentina was playing last night, from my apartment, I could hear the roars on the street every time they scored a goal.) The other day at the office Ruksana (Argentina) and Anindita (Brazil) got into as heated a discussion as a Yankee and Red Sox fan would.

I'll admit it as well, I've definitely jumped on the Argentinian bandwagon.

Feeling Better

After a lot of sleep, medicine, and 3 glasses of fresh coconut juice (which Ayub insisted was the best cure to settle my stomach) I feel A LOT better today.

The power situation here is getting more and more dire. In most part of the city it is on for an hour then off for an hour. I am incredibly lucky that both my apartment and office have a very good generator that even powers the AC. Mr. Dhar came by yesterday to complain about how expensive the electric bill was going to be, and said that he had a very good idea for us (as if he were letting us in on some brilliant insight) that we should not use the AC so much.

Nothing much else to write about. Hopefully I'll get to do some sightseeing this weekend.

Inevitable

I'm sick. I knew it was just a matter of time, as it is impossible to be too careful here. I think it may have been the sandwich I had at lunch yesterday, although the place looked fairly fancy.

I also had an array of really weird dreams. The weirdest being the one where I woke up and Dhaka was covered in snow that went up to the the roof.

A look at the weather forecast is also not very promising. A week of rain and thunderstorms.

"You are Very Brave for Coming Here"

Yesterday I had made plans to go to the Bangladesh Independent Garment Worker Union Federation (BIGUF) office in Mirpur in the late afternoon to get to sit in on their lawyer doing what basically amounts to client intake. This meant I had the morning and early afternoon free, which first of all meant I slept in until 10 for the first time since being here. Ayub thought this was pretty hilarious, and couldn't believe I had slept so late.

Mr. Dhar came by a little bit later. He at least didn't have any eggs for Ayub to fry this time. We chatted about the World Cup for a bit (which is like the very best topic of conversation ever, everyone here watches it and has all sorts of opinions about it). He then went in the kitchen and said it smelled very good. I reiterated (for the 20th time) that Ayub was a good cook, and he responded, "I know." I told him that when we leave he needs to tell the people that move into our apartment that they should hire Ayub, and he said, "I know, I know." He then told me that his wife is a very good cook, listed all the dishes that she prepares and told me how much all the ingredients cost at the market. Ayub asked him when he was going to fix the ceiling in my bathroom which is still leaking every time it rains) and Mr. Dhar gave a typically evasive answer, which in my mind means it is never getting fixed.

I wanted to get some exercise (to try and work off all the carbs I am eating) so Charlie and I decided to walk to one of the parks (not the one that has a "lake" and piles of dirt). I brought my camera, and took tons of pictures, which I now realize is the surest way to draw even more attention to myself than usual. We passed by a group of teenage boys, who immediately asked me to take their picture.

This picture should erase any doubts that middle class teenagers are indeed the same all over the world. The only difference is that in America there is no way they would be so affectionate. Although women and men are not really allowed to touch in public, men are very affectionate with each other, and often walk down the streets holding hands.

I'm not sure if it was the camera, or my new bright pink scarf, but for some reason today was the day where I felt the most conspicuous since I've been here (which is saying a lot since I always feel like I stand out). Every single person we passed just stared at me, and the if there were a group of men one would for sure yell out, "how are you?" It is not flattering, just uncomfortable.

The park was actually very nice, much better than I was expecting, and the lake actually had water in it. For Dhaka, it was relatively peaceful.

After reading all about schistosomiasis in my guidebook, my stomach definitely tightened as I watched the kids from across the lake swim around in it carefree. While I was taking pictures of the lake, another group of teenage boys sitting near me asked me to take their picture.

Then another guy, who looked in his late teens / early 20s,  who was sitting by himself nearby askedm "what about me?" So I took his picture as well.
He came over to chat with us, totally puzzled as to why we would leave America to come here. We talked about Obama (which after the World Cup is the best topic of conversation, everyone loves him) and he said how he had a lot of respect for him. He said he was against all war, and that he viewed everyone as equal. He also told me that I was very brave to come here, especially since it was a Muslim country. This made me worried as my mind first went to the Jewish place, but I quickly realized he was talking about the fact I was a woman.

After hanging out in the park a bit longer, we headed to Gulshan 2 circle to find some of these mosquito killers that you plug into the wall. (I was on a mission to find these after hearing that Misha had been diagnosed with Dengue fever.) On the way we were followed by a shirtless, and barefoot little boy, begging for money. He followed us nearly the entire way and then waited outside the grocery store. I could see him the entire time through the glass doors, on occasion chatting with the door guard. Every time he caught my eye he would give me an adorable grin. Only the most unfeeling person in the world could have resisted this. I made up my mind that instead of giving him money I would buy him a treat, finally deciding on a Popsicle. When we went out I opened the paper wrapper and gave it to him. His eyes got big and his little face lit up and he gave me the most genuine, toothiest, smile ever, and wandered away, definitely enjoying it. I think this was easily one of my most favorite moments. I could  ruin it by over analyzing it to death, and feeling guilty, and apologizing, but I think I just want to leave it, as a really nice shared moment for both me and the little kid.

After the popsicle encounter, we set out to look for a coffee shop that was supposedly in Gulshan 2. It was on the second floor of one of the buildings, but all the stairs we tried were dead ends. Out of nowhere a guy somehow knew exactly what we were looking for and led us to the stairs (which were on the other side of the building, and which we would have never found.) Today was simply filled with an abundance of positive interactions between me and the Bangladeshis much to my delight. The coffee shop was really great. Less modern than the one from the weekend, but had more character and was much more artsy. It featured lots of interesting photographs on the wall and antique style furniture. Definitely one of the better places I have found. It even has a balcony filled with tables, although one would have to go there pretty late in the day for sitting outside to be at all feasible.

After getting back from the coffee shop I left for my office to pick up Nasim who was going to accompany me to the BIGUF office. On the way there the driver, Sayed, complained to me about Ayub as he blamed him for me taking the keys yesterday. I tried to placate him and told him it was a misunderstanding and that is how we do things in America. (I mean I always take the keys away from my chauffeur back home, don't you?) By the time we got to the office I think things were OK between us. Dealing with the squabbling of my driver and cook is something I thought I would only experience by watching movies like Gosford Park, never first hand.

The drive to Mirpur was interesting as I got to talk with Nasim about the labor movement and garment industry. I also got to see where the Prime Minister lives, and the Parliament, which is a really cool looking building designed by Louis Kahn. It was also nice just getting out of Gulshan. I can now see why Gulshan is considered the "posh" area of the city, as the rest of it is much more crowded, crazy and dirty.

On the way there, per usual, beggars banged on my window asking for money. One of them was a particularly insistent boy in his early teens who kept repeating something. I asked Nasim what he was saying, and he told me, that there was a particular reason I should not be giving money to this boy, as the word he kept repeating over and over again was "auntie" which is a term of respect given to older women. 

The BIGUF office was on the third floor of a very old and dingy building. It was not air-conditioned and was very stuffy. I was introduced to their lawyer, Salim. I really enjoyed being here as Nasim made a point of translating for me what everyone in the office was talking about.

I also got to sit in on one of Salim's client intake sessions, and he attempted to translate for me. He met with 2 young women (they couldn't have been older than 22) who had been illegally fired by their employer and then denied their legally required benefits (of one months wages). One of the girls had earned tk2800 per month (about $40.00) and the other tk3500(about $50.00). They both worked at least 50 hours a week, usually much more. One of them was very upset. Her eyes were red from crying, and she clutched a kleenex the entire time. Neither of them wanted to go back to that factory, but they both wanted the one month of pay that they are owed by law.
Once Salim meets with a worker, he sends a letter to the factory owner. They always attempt to negotiate and settle before filling with the court. Most  cases are settled.

On the way back it was just me and Sayed, and he turned out to be very chatty. With traffic it took about 45 minutes to get back and he definitely did not have a lack of things to talk about. I learned that he hates Bangladeshis, Koreans and the Chinese. He likes Americans, Canadians and the English. He especially like the English because his former boss was English and treated him and his family very well. He doesn't like the current PM Sheikh Hasina, preferring the opposition, although he feels the government here is just hopelessly corrupt. He also told me a bit about his family, he has 3 daughters and 1 son. He was happy to stop having kids after his first two daughters were born, but his wife wanted to have a son. He apologized that his English wasn't very good, and I gave my standard, "It's better than my Bangla" which he thought was funny.

All in all it ended up being a very good day.

Sometimes I Feel like I am a Character in a Bangladeshi Sitcom

This morning Mr. Dhar (our landlord) stopped Ayub (our cook) on the way to our apartment (which is on the ground floor right next to his office) and gave him 2 eggs, and 2 pieces of bread and told Ayub to make him an egg sandwich. Ayub always complies, and then laughs about it afterward. He says Mr. Dhar never even says thank you.
Mr. Dhar stops by about 3 times a day. Since the World Cup started he is very tired because the last game of the night starts at 11:50 and he stays up to watch them. Since he's so tired he now comes in, sits in one of our chairs and falls asleep. When he is not sleeping he is talking about something or the other, he is very eager to give advice.
We now have a driver and private car for the rest of our time here. Our driver's name is Sayed. He seems nice, although his English is a bit hard to understand. Mr. Dhar and Ayub are constantly giving us advice about what we need to do (like make sure and take the keys at the end of the evening etc. which I did, and which was super awkward of course). The driver was confused as to why I was asking for them and then asked Ayub (in Bengali) if Ayub had told me to ask for them. Ayub responded,"I don't tell Madam what to do." (Ayub told me this afterward. Also, he calls me "Madam" and Charlie "Sir" even though we have told him to call us by our names, but he doesn't.) Later in the evening the car owner came by. I understood about 10% of what he said, but he told us we have to always give the driver the keys. Neither of us understood why, as supposedly the car stays here when we aren't using it, but yet again it is best not to argue about this stuff.

Ayub is also a funny character. He is very sweet, and has a good sense of humor. I am very worried that I am going to gain a ton of weight being here because his cooking is so good, and if we don't finish our plate he asks us, "no good, you no like?" I have never felt so much pressure to clean my plate, as I don't want to hurt his feelings.

I Find a Coffee Shop and am Very Happy About It

I spent a few hours in Banani (the neighboring area) on Saturday, and found a very air-conditioned, nicely decorated, comfortable coffee shop with wi-fi. This basically made my week.
Friday night and Saturday night I also got to try some new restaurants including a Korean and Mexican one. Normally I only eat out on Fridays as it is my cook's day off, but Saturday he told me that it was his wife's birthday, so we made up a story about meeting a friend for dinner and gave him the night off so he could celebrate with her. The Korean food was better than the Mexican food (which was really spicy, but in an Indian / Bangladeshi way as opposed to a Mexican way, and that was kind of strange) but I really liked the decor of El Toro better as it kind actually felt like a an American Mexican restaurant, and had a nice big screen tv which was playing the South Korea v. Greece game.

Speaking of which 2 days into the World Cup and I have watched 4 of the 5 games (I missed the France v. Uruguay one). I even stayed up until 2 last night to watch the U.S. vs. England match, although fell asleep during the last 5 minutes.

3 Days in Chittagong

Going to Chittagong earlier this week was the first time I have left Dhaka since arriving here a little over 2 weeks ago. (Also the first time I have left the diplomatic area of Gulshan, Baridhara and Banani).

This was also my first experience flying out of the Dhaka airport. The departures are about as organized as the arrivals were. Security was almost non-existent. To put things in perspective, I went through stricter security going to the Washtenaw County court house in Michigan. The airline was United Airways. (Not to be confused of course with a certain other airline that sounds just slightly similar.)

The plane was small, holding only about 40 people and was one of those with twin jet propellers. Much to my amusement the flight attendant gave a demonstration about wearing seat belts, and everyone on the plane buckled up, although this never happens, ever, in cars.

Now, I am definitely a huge believer in cultural sensitivity, and do believe to a certain extent in cultural relativism (only to a degree of course, I draw the line at cultural norms being used to excuse violence or abuse). I also feel that as a foreigner in another country it is my job to adjust my behavior and expectations not the other way around. (Meaning I wear a scarf across my chest as is the custom, and would wear one around my head if required, I don't shake hands with men unless they make the gesture first etc.) Where I am having the hardest time with this is when it comes to safety issues. In particular things like not wearing seat-belts, or buses that don't stop at the actual bus stops instead people jump on and off while it is still moving. I don't understand why things are done like this. I guess it took a long time for seat-belt use to become common in America... Government education campaigns etc. But still...

The Chittagong airport was surprisingly modern and pretty clean. Much less chaotic than Dhaka's. We were picked up in a nice air conditioned car and taken to the hotel which was about a 30 minute drive. Chittagong sits on the Bay of Bengal, and it is one of the largest seaports in South Asia. The road from the airport to the city passes by a few of the docks, and I could see some of the ships being built. Fort the first time since being here I also saw sparkling water (not quite blue but almost). Chittagong is also much greener than Dhaka (which isn't hard) and there is fairly lush trees lining many of the roads. The road also took us through what looked kind of like crowded villages, but I 'm not sure what they were. The shops and houses that lined the street were all open air. There were piles of dirt in between many, in which children were playing (a small group were crouched on the ground playing marbles). One thing I am confused about (and it confuses me in Dhaka too) is that it seems every store sells the same thing, bread and chips and maybe candy. There is such an abundance of them I have no idea how they stay in business. (I thought the same exact thing in the Dubai mall, oddly enough, although there it was because of a surplus of designer clothing stores for children, just a slight difference.) Some of the shops do sell different things like chickens (not plucked or anything, just lined up in a row on the ground in front of the store) or meat (a few slabs hanging from hooks).

A small brook ran under the road at one point, and the scene of the woman washing her clothes in the water would have been much more picturesque if there had not been garbage strewn around the surrounding area.

We arrived at the hotel, The Saint Martin, which was actually pretty nice. Very old, and nothing really fancy, but clean and very decent. My room had a cheetah print bed spread and cheetah print curtains covering the entire wall facing the outside, and a red velvet couch and chair.

I had breakfast with one of the women from the office named Anindita (I felt bad because the three women took a train down last night that didn't arrive until midnight). She had already eaten but felt bad for me and didn't want me to have to eat alone. We talked about the office, and her kids, and the time she spent in Chicago. 

After breakfast I had an hour or so to recharge in my room, and then I went with 2 other women to one of the Solidarity Center's Office in Chittagong. There are 2 offices, one focuses on the EPZ zones, one focuses on the shrimp industry. We went to the shrimp one. It was another 30 minute or so ride. Traffic here is just as terrible and scary as Dhaka. I honestly have no idea as to where I I was  in the city at any point. It is such a strange feeling to be do dependent on other people for everything. (I consider myself a very resourceful and independent person, and I have never felt as helpless as I do here. It's a very weird feeling.) We arrived at the office which is on the second floor of a fairly rundown and dingy building. Monira, woman who runs it sat down and talked to me for awhile and told me about all the stuff they are doing here. Mainly it consists of training with regards to worker's rights, legal aid and negotiations. The training usually takes the entire day so the Solidarity Center provides transportation, meals and the wages that the worker lost by coming to training. The vast majority of factory workers are illiterate and completely uneducated. Most have no idea that there are any laws at all that protect them. They simply do not know that they have the right to organize, or that there are safety requirements, and maximum hours etc. Most of the training centers around simply informing them of their legal rights. They also provide free legal aid, and training with regards to how to negotiate contracts, and talk to employers etc. The work they are doing is so important, and necessary. It is such a luxury of being a comfortable Westerner to think that the workers here do not deserve to make enough money to basically survive. It really bothers me that so many people are just so comfortable with having poor people in the developing world bare the brunt of globalization, as if this is an inevitable consequence and not the result of specific choices that have been made by corporations, governments (of both the developed and developing world) and consumers.

The reason for my visit to Chittagong is that the Solidarity Center holds what it calls stakeholder meetings for various industries in different parts of the country, in which workers, union leaders, factory managers and owners, and government officials are invited to attend. The first one was regarding the seafood processing industry which is Bangladesh's second largest export industry, and a major one around Chittagong as it is on the Bay of Bengal. There were 30 people in attendance, and actually a surprising (to me) number of factory managers. Unionizaton in the seafood industry is very new, especially in Chittagong. There has been greater success in Khulna (which is is in the SW part of the country) so one of the union leaders from there was invited to discuss the goings on there. I have to admit that I didn't understand much of it as Ruxanna and Anindita, 2 women who work at the Gulshan office, took turns translating for me.

By far the most interesting moment was when a factory manager gave a long speech (which involved him standing up and making a lot of gestures) about how the workers problems were more social in nature than economic. He said that all of our time would be much better spent trying to solve their problems at home (such as men leaving their wives) than worrying their right to organize. He specifically talked a lot about female workers, and his tone was completely patronizing. This really angered many of the women at the Solidarity Center, especially Lily who is on of the Program Directors and has a PhD in this area. She was moderating so she had to really watch her words, but afterward told me if she hadn't been moderating she would of really let him have it. Many of the woman spoke about how women workers need to be treated the same as men, and not judged for having to work (there is a definite stigma about women working outside the home). A lawyer from BLAST (a well-respected legal aid service) said that in fact they do help women who have been left by their husbands. Many of the other managers felt like the first manager was being attacked and were very upset.  My understanding of all that transpired is pretty limited as it was being translated for me, and I think a lot was left out, and I also don't think I have the cultural knowledge to get the meaning behind all of this high-context stuff.

The next morning Lily, Anindita and a guy from the Chittagong office (I never could catch his name) took me to a man made lake outside of Chittagong. It was made by the British while Bangladesh was still a colony. It was a huge lake surrounded by tropical trees and was very peaceful. A nice change of pace from the crazy city.

I had lunch at the restaurant of the hotel by myself. This attracted a lot of attention from the curious waiters. I ordered chicken curry. This made the head waiter laugh. He kept coming up to me and giggling. I asked him what was funny, and finally he said, "it is funny, you American and you order Bangladeshi food," then he laughed even more, as if this was the funniest thing he had ever seen in his life. One of the waiters also stood by me almost the entire time and as soon as I took a bite of rice would scoop more rice onto my plate. One of my more odder dining experiences. 

Later we had the second stakeholders meeting of the RGM (ready-made-garment) industry. Again consisting of the workers, union leaders, factory owners and government officials. Again translation was an issue. Here the most interesting part was when one of the workers (and I think a union organizer) talked about his choice to go into the garment industry, he said:

If I had chosen to become a construction worker I could have built the palaces that the factory owners live in and earn tk500 a day. If I had worked as a day laborer I could have spent the day working on the palaces that the factory owners live in and made tk300 per day. Instead I chose to work in the factories they own and I only make tk100. I regret my choice.

After this meeting Nasim, Anindita and the guy from the Chittagong office took me to see the Bay of Bengal. Again the picturesque settings were slightly spoiled by Bangladesh's largest fertilizer plant in the background, but it was nice getting the fresh breeze of the ocean air (which I realize doesn't sound that appealing given the close proximity of the fertilizer plant). We bought coconuts from a guy selling them out of a cart attached to the back of his bicycle. He cut a hole out of the top and put a straw in, and we drank the coconut milk (which was actually more salty than sweet) right out of the coconut. We then took a long walk towards the a beach market, where there were tons of shops and open air restaurants. I even got to dip my toes in the Bay. It was definitely one the more fun times I've had since being here, and made me feel more a part of the country and much less of an outsider.

The next day we had the third stakeholder meeting, this time about the EPZ industry. We actually went to the EPZ which has huge stone gates that proclaim "Chittagong Export Processing Zone". This meeting was attended mainly by factory management, but also the lead director of this EPZ, who entered with an entourage and immediately introduced himself to me first. I got very little out of this meeting as Anindita and Ruksana were both very busy doing other things, so could only translate a little for me. 

I did learn that in the EPZs the factories hire counselors for each factory and they are responsible for kind of being the go between between management and the workers, and try to understand what issues the workers are facing. 

Later I took a plane back to Dhaka with Anindita. The view from the plane was actually breathtaking (in a good way!) Bangladesh is a country of rivers, and as we flew (around 5, so the sun was very low) the rivers below would catch the rays of the sun and light up, looking so much like interconnected veins. There was a certain haze, and both the sky and the ground were a bluish-grey color, and for the first time in my life I could not tell where the ground ended and the sky began. As we approached Dhaka, the glint on the water turned to glint on the metal roofs of factories, which was in its own way still beautiful.

Some Random Oddities from Half Way Around the World

I have a lot to write about from my 3 days in Chittagong, but I am just so tired I feel I can't do it justice right now. I walked to and from work today because I really felt like I needed the exercise, and for some reason it didn't seem as hot as normal (meaning maybe it was 95 degrees instead of 105). This totally wore me out. I think it is about 1.5 miles each way, which isn't terrible, but in the heat and in my scarf and long pants, and having to dodge rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, crazy drivers, and put up with men staring at me and making comments I don't understand, it is a very exhausting experience on multiple levels. (You may be wondering why I worked on a Friday, extra points if you remember that the weekend here is Fri->Sat, but as the Solidarity Center's main point is to work with factory workers, and they only have Friday off, the Solidarity Center is open Mon-->Fri instead.)  Because I am so exhausted I think I will just share some of my more interesting observations from a very weird country.

• If you are flying domestically then security screening is basically nonexistent. You go through a perfunctory metal detector, and the bags all go through screening machine but I really doubt the screeners were paying attention at all. The tickets dont' have your name on it, and at no point do they check for any form of ID. I think that America goes way overboard on the security front, but this is like the opposite extreme.
• People sit on the top of moving trains. Actually they don't just sit. Children play, and run around on top of MOVING trains. I saw this on my ride home from the airport yesterday and asked my coworker Anindita (who is Bangladeshi) about it, kind of in shock, and she, completely nonplussed, was like "oh yes, people love to ride on the top of trains."
• Buses often do not stop at bus stops. Instead each bus has a driver and a helper. The helper's job is to help people jump on and off as the bus is moving. And yes, there are tons of bus accidents. The buses here drive very fast, and from what I have read a very high percentage of the drivers are unlicensed. Nearly every day I read about how a bus has run over someone and how angry people then try to chase down the bus destroy it, and kill the driver.
• Nobody wears seatbelts. The cars all have them, but nobody wears them!
• My landlord has now made my apartment his second home. He feels comfortable coming in without knocking and telling my cook to make him coffee. One time he even brought an egg over to tell Ayub to fry it for him. He'll come in, sit down, take his sandals off  talk to us about whatever is on his mind at that particular time.
• Almost every single Bangladeshi is either rooting for Argentina or Brazil in the World Cup, to the point where many of the rickshaws are displaying one of the two flags, and below every Bangladeshi flag is also one of these two (made by local tailors, and feature the name of the country in English and Bangla). There are no historical ties between Bangladesh and these countries or anything like, that it is simply that both those teams were really good in the 1980s when world football first started being aired here.
• Cows and goats graze along the freeways, and pedestrians and beggars also wander in and out of the the never ending traffic.
• The power goes out here at least 5 times a day for extended periods of time. Luckily our apartment complex has a very good generator, which kicks on automatically. This is going to worsen this summer as there hasn't been as much rain as expected, and most of the power will be used to keep the water filtration plants running. 
• Many older men who work as guards will salute any white person. This became very apparent to me at the hotel I stayed at in Chittagong, where I would walk in accompanied by a few Bangladeshis and the guard would make a point of only saluting me. The guard at our apartment also salutes me every morning as I leave. Obviously this is pretty uncomfortable. (Edited To Add: I found out that this isn't a salute, but a kind of greeting that just looks like a salute. BUT they still only did it to me.)

That is it for now. I will write more tomorrow. We also finally got our car situation settled, so that will start tomorrow and hopefully I will get to see more of the city beyond Dhaka. Hoping to see Old Dhaka tomorrow. (I still can't believe Gulshan is the expat area, I honestly have no idea what is in store for me.)

Near Sugar Coma

I forgot to mention that I finally got to try a bunch of Bangladeshi sweets. A few days ago I asked Ayub if, the next time he went to the market, he could pick up some sweets for me. He got very excited, and ended up bringing home a whole box full of more traditional desserts, and also 2 donuts. To give you an idea of how sweet the Bangladeshis like their dessert, the donuts were by far the least sweet. The best description I can think for most of them is a less complicated version of baklava completely soaked in sweet syrup until it is nearly dripping. They were good, but the sugar content makes me feel like I am developing diabetes just thinking about them.  This blog has some good pictures.

The other night we met with Azad's (Azad = Bangladeshi UM consultant who put this program together) friend at Cafe Mango (I'm confused as to what his name is though) to talk about the possibility of hiring a private car for the rest of our time here. (I'm going to spare you all the absolute saga that has developed on this topic, but lets just say it has been going on for a week now and is very frustrating.)  I of course also asked him the first question I ask everyone here "do you recommend any good restaurants?" He mentioned a few he liked, and so we talked about that for awhile I guess I sounded very enthusiastic as he then asked me, "do you have any other interests?" For a good (and awkward!) 15 seconds I actually couldn't think of anything. This was probably the most Liz Lemon moment of my life.

Starting Work (for real this time)

I started work today for real. Last week most of the people in my office were out of town so I spent my time doing background reading on the Bangladesh Labor Code. Today I met Mr. Nasim who is the program director (the person below the Country Director) and who is one of the top labor lawyers in the country. He gave me some more reading to do about the labor rights in Bangladesh's Export Processing Zones (EPZs) which are basically areas the government has created that are designed to be make the country even more attractive to foreign investors and so have minimal customs restrictions, and are not governed by the same labor laws as the rest of the country. In the rest of Bangladesh workers have most of the same rights that Americans do with regards to the right to unionize (and in some cases the law here is better for workers, the main difference being that employers here are forbidden from hiring workers to replace those on a legal strike, which they can do in American and which severely lessens the effectiveness of such a strike).
Up until 2004 workers in EPZs had absolutely no right to organize, which is actually a violation of certain International Labor conventions that have been ratified by Bangladesh. Due to pressure from Europe, the U.S. and labor NGOs (like the Solidarity Center) in 2004 Bangladesh passed a law that purportedly allowed workers in EPZs to form workers Associations (not unions, but for the most part are the same thing) but basically the country has done nothing to enforce these laws (including creating an EPZ labor court where all the grievances must be heard so there is basically no way to even try to go about addressing grievances). The government is starting to face a lot of pressure again because of this, and I think a lot of my work here will involve this issue.

I am also doing research about violence in the Ready Made Garment (RMG) industry. Basically, these workers are making next to nothing, work in horrible conditions, and are often not paid on a regular basis, and things are reaching a boiling point. I have written before about how volatile things are here (for example the guidebooks warn that if there is a car accident you should leave the scene as soon as possible as crowds will gather and often turn violent) and this extends to RMG fa%ctories. A few times a month workers at RMG factories, in various parts of the country, riot. Sometimes they burn the factory down other times the violence has spread to outside. It has gotten to be such an epidemic of violence that nearly everyone is in agreement that the government needs to step in and do something. The question, of course, is what.

After work I took a rickshaw home by myself for the first time. It was definitely more frightening and I felt that I attracted even more attention than normal. The rickshaw driver took me on a very roundabout way around the city, and I had to point him in the right direction. He also changed the fare from 50tk to 100tk upon arrival at my house, which annoyed me, but I had planned on paying him 100tk anyway, as it was the smallest bill I had on me so I didn't argue. (To be honest, I probably wouldn't have argued anyway, as getting into a disagreement with a strange man in a language I don't understand over what would amount to $.70 is not really good idea.)

On the apartment front there are some historic Bengali animosities being played out right in my very own kitchen. I noticed a few days ago that my landlord, Mr. Dhar (who is deserving of his own post, he is such a character), and my cook, Ayub, seemed to not like each other. I wasn't sure what the exact reason for this, as all their interactions are in Bangla. Ayub had told me at one point he didn't like Mr. Dhar, and made a gesture like he was crazy. Today we learned that Mr. Dhar is Hindu, (which did a lot to explain the bottles of Smirnoff Vodka in his office, and the fact that he offered to get beer for us). This made me wonder if some of the animosity between them was due to the historic tensions between Muslims and Hindus. (Hindus comprise about 12% of the population, Muslims over 80% and even higher in Dhaka.) My instincts, for once, were right on. Later that night Charlie asked Ayub if he was Muslim, and then mentioned that Mr. Dhar was Hindu. Ayub made a face and said that in Bangladesh Muslims and Christians are good, but Hindus are very low, and that he didn't like them. Comments like these always catch me off-guard, and I never know what the right response is. (Especially here.)


Tomorrow I am going to Chittagong for work, for 3 days. I will be attending meetings with union organizers, business owners and others. Not sure exactly what this all will entail, but I'm really excited about it.

I don't know what my internet situation will be, so I may not update for a few days. I hope you can all contain your disappointment.

Just a Low Context Girl Living in a High Context World

One thing I learned from the Australians the other night that I forgot to mention is that when they receive training regarding cultural sensitivity they learn about high context and low context cultures. Americans and  Canadians (but only the English speaking part, not French), and Australia are considered "low context" and most Asian countries (including Bangladesh), France and Russia are "high context." In this sense context refers to everything but the words that are actually being spoken.
This means that you don't need a lot of  situational clues to figure out what 2 Americans are talking about, whereas eavesdropping on 2 Bangladeshis (even if I spoke the language) would leave you clueless because so much is unsaid (such as words with unspoken shared meanings, body language, facial expressions etc.) A good explanation here and a longer one here.

One more thing to be aware of I guess.

Privacy Update

After some careful consideration, I think it is best that I keep this blog private while I am here, and then I'll make it public once I get back to the states. If you are reading this then you will still be able to, I just don't want any random person on the internet being able to read what I write, especially given the tense relationship between the Solidarity Center and the Bangladesh government and that I am a white Jewish girl in a country where all three of those things make me very conspicuous.

A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall (continuously for 3 months)

Bangladesh has 6 seasons. The season we are currently in (lasting between June and August) is called Barsa or Rainy Season.

The rain here is not a drizzle, sprinkle, nor shower. The best description I can think of is torrential downpour, although monsoon certainly evokes the proper image. It is a driving, hard and unforgiving rain, leaving a wake of destruction and death in its path every year. But, it is also the lifeblood of this country on which agriculture and the ecosystem absolutely depend. Bangladesh is merely a stop on its journey from the Himalayan Mountains to the Bay of Bengal.

Yet all of this poetic contradiction is a small consolation given that my bathroom ceiling is currently leaking and can't be fixed until the rain stops.

Birthday Party Australian Style

I am going to go ahead and retract some of my last blog post with regards to Bangladesh being one of the most boring places in the world for expats. After the most uneventful day imaginable (stuck home because of the horrible thunder storm watching terrible television with no money left on my phone (so no real way to communicate with the outside world) I actually ended up having the most fun I've had since coming here (and not just fun in comparison to the rest of my time here, but actual, real fun).

Around 6 or so Eshanthi texted me letting me know there was an Australian birthday party (with the theme of dress as your favorite rickshaw driver) going on that night, and that we were more than welcome to crash. The best part was that they had rented a car to be available to take people home throughout the night (as it is too dangerous to take anything but a private car after 10).

Before heading to meet up with Eshanthi we went to find dinner at the Gulshan 2 circle. This of course involved being followed at first by another kid (who was not as insistent as the one from the day before) and a woman with a baby. We ended up finding a place called American Burger which Alizeh, a Bangladeshi friend of a friend, had recommended, and it actually turned out to be quite good (and didn't make me sick, which I think is the true test). It was a fairly tiny hole in the wall kind of place (slightly reminiscent of Ann Arbor's Blimpy Burger but much smaller), about 3 small tables, without AC, but with a very strong fan (that kept knocking everything off the table).

The only other people in the restaurant were a Bangladeshi man and 2 Africans. We started up a conversation with the African men who we found out were from Zimbabwe. They were here doing missionary work with some Pentecostal group. Charlie mentioned that he had spent time in Tanzania and Uganda but had never been to Southern Africa. This seemed to stir some regional pride within them as they commented how much better and more developed Southern Africa was than Eastern Africa. One of them bragged that Zimbabwe was now using the U.S. Dollar (but not mentioning the reason for this was the hyperinflation that led to the Zimbabwean currency becoming effectively worthless). Add meeting a Zimbabwean boasting about his country's economy to my list of unexpected life experiences.

After dinner (and an expensive drink at the Westin, I'm talking New York expensive) we went to meet up with Eshanthi who was getting ready at her Aussie friend Rosie's apartment. Rosie is here for a year doing the Australian version of the Peace Corps (along with most of the Australians that I met that night). Rosie lives with quite a few other Aussies in a nice apartment about halfway between Gulshan 1 and 2. We unfortunately walked past it the first time so ended up down in Gulshan 1 before we realized we had missed it. This would be fine except walking a mile in hot and muggy  weather isn't exactly the best way to go about arriving at a party, where you don't know anyone, looking good. After being introduced to all of her flatmates we all headed towards the party. While passing a contingent of rickshaws, one of the drivers called out to Andrew, one of flatmates, recognizing him from before. They struck up a conversation and Andrew ended up paying the driver enough money to let him (Andrew) try and drive the rickshaw. Seeing a pasty white guy attempting to drive a rickshaw was a memorable sight. As we walked down the street, shrieks of laughter were heard. Other rickshaw drivers thought it was hilarious and followed us, along with many very curious and amused locals. After a few minutes this had created quite the spectacle. Other drivers we passed would yell out things like "best rickshaw driver!" as he pedaled by. At one point Eshanthi took a seat, very much enjoying the idea of a brown person being driven around by a white person for once. The rickshaw driver even hopped in for a bit. He was laughing the entire time, and I think got the biggest kick out of it of anyone. When we got to the apartment the rickshaw driver whispered to Andrew that he should play a joke on Eshanthi and try to charge her for the ride. They mimicked the stereotypical haggling inevitable with a ride on a rickshaw ("20" "no too much, 10" "very far, 20" etc) much to the delight of all the rickshaw drivers, who laughed at this as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. It was a genuinely great time, and I think everyone sincerely enjoyed it.

The party itself was awesome. The only bad part was that that there was no AC, so imagine a room full of 30 people in a medium sized apartment dancing and sweating in 90+ degree heat and high humidity. Eventually I just got used to it, and stopped caring about how much I was sweating, and how gross my hair must be looking. Every person was incredibly nice and welcoming and didn't care that we were not Australians, and were only there through a friend of a friend.

In my previous post I mentioned how pretty much every foreigner is here working (usually for an NGO) and not tourists or trust fund travelers (which, and for a million other reasons, makes it clear that living as an expat in Dhaka is nothing like living as an expat in Prague). One huge upshot of this is that everyone I've met is doing something really interesting. 

One couple I met have been here a year. She is working for Save The Children and he is working as an environmental engineer for Chevron. We chatted about the spill in the Gulf for a bit. He was of the opinion that BP will not exist in 18 months, given the amount of money they will have to pay out. He also confirmed that this was beyond this was the worst nightmare of any oil company, and gave me an interesting insight into  their perspective. He personally does not work with oil, as there is no oil in Bangladesh, and the country runs nearly entirely on gas. As it stands now Bangladesh has only enough gas to last for about 2 more years. They actually do have a huge untapped  supply on the western coast, but going about reaching it is very complicated not because of any environmental concerns (on the part of the government), but because Bangladesh is one of the most corrupt countries in the world, although it is improving, as it was the most corrupt for quite awhile.

I talked with many of the girls about how frustrating it is to be a woman here, and how there is a constant feeling of being trapped. One of the girls I spoke to had lived in many other Asian cities, and nothing compares to Dhaka. Women are just not a part of many aspects of society here, even though so many of them work in garment factories and in the agricultural sector. Even in Gulshan, the "foreigner" area, about 10% of the people outside are women, and actually if you take beggars out of the equation that has to drop to below 5%.  I haven't been outside this part of the city so I don't know if that holds true for the rest of the city (but from everything I've heard and read I have a strong feeling it does). A really bizarre aspect to all of this is that the prime minister, Sheikh Hasina, is actually a woman and so is the leader of the opposition (and former Prime Minister) Khaleda Zia. The reason for this is not due to any liberal or progressive views on gender but because dynasticism clearly trumps sexism. Sheikh Hasina is one of 2 surviving daughters of the first president and "founding father" Sheikh Rahman (nearly all of Sheikh Hasina's family have been assassinated by the opposition) and Khaleda Zia is the widow of another former President Ziaur Rahman (who was also assassinated). (As you can tell the politics here are fascinating in an almost morbid way.) Sheikh Hasina actually does seem to be in charge, and is the one who speaks out when there is a problem. I'm not sure how much of a figurehead she is, but even so it is such a crazy contradiction to think that in a society where women are practically invisible in the public sphere, the most powerful and public person in the country is a woman.

Sorry for the digression, but it is nearly impossible to understand my experience here without a little context and unfortunately a little context is all I can provide, I am no expert on any of this stuff (thank God for Wikipedia).

Eshanthi and I also got into a conversation with Nathan, who is here for 5 days from Hanoi (originally Australia of course) with his girlfriend visiting friends, and because he works in finance (which he says is the most boring job in the world) decided it is much more amusing, for him, to make up odd professions to tell people at parties. He first told us he goes to villages in Bangladesh as a recruiter for sweatshops (specializing in children, the requirement being only that they have good motor skills and nimble fingers), and then that he was a consultant with the Vietnamese Space Program. He later admitted that he had told his girlfriend's coworkers that he was a toilet engineer, and had them going for about 2 weeks.

We stayed at the party until about 2, and waited for the hired driver to return from dropping off other people. Because it's Bangladesh even this of course turned out to be slightly sketchy as another guy in a car tried to convince us he was the driver, but following our instinct and double checking with the people throwing the party we confirmed he wasn't. (I cannot overestimate how important it is for me to trust my gut instinct here.) Don't worry, everyone got home safe and sound. 

All in all, a great night and exactly what I needed to get me out of my developing funk. Everyone I talked to said it's a hard adjustment but that they all really liked it (even the women) and most actually try to extend their stay here. This was all very welcome news.

An American Club, Swiss Ice Cream, and Bangladeshi Children Begging on the Street

 I have come to the conclusion that Bangladesh is quite possibly the least fun country to be an expat in. There is a good reason that almost every foreigner is here working for a foreign government or NGO (Bangladesh actually has the most NGOs per capita of any country) and not as a tourist or pleasure seeker. Because it is a Muslim country there is almost no alcohol served anywhere (besides for a few expat restaurants and hotels) and as I have explained before it is basically impossible to get around at night without a private car. This deadly combination means that my nights are generally spent watching American sitcoms (Friend and Scrubs in particular) on the Star India channel (I can only take so many hours of BBC news or Al Jazeera before getting too depressed). Besides the fact that they replay the same shows on repeat every few hours, the really terrible part is that they play about 10 commercials (which I have memorized). A surprising number are for skin lighteners, masquerading as skin care products ("wash away your dirty dark skin cells to show the beautiful lightness underneath"). When seeing things like this all I can think about is how in America there are a countless commercials for products to make your skin darker. Although the commercials here are obviously more disturbing given the inescapable racial element and lingering vestige of British colonialism, it does make me realize all the more how the beauty industry makes its money from making people feel bad about themselves.

Basically this last paragraph should be viewed as prime evidence that I need to get out of the apartment more. From what I have learned the key to having any sort of social life here is to join a club. There is an American Club, a British Club, and German Club, an International Club and a Nordic Club among others. The best one for me to join is clearly the The American Club. It has a pool, tennis courts, a coffee shop (real coffee, not Nescafe!!), restaurant, rooftop bar, gym, and most importantly provides a way to meet people. Once you have membership to one of the clubs you are also able to go to any of the others. To get a membership you have to be sponsored by an American Diplomat. Hopefully I will be able to swing this.
To get the required paperwork we decided to stop by the club yesterday. Walking into the club I really felt like I was walking into some sort of sanctuary of calmness. It's not that it is fancy (it actually reminds me of an average community center in any average sized American town) but more that it is quiet, peaceful and clean. After talking with one of the membership guys who have us the paperwork to fill out (and told us it would take a few weeks to process our membership once we turned it in) we went to leave. A guy who had been walking into the club at the same time we had been initially talking to the guard ran to stop us. His name was Denny, and he was here from Georgia (the state) here with his family running a Baptist NGO in Dhaka and he offered to sign us in as a guest so we could hang out there for awhile. This was really nice and unexpected. We took the opportunity to get a beer in the nice air conditioned cafe, but unfortunately couldn't stay and hang out too long because we had dinner waiting for us, and didn't want to keep our cook waiting. Even if it was only for 45 minutes or so it was still a nice respite, and I desperately hope we can get membership.

Later in the evening we had made plans to meet up with Misha (the Cornell student I had met the 2nd day I was here) at Movenpick a gourmet ice cream shop near our apartment. To get there we had to brave a monsoon storm, which was unlike anything I have ever seen (and this coming from a Seattleite). 10 minutes of walking and I was drenched to the bone. The streets were filled with stagnant water, and traffic was at a standstill. Luckily the storms seem to only last an hour and they cool down the temperature and clear out a bit of the pollution. (I don't know if I have mentioned this but Dhaka is really polluted in pretty much every way a city can be polluted.)
It was very nice to see Misha again, and I am so impressed that she is only 20 years old and seems to be totally thriving here. I can't imagine doing an internship here (not through a study abroad program or anything) at that age. At 26, and having lived abroad by myself, I still feel constantly overwhelmed.
She also brought her Irish friend Ciara who just got arrived on Monday. Ciara is getting her MPH at Trinity College in Dublin and is doing research for her thesis on Bangladesh's transgendered community. I was completely clueless about this, but apparently there is a long history on the Indian subcontinent of men who identify as women. They are know as Hijra and the Wikipedia article is definitely worth a look as the subject is really fascinating. I can't wait to hear about how her research goes.

I also learned from Misha about how rampant antisemitism is here.  She has had a few conversations with her some of her coworkers (who in other respects are very nice people) but have said things in praise of Hitler, and about how Jews will burn in hell etc. By far the most disturbing element of all this is that on nearly every corner there are boys selling copies (literally photocopies) of books. These include mainly American bestsellers by authors like Dan Brown etc. but interspersed with Angels & Demons are always copies of Mein Kampf. This obviously makes me very paranoid, especially now that anti-Israel sentiment is running even higher all over the world due to what happened with the flotilla to Gaza. I'll try to just be safe and smart, and obviously not advertise the fact I am Jewish. Hopefully this won't become an issue...

We left Movenpick at 8:30, which is definitely the latest I've been out since I've been here (as if you needed any further evidence of the dire state of my social life). As soon as we got outside we were approached by 2 little kids (I think about age 4 or 5, but it is hard to tell, since due to a combination of malnourishment and genetics Bangladeshis are a lot smaller than Americans or Europeans). Misha gave one of them some money. As we parted ways, that kid decided to follow Charlie and me asking for more money. This made me so worried, as we had to cross busy streets, and he kept crossing them with us. A few times I had to reach out and make sure he was safe from the oncoming cars. I honestly think that at that moment if someone told me that I could have adopted him, I would have. I'm not kidding. I didn't know what to do. He was so little, and had such sad, weary, beautiful, brown eyes. He didn't have that hardness about him like the children just a few years older than him, who when they look at you, you can tell they are sizing you up. (It is sad but true.) Telling him no, and walking away (continuously) made me feel sick to my stomach. We didn't want to give him money because we didn't want to encourage to follow people, which we were sure he had seen success with in the past, given his insistence with us. I still don't know what the right thing to do is. I know he will not get the money that I give to him. I thought about stopping at a store and buying him food, but if I didn't know if that was the right thing to do either.

Lottery of Life

For some reason today was the first day that I got really depressed and angry while walking around the city. I wish I could post pictures because I don't think my descriptions are doing the poverty, dirtiness and  insanity of this place justice. In particular, one image from today that is just haunting my mind is a family of people with deformed legs who were walking in and out of traffic desperately begging. Basically they had no leg below the knee, and their feet were twisted to the side, almost perpendicular to the knee, so they could not wear shoes and hobbled around on the hot pavement on the bottom of their legs. There were 4 of them, a father (I think) and his 3 children all with the same condition. I have never seen anything like it before. It was probably the most disturbing and heartbreaking thing I have ever witnessed.

I think I will either come out of my experience here with a strengthened belief in God, or a complete utter despair for the world. I don't know which one yet.

Starting Work (kind of)

Today Mehedi who runs the Bangladesh chapter of The Worker Rights Consortium,  (and who also happens to be Charlie's boss for the summer) was supposed to pick us up at around 10:00am to take us to the Gulshan office of the Solidarity Center which is about 5kms (I promise I'm not trying to sound pretentious or cultural or whatever by using kms instead of miles, it's just that everyone here uses kms when telling me distances and I don't feel like doing the conversion. I'm not going to start writing "labour" or anything like that don't worry) south of our apartment. We waited.Drank some nescafe, and waited. More nescafe. More waiting.

At around 1pm he and his driver picked us up and it took us another 30 minutes to get there because traffic was so terrible (not in any unusual way, just the normal terribleness). People running a few hours late is I guess pretty standard here, and something that is going to take a lot of getting used to as I pride myself on my punctuality, and can be very intolerant of others who lack it.

The office is in a converted house and seems very informal but pretty nice, and I have my own little desk, computer, printer and sort of cubicle. I met some of the staff and they all seemed very friendly, although I didn't really get much of a chance to talk to them.

Shortly after we arrived, David who is the country director also arrived. We chatted with him for a bit and found out that there had been a miscommunication about where Charlie would be working. Apparently the Solidarity Center has quite a few offices around Dhaka, and there was actually no more room at the Gulshan office. (The AFL-CIO is letting the WRC use their office space but aren't directly affiliated with them, although they do work on some projects together.) Charlie and Mehedi then left to go find him an office (and they actually ended up using the office of another organization). His office is going to be outside of the diplomatic enclave of Gulshan, Baridhara and Banani meaning that we will have to get a car and driver. (More on that in the next few days hopefully.)
David filled me on the the kind of stuff the Solidarity Center does here, and its relationship with the Bangladeshi government (very strained to put it mildly) as well as the U.S. government (good and bad). He also told me that his wife and 2 kids (ages 1 and 3) live permanently in Thailand because he did not want to raise children here. (This is very understandable to me even after being here less than a week.) This means he travels there as much as possible.
It sounds like I will hopefully get a chance to travel to other parts of the country and see their offices there. I will also get to go to court with the lawyers and get some real hands on experience with actual workers etc. I'm very excited about this. He said that Bangladesh is the best place in the world to be if you are interested in labor law. (I'm glad to hear it's at least the best place in the world for something. I only kid. I think I have to be here at least a few weeks before I can start saying stuff like that.) The Bangladesh Solidarity Center is also considered to be the very best. In the next few days I will be reading from cover to cover the Bangladeshi Labor Code. Wish me luck (it's really really looooong).

In more trivial news, Facebook is still down (which actually I guess isn't really that trivial if you think about it in the free speech / censorship way not just the "i can't post links to slate.com" way which of course was my initial thought). The newspapers had said it would be back up by today, so we shall see what happens tomorrow.