Friday, July 13, 2007
Friday Prayer Service at Baridhara Mosque
Every Friday at about 12:30 p.m. we can see the prayer service taking place at the neighborhood mosque. It usually lasts about two hours - this (incredibly shaky) video only shows the first prayer.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
No One Celebrates the 4th of July Like the Ex-Pats
As I’m sure you can tell, my life here has become somewhat routine (with regard to school and studying at least), and much busier than it was when I first arrived. I’ve given up on posting daily, and will now focus only on the more interesting/exciting aspects of my days.That said, this was a pretty exciting week. I can say with confidence that no one celebrates the 4th of July like the ex-pat community!
On Wednesday (the 4th) our group, along with our director and our instructors went to dinner at a restaurant called “Spaghetti Jazz” – a Jazz themed Italian restaurant smack in the middle of Bangladesh. In the words of the program director, “Since the Embassy didn’t see fit to invite us to their 4th of July party, we are going to eat Italian food and drink French wine and Dutch beer.” Although the Italian food was a bit of a stretch (my fettuccine alfredo tasted like it was made with sweetened condensed milk), the evening was fun, and we were there for a few hours. We all sang The Star Spangled Banner (for the benefit of our teachers) before departing. Below is a picture of me with Fatema, my favorite teacher. She’s a non-practicing Muslim whose husband is British, and she’s only back in Bangladesh for the summer. She was thrilled to be having a glass of wine, as were the rest of us!
After the dinner, we all (the students that is) decided to check out a “private” 4th of July party we had heard about from a guy that lives next door. The party was at someone’s house, and was being held on the roof. Most people had left by the time we got there, but it didn’t matter to us… All 17 of us made it a new party. There was a guy who was acting DJ for the party, and we all just started dancing with the 10 or 12 people who were still there. It was both fun and funny. They had decorated the place with Christmas lights and red, white, and blue streamers. We stayed for about an hour, all of us dancing the whole time. I imagine if anyone was watching it was a pretty hilarious sight, all things considered. A picture of one of my classmates, Alex, playing foosball at the party is below.
Everyone struggled to stay awake during class on Thursday, and consequentially opted not to go to the 4th of July party being sponsored by a local U.S. Marine unit that night.
It didn’t however, keep us from going to yet another 4th of July party on Friday (the 6th). This party was held at a place called the “American Club,” which is basically a complex where you go to pretend you’re still in America. They have a pool, gym, playground, mini theatre, bar, restaurant, etc. They serve food like potato salad, pork spare-ribs, corn on the cob, apple pie, and the like. To take advantage of these things, one must purchase a membership and pay dues. As a matter of principle, we are discouraged from going to the American club, as it’s pretty contrary to learning about Bangladeshi culture. Independence Day (or at least the celebration of it) seemed like a legitimate exception. Our neighbor, who is a Marine and a member of the club, invited all of us and offered to sponsor our entry (you don’t have to pay membership dues if you are sponsored by a member, but you do have to show an American passport). It cost 700 taka to get in, which seems like so much, but in reality, it’s only $10 USD. They actually had a huge buffet of “American” food (see above), but not knowing that, we had already eaten at home. Anyway, we spent 5 hours at the American Club, all of us dancing. It was pretty ridiculous, but again, so were the other people who were there, so it didn’t much matter. It may be no surprise that we were the last people to leave the party.
All in all, it definitely ranks as the best July 4th of my life (so far!).
Monday, July 2, 2007
The Past Week
It is once again time for the abridged and abbreviated “catch up” version of the blog. I won’t even begin to make excuses…
I woke up Tuesday morning to find a giant cockroach on the floor about two feet from my bed, and spent the better part of a half hour trying to flick it toward and out the door. I should’ve taken that as an omen. School began with an oral exam, during which I zoned out and repeated a question back to the teacher three times (instead of providing an answer to the question). Tired and not quite “with it,” I wondered why she kept asking me the same question… oops!
During the class break, everyone was back to complaining about the structure of the classes, etc., and I nearly lost my mind. Once again, I proposed that we provide constructive solutions instead of complaints, and once again they all looked at me like I was crazy. I grabbed the white board marker anyway, and said, “Don’t talk about what you don’t like, tell me what it is you want.” It went pretty well, and I ended up spending part of my afternoon writing up a neat, bulleted three page list for the teachers that included all of the agreed upon suggestions.
I skipped out on lunch, seizing the opportunity to have some quiet time (for the first time so far!). Two and a half weeks of being constantly surrounded by people is too much.
In the late afternoon, we had a lecture on Islam and Hinduism, given by the program director. The information provided was not new, and as a result was rather boring.
Tuesday evening was uneventful.
--
Wednesday’s class was painful, as we attempted to read through a children’s book. Here’s my theory: Kids know how to talk before they learn to read… so shouldn’t languages be taught the same way?
After class, my day improved rapidly. First, I went to lunch with one of my roommates at a Vietnamese restaurant, which was pretty good. Then we went shopping for clothes… which is to say she went shopping and I people watched… I’m not terribly interested in shopping at home, and am equally uninterested here, especially when my options are simply different colored sacks with M.C. Hammer-style pants. On the way home, however, we stumbled upon a store called Westec’s, which featured a random assortment of western-style clothing. I was OVERJOYED to find a pair of jeans for about $10 USD. I bought them without hesitation, and with full knowledge that wearing jeans would probably raise my core temperature about five degrees. At this point, wearing anything with a zipper fly and a button seems as close to America as I could get.
I went home completely satisfied and remained so for the remainder of the evening, confident that the day couldn’t get any better. And then… as these things tend to go, it did get better. I watched Little Miss Sunshine, one of my all-time favorite movies, with one of my roommates. No matter how many times I see it, I still think it’s hilarious.
--
Thursday’s class was better, incorporating many of the suggestions we had provided the teachers with in our write-up. After class, I met with my conversation partner, Farina. We went to an Italian place called “Bella Italia,” ate pizza, and talked about things that were of importance/interest to her, including corruption in Bangladesh (more rampant than you and I could even imagine) and women’s roles in society. Farina and her family truly seem both very ethical and comparatively liberal. She said that sometime she would have me over to meet her parents and brother… that will be cool. We got stuck in traffic on the way home (Dhaka traffic makes D.C. traffic seem like a Sunday drive), and consequentially, I missed a scheduled lecture on Bangladesh politics, given by a representative from the U.S. Embassy. Luckily, from my classmates reports, it doesn’t sound like I missed anything, as the man who gave the lecture was ill prepared and stumbled through an hour-long presentation.
Thursday night is the beginning of the weekend, and the members of my group, after three weeks of studying, were ready to have fun. About half of the group paid 2000 taka to get into a hotel party, which had a DJ and… you guessed it, alcohol. They reported having a good time – not getting home ‘til about 5:30 a.m. Who would’ve thought Bangladesh had a party scene?
The rest of us went to dinner at an amazing restaurant called Dhoni. We had the most wonderful Bangladeshi and Indian food – the best food I’ve had since being here. While there, we got a call from Ali Akbar – a painter whom we’d met at Jamal Ahmed’s party last week – and he joined us. Ali Akbar (who has the kind of name that just needs to be said in full) is a Bangladeshi native who went to college in the States and never left. He currently lives and teaches in Dallas. He showed up with a bracelet made of jasmine for each of the six girls there, and later paid for dinner for everyone (the bill came to less than $30 for the seven of us). “You’re in Bangladesh,” he said by way of explanation, “This is what the Bengalis do.” We walked around as a group for awhile before stumbling upon a Hookah bar, where we proceeded to spend a couple of hours. We left when they closed down at midnight, and when we got home I watched the documentary “Wordplay” with a couple roommates. I mostly stayed up out of curiosity as to when the others would return from the party, but by 2:30 a.m. tiredness overcame curiosity.
--
Friday I slept in until 11 a.m., and was still the first person awake in my apartment. Eventually, a few of us walked to Mango Café, where we had some lunch and attempted to study for Sunday’s exam. The afternoon went by quickly, and at 6:30, we were scheduled to attend a “reception” at the home of an Embassy representative. The other guests were Bengalis on their way to Seattle to spend 5 weeks in a home-stay environment learning about American culture. The whole occasion was completely awkward as the Bengalis seemed incredibly reluctant to talk to us. Hence, we stood around in a circle and talked to each other, and the Bengalis did the same. I’m not sure how to evaluate that, but it doesn’t seem to align with the reason for either group’s existence. Returning to the house, we found that it was spaggetti night… sort of. The pasta was spaghetti, but the sauce was composed not of tomatoes, but of ground beef with tamarind and cardamom. Still, it was pretty good. That night, the entire group gathered in my apartment and we played Bangla charades, which was pretty disastrous (and pretty funny) given our limited vocabularies.
--
Saturday we went to a Hindu temple, where one of our teachers, Shanta, performed the Hindu rituals and invited us to join her if we wanted. I participated in a couple of rituals… one of which was lighting some incense to make an offering to the goddess of wind (smoke/wind you get the idea). Anyway, I was holding the incense in my hand and moving them toward the flames when Shanta grabbed my wrist and jerked it back. “Noreen! Right hand!” she exclaimed. I’m still used to being able to use both of my hands no matter what I am doing, so I had been completely unaware of the fact that I was essentially offering a sacrifice with my “toilet hand” (as the left hand is considered to be reserved for toilet duty in much of South Asia). I was definitely embarrassed, but Shanta wasn’t upset, realizing I was completely unconscious of my actions and what they implied.
After leaving the temple, we stopped by the National Language Martyrs Memorial near Dhaka University. http://search.com.bd/banglapedia/HT/L_0063.htm In essence, what happened at this location in 1952 was similar to the student protests in Tiananmen Square, but rather than demonstrating for free speech, students were demonstrating to have Bangla, rather than just Urdu, remain a national language, as was being denied by West Pakistan after the partition of India in 1947 (during which time Bangladesh was called East Pakistan). We weren’t given any explanation during the visit, so I only know what I had previously read about the occasion.
The trip home took over an hour. Traffic was terrible, and the driver of our van was worse. I felt incredibly carsick, and couldn’t wait to get out… By the time we got home, I felt horrible (as did most of the people in my van) and chose to lie down for awhile. I ended up napping for a few hours, then got up to study for a couple of hours. After some idle chatter with the roommates, I went to bed.
--
I bombed the Sunday morning test (40 out of 100) despite the fact that I had studied for at least 5 hours over the weekend. Oh well.
After class, I went back to Dhoni with one of my roommates, and we had an excellent lunch. We tried to find an NGO to volunteer with while we are here, but our directory must be pretty outdated, because we tried three different places and none of them were still located where the directory listed them. By the time we returned, it was time for our afternoon lecture.
The lecture was given by Shamshur Chowdry, recently retired Ambassador to the United States, more widely known for his prominent role during the Liberation War. He told an amazing story of his involvement before the war, his assignment by Zia to be the one who continually re-read the Declaration of Independence over a radio broadcast after Zia had initially read it. Chowdry had the original Declaration of Independence in his pocket when he was wounded and captured by the Pakistani army only a couple of weeks later. (The document did not survive the war.) He told of his 8 months as a POW, of the various ways he was tortured, of the option he was given (and refused) to sign a statement incriminating two individuals of conspiracy in exchange for his freedom, and of his subsequent transfer to solitary confinement awaiting the death penalty. He survived only because India invaded and the Pakistanis granted independence. It was definitely an amazing talk, and I’m glad we had the opportunity to hear a firsthand account of the war from Chowdry.
A quick dinner, some homework, and a couple of phone calls brought the evening to a close. Ryan & Kyle – Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you, but it sounded like you were having a lot of fun playing outside. I love you both very much!!!
--
I’m writing this while it is still Monday, but can already tell you that my day was uninteresting. I went to class, grabbed a quick lunch, then came home to an empty apartment and wrote this blog entry. Everyone else is on a field trip to the Liberation War Museum, and since I already went, I got permission to skip it today. I’ve got a bit of homework to do before reading “A Golden Age,” which is a novel about the Bangladesh Liberation War.
If you made it to the end of this incredibly long post, I congratulate you. I’ll post some pictures later tonight, once my computer battery gets a bit of charge.
I woke up Tuesday morning to find a giant cockroach on the floor about two feet from my bed, and spent the better part of a half hour trying to flick it toward and out the door. I should’ve taken that as an omen. School began with an oral exam, during which I zoned out and repeated a question back to the teacher three times (instead of providing an answer to the question). Tired and not quite “with it,” I wondered why she kept asking me the same question… oops!
During the class break, everyone was back to complaining about the structure of the classes, etc., and I nearly lost my mind. Once again, I proposed that we provide constructive solutions instead of complaints, and once again they all looked at me like I was crazy. I grabbed the white board marker anyway, and said, “Don’t talk about what you don’t like, tell me what it is you want.” It went pretty well, and I ended up spending part of my afternoon writing up a neat, bulleted three page list for the teachers that included all of the agreed upon suggestions.
I skipped out on lunch, seizing the opportunity to have some quiet time (for the first time so far!). Two and a half weeks of being constantly surrounded by people is too much.
In the late afternoon, we had a lecture on Islam and Hinduism, given by the program director. The information provided was not new, and as a result was rather boring.
Tuesday evening was uneventful.
--
Wednesday’s class was painful, as we attempted to read through a children’s book. Here’s my theory: Kids know how to talk before they learn to read… so shouldn’t languages be taught the same way?
After class, my day improved rapidly. First, I went to lunch with one of my roommates at a Vietnamese restaurant, which was pretty good. Then we went shopping for clothes… which is to say she went shopping and I people watched… I’m not terribly interested in shopping at home, and am equally uninterested here, especially when my options are simply different colored sacks with M.C. Hammer-style pants. On the way home, however, we stumbled upon a store called Westec’s, which featured a random assortment of western-style clothing. I was OVERJOYED to find a pair of jeans for about $10 USD. I bought them without hesitation, and with full knowledge that wearing jeans would probably raise my core temperature about five degrees. At this point, wearing anything with a zipper fly and a button seems as close to America as I could get.
I went home completely satisfied and remained so for the remainder of the evening, confident that the day couldn’t get any better. And then… as these things tend to go, it did get better. I watched Little Miss Sunshine, one of my all-time favorite movies, with one of my roommates. No matter how many times I see it, I still think it’s hilarious.
--
Thursday’s class was better, incorporating many of the suggestions we had provided the teachers with in our write-up. After class, I met with my conversation partner, Farina. We went to an Italian place called “Bella Italia,” ate pizza, and talked about things that were of importance/interest to her, including corruption in Bangladesh (more rampant than you and I could even imagine) and women’s roles in society. Farina and her family truly seem both very ethical and comparatively liberal. She said that sometime she would have me over to meet her parents and brother… that will be cool. We got stuck in traffic on the way home (Dhaka traffic makes D.C. traffic seem like a Sunday drive), and consequentially, I missed a scheduled lecture on Bangladesh politics, given by a representative from the U.S. Embassy. Luckily, from my classmates reports, it doesn’t sound like I missed anything, as the man who gave the lecture was ill prepared and stumbled through an hour-long presentation.
Thursday night is the beginning of the weekend, and the members of my group, after three weeks of studying, were ready to have fun. About half of the group paid 2000 taka to get into a hotel party, which had a DJ and… you guessed it, alcohol. They reported having a good time – not getting home ‘til about 5:30 a.m. Who would’ve thought Bangladesh had a party scene?
The rest of us went to dinner at an amazing restaurant called Dhoni. We had the most wonderful Bangladeshi and Indian food – the best food I’ve had since being here. While there, we got a call from Ali Akbar – a painter whom we’d met at Jamal Ahmed’s party last week – and he joined us. Ali Akbar (who has the kind of name that just needs to be said in full) is a Bangladeshi native who went to college in the States and never left. He currently lives and teaches in Dallas. He showed up with a bracelet made of jasmine for each of the six girls there, and later paid for dinner for everyone (the bill came to less than $30 for the seven of us). “You’re in Bangladesh,” he said by way of explanation, “This is what the Bengalis do.” We walked around as a group for awhile before stumbling upon a Hookah bar, where we proceeded to spend a couple of hours. We left when they closed down at midnight, and when we got home I watched the documentary “Wordplay” with a couple roommates. I mostly stayed up out of curiosity as to when the others would return from the party, but by 2:30 a.m. tiredness overcame curiosity.
--
Friday I slept in until 11 a.m., and was still the first person awake in my apartment. Eventually, a few of us walked to Mango Café, where we had some lunch and attempted to study for Sunday’s exam. The afternoon went by quickly, and at 6:30, we were scheduled to attend a “reception” at the home of an Embassy representative. The other guests were Bengalis on their way to Seattle to spend 5 weeks in a home-stay environment learning about American culture. The whole occasion was completely awkward as the Bengalis seemed incredibly reluctant to talk to us. Hence, we stood around in a circle and talked to each other, and the Bengalis did the same. I’m not sure how to evaluate that, but it doesn’t seem to align with the reason for either group’s existence. Returning to the house, we found that it was spaggetti night… sort of. The pasta was spaghetti, but the sauce was composed not of tomatoes, but of ground beef with tamarind and cardamom. Still, it was pretty good. That night, the entire group gathered in my apartment and we played Bangla charades, which was pretty disastrous (and pretty funny) given our limited vocabularies.
--
Saturday we went to a Hindu temple, where one of our teachers, Shanta, performed the Hindu rituals and invited us to join her if we wanted. I participated in a couple of rituals… one of which was lighting some incense to make an offering to the goddess of wind (smoke/wind you get the idea). Anyway, I was holding the incense in my hand and moving them toward the flames when Shanta grabbed my wrist and jerked it back. “Noreen! Right hand!” she exclaimed. I’m still used to being able to use both of my hands no matter what I am doing, so I had been completely unaware of the fact that I was essentially offering a sacrifice with my “toilet hand” (as the left hand is considered to be reserved for toilet duty in much of South Asia). I was definitely embarrassed, but Shanta wasn’t upset, realizing I was completely unconscious of my actions and what they implied.
After leaving the temple, we stopped by the National Language Martyrs Memorial near Dhaka University. http://search.com.bd/banglapedia/HT/L_0063.htm In essence, what happened at this location in 1952 was similar to the student protests in Tiananmen Square, but rather than demonstrating for free speech, students were demonstrating to have Bangla, rather than just Urdu, remain a national language, as was being denied by West Pakistan after the partition of India in 1947 (during which time Bangladesh was called East Pakistan). We weren’t given any explanation during the visit, so I only know what I had previously read about the occasion.
The trip home took over an hour. Traffic was terrible, and the driver of our van was worse. I felt incredibly carsick, and couldn’t wait to get out… By the time we got home, I felt horrible (as did most of the people in my van) and chose to lie down for awhile. I ended up napping for a few hours, then got up to study for a couple of hours. After some idle chatter with the roommates, I went to bed.
--
I bombed the Sunday morning test (40 out of 100) despite the fact that I had studied for at least 5 hours over the weekend. Oh well.
After class, I went back to Dhoni with one of my roommates, and we had an excellent lunch. We tried to find an NGO to volunteer with while we are here, but our directory must be pretty outdated, because we tried three different places and none of them were still located where the directory listed them. By the time we returned, it was time for our afternoon lecture.
The lecture was given by Shamshur Chowdry, recently retired Ambassador to the United States, more widely known for his prominent role during the Liberation War. He told an amazing story of his involvement before the war, his assignment by Zia to be the one who continually re-read the Declaration of Independence over a radio broadcast after Zia had initially read it. Chowdry had the original Declaration of Independence in his pocket when he was wounded and captured by the Pakistani army only a couple of weeks later. (The document did not survive the war.) He told of his 8 months as a POW, of the various ways he was tortured, of the option he was given (and refused) to sign a statement incriminating two individuals of conspiracy in exchange for his freedom, and of his subsequent transfer to solitary confinement awaiting the death penalty. He survived only because India invaded and the Pakistanis granted independence. It was definitely an amazing talk, and I’m glad we had the opportunity to hear a firsthand account of the war from Chowdry.
A quick dinner, some homework, and a couple of phone calls brought the evening to a close. Ryan & Kyle – Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you, but it sounded like you were having a lot of fun playing outside. I love you both very much!!!
--
I’m writing this while it is still Monday, but can already tell you that my day was uninteresting. I went to class, grabbed a quick lunch, then came home to an empty apartment and wrote this blog entry. Everyone else is on a field trip to the Liberation War Museum, and since I already went, I got permission to skip it today. I’ve got a bit of homework to do before reading “A Golden Age,” which is a novel about the Bangladesh Liberation War.
If you made it to the end of this incredibly long post, I congratulate you. I’ll post some pictures later tonight, once my computer battery gets a bit of charge.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
The Foriegn Ministry
After class on Monday, we loaded into two large vans for a trip to the Bangladesh Foreign Ministry, which is the equivalent of our State Dept. After our experience at the U.S. Embassy, we all had dismal predictions of waiting outside the Foreign Ministry, only to eventually be turned away.
Fortunately, this was not the case. We were greeted eagerly upon our arrival and ushered into a room in which well worn sofas lined the walls. The building was musty, the way you’d expect a haunted house to smell, and the air conditioning wasn’t working. We sat politely on the couches while a man explained to us that we were going to meet some people who were at the Ministry for a “special training,” and that we would have the opportunity to speak to them about why we chose to study Bangla.
The people, as it turns out, were the equivalent of our foreign service officers, each of whom had between two and nine years of experience. We filed into the room where their training session was being held, and they stood as we entered. They were all seated around folding tables arranged in a “u” shape, and we sat on chairs around the circumference of the room. They were as unsure of why we were there as we were ourselves, that much was evident. The man who had greeted us at the entrance asked each of us to introduce ourselves, where we were going to school, what we were majoring in, and why we were interested in learning Bangla. It seems like we went through that information 20 times in the first two days of the program (getting to know each other), and the information rolled off of our tounges. Then the room was silent. The man asked the Ministry employees to introduce themselves and their disciplines, and they did so – then the room fell silent again. We were encouraged to open a dialogue, and a couple of students ventured to do so by asking questions about where the Ministry employees had previously been posted. Their questions were met with dry, succinct answers. Then it was their turn to ask questions of us. They asked how we plan to use Bangla in the future. One woman (who received a Fulbright to study patterns of language development in Bangladesh) began to explain what she planned to research. A man promptly cut her off, saying, “I understand, I understand… but what about YOU?” he asked, gesturing to one of only three men in our group. It was a textbook case of how women are treated here (in general). Men scarcely talk to women, only to each other. There are many shops – particularly tea shops - where women cannot even enter. While educated women are treated with slightly more respect, there is clearly not gender equality by any means. The awkward silence that fell after the man cut her off was unbreakable, and we were dismissed, then led into yet another room.
In this room, we sat around a large wooden conference table in rickety chairs. A man, whom I understood to be the equivalent of an SES, came in to greet us, and we were served tea while we spoke to him. “So,” he said, “I have heard that people think Bangladesh is a backwards country and that we are behind the times. Now that you are here, what do you think?” There was only one right answer to the question, and someone bravely began to elaborate on how forward thinking Bangladesh is. I, however, looked around the dimly lit room. It was clearly the receiving area for guests, and yet the wallpaper revealed streaks where the ceiling had leaked, and the china cabinet proudly displayed a tarnished silver tea set. I thought of our “luxury” apartments, with the electricity that works only occasionally and the plumbing that works even less often. I thought of the “ambulance” we had seen on the way to the Ministry – a man whose leg was soaked in blood crammed into the back of a van with five other people, only two of whom were attending to him – the siren wailing weakly against the strains of traffic while the vehicle moved at a snails pace for the twenty minutes we were beside it on the road. I was immediately glad that I hadn’t been the one called upon to give my opinion on Bangladesh’s progress in the 21st century.
At last, the agonizing and awkward meeting was over, and we climbed back into our vans. It was a strange occasion, especially when contrasted with our visit to the U.S. Embassy. After all, the Bangladeshis had taken the time to meet with us, and a relatively high-ranking official had sat with us for tea. Their hospitality, though forced, was still a step up from the American performance.
After doing some homework and eating dinner, I invited another American I had met to come over for a movie. She is a University of Chicago student here for six weeks, studying the contrast in dietary habits between university students and their parents. Why she is doing that research here is a mystery to me, and I didn’t press for more details. It was obvious when I met her on the street the other day, though, that she nervous about being somewhere so foreign without any language skills at all. In fact, she’s probably wondering why she’s here too. I showed her our cockroaches, which disgusted her thoroughly, before attempting to watch a poorly pirated movie. In the end, we gave up on the movie and watched the BBC news. About 15 minutes after Jenny left, she called. I answered “Hello?” and was greeted with “You suck.” This caught me off guard for a minute, until she said, “Guess what I saw?” It registered quickly… Jenny had found her very own cockroaches. “Welcome to Bangladesh,” I quipped.
Fortunately, this was not the case. We were greeted eagerly upon our arrival and ushered into a room in which well worn sofas lined the walls. The building was musty, the way you’d expect a haunted house to smell, and the air conditioning wasn’t working. We sat politely on the couches while a man explained to us that we were going to meet some people who were at the Ministry for a “special training,” and that we would have the opportunity to speak to them about why we chose to study Bangla.
The people, as it turns out, were the equivalent of our foreign service officers, each of whom had between two and nine years of experience. We filed into the room where their training session was being held, and they stood as we entered. They were all seated around folding tables arranged in a “u” shape, and we sat on chairs around the circumference of the room. They were as unsure of why we were there as we were ourselves, that much was evident. The man who had greeted us at the entrance asked each of us to introduce ourselves, where we were going to school, what we were majoring in, and why we were interested in learning Bangla. It seems like we went through that information 20 times in the first two days of the program (getting to know each other), and the information rolled off of our tounges. Then the room was silent. The man asked the Ministry employees to introduce themselves and their disciplines, and they did so – then the room fell silent again. We were encouraged to open a dialogue, and a couple of students ventured to do so by asking questions about where the Ministry employees had previously been posted. Their questions were met with dry, succinct answers. Then it was their turn to ask questions of us. They asked how we plan to use Bangla in the future. One woman (who received a Fulbright to study patterns of language development in Bangladesh) began to explain what she planned to research. A man promptly cut her off, saying, “I understand, I understand… but what about YOU?” he asked, gesturing to one of only three men in our group. It was a textbook case of how women are treated here (in general). Men scarcely talk to women, only to each other. There are many shops – particularly tea shops - where women cannot even enter. While educated women are treated with slightly more respect, there is clearly not gender equality by any means. The awkward silence that fell after the man cut her off was unbreakable, and we were dismissed, then led into yet another room.
In this room, we sat around a large wooden conference table in rickety chairs. A man, whom I understood to be the equivalent of an SES, came in to greet us, and we were served tea while we spoke to him. “So,” he said, “I have heard that people think Bangladesh is a backwards country and that we are behind the times. Now that you are here, what do you think?” There was only one right answer to the question, and someone bravely began to elaborate on how forward thinking Bangladesh is. I, however, looked around the dimly lit room. It was clearly the receiving area for guests, and yet the wallpaper revealed streaks where the ceiling had leaked, and the china cabinet proudly displayed a tarnished silver tea set. I thought of our “luxury” apartments, with the electricity that works only occasionally and the plumbing that works even less often. I thought of the “ambulance” we had seen on the way to the Ministry – a man whose leg was soaked in blood crammed into the back of a van with five other people, only two of whom were attending to him – the siren wailing weakly against the strains of traffic while the vehicle moved at a snails pace for the twenty minutes we were beside it on the road. I was immediately glad that I hadn’t been the one called upon to give my opinion on Bangladesh’s progress in the 21st century.
At last, the agonizing and awkward meeting was over, and we climbed back into our vans. It was a strange occasion, especially when contrasted with our visit to the U.S. Embassy. After all, the Bangladeshis had taken the time to meet with us, and a relatively high-ranking official had sat with us for tea. Their hospitality, though forced, was still a step up from the American performance.
After doing some homework and eating dinner, I invited another American I had met to come over for a movie. She is a University of Chicago student here for six weeks, studying the contrast in dietary habits between university students and their parents. Why she is doing that research here is a mystery to me, and I didn’t press for more details. It was obvious when I met her on the street the other day, though, that she nervous about being somewhere so foreign without any language skills at all. In fact, she’s probably wondering why she’s here too. I showed her our cockroaches, which disgusted her thoroughly, before attempting to watch a poorly pirated movie. In the end, we gave up on the movie and watched the BBC news. About 15 minutes after Jenny left, she called. I answered “Hello?” and was greeted with “You suck.” This caught me off guard for a minute, until she said, “Guess what I saw?” It registered quickly… Jenny had found her very own cockroaches. “Welcome to Bangladesh,” I quipped.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Catching Up!
I’ve definitely fallen behind on the blogging. I originally hoped to post every day, at least until the days got too routine to do so, but it takes up a lot more time than I expected, and classes and homework assignments are getting longer every day. I’m not abandoning the goal of posting every day, but I am going to catch up by providing a summary of the last several days below.
Thursday, June 21:
Truly not much to say. I went to class until 1 p.m., and felt sick (dizzy/lightheaded) the entire time. It sounds like dehydration, but I don’t know how that’s possible because I drink SO MUCH water. I came home, slept ‘til 5 p.m., did some homework, ate some plain rice for dinner, did a little more homework, and went to bed.
Friday, June 22:
I did homework and studied for about three hours, then met up with Farina, my “native” conversation partner. She took me to the Liberation Museum, which is all about the 1971 Liberation War. Museum seems to be a loose term here, as it was more like a house with newspaper clippings tacked all over the walls. The newspaper clippings were not even in chronological order, which was kind of confusing. Farina’s father was a freedom fighter, though, as I had mentioned before, so I knew it was important to her to take me there. When I came home, I had about an hour to relax and get ready for a party at Jamal Ahmed’s house/studio. Jamal Ahmed is a fairly wealthy, fairly well known painter in Bangladesh, and was educated in Dallas, TX. He is also the guy who pulled the bottle of wine out of his pants at our program director’s party last week. His wife prepared a HUGE meal with a variety of different Bangladeshi dishes, and it was all excellent. He also had some musicians singing Bengali folk songs (which later digressed to a few random verses of Dylan, Simon & Garfunkel, and the Beatles). Our teachers were also at the party, and, not entirely surprisingly, I like them a whole lot more outside of the authoritarian setting of the classroom.
Saturday, June 23:
After a late night, I slept until 11 a.m.! Upon waking, I began to realize how much studying would be required for Sunday’s test, and felt sort of doomed from the start. I joined up with several other people for a trip to “Coffee World,” a very sterile (comfortingly so) bookstore coffee shop. We all ordered waffles and coffee (yum!), then got down to studying. We were there for six hours, and even then I didn’t know even half of the vocabulary that was fair game for the test. We came home for dinner, then returned to studying late into the night.
Sunday, June 24:
As I walked into the classroom, the teacher was neatly printing (in English) “Welcome to Hell” on the whiteboard. Nothing like a little pre-exam encouragement! The test was a 20 question nightmare. The first 10 questions listed English words for our conversion to Bangla. Sounds easy, right? Not when you had 150 vocab words to learn… the odds of remembering the Bangla word, then writing it correctly in Bangla were pretty slim. I left one blank, as I could only remember the first letter of the Bangla word, and took my best stab at the others. The last 10 questions showed Bangla conjuncts (such as the combined letter for b + d), and asked us to write out the letters that composed the conjunct. I knew a few, guessed at a few, and left the rest blank. It’s been a few years, but I can confidently say that I still don’t like tests!
Sunday night we hung out with some Bangladeshi guys in their 20’s whom we had met at Jamal Ahmed’s party. There are never girls to hang out with because they all have either curfews or husbands. We watched “Borat” together, and after the guys had left we nervously wondered whether they had been offended by the jokes made in the movie (particularly those about all Muslims being terrorists).
I apologize that this post has lacked the detail of my previous postings - but sometimes, you just need to economize!
Thursday, June 21:
Truly not much to say. I went to class until 1 p.m., and felt sick (dizzy/lightheaded) the entire time. It sounds like dehydration, but I don’t know how that’s possible because I drink SO MUCH water. I came home, slept ‘til 5 p.m., did some homework, ate some plain rice for dinner, did a little more homework, and went to bed.
Friday, June 22:
I did homework and studied for about three hours, then met up with Farina, my “native” conversation partner. She took me to the Liberation Museum, which is all about the 1971 Liberation War. Museum seems to be a loose term here, as it was more like a house with newspaper clippings tacked all over the walls. The newspaper clippings were not even in chronological order, which was kind of confusing. Farina’s father was a freedom fighter, though, as I had mentioned before, so I knew it was important to her to take me there. When I came home, I had about an hour to relax and get ready for a party at Jamal Ahmed’s house/studio. Jamal Ahmed is a fairly wealthy, fairly well known painter in Bangladesh, and was educated in Dallas, TX. He is also the guy who pulled the bottle of wine out of his pants at our program director’s party last week. His wife prepared a HUGE meal with a variety of different Bangladeshi dishes, and it was all excellent. He also had some musicians singing Bengali folk songs (which later digressed to a few random verses of Dylan, Simon & Garfunkel, and the Beatles). Our teachers were also at the party, and, not entirely surprisingly, I like them a whole lot more outside of the authoritarian setting of the classroom.
Saturday, June 23:
After a late night, I slept until 11 a.m.! Upon waking, I began to realize how much studying would be required for Sunday’s test, and felt sort of doomed from the start. I joined up with several other people for a trip to “Coffee World,” a very sterile (comfortingly so) bookstore coffee shop. We all ordered waffles and coffee (yum!), then got down to studying. We were there for six hours, and even then I didn’t know even half of the vocabulary that was fair game for the test. We came home for dinner, then returned to studying late into the night.
Sunday, June 24:
As I walked into the classroom, the teacher was neatly printing (in English) “Welcome to Hell” on the whiteboard. Nothing like a little pre-exam encouragement! The test was a 20 question nightmare. The first 10 questions listed English words for our conversion to Bangla. Sounds easy, right? Not when you had 150 vocab words to learn… the odds of remembering the Bangla word, then writing it correctly in Bangla were pretty slim. I left one blank, as I could only remember the first letter of the Bangla word, and took my best stab at the others. The last 10 questions showed Bangla conjuncts (such as the combined letter for b + d), and asked us to write out the letters that composed the conjunct. I knew a few, guessed at a few, and left the rest blank. It’s been a few years, but I can confidently say that I still don’t like tests!
Sunday night we hung out with some Bangladeshi guys in their 20’s whom we had met at Jamal Ahmed’s party. There are never girls to hang out with because they all have either curfews or husbands. We watched “Borat” together, and after the guys had left we nervously wondered whether they had been offended by the jokes made in the movie (particularly those about all Muslims being terrorists).
I apologize that this post has lacked the detail of my previous postings - but sometimes, you just need to economize!
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Birthday In Bangladesh
Wednesday was my birthday, and I had a strange feeling all day, sort of wistfulness for a classic, American birthday – hanging out with friends & family, having cake, being embarrassed while people sang to me, etc. This is only strange because I haven’t had that sort of “classic” birthday in years, and have never cared much at all about my birthday.Class was routine and not at all exciting. I had only done one out of three chapter’s worth of homework, and found my eyelids heavy as we learned new letters.
After class we went to the U.S. Embassy for a security briefing. If you’ll recall, we had endeavored to do this once before, and were turned away after 45 minutes of waiting outside. This time was more successful in terms of getting into the building, however, the briefing itself left much to be desired. We were not exactly welcomed at the embassy, but rather herded through the hallways (while I tried my best to peek in every doorway so that I could figure out exactly what it is that they do in embassies) to a conference room (only slightly larger than the one SPI4 uses at DISA). We were met by the Regional Security Officer (RSO), whom, for the sake of how pitiful his briefing was, I’ll not refer to by name. He was a young guy, in his early 30’s who has been at the Bangladesh Embassy for just under two years. To put it mildly, his briefing was not only culturally insensitive on a general level, but downright offensive coming from someone who is supposed to be a diplomatic representative of the U.S. His transgressions were too numerous to recite here, but for starters, he had a very clear delineation between “us” and “them,” which he reminded us of throughout the briefing. I’ll try to quote you some of the high points:
“I’ll give you a brief rundown of the political status,” he said, pulling up a PowerPoint slide with photographs of the leaders of the two main political parties, “Here we have tweedle-dee, and to the right, tweedle-dum.”
“It’s nice being the police in a police state.”
“I haven’t had to do much work since the military started running the show.”
“Sometimes ‘they’ get all riled up after going to the mosque, and, since they have nothing better to do, ‘they’ start demonstrating in the streets.”
He continued to tell us more about localized, common crimes, and continuously cited that we should not use rickshaws as a transportation method because they are “dangerous.” (I should mention now that one-fourth of the Dhaka workforce is rickshaw oriented – whether it be actually driving rickshaws, or repairing them. Rickshaws are the primary means of transport for the average person, especially for us, because we are not literate enough to even attempt using public busses.)
“I drive a Ford Explorer,” he began, seemingly proud of his gas-guzzling monstrosity, “And let me tell you – many a rickshaw have tried to go head to head with me and I win every time.” He then proceeded to tell us, with a degree of pride, how he had once sideswiped a rickshaw, overturning it and throwing both the driver and passenger into the street. He elaborated then how “they” (Bangladeshis) proceeded to throw bricks through the windows of his car.
Why are rickshaws dangerous? Because of people like him.Why do people around the world dislike Americans? Because of people like him.
When the briefing was over, we all filed silently out of the building and back onto our bus, at which point everyone, including our program director, exploded in disbelief over what we had just heard. People started railing against “government employees” who are “all so insipid.” Quietly, and rather unlike me to be so quiet, I pointed out that they were being equally discriminatory with their stereotyping. “Oh that’s right,” someone said, “She’s one of them.” “Yes,” I said, “I’m one of them, and you should know that there are lots of us who are perfectly nice, intelligent people.” No one said anything for a long moment, which I was not sure how to interpret, but then one of my roommates said, “Alright, since it’s your birthday we’ll cut you some slack.”
I did some homework before going out with four others for a b-day dinner. We walked an incredibly long time to get to a Thai restaurant, but it was very good and well worth it.
Returning home, I found several birthday wishes and two excellent “gifts” awaiting me in my email. My friends and co-workers (you are both to me) had made a video of themselves singing “Happy Birthday” and e-mailed it to me. They had also constructed a “Dateline DISA Birthday Edition,” which I loved (there couldn’t have been a better way to make a b-day card for me!). I just want to tell you guys how much that video meant to me – I have never enjoyed hearing that song so much in my entire life. Thank you.
Giving myself a birthday gift, I decided not to finish my homework and went to bed :-)
Thursday, June 21, 2007
FYI: There Are Only 4 Religions
Some people continued to complain on Tuesday about the pace of class, while others retaliated with a passive-aggressive, “I guess I’m just stupid.” It all got to be too much for me, and I spent the tea break alone to get some peace and quiet.
It wasn’t long at all before everyone was quieted, though, as the teachers assigned three chapters worth of homework – where they had previously been assigning only one chapter per day. I felt a big smug, however, when I overheard one of the people who had been complaining about the class being too slow say, “I guess we should be careful what we wish for.”
I went to a restaurant called Magpie for lunch with 3 of my classmates, only to find that we were the only women in the entire place – attracting even more stares than usual. Women seem to disappear around midday, though we see them often during the rest of the day.
In the afternoon, I met with Farina, my “conversation partner.” We were assigned in groups of two to a student volunteer from IUB (our host university). The idea is that we can spend time with people our own age, go places, and practice using our Bangla with a native speaker. Farina is a 3rd year student at IUB, majoring in communications and digital media. She admitted that she is more comfortable speaking in English than in Bangla because she lived in London for 4 years (her father was in the military), and has always attended English language schools here in Bangladesh. We gave each other quick overviews of our life stories, and practiced a little bit of dialogue. She said (twice) that my accent is very good, so that was cool. Her father was a freedom fighter in the 1971 liberation war – when Bangladesh fought to obtain independence from Pakistan - as were both of her grandfathers and two of her uncles (all of whom were killed in the war). We made plans to go to the Liberation Museum later in the week.
Dinner provided unique cultural insight and entertainment in the form of a conversation with Milan, the cook. One of the girls asked if the dish (which, like all the dishes he serves, was quite indistinguishable) contained pork. He asked, with a surprised look on his face, if she was Hindu, and she responded, “No, Jewish.” He looked confused, then said, “Christian?” “No,” the girl smiled and the table fell silent, “Jewish.” Milan pondered this for a moment, began to say, “Buddhi… no, they’re in China,” and remained puzzled. Someone else offered up, “You know Israel?” Milan nodded, “Yes, yes, Israel, Palestine, I know.” “Well the Israeli’s are Jewish,” someone else chimed in. Milan suddenly looked cross. “No,” he said, “Israel have no god. They take money, buy food. You no have food, they tell you to go work.” He contrasted this with Islam, “Here there is God. Allah give food. Allah give water. You have no food, you pray to Allah and Allah gives.” Our mouths hung open, our eyes wide in reaction to his certainty on the issue. To end the conversation, he stated simply, counting on his fingers, “Four religions only: Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Christian. Only four.” When he left the room, we giggled quietly around the table, while two girls pretended to resign themselves to the fact that their religion did not, in fact, exist.
I spent the remainder of the evening working on the massive amount of homework that had been assigned, and eventually gave up in favor of sleep.
It wasn’t long at all before everyone was quieted, though, as the teachers assigned three chapters worth of homework – where they had previously been assigning only one chapter per day. I felt a big smug, however, when I overheard one of the people who had been complaining about the class being too slow say, “I guess we should be careful what we wish for.”
I went to a restaurant called Magpie for lunch with 3 of my classmates, only to find that we were the only women in the entire place – attracting even more stares than usual. Women seem to disappear around midday, though we see them often during the rest of the day.
In the afternoon, I met with Farina, my “conversation partner.” We were assigned in groups of two to a student volunteer from IUB (our host university). The idea is that we can spend time with people our own age, go places, and practice using our Bangla with a native speaker. Farina is a 3rd year student at IUB, majoring in communications and digital media. She admitted that she is more comfortable speaking in English than in Bangla because she lived in London for 4 years (her father was in the military), and has always attended English language schools here in Bangladesh. We gave each other quick overviews of our life stories, and practiced a little bit of dialogue. She said (twice) that my accent is very good, so that was cool. Her father was a freedom fighter in the 1971 liberation war – when Bangladesh fought to obtain independence from Pakistan - as were both of her grandfathers and two of her uncles (all of whom were killed in the war). We made plans to go to the Liberation Museum later in the week.
Dinner provided unique cultural insight and entertainment in the form of a conversation with Milan, the cook. One of the girls asked if the dish (which, like all the dishes he serves, was quite indistinguishable) contained pork. He asked, with a surprised look on his face, if she was Hindu, and she responded, “No, Jewish.” He looked confused, then said, “Christian?” “No,” the girl smiled and the table fell silent, “Jewish.” Milan pondered this for a moment, began to say, “Buddhi… no, they’re in China,” and remained puzzled. Someone else offered up, “You know Israel?” Milan nodded, “Yes, yes, Israel, Palestine, I know.” “Well the Israeli’s are Jewish,” someone else chimed in. Milan suddenly looked cross. “No,” he said, “Israel have no god. They take money, buy food. You no have food, they tell you to go work.” He contrasted this with Islam, “Here there is God. Allah give food. Allah give water. You have no food, you pray to Allah and Allah gives.” Our mouths hung open, our eyes wide in reaction to his certainty on the issue. To end the conversation, he stated simply, counting on his fingers, “Four religions only: Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Christian. Only four.” When he left the room, we giggled quietly around the table, while two girls pretended to resign themselves to the fact that their religion did not, in fact, exist.
I spent the remainder of the evening working on the massive amount of homework that had been assigned, and eventually gave up in favor of sleep.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
One of My Favorite Hobbies: People Watching
It’s been one full week since we’ve been in Bangladesh, and people’s polite facades are starting to disintegrate, and I am interested (though not exactly eager) to see how the group dynamic will evolve.
As I mentioned yesterday, several of us were quite sick from the lunch we ate on Sunday, and for most people, that carried over into today. Class moved at a slow pace, and we covered only four letters. Since it was 110 degrees by noon and so many were feeling ill, the teachers dismissed us an hour early and told everyone to drink plenty of water to stay hydrated. That’s when things started to get interesting…
A couple of the students (as in two) pitched a fit that we were getting out early, not learning enough, etc. Their tone was such that it implied that they were far more dedicated and capable of learning much more and much faster than the rest of us. It almost became a discussion, but most people were to sick to care and left the classroom anyway. The two individuals previously mentioned loudly refused to leave the classroom, and demanded that the teacher move ahead with them in the lessons. Those remaining in the classroom, including myself, quietly indicated that we were not quite so dependent on staying the extra hour, and dismissed ourselves.
Now, one of the “uber intelligent” individuals mentioned above lives in my apartment, so, slightly more than an hour later she stormed in the front door (coming from her extra lesson) complaining about how the rest of the group doesn’t have their priorities in order, we aren’t learning fast enough, etc. This rant was basically directed at me, since three of my other roommates were sick in bed and the other had gone to lunch. I put down my book and pointed out that many people were sick (she seemed to think it was a poor excuse), and that despite that, everyone learns at a different pace. “We are, after all,” I said, “in Bangladesh, at no expense to ourselves. It is not so incredibly serious that we master an entire language in only two months.” This earned me an exasperated, overly-audible sigh and the silent treatment for the remainder of the afternoon.
Around 4:30 p.m., I walked to Gulshan 2 (a neighborhood) to pick up the clothes I had ordered from a tailor last week. Both outfits are surprisingly sheer, and consequentially self-defeating, but will be fine with an undershirt. Pictures will be provided over the next couple of days. While in Gulshan 2, I found a perfectly modern grocery store (the first I’ve seen) and picked up some apple juice and saltines for my ill roommates (whom I’ve assigned the group name “the sickies”).
Returning home around 6 p.m., I did some homework, then went to dinner. We had the delicious saffron rice again, this time with yellow dal and vegetable curry. During dinner, the educational coordinator – a Ph.D student in Southeast Asian Languages at University of Chicago who is married to a Bengali – stopped in to get some of our feedback on how things went the first week. While most of us tried to offer up some genuine and constructive feedback, our voices were drowned out by the two “super-smart” girls, who complained about everything, especially our pace. Again, the obvious overtones of superiority were present, and feeling better, most people caught it that time and were appropriately offended.
After dinner, I noticed two factions beginning to form: those who are generally pleased with the way class is going, and those who feel their intelligence is being slighted. Each group was talking about the other, but I noticed that the “intelligent” group was naming names and pointing fingers, while the “average” group remained politely nondescript in their references.
Returning home, I found the obnoxiously self-righteous roommate trying to bolster support from the sickies, telling them that her plan was just “to whine and complain until she got her way.”
Seriously? I sometimes wonder if I’m on a hidden-camera reality show fronted by the State Dept.
I’ll be sure to keep you all posted as I remain, as much as possible, in a neutral corner… observing the craziness.
As I mentioned yesterday, several of us were quite sick from the lunch we ate on Sunday, and for most people, that carried over into today. Class moved at a slow pace, and we covered only four letters. Since it was 110 degrees by noon and so many were feeling ill, the teachers dismissed us an hour early and told everyone to drink plenty of water to stay hydrated. That’s when things started to get interesting…
A couple of the students (as in two) pitched a fit that we were getting out early, not learning enough, etc. Their tone was such that it implied that they were far more dedicated and capable of learning much more and much faster than the rest of us. It almost became a discussion, but most people were to sick to care and left the classroom anyway. The two individuals previously mentioned loudly refused to leave the classroom, and demanded that the teacher move ahead with them in the lessons. Those remaining in the classroom, including myself, quietly indicated that we were not quite so dependent on staying the extra hour, and dismissed ourselves.
Now, one of the “uber intelligent” individuals mentioned above lives in my apartment, so, slightly more than an hour later she stormed in the front door (coming from her extra lesson) complaining about how the rest of the group doesn’t have their priorities in order, we aren’t learning fast enough, etc. This rant was basically directed at me, since three of my other roommates were sick in bed and the other had gone to lunch. I put down my book and pointed out that many people were sick (she seemed to think it was a poor excuse), and that despite that, everyone learns at a different pace. “We are, after all,” I said, “in Bangladesh, at no expense to ourselves. It is not so incredibly serious that we master an entire language in only two months.” This earned me an exasperated, overly-audible sigh and the silent treatment for the remainder of the afternoon.
Around 4:30 p.m., I walked to Gulshan 2 (a neighborhood) to pick up the clothes I had ordered from a tailor last week. Both outfits are surprisingly sheer, and consequentially self-defeating, but will be fine with an undershirt. Pictures will be provided over the next couple of days. While in Gulshan 2, I found a perfectly modern grocery store (the first I’ve seen) and picked up some apple juice and saltines for my ill roommates (whom I’ve assigned the group name “the sickies”).
Returning home around 6 p.m., I did some homework, then went to dinner. We had the delicious saffron rice again, this time with yellow dal and vegetable curry. During dinner, the educational coordinator – a Ph.D student in Southeast Asian Languages at University of Chicago who is married to a Bengali – stopped in to get some of our feedback on how things went the first week. While most of us tried to offer up some genuine and constructive feedback, our voices were drowned out by the two “super-smart” girls, who complained about everything, especially our pace. Again, the obvious overtones of superiority were present, and feeling better, most people caught it that time and were appropriately offended.
After dinner, I noticed two factions beginning to form: those who are generally pleased with the way class is going, and those who feel their intelligence is being slighted. Each group was talking about the other, but I noticed that the “intelligent” group was naming names and pointing fingers, while the “average” group remained politely nondescript in their references.
Returning home, I found the obnoxiously self-righteous roommate trying to bolster support from the sickies, telling them that her plan was just “to whine and complain until she got her way.”
Seriously? I sometimes wonder if I’m on a hidden-camera reality show fronted by the State Dept.
I’ll be sure to keep you all posted as I remain, as much as possible, in a neutral corner… observing the craziness.
Monday, June 18, 2007
A Quick Recap of Saturday and Sunday
On Saturday I had breakfast, read a little while, took a short nap, then headed to a place called Café Mango, which the other students had told me about, to do some studying.
Café Mango is the best impression of an American coffee shop any of us have found thus far. It is also the only one that actually serves coffee (everyone drinks tea, and Nescafe is the only alternative). Café Mango is small, maybe 700 square feet, and contains a sofa with a coffee table and several small tables with 2-4 chairs. It’s dim, but clean, and seems to be the hangout for young hand-holding couples. Now, for most of you, that last sentence probably didn’t resonate. Couples – as in boys and girls, together, holding hands. It’s pretty crazy stuff in this part of the world!
Anyway, I studied for about 3 hours, then had lunch with some other students there.
In the late afternoon, my roommates and I were just hanging out at the apartment, semi-watching/semi-making-fun-of a Bollywood movie, when one of us looked out the window and noticed the particularly ominous clouds beginning to surround us. Within five minutes, the sky was completely black and there was so much water hitting the windows that you could no longer see out them. It was still pouring an hour and a half later when we were leaving the house for dinner. Our doorman actually tried to stop us from going out – but we rolled up our pants and waded along with our umbrellas anyway.
After dinner, two American girls from Smith College (along with all 15 students in our program) came over to our apartment for “mashti,” or dessert. (I’ll tell you about mashti another time.) One of the girls has an American father and Bangladeshi mother, and so is fluent in both languages, though she can’t read or write in Bangla. She has lived in Bangladesh since she was four, and still returns here to stay with her parents on school breaks. She told us she would give us some tips on the “nightlife.”
We went to bed incredibly late, which means I’m quite tired and the rest of this entry will be relatively short.
Classes started again at 9 a.m. on Sunday, and we resumed learning the script. We learned 5 more “consonants,” one more vowel, and one more invisible vowel. I place consonants in quotations because it is not so much a letter as a sound captured in a symbol. For example, today we learned “ng” and “sh,” which are the sounds, and not the actual names of the characters (umo and shat).
I had lunch with several classmates at a restaurant near the school, where the owner insisted that we try one of everything (literally). He eagerly placed items on our table (which was located in his office as a courtesy to keep other patrons from staring at us), told us how to say their names in Bangla, and watched each of us try them. Mind you, we must have had at least 12 different dishes between the five of us – more than we could ever eat - and the total cost of the lunch came out to about $2.50 each. Crazy.
What was crazier was how we all felt afterwards… spending our afternoon nearly doubled over in pain. Ahh yes… experiencing the culture! For the most part recovered, we all sat in the main room together to do our homework, and are calling it an early night.
Café Mango is the best impression of an American coffee shop any of us have found thus far. It is also the only one that actually serves coffee (everyone drinks tea, and Nescafe is the only alternative). Café Mango is small, maybe 700 square feet, and contains a sofa with a coffee table and several small tables with 2-4 chairs. It’s dim, but clean, and seems to be the hangout for young hand-holding couples. Now, for most of you, that last sentence probably didn’t resonate. Couples – as in boys and girls, together, holding hands. It’s pretty crazy stuff in this part of the world!
Anyway, I studied for about 3 hours, then had lunch with some other students there.
In the late afternoon, my roommates and I were just hanging out at the apartment, semi-watching/semi-making-fun-of a Bollywood movie, when one of us looked out the window and noticed the particularly ominous clouds beginning to surround us. Within five minutes, the sky was completely black and there was so much water hitting the windows that you could no longer see out them. It was still pouring an hour and a half later when we were leaving the house for dinner. Our doorman actually tried to stop us from going out – but we rolled up our pants and waded along with our umbrellas anyway.
After dinner, two American girls from Smith College (along with all 15 students in our program) came over to our apartment for “mashti,” or dessert. (I’ll tell you about mashti another time.) One of the girls has an American father and Bangladeshi mother, and so is fluent in both languages, though she can’t read or write in Bangla. She has lived in Bangladesh since she was four, and still returns here to stay with her parents on school breaks. She told us she would give us some tips on the “nightlife.”
We went to bed incredibly late, which means I’m quite tired and the rest of this entry will be relatively short.
Classes started again at 9 a.m. on Sunday, and we resumed learning the script. We learned 5 more “consonants,” one more vowel, and one more invisible vowel. I place consonants in quotations because it is not so much a letter as a sound captured in a symbol. For example, today we learned “ng” and “sh,” which are the sounds, and not the actual names of the characters (umo and shat).I had lunch with several classmates at a restaurant near the school, where the owner insisted that we try one of everything (literally). He eagerly placed items on our table (which was located in his office as a courtesy to keep other patrons from staring at us), told us how to say their names in Bangla, and watched each of us try them. Mind you, we must have had at least 12 different dishes between the five of us – more than we could ever eat - and the total cost of the lunch came out to about $2.50 each. Crazy.
What was crazier was how we all felt afterwards… spending our afternoon nearly doubled over in pain. Ahh yes… experiencing the culture! For the most part recovered, we all sat in the main room together to do our homework, and are calling it an early night.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Monsooning
Today was Friday, the holy day, the day of the monsoon. Despite staying up super late last night, I was up at 6 a.m. I cannot get my sleep schedule on track at all! I read in the morning, then went to breakfast, came home, and read some more while it poured outside.In between the storms, I took some pictures from my balcony of the men at the mosque, and the people begging outside.
At 2 p.m., I went to an area called Banani – just to check it out and see a different part of town. While I walked around, I was stared at constantly… as I am very obviously western and white, and therefore stick out like a sore thumb. I gave some bananas out to kids and took some pictures, even though I am incredibly self conscious about taking my camera out and taking pictures of people. I’m not really pleased with the pictures, but until I have enough vocabulary to ask people permission to take their photos, this will have to do.I got home around 5, just in time for it to start monsooning again. I doubt monsooning is a proper verb, but there’s really nothing else you can call it – raining just doesn’t fit the bill.
I watched a pirated movie (Blades of Glory) with my roommates, which they had bought for about $1.25, until it was time for dinner.
When we went to leave the apartment for dinner, the guard tried to stop us because it was raining so hard. (All of the buildings in Baridhara have guards. They’re really more like doormen, as they don’t have weapons or anything, but since it’s the diplomatic sector, I think more precautions are taken.) We went anyway, and were glad we did, because we had the best dinner yet: some sort of fancy rice with cardamom, mango pickle, spicy chicken and potatoes, and curried vegetables. It was awesome, and we all kept telling Milan, the cook, over and over again how much we liked it (hoping that he would cook it again).Our dinners are long because we all tell our stories of what we did during the day and the people we met, etc. Now it is nearly 10 p.m., and I am beat. Khoda haphej ‘til next time!
Introduction to the Script
School was pretty brutal today. We learned how to say the numbers 1 – 10, and were also taught the script for them. I can say all the numbers (slowly), but definitely cannot recognize the script (except that their 4 looks like our 8). Numbers were easy compared to what came next: the script/alphabet!
We learned 6 consonants, 4 vowels, and one invisible vowel. Oh yes, I said invisible. We learned how to pronounce them as they are identified (such as a – b – c), and also learned how to pronounce them as if we were reading them in a word (such as “cab”). Then we practiced writing them, which was incredibly painful. Like little kids, it took us forever to shape the “letter” on our paper, trying to stay between the lines, etc. We would just write the same letter over and over and over across a line, the same way that little kids learn to write in cursive. In fact, our homework is to practice writing the letters and numbers. I can't realy recognize the characters at all yet, except I can tell if it's a vowel. A sample is provided below.
By the end of the class, at least two people were on the verge of tears, and another was ready to drop out of the program. (In this context, I love being the underachiever… I was like them when I was an undergrad – had to be perfect, had to get it right the first time… Possibly the greatest perk of growing up is not taking yourself quite so seriously.)
Some people came home after class and kept practicing the letters… I sent some emails and read a book instead. It’s nice to have the time to read books that haven’t been assigned!
At 5 p.m., we walked to the program director’s flat for a “casual reception” with the vice chancellor (equivalent to a university president) of Independent University of Bangladesh (the school that hosts our program). Let me just say, his apartment could have been lifted straight out of Manhattan. He had lots of very “mod” furniture, lighting, and art. He also had a full bar – which we all indulged in after such a frustrating day at school. Our teachers were also at the reception, along with a few of the director’s personal friends. One was an artist, who, upon entering the apartment, proceeded to pull a bottle of wine (Black Swan) out of his pants. The teachers looked slightly horrified (as Bangladeshi’s are not allowed, by law, to drink), but only slightly… as if that sort of thing happens from time to time and the appropriate thing to do is look shocked and then look the other way.
At 7, we had a quick dinner (very sketchy looking – it was quick because no one ate anything but potatoes) and a dessert of the most delicious pineapple I’ve ever had.
My apartment was the place to be, as we offered to host a “party.” We played card games and sat around and talked until nearly midnight – determined to stay up late enough finally be able to sleep through the night. (It didn’t work, by the way, we were all up by 6 a.m. on Friday.)
I am looking forward to the “weekend” (Friday and Saturday), and hope to go exploring in different neighborhoods.
The video below is of my first rickshaw ride.
We learned 6 consonants, 4 vowels, and one invisible vowel. Oh yes, I said invisible. We learned how to pronounce them as they are identified (such as a – b – c), and also learned how to pronounce them as if we were reading them in a word (such as “cab”). Then we practiced writing them, which was incredibly painful. Like little kids, it took us forever to shape the “letter” on our paper, trying to stay between the lines, etc. We would just write the same letter over and over and over across a line, the same way that little kids learn to write in cursive. In fact, our homework is to practice writing the letters and numbers. I can't realy recognize the characters at all yet, except I can tell if it's a vowel. A sample is provided below.
By the end of the class, at least two people were on the verge of tears, and another was ready to drop out of the program. (In this context, I love being the underachiever… I was like them when I was an undergrad – had to be perfect, had to get it right the first time… Possibly the greatest perk of growing up is not taking yourself quite so seriously.)
Some people came home after class and kept practicing the letters… I sent some emails and read a book instead. It’s nice to have the time to read books that haven’t been assigned!
At 5 p.m., we walked to the program director’s flat for a “casual reception” with the vice chancellor (equivalent to a university president) of Independent University of Bangladesh (the school that hosts our program). Let me just say, his apartment could have been lifted straight out of Manhattan. He had lots of very “mod” furniture, lighting, and art. He also had a full bar – which we all indulged in after such a frustrating day at school. Our teachers were also at the reception, along with a few of the director’s personal friends. One was an artist, who, upon entering the apartment, proceeded to pull a bottle of wine (Black Swan) out of his pants. The teachers looked slightly horrified (as Bangladeshi’s are not allowed, by law, to drink), but only slightly… as if that sort of thing happens from time to time and the appropriate thing to do is look shocked and then look the other way.
At 7, we had a quick dinner (very sketchy looking – it was quick because no one ate anything but potatoes) and a dessert of the most delicious pineapple I’ve ever had.
My apartment was the place to be, as we offered to host a “party.” We played card games and sat around and talked until nearly midnight – determined to stay up late enough finally be able to sleep through the night. (It didn’t work, by the way, we were all up by 6 a.m. on Friday.)
I am looking forward to the “weekend” (Friday and Saturday), and hope to go exploring in different neighborhoods.
The video below is of my first rickshaw ride.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Did the principal call my mom? (Because I definitely got in trouble at school.)
So it’s 10:30 at night, and I totally want to be sleeping, but am trying to beat the jet lag, so I’m going to write instead to keep myself up a bit longer.
We learned all sorts of random stuff in class today – I’m a bit skeptical as to the lesson planning that is (or is not) going on behind the scenes. We learned body parts and classroom objects (which apparently include things like road, tree, and water bottle). Then we learned a bunch of words that don’t really belong together… morning, can you make change?, I want to drink tea., how are you doing?, and so forth. Regardless, I was paying attention and taking notes like a good little student, and apparently, because I was writing, my teacher thought I wasn’t paying attention, and she called me out in front of the whole class and asked me a bunch of questions. I answered one of them incorrectly – the wrong vowel sound – and she says (in front of the entire class), “Noreen, tomorrow you sit in the front row.” I was so angry! I felt like I was being treated like a naughty little kid… just because I was not doing it “her way.” This whole situation put me in an incredibly bad mood.
We had to go to lunch with the teachers today as a huge group, and we went to this ridiculous “world cuisine” buffet… which had everything from dal (lentils) to deviled eggs and flan to kebabs. I completely avoided talking to the teachers the entire time because I was still (in fact, I am STILL) hung up on the whole treating me like a child/chastise me in front of my peers thing. I really hope tomorrow I am able to let it go (though I’m sure my classmates from GMU know how much I DETEST sitting anywhere other than the back row!).
In the afternoon I went to a tailor to have some traditional clothing made. The women’s outfits are called shalwar kameez, and consist of baggy pants, a long tunic top, and the “backward scarf” called an orna. To have them custom made cost $20 each (1000 taka), so I ordered two, and they should be ready by Monday, June 18.
The best part of my trip so far came this afternoon, when I bought a package of crackers and handed them out among the children who were begging in the street. I didn’t even have the package open yet and there was a swarm of about 20 kids around me – it was completely heartbreaking. I handed most of the crackers out to them, then crossed the street and gave the rest to some women with toddlers and babies. I definitely think I will make this a regular activity… when I get a little more familiar with numbers and currency I am going to buy a bunch of bananas and nuts (and things with generally more nutritional value than crackers) to hand out.
After that, of course, everything else I have to say seems rather unimportant, but alas, the details of my evening go on…
I washed my pants in the afternoon and hung them out to dry, figuring that I could sneak the three blocks to dinner in the dark wearing Capri pants without anyone noticing. For the record, I was completely wrong… everyone noticed, even in the dark. Oh well… those pants were getting pretty gross – it had to be done!
Dessert tonight was hilarious… They gave us some “strawberry” ice cream. It tasted EXACTLY like the liquid penicillin that kids get… and if you don’t remember what that tastes like, think about the taste of a “strawberry” Tums. Yup, it was really exactly like that. Milan (the cook) was laughing at all of our faces as we tried it – which we all did just for the sensation – and afterward said, “No strawberry? Next time I buy chocolate.” Very funny.
Oh, I’m pretty sure I didn’t mention this before, but the chocolate thing reminded me… The chocolate in Bangladesh has a really high paraffin content – to keep it from melting. So basically, it tastes like you are eating a candle. Yum!
Well, that’s all for today folks… I’ve got to go through my flash cards a couple more times before bed!
We learned all sorts of random stuff in class today – I’m a bit skeptical as to the lesson planning that is (or is not) going on behind the scenes. We learned body parts and classroom objects (which apparently include things like road, tree, and water bottle). Then we learned a bunch of words that don’t really belong together… morning, can you make change?, I want to drink tea., how are you doing?, and so forth. Regardless, I was paying attention and taking notes like a good little student, and apparently, because I was writing, my teacher thought I wasn’t paying attention, and she called me out in front of the whole class and asked me a bunch of questions. I answered one of them incorrectly – the wrong vowel sound – and she says (in front of the entire class), “Noreen, tomorrow you sit in the front row.” I was so angry! I felt like I was being treated like a naughty little kid… just because I was not doing it “her way.” This whole situation put me in an incredibly bad mood.
We had to go to lunch with the teachers today as a huge group, and we went to this ridiculous “world cuisine” buffet… which had everything from dal (lentils) to deviled eggs and flan to kebabs. I completely avoided talking to the teachers the entire time because I was still (in fact, I am STILL) hung up on the whole treating me like a child/chastise me in front of my peers thing. I really hope tomorrow I am able to let it go (though I’m sure my classmates from GMU know how much I DETEST sitting anywhere other than the back row!).
In the afternoon I went to a tailor to have some traditional clothing made. The women’s outfits are called shalwar kameez, and consist of baggy pants, a long tunic top, and the “backward scarf” called an orna. To have them custom made cost $20 each (1000 taka), so I ordered two, and they should be ready by Monday, June 18.
The best part of my trip so far came this afternoon, when I bought a package of crackers and handed them out among the children who were begging in the street. I didn’t even have the package open yet and there was a swarm of about 20 kids around me – it was completely heartbreaking. I handed most of the crackers out to them, then crossed the street and gave the rest to some women with toddlers and babies. I definitely think I will make this a regular activity… when I get a little more familiar with numbers and currency I am going to buy a bunch of bananas and nuts (and things with generally more nutritional value than crackers) to hand out.
After that, of course, everything else I have to say seems rather unimportant, but alas, the details of my evening go on…
I washed my pants in the afternoon and hung them out to dry, figuring that I could sneak the three blocks to dinner in the dark wearing Capri pants without anyone noticing. For the record, I was completely wrong… everyone noticed, even in the dark. Oh well… those pants were getting pretty gross – it had to be done!
Dessert tonight was hilarious… They gave us some “strawberry” ice cream. It tasted EXACTLY like the liquid penicillin that kids get… and if you don’t remember what that tastes like, think about the taste of a “strawberry” Tums. Yup, it was really exactly like that. Milan (the cook) was laughing at all of our faces as we tried it – which we all did just for the sensation – and afterward said, “No strawberry? Next time I buy chocolate.” Very funny.
Oh, I’m pretty sure I didn’t mention this before, but the chocolate thing reminded me… The chocolate in Bangladesh has a really high paraffin content – to keep it from melting. So basically, it tastes like you are eating a candle. Yum!
Well, that’s all for today folks… I’ve got to go through my flash cards a couple more times before bed!
Rickshaw Adventure
The picture to the left is directly across from my balcony. It is a mosque under construction. The park is the only one our director has found in the whole city (he's lived here for 7 years). You can sort of tell how thick the haze is from the photo too.
We had breakfast at the house before class today, which consisted of fried eggs, toast, bananas, tea, and Nescafe (instant coffee). This, they said, will be the same every day. It was good, and I am totally cool with having it regularly.
Class began at 9:30, and most of us were pretty groggy from a rough night and the set in of jet-lag. We introduced ourselves one by one to the teachers, then they did the same. We then spent an hour learning the vocabulary necessary to use a rickshaw:
Aye rickshaw walla! (The equivalent of haling a cab, with a hand signal)
Baridhara jabo. (I want to go to Baridhara).
Koto neben? (How much are you asking?)
Tika che (Ok.)
Na (No.)
- I should mention that nothing has a fixed price, and everything is up for negotiation. This made the whole rickshaw thing kind of futile, since we don’t know the numbers, we didn’t know how much they were asking for, and couldn’t bargain with them.
Dani jan (Go right.)
Bami jan (Go left.)
Shota jan (Go straight.)
Tamo (Stop.)
After parroting this exact dialogue back to the teachers over and over again, we went outside to hail rickshaws. They are EVERYWHERE, so actually hailing them was not a problem. As I mentioned, however, since we didn’t know the words to bargain with them, our teachers had to intervene, explain that we are learning Bangla, and get them to commit to five taka. Our teachers got on with us, and off we went.
Riding a rickshaw is pretty scary. They dart in and out of traffic (there are no lines on the roads in Bangladesh, which means it’s pretty much a free-for-all, as long as you generally stay to the left), and you find yourself inches from, if not touching, other cars and buses. Additionally, because there are so many rickshaws, their wheels got stuck together a few times, and they yell at and purposefully bump into each other with relative frequency.
Class began at 9:30, and most of us were pretty groggy from a rough night and the set in of jet-lag. We introduced ourselves one by one to the teachers, then they did the same. We then spent an hour learning the vocabulary necessary to use a rickshaw:
Aye rickshaw walla! (The equivalent of haling a cab, with a hand signal)
Baridhara jabo. (I want to go to Baridhara).
Koto neben? (How much are you asking?)
Tika che (Ok.)
Na (No.)
- I should mention that nothing has a fixed price, and everything is up for negotiation. This made the whole rickshaw thing kind of futile, since we don’t know the numbers, we didn’t know how much they were asking for, and couldn’t bargain with them.
Dani jan (Go right.)
Bami jan (Go left.)
Shota jan (Go straight.)
Tamo (Stop.)
After parroting this exact dialogue back to the teachers over and over again, we went outside to hail rickshaws. They are EVERYWHERE, so actually hailing them was not a problem. As I mentioned, however, since we didn’t know the words to bargain with them, our teachers had to intervene, explain that we are learning Bangla, and get them to commit to five taka. Our teachers got on with us, and off we went.
Riding a rickshaw is pretty scary. They dart in and out of traffic (there are no lines on the roads in Bangladesh, which means it’s pretty much a free-for-all, as long as you generally stay to the left), and you find yourself inches from, if not touching, other cars and buses. Additionally, because there are so many rickshaws, their wheels got stuck together a few times, and they yell at and purposefully bump into each other with relative frequency.
We went to a tea shop and had tea with our teachers and talked about how to dress properly, then went back to our classrooms. We were dismissed for lunch, and being that I was so overwhelmed, I just came back to the flat and began to write for awhile. I’m not sure if I’m putting too much pressure on myself or not enough, but either way, I still feel like there are far too many words being thrown around for me to absorb at this point.
After lunch, we went to the American Embassy to get a security briefing and register our location. After waiting outside of the security gate for nearly an hour, we were finally told that the regional security officer, who was supposed to brief us, was actually out sick, and that no one else was available to help us. It was really a pitiful experience, considering that we are here on a sponsorship from the State Dept. It seemed as though it were just too much of a bother to actually meet with/say hello to us, and we were turned back to our bus without any further explanation.
Free to explore, Kira again offered to take us around, and we were very appreciative. She took us to a sort of upscale department store called Aaroong, which is run by an NGO, and boasts that they pay a fare wage to those who supply their goods. It was a pretty nice store, but that upscale department store snobbiness was apparent even in the workers here, which I found to be quite ironic. I bought another orna, also $2.70, so that I’m not wearing the same one every day.
We were about ready to leave the store, when the monsoon started. Picture that you are standing beneath a giant tarp filled with water, and that someone runs along beneath the tarp slitting it with a knife. That’s what a monsoon is like. It literally poured quantities of rain like you have never seen for well over an hour. When it started to let up (i.e. be just like a normal heavy rainstorm) we ventured back out and hailed down a couple of auto rickshaws to take us home. I was so tired that I started nodding off despite my awareness that my left leg risked being smushed in traffic.
Back at the apartment again, I wrote for about an hour and studied a little before dinner. We waded through ankle deep water on the way there, and that was after it had gone down quite a bit after the rains. My feet are already in a state of disrepair, and I don’t even want to think about what they’ll be like in a couple of months. You can’t really get the dirt off your feet, and because your feet are always wet, they rub against your sandals and you get all sorts of blisters. It’s pretty gross really. And yes, for those of you who are wondering there is sewage in all that standing water. Not only do the men relieve themselves on the side of the road, but when it rains, the sewage drains overflow into the street. On the plus side, I’m building up my immunity like you wouldn’t believe!
After dinner I studied briefly, then went to bed – ready this time with my inflatable neck pillow.
For the record, that huge landslide that killed about a hundred people happened south and east of here. The teachers tell us that this is the worst monsoon on record so far, with more rain and more deaths than ever previously recorded. I appreciate the concerns of everyone who is now thinking I am extra crazy, but so far so good!
Arrival!
17 hours on a plane and 24 hours of combined travel time (actual travel + waiting in airports) is not my idea of a good time. I made it to Bangladesh, however, so all is well. When the plane was landing, I eagerly looked out the window, trying to get an aerial view of the city. I had no such luck, though, as the humidity quickly fogged over the windows. Zia International Airport is unlike any American or European airport in that there are no shops or seated waiting areas. Upon disembarking, everyone must get into their appropriate queue – Bangladeshi Passport, Immigration, or Foreign Passport. Our group waited in line and had each of our passports and landing cards processed for a grand total of about an hour. Then we were finally able to go out into the world again.
My immediate thought upon exiting the airport was that I had stepped into a greenhouse. The air was thick and breathing required extra effort. A small bus, owned by the university, was waiting to take us to our housing. As we rode, many of the other students remarked how clean the city was, particularly in relation to Calcutta, where many of them have been before. I should clarify that Dhaka is not clean. It is merely not dry and dusty, as I gather that Calcutta is. Many of the larger buildings look as though they are only half built, or as though they were hit by a hurricane and never repaired. This appears to be true throughout the city. As we moved further into the city, I saw many “stalls” lining the streets. Constructed of bamboo and corrugated tin, all of these three-sided shops tilt awkwardly to one side. Approximately every fifth shop had a display of bananas hanging in the doorway.
We made our way into the Baridhara district, which is where our housing is. Baridhara is in the diplomatic sector, and we were repeatedly assured that it is very safe and far more luxurious than any other place in the country. “To Let” signs boast European style flats. It is my interpretation that European style means tiled floors and bathrooms with showers and toilets. I share a flat with five other girls, and am lucky enough to have my own room. (There are only four students that have to share rooms in the whole program, but I am so thankful that I am not one of them!) We have three bathrooms, but only one working toilet – and the seat of that toilet is broken and held together by clear packaging tape. There are three showers though, and all of them have hot water. (One of the other flats had no hot water the first day, and on the second day had no water at all.) Also, there are cockroaches the size of a big toe in our kitchen, despite the fact that we don’t have any food or even a trash bin. I don’t know what they are eating, but they certainly don’t look malnourished! So yes, the luxury is that we have a toilet and showers! On the plus side, the flat I live in is 3 blocks from the house where our breakfasts and dinners are served (henceforth referred to as “the house” because it is the central meeting place), and 4 blocks from where our classes are held.
We were given a couple of hours to shower and rest, then a lunch of rice, mixed vegetables, and fried fish was provided for us. We have a sort of chef/butler named (or at least pronounced) Milan. I think all of the work is actually done by a woman, as I have seen her in the kitchen, but she doesn’t ever speak, and Milan seems to take it as his sole duty that we are well fed. He (or more likely the mysterious she) also does our laundry for us. It’s sort of a strange feeling to sit at a table and have someone put food in front of you, and to have someone else do your laundry. We are all a little uncomfortable with it, but still very grateful.
After lunch, we went to our first class, where we met our teachers. There are 6 of them altogether, though I can’t even begin to tell them apart yet. After being given the “don’t drink the water” lecture for the 7th time so far, we learned how to introduce ourselves to others and how to ask another person what their name is. We also learned a greeting and a farewell. The greeting translates roughly to “Peace be upon you,” but the farewell is very specific to the Muslim culture, and translates to, “God be with you.” The transliteration for the farewell is “Allah haphej.” You can also say “Khoda haphej,” which is a more general word for “God.”
I’m all about the transliteration. The teachers keep insisting that we just listen and repeat what they say, but the acoustics of the room make it incredibly hard to hear them, and even harder when we all parrot back some garbled interpretation at the same time.
After class, Kira, one of the students from last year, took us out to Golshan Two – another district. Some of the girls bought Salwar Kameez at a fixed-price shop (no one is able to bargain at the marketplace yet). I bought an “orna,” which is basically like a shawl you wear backwards. I’m not too keen on it, as it makes me feel like I’m choking, but it’s a modesty thing, and people tend to look at you like you’re horribly immoral when you don’t wear one (so much so that we were aware of it on the first day). It was 190 taka, which is roughly $2.70.
We met back at the house at 7:30 for dinner (oven baked chicken, spicy potatoes, something like vegetable tempura, and lychee for dessert). After dinner, we waded back to our respective flats and all of us went straight to bed. My bed, in optimistic terms, is like sleeping on the beach – which is to say that it is softer than lying on concrete, but not softer than sand. Additionally, Bangladeshi pillows are the most useless things ever. They are about 9 inches tall, and just as hard as the mattress. The first night, I tried to use them, and found that the only way to do so was to prop my head and shoulders on them (to avoid having my neck at a 90-degree angle) so that my body was in a half sitting position. That didn’t really work, so I tried getting rid of them altogether. Also quite uncomfortable. At 1:45 a.m., I had the brilliant idea of inflating my little neck pillow from the plane. While by no means ideal, I was finally able to sleep!
My immediate thought upon exiting the airport was that I had stepped into a greenhouse. The air was thick and breathing required extra effort. A small bus, owned by the university, was waiting to take us to our housing. As we rode, many of the other students remarked how clean the city was, particularly in relation to Calcutta, where many of them have been before. I should clarify that Dhaka is not clean. It is merely not dry and dusty, as I gather that Calcutta is. Many of the larger buildings look as though they are only half built, or as though they were hit by a hurricane and never repaired. This appears to be true throughout the city. As we moved further into the city, I saw many “stalls” lining the streets. Constructed of bamboo and corrugated tin, all of these three-sided shops tilt awkwardly to one side. Approximately every fifth shop had a display of bananas hanging in the doorway.
We made our way into the Baridhara district, which is where our housing is. Baridhara is in the diplomatic sector, and we were repeatedly assured that it is very safe and far more luxurious than any other place in the country. “To Let” signs boast European style flats. It is my interpretation that European style means tiled floors and bathrooms with showers and toilets. I share a flat with five other girls, and am lucky enough to have my own room. (There are only four students that have to share rooms in the whole program, but I am so thankful that I am not one of them!) We have three bathrooms, but only one working toilet – and the seat of that toilet is broken and held together by clear packaging tape. There are three showers though, and all of them have hot water. (One of the other flats had no hot water the first day, and on the second day had no water at all.) Also, there are cockroaches the size of a big toe in our kitchen, despite the fact that we don’t have any food or even a trash bin. I don’t know what they are eating, but they certainly don’t look malnourished! So yes, the luxury is that we have a toilet and showers! On the plus side, the flat I live in is 3 blocks from the house where our breakfasts and dinners are served (henceforth referred to as “the house” because it is the central meeting place), and 4 blocks from where our classes are held.
We were given a couple of hours to shower and rest, then a lunch of rice, mixed vegetables, and fried fish was provided for us. We have a sort of chef/butler named (or at least pronounced) Milan. I think all of the work is actually done by a woman, as I have seen her in the kitchen, but she doesn’t ever speak, and Milan seems to take it as his sole duty that we are well fed. He (or more likely the mysterious she) also does our laundry for us. It’s sort of a strange feeling to sit at a table and have someone put food in front of you, and to have someone else do your laundry. We are all a little uncomfortable with it, but still very grateful.
After lunch, we went to our first class, where we met our teachers. There are 6 of them altogether, though I can’t even begin to tell them apart yet. After being given the “don’t drink the water” lecture for the 7th time so far, we learned how to introduce ourselves to others and how to ask another person what their name is. We also learned a greeting and a farewell. The greeting translates roughly to “Peace be upon you,” but the farewell is very specific to the Muslim culture, and translates to, “God be with you.” The transliteration for the farewell is “Allah haphej.” You can also say “Khoda haphej,” which is a more general word for “God.”
I’m all about the transliteration. The teachers keep insisting that we just listen and repeat what they say, but the acoustics of the room make it incredibly hard to hear them, and even harder when we all parrot back some garbled interpretation at the same time.
After class, Kira, one of the students from last year, took us out to Golshan Two – another district. Some of the girls bought Salwar Kameez at a fixed-price shop (no one is able to bargain at the marketplace yet). I bought an “orna,” which is basically like a shawl you wear backwards. I’m not too keen on it, as it makes me feel like I’m choking, but it’s a modesty thing, and people tend to look at you like you’re horribly immoral when you don’t wear one (so much so that we were aware of it on the first day). It was 190 taka, which is roughly $2.70.
We met back at the house at 7:30 for dinner (oven baked chicken, spicy potatoes, something like vegetable tempura, and lychee for dessert). After dinner, we waded back to our respective flats and all of us went straight to bed. My bed, in optimistic terms, is like sleeping on the beach – which is to say that it is softer than lying on concrete, but not softer than sand. Additionally, Bangladeshi pillows are the most useless things ever. They are about 9 inches tall, and just as hard as the mattress. The first night, I tried to use them, and found that the only way to do so was to prop my head and shoulders on them (to avoid having my neck at a 90-degree angle) so that my body was in a half sitting position. That didn’t really work, so I tried getting rid of them altogether. Also quite uncomfortable. At 1:45 a.m., I had the brilliant idea of inflating my little neck pillow from the plane. While by no means ideal, I was finally able to sleep!
Saturday, June 9, 2007
An "Initial Impression" Overview of the Group
I’ve spend the last 24 hours meeting the other people who I’ll be spending the summer with. Here’s the list of names, universities, and “status” of each individual – along with my some extra info I’ve learned about each of them:
Naheed Ahmed - James Madison University (Recent *under*graduate - Anthropology)
Naheed grew up in Fairfax county and her parents are Bangladeshi, though they’ve lived here the majority of their lives. Her primary focus is on her cultural heritage – as well as the fact that her undergraduate degree focused on South Asian Studies.
Samantha Christiansen - Northeastern University (Graduate - History)
Sam lives in Boston, is married, and has a four year old son named Atticus (after Atticus Finch in “To Kill a Mockingbird”). She is a PhD student who is writing her dissertation about student involvement in the 1971 Bangladeshi Liberation war.
Megan Cohen - Brown University (Recent *under*graduate - Anthropology)
After the summer program, Megan is staying in Bangladesh until January – doing an unpaid internship with BRAC (Bangladesh Rural Advancement Committee).
Alex Dodson - University of Texas at Austin (Graduate - Anthropology)
Alex showed up to orientation with his wife and very literally newborn baby. He also has a 7-year-old son. He was previously in the Peace Corp in Bangladesh, and is writing his thesis on the disenfranchisement of tribal Bangladeshis living in the Chittagong Hill Tract region.
Anne Friedman - Brown University (Recent *under*graduate - Sociology)
Anne plans to get her Master’s in social work, but her primary interest in Bangladesh is feminist outreach and microcredit in developing countries.
Karen Frost - Mount Holyoke College (Undergraduate - Asian Studies)
Karen did the beginner program last year, and is returning this year for the intermediate program.
Diana Hochner - Temple University (Recent *under*graduate - Anthropology)
Wants to study microcredit in the place where it began.
Kira Krown - University of Wisconsin, Madison (Undergraduate - Asian Studies)
Kira did the beginner program last year, and is returning this year for the intermediate program.
Jennifer McFadden - Georgetown University (Graduate - Linguistics)
Jennifer did the beginner program last year, and is returning this year for the intermediate program.
Katherine Meck - American University (Recent *under*graduate - International Affairs/Relations)
Kate wants to study microcredit in the place where it began.
Noelle Miller - University of Southern California (Undergraduate - Anthropology)
Noelle is majoring in anthropology and film, and plans to make a movie about her experience in Bangladesh.
Luke Murphy - Yale University (Undergraduate – Humanities)
No details available.
Thomas Neal - University of Michigan, Ann Arbor (Undergraduate - Linguistics)
No details available.
Sabrina Rahman - Columbia University (Graduate - International Affairs/Relations)
Sabrina’s parents are both Bangladeshi, and in addition to its relevance to her major, she wants to learn about her parents language and culture.
Ann Marie Spencer - George Washington University (Recent Graduate - Economics)
Annie is another one interested in microcredit.
Christiana Thanos - Columbia University (Graduate - Social work)
Christiana worked in an orphanage in a Bengali speaking area of India last year, and plans to return there throughout her life, which is why she wants to know the language.
Out of 10,400 applicants, I still wonder how I made it into this group… as I don’t have a similar background to any of these people. They’re all very “academic,” which makes me a little uncomfortable. They’re all talking about their next degree or their Fullbright applications… Meanwhile, I’m all, “Yeah, I’ll finish my Master’s when I get around to it…” Fortunately, my self-confidence is pretty unshakable, so I’m sure I’ll survive – even if they all think I’m a slacker :-)
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
The Bengali Alphabet/Script
Bengali is written in a script called the Bengali script. The letters in the Bengali script are grouped together based on the way they are pronounced. The first 11 letters are all vowels. Then follows the consonants and finally the semi vowels.
Source: http://www.it-c.dk/people/pfw/bengali/index.html
The consonants are grouped based on how they are pronounced. First comes the velar consonants, then the palatal, the retroflex, the dental, and the labial consonants. Each group contains five consonants.
All the vowels come in two versions in the script: full vowel and vowel sign. The vowel sign is much simpler than the full vowel. It is used when a vowel follows a consonant. If a vowel follows another vowel, or if a words starts with a vowel, the full vowel is used. The is no pronunciation differences between full vowels and vowel signs.
The vowel signs are written next to the preceding consonant. Some vowel signs are written before, some after, some below, and some above the consonant. And one vowel sign is simply not written at all: the absense of a sign is the sign itself! This vowel is called the inherent vowel.
If two or more consonants are following each other, then the consonants are not written in full. Instead they "melt together" and form a new symbol. Some of these symbols are easy to recognize. However, some are very different from the full versions of the consonants.
Bengali uses the same punctuation marks as English, except for the full stop which is represented by a vertical line.Source: http://www.it-c.dk/people/pfw/bengali/index.html
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Flight Itinerary
I received my flight itinerary today. According to the information below, I'll be in the air a total of about 17 hours on the way to Bangladesh, and about 21 hours on the return trip (slightly longer because I am re-routing to visit family in upstate NY). Both flights have a layover in London.
The time difference between D.C. and Dhaka is +11 hours.
The time difference between D.C. and Dhaka is +11 hours.
09 Jun 07 - Saturday
Air United Airlines Flt:924 Economy Multi Meals
Lv Washington Dulles 947p Eqp: Boeing 777
07hr 13min
10 Jun 07 - Sunday
Ar London Heathrow 1000a Non-Stop
Arrive: Terminal 3
Air British Airways Flt:145 Economy Meals
Lv London Heathrow 325p Eqp: Boeing 777
Depart: Terminal 4 09hr 45min
11 Jun 07 - Monday
Ar Dhaka 610a Non-Stop
Return flight:
11 Aug 07 - Saturday
Air British Airways Flt:144 Economy Meals
Lv Dhaka 825a Eqp: Boeing 777
10hr 40min
Ar London Heathrow 205p Non-Stop
Arrive: Terminal 4
Air United Airlines Flt:925 Economy Multi Meals
Lv London Heathrow 420p Eqp: Boeing 777
Depart: Terminal 3 08hr 12min
Ar Washington Dulles 732p Non-Stop
Air United Airlines Flt:8331 Economy
Washington Dulles-Ottawa On Operated By Air Canada
Lv Washington Dulles 920p Eqp: Canadair Reg Jet
01hr 30min
Ar Ottawa On 1050p Non-Stop
Monday, May 14, 2007
In the News: "Give Bangladesh Priority: US Team Urges Bush"
By Nazrul Islam, Dhaka, May 13:
A high-powered US delegation that made a brief visit to Bangladesh has suggested the Bush administration to give Dhaka high priority as a strategic partner in the US's efforts on war on terror, especially against the Islamic extremists.
A high-powered US delegation that made a brief visit to Bangladesh has suggested the Bush administration to give Dhaka high priority as a strategic partner in the US's efforts on war on terror, especially against the Islamic extremists.
The delegation headed by a Congressman, in a letter to US President, also praised the role of the
"The
The five-member delegation, headed by Congressman Curt Weldon, during the visit held a series of meetings with leaders in the interim administration, senior civil and military officials and businessmen.
The team also comprised the former deputy assistance secretary of defence W Bruce Weinrod, retired US Air Force Major General Ronald J Bath, retired US Army Colonel Timothy D Ringgold, and retired US Coast Guard commander Michael D Kearney.
They had discussions with various leaders and officials in
The letter said the
The team termed
The security team in its letter also recommended that the
It noted that
On increased defense ties, the letter pointed out that the Bangladeshi military plays a key role in the nation.
"The military leadership is at this time assuming a low-profile and positive role in encouraging needed changes in the Bangladeshi political system" and in the efforts to end rampant corruption there.
"The
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Why I'm Going & What I'll Be Doing
In February, 2007, I applied - mostly on a whim and with little hope of actually receiving it - for a scholarship offered through the State Department and the Council for American Overseas Research Centers. The scholarship was for an intensive language study in Bangladesh. Bangla has been identified by the State Department as a critical need language under the National Security Language Initiative.
Over 10,400 applications were received for the 367 available scholarships in 11 different critical languages. I was fortunate enough to be the recipient of one of those scholarships, and will be studying Bangla in Dhaka, Bangladesh at the Independent University of Bangladesh (IUB) from June 7 through August 11, 2007.
The program is equivalent to one year of college-level instruction. The emphasis will be on aural comprehension and speaking, with reading and writing complementary. At the conclusion of the program, students should expect to have command of basic structures of grammar, the ability to comprehend basic speech, speak a functional Bangla sufficient to negotiate everyday situations, and read and write simple prose and poetry with the aid of a dictionary.
Over 10,400 applications were received for the 367 available scholarships in 11 different critical languages. I was fortunate enough to be the recipient of one of those scholarships, and will be studying Bangla in Dhaka, Bangladesh at the Independent University of Bangladesh (IUB) from June 7 through August 11, 2007.
The program is equivalent to one year of college-level instruction. The emphasis will be on aural comprehension and speaking, with reading and writing complementary. At the conclusion of the program, students should expect to have command of basic structures of grammar, the ability to comprehend basic speech, speak a functional Bangla sufficient to negotiate everyday situations, and read and write simple prose and poetry with the aid of a dictionary.
Classes will be held from 9 a.m. - 4 p.m., Sunday through Thursday.
Class instruction will include:
- Lessons on the structures of the language, grammar, lexicon, etc.
- Conversational drills and aural comprehension
- Breakout groups for individualized conversation, role playing, and task-oriented activities
- “Adda” - directed conversation with local students
- Lectures by visiting scholars, artists, actors, health care workers, etc.
Students will also participate in a variety of cultural enrichment activities:
- Museums
- Archaeological & Historical Sites
- Religious Sites
- Political Centers
- Educational Centers
- Development
- Art, Theatre, Music
Needless to say, I am very much looking forward to this opportunity! The next month will entail the completion of a significant amount of paperwork, obtaining of inoculations, and general rearranging of my work, school, and personal life. While there will likely be little blogging in the interim, I do intend to post regularly while I am away, and will have regular access to e-mail, so please keep in touch!
Information from the CIA World Factbook
Europeans began to set up trading posts in the area of Bangladesh in the 16th century; eventually the British came to dominate the region and it became part of British India. In 1947, West Pakistan and East Bengal (both primarily Muslim) separated from India (largely Hindu) and jointly became the new country of Pakistan. East Bengal became East Pakistan in 1955, but the awkward arrangement of a two-part country with its territorial units separated by 1,600 km left the Bengalis marginalized and dissatisfied. East Pakistan seceded from its union with West Pakistan in 1971 and was renamed Bangladesh. About a third of this extremely poor country floods annually during the monsoon rainy season, hampering economic development.
Despite sustained domestic and international efforts to improve economic and demographic prospects, Bangladesh remains a poor, overpopulated, and inefficiently-governed nation. Although more than half of GDP is generated through the service sector, nearly two-thirds of Bangladeshis are employed in the agriculture sector, with rice as the single-most-important product. Major impediments to growth include frequent cyclones and floods, inefficient state-owned enterprises, inadequate port facilities, a rapidly growing labor force that cannot be absorbed by agriculture, delays in exploiting energy resources (natural gas), insufficient power supplies, and slow implementation of economic reforms. Reform is stalled in many instances by political infighting and corruption at all levels of government. Opposition from the bureaucracy, public sector unions, and other vested interest groups also have blocked progress. On an encouraging note, growth has been a steady 5-6% for the past several years.
Location:
Southern Asia, bordering the Bay of Bengal, between Burma and India
Size:
slightly smaller than Iowa
Climate:
humid, warm rainy monsoon (June to October)
Population:
150,448,339
The population ofBangladesh
Muslim 83%, Hindu 16%, other 1%
Languages:
Bangla (official, also known as Bengali)
Government:
parliamentary democracy
Despite sustained domestic and international efforts to improve economic and demographic prospects, Bangladesh remains a poor, overpopulated, and inefficiently-governed nation. Although more than half of GDP is generated through the service sector, nearly two-thirds of Bangladeshis are employed in the agriculture sector, with rice as the single-most-important product. Major impediments to growth include frequent cyclones and floods, inefficient state-owned enterprises, inadequate port facilities, a rapidly growing labor force that cannot be absorbed by agriculture, delays in exploiting energy resources (natural gas), insufficient power supplies, and slow implementation of economic reforms. Reform is stalled in many instances by political infighting and corruption at all levels of government. Opposition from the bureaucracy, public sector unions, and other vested interest groups also have blocked progress. On an encouraging note, growth has been a steady 5-6% for the past several years.
Location:
Southern Asia, bordering the Bay of Bengal, between Burma and India
Size:
slightly smaller than Iowa
Climate:
humid, warm rainy monsoon (June to October)
Population:
150,448,339
The population of
Religions:
Muslim 83%, Hindu 16%, other 1%
Languages:
Bangla (official, also known as Bengali)
Government:
parliamentary democracy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)