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.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
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.
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