Into the wild

I woke up on Tuesday morning at 6am. Dhaka was dark and the prayer hadn’t even begun. I was going to Kuakata.


Kuakata is in Patuakhali, one of the most remote places in Bangladesh (don’t worry, I can’t pronounce it either). I had been warned by my boss that the journey was going to be brutal. The roads to get there are largely bumpy, dirt roads and you have to get six ferries to cross the many waterways that connect the region, all the way down to the Bay of Bengal. Kuakata is somewhere most volunteers don’t usually travel to because there’s no tourism there and because the infrastructure is so bad. Was a hidden gem awaiting me? The sea, rural villages, fresh air and my first film shoot for our documentary project on climate change. I couldn’t wait. Finally it was time for me to see some more of Bangladesh, the real Bangladesh.

I got picked up in the company van with the rest of the film crew - my boss, the director, producer, two junior assistant crew members and the driver - and the seven of us headed off on our journey. No matter what time it is in Dhaka, there’s always traffic, so we eventually got out of the city after a few hours and to my delight, I saw green. GREEN. I felt like I hadn’t seen green fields for so long and it was actually pleasant to drive with the windows down, something the complete opposite in Dhaka.

We rolled up to the first town, a shabby place, full of sheet metal huts selling snacks and housing trading for local food and fish, and wandered into a ‘hotel’. ‘Hotel’ in Bangladesh doesn’t mean an actual hotel, it means a diner. Dhaka is littered with these kinds of eateries everywhere but I’ve always been a bit intimidated to go into them before because you rarely see women in them and because I have no idea what they serve and how much things cost. They’re not really ‘menu’ sort of places if you catch my drift. But, because I was with the crew, there was no hesitation and no other choice for that matter, so we sat down and my boss ordered for everyone, the waiter, shouting out orders to the cooks at the front of the ‘hotel’ on what to make. The cooks use huge round fryers that look like massive flat woks and throw all of the bread mix on it to make raita (kind of like of like Irish potato scones - delish!), which you eat with daal (daal is basically THE staple here), and they make omelets with chilies and onion. We polished off the food in no time and washed it down with cha. Cha aka tea, is like water here. A necessity for everyone at all times. I was proud that I weaned myself off coffee here but considering the amount of tea I drink on a daily basis, it probably evens it out. Bangaldeshis love cha. Tea stalls are everywhere, not only on every corner, even in the most remote places, but tons of them line the streets and they’re always full of people, mostly men, drinking tea, chatting, reading the paper, smoking. I love it. However, going to a tea stall is also something I was nervous about in Dhaka because of the lack of women that frequent them, and I was also not sure of what to order. Well, as I quickly found out in this ferry port town, you just ask for cha. Easy, plain and simple. And they make it their way, no Starbucks half fat triple shot venti jargon here; all cha is served in a glass, half full, very milky and with a shitload of sugar. It’s lush.

After our breakfast pit stop we boarded the ferry and quickly got out of the van to go up to the top deck. It was so refreshing to be on the water, feeling the wind on my face, looking out on the river, seeing fishing boats in the distance, and watching all of hustle and bustle at the port. Now, the actual ferry is another story. Let’s just say it wasn’t exactly the QE2. The ferrymen are old weathered souls, gruff and abrupt, it was rammed full of people and beggars and the washroom, Ah, my ‘ole favourite, the squat toilet. In all honestly, I have come to hate, no REALLY hate, the squat toilet at the best of times, but this one? Oh Christ, it was bad. Trying to maneuver myself to do my business in the smallest, dirtiest toilet hellhole ever, WHILE trying not to let ANY part of my body or clothes touch ANYTHING in there, well, it was a ‘challenge’ to say the least. I think I was actually sweating by the end of it. Anyway, let’s move on.

Once we got back into the van, we docked at the next port and now it was time for the real driving to begin. Because people never really go to Kuakata much, the roads to get there are dire. No, awful, terrible, horrific… you know where I’m going. Imagine off-roading in a bloody mini van. Yep, that was our journey for about um, twelve hours. Yes, I’m serious. I felt like my bum was getting bruises because of all the humps and bumps along the way so we couldn’t even sleep because it was like being on a bad fairground ride. Thankfully, five more ferries broke up the drive a bit which gave us the chance to stretch our legs and get some air. The rest of the rivers were much narrower though, so the intervals only lasted for about fifteen minutes each, but it was amazing to see all the different port towns along the way, each getting smaller and smaller and more and more remote. Who the hell else was traveling here I thought? Even in the most ’isolated’ parts of the country, there were still always so many people. Truly amazing to me.

As the sun was setting, we were still on the road but finally, after an eternity, we arrived in Kuakata at about 9pm, fourteen hours after leaving Dhaka - almost the amount of time it took for me to fly from Toronto to Hong Kong when I first arrived. Surreal. The guest house we were staying at was set back from the town’s main road and was surrounded my incredible plants, flowers and palm trees. Even though it was incredibly basic, my room actually had a SOFT mattress, TV and a sit down toilet. Hallelujah. The next morning, after watching some cheesy Bengali soap opera, we wandered down the road to have breakfast at a local ‘hotel’, some cha and then piled in the van to go to our first stop, a nearby village where the women there started their own irrigation project to manage the effects their community was having due to climate change.

As we got out of the van, the villagers started to gather, falling over each other to get a glimpse of who was coming to film their home with camera equipment and… a foreigner. Once they saw me, mouths dropped open. But it wasn’t frenzied enthusiasm, I honestly think it was shock. They were almost silent, looking at me intently, my shoes, my painted toenails, my jewellery, my hair… We set up the equipment and shot the women’s group meeting, me outside with my boss, watching through the monitor, and half the village surrounded us, dying for a look at the small TV. At the end of the discussion group, someone said ‘shesh’ which means finished but I turned around and said ‘shesh na’ which means not finished. Me speaking Bengali caused an instant uproar from the villagers; they were all laughing, shouting ‘shesh na!’, obviously very excited that I spoke in their language, which broke the ice and they started to warm to me. Some of the kids gathered around, saw that I had a camera under my arm and they kept looking at it, so I pulled it out and gave it to one of the girls, showing her how to press the button and take a photo. They were all SO excited once the photos started happening; they were running around, pushing each other, laughing, trying to get their photo taken and take photos of each other. So, I just let them run riot and it was absolutely hilarious. Hearing all the chaos of the children, the women of the village also came over to see what was going on, and upon seeing the camera, they wanted to get their photos taken too, plus get photos taken with me. The older women in the village brought me biscuits and rice and eventually sat me down on a chair underneath a tree. Then everyone gathered around me in a circle, touching my hair, paying me compliments and asking me questions. I’ve never seen such pure fascination on people’s faces before and I don’t think they had ever laid eyes a foreigner before based on their reaction. After a lot of cooing, it was time to go on to the next village, an aboriginal village, so I had to say my goodbyes and they all asked me to visit them again. I waved goodbye for as long as I could see them in the distance and felt very humbled by the experience. It was so genuine and kind. I had been thinking about what it would be like to go to one of the villages for so long, even before I arrived in Bangladesh and it was exactly what I had hoped for. It was only for a short time but it was almost magical. I looked back at the photos on my camera as we drove away and my eyes almost started watering. I felt really lucky to have been there for that moment and to have given them some joy.

When we arrived at the next village, I found out that the women there also had designed a similar irrigation project with help from the other village women. We started setting up the equipment again when all of a sudden we started hearing children shouting ‘Lisa Apa!’. the kids from the last village had followed us and ran the whole way. An older girl also joined them, and she spoke some English. She explained to me that the children wanted to see what was going on and wanted to see me again. She then gave me a tour of the aboriginal village along with all of the other children in tow and I went to the local school. Even though classes were finishing for the day, some the children still remained and they were singing their hearts out so we stood outside, listening for a while. Soon thereafter, the older girl ushered me into the village leaders house along with ALL of the children, and I sat down on a wooden bench inside the barn like building, surrounded by them all. After the hi, hello, how are you chat with the village leader, they all just looked at me. And kept looking. In silence. I didn’t quite know what to do next. I sort of felt obliged that I should entertain them or something but I had run out of my ‘Bengali’ and didn’t know what to do. Then, the older girl said, ‘I think you should sing for us.’ ‘Sing for you?!’, I asked. ‘Yes, yes, SING!’, she said and clapped her hands, then said to the rest of the children and to the village leader that she had asked me to sing. They all started clapping and then I thought, oh God, I’m going to have to sing, aren’t I? Sing what? Suddenly my mind went blank. What could I sing that didn’t have swear words or anything about love, that’s basically every song ever written, right? Shit. Um… They all kept looking at me, waiting. Then I knew. ABBA. I’ll sing ABBA. So I broke into a mediocre rendition of ‘Thank you for the music’ and they were loving it, clapping, smiling, but I don’t really know all of the words so the song repeated itself a bit and then stopped. ‘Another one!’, the older girl shouted and again, I couldn’t think of a song for the life of me. I tried to think of a song they might know, um, no, that won’t work. Um… so I sang Michael Jackson. Yeah, I know, Michael Jackson. Here I am, in the middle of nowhere, in Bangladesh, surrounded by random villagers and children singing ABBA and Michael Jackson on a Wednesday afternoon. Oh, how bizarre life had become. Anyway, after the whole singing debacle, we headed off further into the village, and all the kids continued to follow and we walked through the paddy field to a Buddhist temple that was frequented by the aboriginal inhabitants of the village. It was an amazing site. Bright bright blue, high on stilts, made of wood, right in the middle of a field. There was even a monk there, looking like he’s walked straight out of ‘Seven Years in Tibet’, and before I knew it, my shoes were off and I was at the temple’s altar. Snap, snap, snap, took some photos and we were off again, walking back through the paddy field. Suddenly I was worried about the time. I had completely wandered off from the shoot, without telling ANYONE where I was going and I didn’t have my phone, my bag, anything with me expect my camera. I told the older girl that I should be heading back so she started to lead be across the walkway and I started to run, getting the children to chase me. They were hysterical, laughing, running, and I think altogether shocked, probably wondering, what the hell is this foreign girl doing!? Before I knew it we had found our way back but the van was gone, nowhere to be seen. Oh shit. Lisa decides to go walkabout in a rural village with no phone and don’t tell anyone where she’s going... And now. Mmm. The situation is not good. We waited around for a bit, and then decided to walk up to the main road. Thankfully I saw the van in the distance so we all trundled along after it, my feel feeling heavy in the hot afternoon sun. Turns out my ‘crew’ were getting some final scenic footage before we had to leave again for the fisherman’s port. We said our goodbyes to the kids again and were off on the bumpy road to find sea.

The next town we were to visit was another victim of climate change. The fishermen there were battling with rising water levels that had damaged river supplies which meant fishing in the sea instead of the river, a completely different territory, requiring bigger boats (which equals more money to finance them), and less fish because the water had turned to salt water. Upon arrival we took a series of interviews and then my boss turned to me, ‘Lisa, we are going on a fishing boat.’ I looked out into the river and saw a small, wooden boat pull up to the bottom of the cliff so we scuttled down the hill and slide over the mud into the boat. Before I could blink we were out on the open seas, camera in tow, getting footage of the waterways from the ‘inside’ perspective. We went right out into the open water and it seemed to go on forever and ever. One of the fishermen said I was brave for not wearing a life jacket. I laughed and said I trusted him. And then looked down. Water was coming INTO the boat. INTO THE BOAT! And, no one seemed to care! Two of the other fishermen had little plastic tubs, scooping it out and throwing it overboard. Don’t panic, I thought. Do. Not. Panic. I could see the shore of where we were getting dropped off and honestly, tried not to think about it, I just looked towards the dock. What else could I do? I know I can swim but Jesus, I was not expecting to swim in the Bay of Bengal out of a bloody sinking fishing boat! Miraculously, we made it to the dock and I jumped out of that boat faster than Jack Flash. We climbed up the muddy hill to find more fish than I have ever seen in my life. Endless rows of wooden poles acted as drying racks for fish caught from the sea. There were thousands of fish hanging out to dry, from skate to squid and everything in between. The hot afternoon air smelt of sea salt and fish, a whole lotta fish. After walking through the fish maze, we found ourselves back at the van, ready to head to our last stop of the day, the beach.

Kuakata is an interesting beach because it is where the sun rises and sets in the same place. Once we bumped along the long, winding road, we got to the beach about 6pm, ready to watch the sunset. I took off my sandals and walked down to the water. It was so nice to feel sand between my toes and once I got to the sea, the water was warm. WARM! Ah, bliss. I just stood, by myself, looking out into the sun. After a few minutes though, I realized I wasn’t alone. Because we had the TV camera with us, and the rest of the crew, I think other people on the beach thought I was famous or something, and started to line up to get photos taken with me! Husbands, wives, children. Couldn’t I get two minutes alone in this country? I know they were excited to see a foreigner but all I wanted to do was have a few minutes alone. Anyway, after some photo opps and some weird men lurking around taking way too many photos of me on their camera phones for my liking, it was time to head back to the hotel for dinner and bed. Even though we all needed an early night, some beers were in order at the guest house before getting back on the road again the next day to do the journey all over again.

Fourteen hours and six ferries to get there and back, and two hundred photos later, I eventually got home on Thursday night. Glad to be back my own bed, I dreamt about the little place by the sea that captured my heart.