Monday, March 29, 2010
Dhaka disaster?
I discovered this article today about Dhaka in today's English newspaper, The Daily Star. I know I've tried to describe how hard it is living here but take a review this article and read for yourself...
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Hot and bothered
Over the past two weeks I've been unbearably hot. So hot it's been absolute agony. There's absolutely no break from it. Ever. No AC, no cool air, no refuge whatsoever. I constantly feel like someone's been holding a huge hairdryer over me; the muggy air is like waves of heat rolling over my body. From the time I wake up in the morning, having a cold shower in order to breathe, to when I'm stuck in traffic for hours in a sweaty CNG, my back sticking to the shitty plastic seats, it doesn't stop there. At work, the power goes out several times a day and I feel like I'm roasting in an oven, and when I get home, we hardly ever have power in the flat either so when I'm trying to get to sleep, I just lie awake for hours, praying for something to cool me down, my sheets soaked in sweat, my skin, permanently saturated. All it's been horrific, and it's only been two weeks. It's making me angry, frustrated, and short tempered. I can honestly say that I have never been in so much physical discomfort in my life. 'Living like a volunteer' means no luxuries so we all just need to grin and bear it, but seriously, it's breaking me. I can't concentrate at work, I have no energy to cook or clean, even get dressed. Everything's a major effort. I even looked into buying an air conditioner for my room so that I can sleep at night but found out that they are so expensive here - about $350 - which for a few months, I just couldn't justify; $350 is the cost of about two plane tickets or in Bangladeshi terms, more than three months of my salary. It wouldn't be so bad if we at least had the fan working even though it's hot air but the power goes out so frequently, I spend most nights getting home from work, sitting in the dark, getting eaten by mosquitoes, with a melting ice pack on my neck. It's been out for three hours tonight. Three hours and I have only been home for five hours. Yeah, it sounds bad having no power, being hot, whatever, la la la, but really, when you feel like this, it is indescribable. Rubbing the sweat from my top lip is turning into a nervous twitch. I am sick and tired of being so bloody hot! The worst part is, it's only going to get worse. To top it all off, we've been having water outages too. No power, no water. Awesome. So when you're really really hot, you can't do anything; you can't have a cold shower, you can't flush the toilet, you can't even wash the dishes by candlelight (a new skill I've picked up by the way). So yeah, Bangladesh is fantastic right now. Yeah, it's great, I totally love it.
Get me the fuck out of here.
Haha, okay okay, sorry. I am alright, I'm not losing my mind, I'm just in the 'temperature adjustment phase' right now which I'm having 'challenges' with... is that a better way of saying it? The good thing is that I have discovered sleeping pills to help me sleep through the hot nights. Now, before you all worry that I've become addicted to prescription pain killers, fear not. First of all, I am only using them for a few weeks until my body adjusts to the heat and second of all, there's no prescription, you just get them over the counter. :)
I also know I only have a matter of weeks left before I leave, if everything goes to plan, so I just need to stick it out another twelve weeks or so and I'll be fine. Right? Twelve weeks... Mmmm... I'm screwed aren't I? Oh Jesus. Can someone mail me AC and electricity please ASAP? I'll be eternally grateful.
Get me the fuck out of here.
Haha, okay okay, sorry. I am alright, I'm not losing my mind, I'm just in the 'temperature adjustment phase' right now which I'm having 'challenges' with... is that a better way of saying it? The good thing is that I have discovered sleeping pills to help me sleep through the hot nights. Now, before you all worry that I've become addicted to prescription pain killers, fear not. First of all, I am only using them for a few weeks until my body adjusts to the heat and second of all, there's no prescription, you just get them over the counter. :)
I also know I only have a matter of weeks left before I leave, if everything goes to plan, so I just need to stick it out another twelve weeks or so and I'll be fine. Right? Twelve weeks... Mmmm... I'm screwed aren't I? Oh Jesus. Can someone mail me AC and electricity please ASAP? I'll be eternally grateful.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Banglalish
After six months of life in the ‘Desh, I thought I’d have mastered Bengali a lot more than I have but in actual fact, it’s a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. The structure is totally different and also, I can’t read a bloody thing so I rely on mimicking others without really knowing the meaning of what I’m saying, or writing things down phonetically on scraps of paper, hoping they’ll stick in my pea-sized brain. Note: My purse is full of random bits of paper with different words on them – a killer when trying to find money in a hurry.
However, the locals seem to have pretty low expectations of a ‘bideshi’s’ language skills so most people I meet are pretty impressed with my limited vocab. ‘Khub shondur Bangla!’, they always say – telling me I speak beautiful Bengali. Yes, this is a good thing but after about 3 minutes, I have nothing left to say and just stand there smiling or bobbing my head from side to side. I wish that I could have more of a ‘conversation’ but my key skills lie in the following areas only:
1. Bargaining to buy things and when getting transport
2. Telling people to bugger off
When these fail, I resort to speaking a mixture of English and Bengali to communicate what I need to. I like to call this special skill, Banglalish. Banglalish does have its benefits and you’d be amazed by how much you can communicate with a couple of key words and hand gestures, but mixing the two languages together has started to have a detrimental effect on my English skills. I’ve been writing a report for work recently and I feel like I can’t write properly anymore. I can’t articulate myself and forget how things should be structured. I have so much Banglalish floating around my head that I can’t see straight. I lie in bed at night with so many words ringing in my ears… Ami onek tired (I am very tired) or ‘too much busy’ instead of ‘very busy’, or instead of headache, the Banglalish version would be feeling ‘pressure’ or ‘tension’. It’s hard to explain but it is so confusing. When Rosa and I were in Thailand I was determined not to speak any Thai as I couldn’t handle the thought of another language messing up my Bengali. When I first arrived I was debating taking advanced French classes here at the Alliance Francaise but after speaking French to the tailor the other day, I don’t think that would be a good idea either. So, roll on with the Banglalish I say, not much else I can do in the meantime so apologies if I seem more incommunicado over time but I’m sure I’ll grow out of it eventually!
However, the locals seem to have pretty low expectations of a ‘bideshi’s’ language skills so most people I meet are pretty impressed with my limited vocab. ‘Khub shondur Bangla!’, they always say – telling me I speak beautiful Bengali. Yes, this is a good thing but after about 3 minutes, I have nothing left to say and just stand there smiling or bobbing my head from side to side. I wish that I could have more of a ‘conversation’ but my key skills lie in the following areas only:
1. Bargaining to buy things and when getting transport
2. Telling people to bugger off
When these fail, I resort to speaking a mixture of English and Bengali to communicate what I need to. I like to call this special skill, Banglalish. Banglalish does have its benefits and you’d be amazed by how much you can communicate with a couple of key words and hand gestures, but mixing the two languages together has started to have a detrimental effect on my English skills. I’ve been writing a report for work recently and I feel like I can’t write properly anymore. I can’t articulate myself and forget how things should be structured. I have so much Banglalish floating around my head that I can’t see straight. I lie in bed at night with so many words ringing in my ears… Ami onek tired (I am very tired) or ‘too much busy’ instead of ‘very busy’, or instead of headache, the Banglalish version would be feeling ‘pressure’ or ‘tension’. It’s hard to explain but it is so confusing. When Rosa and I were in Thailand I was determined not to speak any Thai as I couldn’t handle the thought of another language messing up my Bengali. When I first arrived I was debating taking advanced French classes here at the Alliance Francaise but after speaking French to the tailor the other day, I don’t think that would be a good idea either. So, roll on with the Banglalish I say, not much else I can do in the meantime so apologies if I seem more incommunicado over time but I’m sure I’ll grow out of it eventually!
Monday, March 15, 2010
Laila
It was humid today. So humid I could hardly breathe. We had three power cuts at work and then when I finally got home after an hour or so in traffic, it started raining and we had yet another power cut in the flat. Soaked and exhausted, I threw myself down on my bed as soon as I got home, and lay in the dark, listening to the rumble of thunder and lightening outside. Lying on my bed in the candlelight, I studied my room through the blur of the mosquito net, trying to distract myself from my flat mate‘s awful Euro pop through the wall… I could see that my shoes had all been lined up in a row, my garbage bin had been emptied and my laundry was ironed and folded. Laila had come today.
Laila is our house maid. A young, pretty girl in her mid-twenties who barely speaks English, but between that and my basic Bengali, we somehow manage to communicate quite well. If I’m at home when she comes to clean the flat, we often have tea together to give her a break from cleaning, but it’s rarely a chance to gossip, more often than not, it’s a silent appreciation for the cha as she sits quietly, obediently, as if I were her mistress. It creates an odd feeling for me, unsettling. There’s so much prestige here with being a foreigner that already makes me feel uncomfortable, that when this feeling is replicated in your own home, it’s an even harder pill to swallow. I do what I can for her, as did Rosa when she was here; offering her any shalwar kameez cast-offs, helping her take out the rubbish, giving her a special tip for religious holidays, but overall, Laila is very insistent that I don‘t help. Although our verbal communication is fairly minimal, it’s truly amazing how much I can sense her; how kind and appreciative she is that I even offer, but I can also see so much pain in her eyes.
Through our conversations I’ve pieced together that Laila is married to a Muslim man who is considerably older than her and from what she’s told me, he has severe health problems. I don’t know how many wives he actually has, but I get the sense that there are more than just her, and Laila also has two young children. Do they all live in the house together? Separately? Was it an arranged marriage? These are questions I cannot ask I’m afraid. I only know a glimpse of her life and although I am incredibly curious, I would never want to cross the line with her and make her feel uncomfortable with me. There are certain things you just don’t ask.
Laila also wears the full burqua. Now, I know this sounds naïve, but it’s quite strange for me to know someone who wears the it. The burqua fascinates me. What it is and what it stands for is physically and metaphorically, a veil shielding a whole different kind of life, beliefs and morals, that I will never really understand. For me adapting to life in Bangladesh, it has been difficult to cover up more - not showing your legs, shoulders, making sure you have an orna over your chest - and it all seems so restricted, but can you imagine wearing all of that AND a burqua? Thinking about how uncomfortable it is now that it’s getting hotter, I can only imagine how much Laila must suffer. She does take the burqua off when she cleans and hangs it on the door though. Sometimes there‘s an odd part of me that wants to put it on, see what it feels like to be shrouded in a sea of black, but at the same time, the burqua absolutely terrifies me. I don‘t agree with the fundamental principle of women being covered up at all. The notion of women not being allowed to expose or celebrate their sexuality, is something I will never understand for the sake of religion or culture.
Laila is our house maid. A young, pretty girl in her mid-twenties who barely speaks English, but between that and my basic Bengali, we somehow manage to communicate quite well. If I’m at home when she comes to clean the flat, we often have tea together to give her a break from cleaning, but it’s rarely a chance to gossip, more often than not, it’s a silent appreciation for the cha as she sits quietly, obediently, as if I were her mistress. It creates an odd feeling for me, unsettling. There’s so much prestige here with being a foreigner that already makes me feel uncomfortable, that when this feeling is replicated in your own home, it’s an even harder pill to swallow. I do what I can for her, as did Rosa when she was here; offering her any shalwar kameez cast-offs, helping her take out the rubbish, giving her a special tip for religious holidays, but overall, Laila is very insistent that I don‘t help. Although our verbal communication is fairly minimal, it’s truly amazing how much I can sense her; how kind and appreciative she is that I even offer, but I can also see so much pain in her eyes.
Through our conversations I’ve pieced together that Laila is married to a Muslim man who is considerably older than her and from what she’s told me, he has severe health problems. I don’t know how many wives he actually has, but I get the sense that there are more than just her, and Laila also has two young children. Do they all live in the house together? Separately? Was it an arranged marriage? These are questions I cannot ask I’m afraid. I only know a glimpse of her life and although I am incredibly curious, I would never want to cross the line with her and make her feel uncomfortable with me. There are certain things you just don’t ask.
Laila also wears the full burqua. Now, I know this sounds naïve, but it’s quite strange for me to know someone who wears the it. The burqua fascinates me. What it is and what it stands for is physically and metaphorically, a veil shielding a whole different kind of life, beliefs and morals, that I will never really understand. For me adapting to life in Bangladesh, it has been difficult to cover up more - not showing your legs, shoulders, making sure you have an orna over your chest - and it all seems so restricted, but can you imagine wearing all of that AND a burqua? Thinking about how uncomfortable it is now that it’s getting hotter, I can only imagine how much Laila must suffer. She does take the burqua off when she cleans and hangs it on the door though. Sometimes there‘s an odd part of me that wants to put it on, see what it feels like to be shrouded in a sea of black, but at the same time, the burqua absolutely terrifies me. I don‘t agree with the fundamental principle of women being covered up at all. The notion of women not being allowed to expose or celebrate their sexuality, is something I will never understand for the sake of religion or culture.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Therapy Post Thailand?
This blog post has been rattling inside my head for over two months now. The way I’ve been feeling recently has been extremely hard to articulate and I probably won’t do a good job of describing it now, but I feel it’s time to try.
When you live somewhere that’s hot all the time, you don’t think about the possibility of having the ‘winter blues’. Being depressed by dark days and cold nights doesn’t even cross your mind but the feeling must be suppressed somewhere in one’s subconscious. Well, my subconscious anyway. Perhaps it was because I ‘missed’ Christmas or maybe it was because of the New Year’s resolution tradition, forcing you to look back on the year that’s passed and into the year ahead. Regardless, I had a bad case of the blues. Realising this fmade me feel like I had been in a dream these past few months - numb - and finally woke up to reality in terms of how I felt.
At the end of December, Rosa and I went to Thailand and arrived on Christmas Eve. Bangkok airport shocked us. No, really. Starbucks, sushi, Boots, lattes, short skirts, white people… we could hardly speak. I know this sounds extremely overdramatic but that is honestly how we felt. We hardly said a word to each other and just stared. It was if we had been transported back to the future by a time machine. After getting a connecting flight from Bangkok down to Surat Thani in the south east, we made our way by boat over to Kho Pan Gnan.
I felt a nervous sort of exhilaration as we made the journey south. Everything seemed so… easy. Even though it was Thailand, so many people spoke English, we could find exactly where we needed to go, we could buy whatever we wanted, we had air conditioning, hot water, garbage bins, beer; convenience was EVERYWHERE. It was like travelling for dummies. Truly surreal.
Sitting on the roof deck of the massive ferry on Christmas Day, I sat with my legs over the side, iPod in hand, watching the water and islands go by. It was calming, peaceful, serene. When we docked at the port on Kho Pan Gnan we fired into a pick up truck to take us over the rolling hills of the island to Haad Rin. Rosa and I just kept looking at each other while we were flying around the corners of paradise island. Were we really here? It didn’t seem real.
But, we arrived at ‘Coral Bungalows’ with a crash. It was like a nightclub for drunken teenagers. The main restaurant was playing some hyped up late 90’s rave and the rooms resembled prison cells with everything bolted down so nothing could get destroyed. This was way too much for us but, love it or hate it, beggars can’t be choosers around peak season so we had to embrace it. We dumped our bags, got changed and headed along Sunset beach to find the real oasis of our holiday, Seaside Bungalows. Seaside was the epitome of hippyville; hammocks, Bob Marley, candles, and mats on the beach to dine by the water. Perfect heaven. The first few nights we stayed on the Sunset side of Haad Rin, sunbathing by day and floating between the Seaside and another favourite, the Tree House bar at night. Even though we’d always get back to Coral quite late, we went to bed with ear-plugs because our room was conveniently situated right next to the DJ booth. Coral only started to get going around 2am and my stamina for all night partying had been lost somewhere between Toronto and Dhaka. Had living in Bangladesh made me ‘old’?
After a few days though, the reverse culture shock started to wear off and we started to get into the swing of things, embracing all that is Thailand; pad thai, beer and Sang Som rum. I’d like to think of Chang and Singha as personal friends of mine now – only 40 Baht for a nice cold one. We frequented nightly beach parties on the other side of Haad Rin, on Sunrise beach. Bar after bar featured constant happy hours of infamous buckets of booze and DJs pumped a variety of music accompanied by fire throwers, entertaining the masses dancing on the sand. We met loads of people from all over the world; Americans teaching in Korea, travelling Vancouverites, a smattering of Europeans and a sea of Brits.
Over the days we spent there, one thing really started to hit home with me; this trip to Thailand was just about having fun. It wasn’t about ‘struggling’, ‘trying to make a difference’, proving that you’re ‘hardcore’ enough; it was simply about people having fun. Realising this re-awakened me. It doesn’t need to be a competition of ‘I’ve done this’ or I’ve done that’ but sometimes being in Bangladesh is like a personal test or challenge, and frankly, it’s exhausting. Since Thailand was so easy it was a welcome relief and shifted the balance of my priorities. Of course I wanted to be in Bangladesh for a variety of reasons, but the possibility of leaving for somewhere else, a different experience, never crossed my mind.
On the otherhand, Rosa was having problems with her placement in Bangladesh from the start. VSO didn’t properly assess her role before she arrived so technically, her job didn’t exist. After months of meetings back and forth with VSO and her organisation, they decided to withdraw her placement. She had talked about starting another placement but being in Thailand also changed her perspective too and raised questions. Maybe it was a sign things weren’t going to work out? If VSO screwed up the first placement, what guarantees were there for another one? And finally, after a lot of talk over Changs and Singhas, Rosa decided she was going to leave Bangladesh.
Realising that she was going to go meant that my life in Dhaka would change too and questions also started to weigh on my mind. What if I left early? What if I travelled for a bit longer? What if I just spent some time enjoying myself? Mmm… The seed of doubt had been planted and there was no going back. I felt like I was in a state of turmoil, my mind swirling with possibilities about the course of my life changing once again. Even though three months had passed in Bangladesh, did I really want to stay until September? What would happen if I left in June? July? The option of leaving early never crossed my mind before but of course, it was a possibility.
Once we got back to Dhaka after Thailand and started to re-adjust to life here, I was still confused. What did I really want to do? I couldn’t sleep at night. I would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, contemplating my life. On one hand, my job was great and I came here for the work but on the other hand, living here is a constant battle; the lack of freedom, the lack of comfort, the language, the food… I needed to make some decisions.
After talking it through with some family and friends, I realised that for the sake of my sanity, I have decided to leave in June. I will ensure I get all of my work completed by then and financially, I only miss out on one quarterly payment from VSO which is about $300. I haven’t talked to by organisation about this or to VSO but I know that I need to give them as much notice as possible. I don’t know how I’m going to broach the subject with them but I think I am going to wait until the draft of my strategic plan is complete, which is at the end of March.
So, with the advent of this news, what lies in store for me next?
The rough plan right now is to leave at the end of June, travel around South East Asia for a few months and then go to the UK. I have made some valuable contacts at the BBC here so I am going to try and leverage those sooner than later. I'm not sure but I'm excited.
Watch this space…
When you live somewhere that’s hot all the time, you don’t think about the possibility of having the ‘winter blues’. Being depressed by dark days and cold nights doesn’t even cross your mind but the feeling must be suppressed somewhere in one’s subconscious. Well, my subconscious anyway. Perhaps it was because I ‘missed’ Christmas or maybe it was because of the New Year’s resolution tradition, forcing you to look back on the year that’s passed and into the year ahead. Regardless, I had a bad case of the blues. Realising this fmade me feel like I had been in a dream these past few months - numb - and finally woke up to reality in terms of how I felt.
At the end of December, Rosa and I went to Thailand and arrived on Christmas Eve. Bangkok airport shocked us. No, really. Starbucks, sushi, Boots, lattes, short skirts, white people… we could hardly speak. I know this sounds extremely overdramatic but that is honestly how we felt. We hardly said a word to each other and just stared. It was if we had been transported back to the future by a time machine. After getting a connecting flight from Bangkok down to Surat Thani in the south east, we made our way by boat over to Kho Pan Gnan.
I felt a nervous sort of exhilaration as we made the journey south. Everything seemed so… easy. Even though it was Thailand, so many people spoke English, we could find exactly where we needed to go, we could buy whatever we wanted, we had air conditioning, hot water, garbage bins, beer; convenience was EVERYWHERE. It was like travelling for dummies. Truly surreal.
Sitting on the roof deck of the massive ferry on Christmas Day, I sat with my legs over the side, iPod in hand, watching the water and islands go by. It was calming, peaceful, serene. When we docked at the port on Kho Pan Gnan we fired into a pick up truck to take us over the rolling hills of the island to Haad Rin. Rosa and I just kept looking at each other while we were flying around the corners of paradise island. Were we really here? It didn’t seem real.
But, we arrived at ‘Coral Bungalows’ with a crash. It was like a nightclub for drunken teenagers. The main restaurant was playing some hyped up late 90’s rave and the rooms resembled prison cells with everything bolted down so nothing could get destroyed. This was way too much for us but, love it or hate it, beggars can’t be choosers around peak season so we had to embrace it. We dumped our bags, got changed and headed along Sunset beach to find the real oasis of our holiday, Seaside Bungalows. Seaside was the epitome of hippyville; hammocks, Bob Marley, candles, and mats on the beach to dine by the water. Perfect heaven. The first few nights we stayed on the Sunset side of Haad Rin, sunbathing by day and floating between the Seaside and another favourite, the Tree House bar at night. Even though we’d always get back to Coral quite late, we went to bed with ear-plugs because our room was conveniently situated right next to the DJ booth. Coral only started to get going around 2am and my stamina for all night partying had been lost somewhere between Toronto and Dhaka. Had living in Bangladesh made me ‘old’?
After a few days though, the reverse culture shock started to wear off and we started to get into the swing of things, embracing all that is Thailand; pad thai, beer and Sang Som rum. I’d like to think of Chang and Singha as personal friends of mine now – only 40 Baht for a nice cold one. We frequented nightly beach parties on the other side of Haad Rin, on Sunrise beach. Bar after bar featured constant happy hours of infamous buckets of booze and DJs pumped a variety of music accompanied by fire throwers, entertaining the masses dancing on the sand. We met loads of people from all over the world; Americans teaching in Korea, travelling Vancouverites, a smattering of Europeans and a sea of Brits.
Over the days we spent there, one thing really started to hit home with me; this trip to Thailand was just about having fun. It wasn’t about ‘struggling’, ‘trying to make a difference’, proving that you’re ‘hardcore’ enough; it was simply about people having fun. Realising this re-awakened me. It doesn’t need to be a competition of ‘I’ve done this’ or I’ve done that’ but sometimes being in Bangladesh is like a personal test or challenge, and frankly, it’s exhausting. Since Thailand was so easy it was a welcome relief and shifted the balance of my priorities. Of course I wanted to be in Bangladesh for a variety of reasons, but the possibility of leaving for somewhere else, a different experience, never crossed my mind.
On the otherhand, Rosa was having problems with her placement in Bangladesh from the start. VSO didn’t properly assess her role before she arrived so technically, her job didn’t exist. After months of meetings back and forth with VSO and her organisation, they decided to withdraw her placement. She had talked about starting another placement but being in Thailand also changed her perspective too and raised questions. Maybe it was a sign things weren’t going to work out? If VSO screwed up the first placement, what guarantees were there for another one? And finally, after a lot of talk over Changs and Singhas, Rosa decided she was going to leave Bangladesh.
Realising that she was going to go meant that my life in Dhaka would change too and questions also started to weigh on my mind. What if I left early? What if I travelled for a bit longer? What if I just spent some time enjoying myself? Mmm… The seed of doubt had been planted and there was no going back. I felt like I was in a state of turmoil, my mind swirling with possibilities about the course of my life changing once again. Even though three months had passed in Bangladesh, did I really want to stay until September? What would happen if I left in June? July? The option of leaving early never crossed my mind before but of course, it was a possibility.
Once we got back to Dhaka after Thailand and started to re-adjust to life here, I was still confused. What did I really want to do? I couldn’t sleep at night. I would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, contemplating my life. On one hand, my job was great and I came here for the work but on the other hand, living here is a constant battle; the lack of freedom, the lack of comfort, the language, the food… I needed to make some decisions.
After talking it through with some family and friends, I realised that for the sake of my sanity, I have decided to leave in June. I will ensure I get all of my work completed by then and financially, I only miss out on one quarterly payment from VSO which is about $300. I haven’t talked to by organisation about this or to VSO but I know that I need to give them as much notice as possible. I don’t know how I’m going to broach the subject with them but I think I am going to wait until the draft of my strategic plan is complete, which is at the end of March.
So, with the advent of this news, what lies in store for me next?
The rough plan right now is to leave at the end of June, travel around South East Asia for a few months and then go to the UK. I have made some valuable contacts at the BBC here so I am going to try and leverage those sooner than later. I'm not sure but I'm excited.
Watch this space…
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