My mom can paddle faster than yours--International Women's Day in Barisal

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After driving for two hours from Barisal town Parendi and I found ourselves deposited at the base of a concrete bridge in the middle of rice fields and canals--a typical scene in Barisal District. We were in search of Kadambari, a village where a Bangladeshi NGO was staging celebrations for International Women's Day, but quite honestly we knew very little about our destination or how to get there. Our driver had stopped at the base of the bridge because the road to the village evidently wasn't big enough to accomodate a car, though I think he was happy to be relieved of finding a village that even he didn't know the whereabouts of. We were pointed in the direction of the village and told that a flatbed rickshaw could take us there.

Before loading up on the flatbed rickshaw, we stopped to use the roadside community toilet. As I braved the squatter--perched at the edge of a decline into watery fields--the man at the nearby water pump struck up a conversation with Parendi. He stood in his lungi (wrap skirt) and poured buckets of water over himself as he asked Parendi the usual questions: Where are you from? What do you do? Why have you come here? When she told him we had come to Kadambari for International Women's Day he only responded with a polite grin and a look of incomprehension. "Yes Kadambari is that way," he pointed. When she tried to explain that Kadambari was hosting a boat race for women's day he just nodded and smiled, clearly not understanding the reference. It was no great surprise that the phenomenon of International Women's Day has not yet penetrated the elder male population of Bangladesh's southern delta region.

After 20 minutes of sitting on a rickshaw that had to be pushed (instead of cycled) across the pockmarked mud path, we eventually reached Kadambari. Aside from the NGO office that we passed and the cluster of houses on the other bank of the river, there didn't seem to be much to the village. On any other day its doubtful that Kadambari would see much in the way of traffic or activity. But when we arrived we found a crowd of several hundred men, women and children overflowing from a multicolored tent that was tucked against the river wall, just below the main path. An informal market had emerged for the occassion and a short procession of vendors lined the edge of the path--men squatting on their haunches sold everything from sandals to fried sweets.

The NGO hosting the event employs women across Bangladesh to weave baskets and handbags from locally produced and dyed jute and sells them in the international market. They have had a presence in this community for almost 30 years, and after so many decades of employing the local women (they now have up to 800 women producers in Kadambari) they have such a vital role in the local economy that Kadambari's men have started to work for their wives because the salary is more consistent and higher than most other local alternatives. As part of this project Kohinoor--the woman who runs the NGO now--has developed a module for training illiterate women in basic business practices that is now used by such heavy hitters as the UNDP, and she has been flown from Afghanistan to Sri Lanka to train women in these practices.

Every year the NGO hosts a celebration for International Women's Day in Kadambari. This year when Kohinoor approached the local women and asked them what they wanted to do to celebrate, they told her they wanted a boat race. In a community where men's and women's livelihoods are traditionally based around fishing and plying the area's many canals and rivers, it makes some sense that the women would want an opportunity to demonstrate their mastery of boating. But for obvious reasons Kohinoor was hesitant--how would the rest of the community react? would the event be too competitive? what would happen if there was an accident (most locals don't know how to swim, despite living in the most water-crossed region of the world)?

Despite her hesitations Kohinoor had little choice but to heed to the demands of her producers. Without publicizing the event (we only found out because a friend of ours works for an agency that funds Kohinoor's NGO), Kohinoor arranged for boat race, crossed her fingers, and hoped for the best.

The only real threat to the event came at the beginning of the round of introductory speeches, when one of the village elders expressed the opinion that at least one man should be present in each of the 12 competing row boats. He was vigorously supported by the other village leaders, who felt that it would be unwise and unsafe to let a crew of 7-10 women manage their own boats. But Kadambari is a community where the tables have been turned--where women make more than their husbands and have learned that income generates decision making power. They quickly shot down the suggestion (with its implications of female incompetence and dependence) and made preparations to proceed with the all women boat race.

As the audience dispersed and men and women buzzed around the bank of the river, the team members could easily be picked out from the other women in the crowd. Of the 6 teams that were competing, 5 had adopted team uniforms and the women could be seen wearing matching yellow and/or red saris. The sixth team was wearing matching t-shirts depicting the Lord Krishna (Kadambari is a Hindu village) pulled over their saris. All the competing women wore little Burger-King style paper crowns that said (in Bangla) International Women's Day 2009.

The excitement that these women felt was palpable. Evidently the teams had been practicing since the day before, and many of the women confessed to Kohinoor that they hadn't been able to eat during the day because of nerves. As they prepared for the first of 2 initial rounds (6 boats would race in each), the women yelled and pointed and directed energetically, using paddles to shoo away their hovering husbands and commanding young and old team members alike.

In just a matter of 15 minutes the first two rounds of races were over. The three lead boats from each round were selected to advance to the next and final round. Suddenly the mood became quite serious as the teams (each composed of women from an extended family) prepared to go head to head for the prizes: first and second place teams would each receive a television, and the third place team would get a set of umbrellas.

The safety boat where Parendi and I had been perched also hosted the village leaders, who stood up and began to order everyone around at the starting line, rocking the fragile boat frame and causing unnecessary commotion. For the most part the women ignored the outrageous screams, demands and wild gesticulations from the village leaders (who were obviously suffering a perceived loss of power in the community and were desperately trying to overcompensate), and kept their cool as they lined up for the final 100 meter race. Each boat had a captain of sorts who stood at either the head or the rear of the boat and directed the teammates and ultimately set the cadence of the rowing. At one point the women had suggested that each team also have a designated dancer on board, who would stand at the head of the boat and dance as the boats raced. This idea was eventualy determined to be both unsafe and impractical.

With a very unceremonious command to "Start!" the women dug their oars into the water and began paddling like mad. Everyone was yelling--the women rowing, the women watching on shore, the village leaders, us, the family members who lined the banks of the river. Our motor boat chugged alongside the lead boats and just behind us was a row boat full of local village men and boys whose women were in one of the lead boats--they had paddled out to get a closer look at the action and cheer on their wives, sisters, and daughters. I've never in my time in Bangladesh seen something that commanded so much positive attention from community members of all ages and sexes. The excitment of the event attracted the men and boys and the fact that it was women who were rowing the boats commanded the attention of the other local women.

The women paddled feverishly, saris somehow staying in place as hands flew and upper bodies bent into the boat. Half way through the course everyone's focus settled on the two boats that were neck and neck at the center of the pack. As the finish line drew closer suddenly a third boat emerged at the far edge of the river; they had paddled around us (the safety boat) and taken advantage of the smoother water to gain on the lead boats. Before we knew it this boat had merged with the lead boats, ultimately inching ahead just enough to claim victory at the finish line. This was the boat full of women whose men had boarded their own boat to parrallel the race. When their women crossed the finish line these men and boys errupted in song and dance, slapping their paddles on the water and pointing at the winning boat with a sense of ownership (it's unclear whether they were just proud of their women or whether they were excited that their family would have a tv).

The women of the winning boat, upon confirming that theirs was in fact the first boat to cross the line, also exploded into dancing and paddle slapping. They clapped, sang and shouted--did just about everything they could to announce their victory. But the euphoria did not belong solely to the winning boat. In the 3 minutes or so that it took each round of women to paddle the course I saw more female collective joy than I have ever seen in this country. Bangladesh is a place where women do physical work because they have to, where they spend their days mostly alone, looking over children and responding to the demands of their in-laws, and where they have few opportunities to get together with other women and pursue something simply because they want to. The women's boat race in Kadambari gave these women exactly that which is unheard of in these kinds of communities--a chance to join together and struggle for something out of pure pleasure, and not out of need or hunger or poverty; a rare time to demonstrate publicly to their husbands and fathers-in-law that they are strong and capable of organized victory.

When the race was over and the dancing had died down, we made our way back to the NGO office. Kohinoor was extremely pleased with the success of the event and hoped that next year she could repeat it with a larger crowd and greater participation. As Parendi and I prepared to make our way back down the muddy road to continue with our day's work, we were suddenly confronted by a group of beaming women in red and yellow saris. The woman at the head of the group marched right up to us and thrust her hand in our direction. "First!" she exclaimed, shaking hands with us and pointing emphatically at herself with her free hand. She was followed by the other 7 women of her team, each of whom firmly shook our hands as they announced "first!," so overcome with their own joy that they were still sweating and panting. Unabashedly they marched around the NGO complex, introducing themselves and declaring their victory to anyone who would hear it--announcing not only the fact that they had won the race that day, but that in almost 30 years of working with Kohinoor and generating income, they had earned the confidence to show both pride and leadership.

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Comments

[Mom]

hi
Great story but I think they need life jackets next year:) Happy St. Patty's Day. Mama

[Ruth]

Congratulations to TARANGO and Kohinoor
I've to fight my tears back when I read these lines. More than 18 years ago I ventured out for the first time to Kadambari when TARANGO was just about to set up its center over there. The women in this area were very timid and hardly came out of their baris. At one of the first gatherings they told me very proudly, that they didn't want money, they wanted work and they also wanted someone to show them how to work. Over the years TARANGO managed to train them, give them work and market their beautiful products not only in Germany, but in England, Australia, Japan and Switzerland. Thanks to this extra/income the status of these womeon within the society changed a lot. Instead of being a burden, they became an asset. A lot of credit to this success goes to the British lady Sheenagh Day, who was also present at the boat/race. Over years Sheenagh traveled regularely to Kadambari and very patiently showed these women how products have to be made and look like in order to satisfy the foreign customers. Back in in the UK Sheenagh started to sell these products. More than 300 shops count to her customers. When looking at these pictures I must say, the Kadambari women have come a long way. It's really great. One more example that women can do it.