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Published: June 24th 2008
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boys swimming
cooling off on an inner tube I’ve been staring at the water for some time now. The burning sun is hazy and doesn’t reflect much off the calm brown water. All of the sudden I see an animal jump. “A dolphin!” I say to my friend next to me. “Did you see it?” She looks at me, “A dolphin? I don’t think river dolphins come up this far.” “It was shiny and gray and arched out of the water?” “Well, I guess it was a dolphin then,” she shrugs and takes out her camera for photographs of some boys playing along the riverbank.
I’ve taken a boat trip with some friends and acquaintances. It’s guided and so it’s effortless, which was probably the best part. We were driven west out of Dhaka to yet another wide, slow-moving river. The boat is really pretty nice and the guides provide us with plenty of tea and good (no really, it actually is) Bangladeshi food. Unfortunately, it’s hard to have much of an appetite for hot tea and large meals in sweltering heat on a swaying boat. After adjusting to the fact that this boat is not meant to be a fast, exciting ride like the one to
Hindu palace
The front of the palace Matlab, I’m able to lounge around, chat with friends, and enjoy the scenery and fresh air—a welcome change to my sweaty daily commutes and long office days in Dhaka.
Most boats I see are fishing boats. They are almost all the same style: long and thin with tapered ends. Their edges lie so close to the water it seems adding another mango to the boat would sink it, but they continue to float along. Some boats carry cargo and are filled from end to end with rice or jackfruits. Other fishermen sit in their boats with their large nets cast, waiting for the fish to come to them. Sometimes I see a goat standing in the little boat with them for what reason my imagination cannot figure out. Fresh milk? Are they afraid it will get stolen at home? Company? I think there are fewer boats out than normal because it’s a Friday, making the river traffic sparse and peaceful.
Along the edges of the river are mostly trees and grazing animals. Small villages composed of one-room huts made of corrugated metal gather together in some places. Since it is Friday, people, especially children, splash and laugh through
the king's bath
you can see someone standing at the steps to the water the muddy ripples. Only the boys swim. One set of friends we pass close to are holding hands on an old black inner tube and wave up at us on our big white motor boat. I’m sweating off everything I drink and wish I could also jump into the water. The urge quickly passes when we glide past a factory pumping gallons of waste directly into the river. The playing children downstream aren’t such a happy sight anymore.
There are no real sites along the river—no great architecture or panoramic views. Periodically our guide will pop out and point to the riverbank. “Sugar factory!” he yells with a smile. “Take picture?” Sure enough, there is a large, dirty factory sitting quietly at the river’s edge. Thirty minutes later he’ll pop back out, “Refinery!” I quickly learn that in a developing country, what is often perceived as worthwhile sites are signs of development and infrastructure. Our own nation must have been the same not so long ago.
Eventually we pull over to a quiet bank. A couple boys run down to help pull us in. We’re come to what used to be the palace of a local Hindu king.
in the palace
me sweating in a courtyard There has been no upkeep since the king lost his power and probably fled. It’s now been converted into a school and some people also take up residence inside. The estate is large and carries the presence of a lost age of grandeur. In the front of the palace is a large, peaceful, man-made pond. It was the queen’s bath in another time. Now a cow stands at the bottom of the broken rock steps leading down to the bath, lapping up the water. We walk through the palace—through empty rooms and courtyards overgrown with weeds. In the back of the palace is an even larger pond. This was the king’s bath. Here an old man with tight skin stands waist deep in the water, cupping the water over his sparse hair. We walk along a tree-lined path to loop back around the bath and the palace. We now have some quiet school-age boys walking along with us. One of them drags a cricket bat next to his feet. It’s a calming place.
Back on the boat, we are back to the hot sun and the hot cups of tea and instant coffee. After some hours, we begin to
richshaw play
one of my favorites: some kids playing around on an old rickshaw. again pull to the side of the river. We’ve come to a town where they make sharis and fabrics. It’s a typical looking village—packs of one-room, mud-floored, corrugated metal houses. Women in worn-out, brightly-colored sharis hang clothes and lay out maize for drying. Little kids run around in bunches. In the heart of the village, we come across large rooms filled with weaving machinery. They are hot, loud, and stuffy and a few men work along the machines as garments are slowly produced. In another hut are rows of men sitting at handlooms. Back and forth, back and forth, they slide the looms, making beautiful patterns and colors. They only work here on Fridays. Usually these is the young girls’ jobs. The men chatter a bit but stick to their work. They only become very distracted when I tell them I went to the India-Bangladesh cricket match the night before. They start exclaiming about the game and the next game tomorrow: India versus Pakistan. They can’t wait. Outside the looming hut is the little village. Right now, large groups of men are crowded around small television sets. They don’t seem to much notice the fifteen white people walking through their
town. The children continue to follow us and jump around with each other. Their mothers watch quietly from the sides of the road. Before we leave, I decide to use the money I have on me to buy one of the handmade muslin scarves. It costs me 700Tk (about US$10), which is a decent amount of money here, but I’m told they go for much more in Dhaka and I believe it.
When we get back on the boat, a crowd of children lines the shore waving to us. I feel a little bizarre having gone to see their normal lives as a sightseeing tour. On the other hand, getting to witness life here is by far the most enlightening thing to do. I feel like conceptions I hold about Bangladesh and developing countries are continually readjusted. There are some things I can read about in books and see in photographs and movies. But it’s another thing entirely to actually step on the ground and smile back at a hard-working, malnourished, half-naked child with sticky mango juice smeared all over her mouth. It’s another experience entirely.
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