Capturing life in the desh

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I was just waiting for an email to come before I headed off to bed and I decided to read through my blog postings. Wow, I can really be negative! I don’t think of myself as a naturally negative person, so I thought I should try and find the words to explain a little better what it is like to live in Bangladesh.

The other day I had an interview with a foreigner on contract with the government, and she graciously suggested we meet at the Bagha Club, the club for British citizens. Given the changed rules at the Canadian Club, this was the first time I was able to go to a club and it was great to sit and have a beer by the pool as we chatted. After our formal interview we started chatting about living in Bangladesh. Now I have limited experience in these things - I have soaked up the stories of friends who have lived overseas and so I have a general sense of what kind of experiences tend to be common across developing countries, but I’ve only ever lived in Bangladesh. So I was curious - is it developing countries, and working in development in particular, that tends to make people so cynical after a while, or is it something truly special about Bangladesh. After some thought my host, who has lived in many different countries around the world, volunteered that there is something unique about Bangladesh that makes it difficult to live here. It is that everything is in extremes. You can feel horrible anger and terrific joy in the very same moment. And she noted, and I have to agree, that there is some kind of indescribable transition that occurs when you move from the individual to the collective in Bangladesh. Every individual is usually a wonderful, warm, interesting person, but together Bangladeshis can have the most destructive, counter-intuitive, sexist, intolerant and appalling behaviour. It is all about extremes - the weather, the corruption, the population, the wealth, the poverty, the hope and the despair.

I’ll give you an example of yesterday to illustrate. In the morning I went to change my tickets to come home, which left me feeling very happy of course. Then I was very early for a meeting, so I decided to walk, and it was relatively far. I wound my way through many residential streets that I had never seen before and enjoyed the quiet off the beaten track. My meeting went very well and then I was off to BRAC to, of course, check my email. I was sitting in the rickshaw really thinking for the first time about the fact that I would soon be leaving and who knows if I will ever be back. I started to feel a little sad because there is a part of me that is only Natalie-in-Bangladesh that I miss when I’m not here. I started to think maybe I’d been too hard on Bangladesh in the last few weeks. After all, my mother always taught me that you get out of an experience what you put into it, and hiding at home watching tv isn’t exactly making an effort. Then we passed a side street where three men were beating a dog with sticks while traffic and pedestrians stopped to look. I felt angry and sick. I cannot escape thinking that horrible racist instinctual though “what is wrong with these people?” Bangladesh really forces you to confront your own prejudices. A few minutes later we got to BRAC and I paid the rickshaw-whallah what was a very good price and he started yelling at me, demanding more. I could have travelled twice the distance for what he was asking. I got so angry I stormed off, but he followed me into the BRAC compound still yelling in my face. Of course then there are all the BRAC guards and other people staring, all of whom see only a “rich foreigner” who won’t pay the rickshaw-whallah. I was so mad, but I turned and held more money out to the driver, but he wouldn’t take it and just stood there yelling at me. I have no idea what he was saying. So I threw the money down and walked into BRAC. I was shaking, I was so furious. So that is Bangladesh - your emotions can change in an absolute instant and every day, no every hour, is like an emotional roller-coaster.

My run-in with the rickshaw-whallah stayed with me all night and all I could think of was getting out of this place. This morning I had a meeting with an NGO which went fantastically well, and left me feeling a little more hopeful about development in Bangladesh than I usually feel. I left the office and sat on the stairs, still inside the compound, to make a phone call. In front of me was a cute little garden with vibrant yellow and pink winter flowers in bloom. About 15 butterflies were flitting about in the garden, and I just sat with the sun on my shoulders and enjoyed the moment. I had forgotten that Bangladesh is filled with the most beautiful butterflies. Then a man came out the door, sucked all the snot out of his nose, cleared his throat and spit beside me. Nice.

Reading this over I realize how feeble it all sounds. I truly can’t explain how someone spitting at your feet can drastically change your mood in Bangladesh. On an average day in Canada expectorate wouldn’t ruin my day, but it really can here. I don’t know why. Perhaps because emotions are always running so high and all your senses are constantly engaged. There are no “little things”; they all feel big. Any given moment could become a Seinfeld episode.

All this to say that there are nice moments in Bangladesh. There are wonderful friends and beautiful scenery and times that touch your heart deeply. There is kindness and generosity, often when it is least expected. There are moments when you really feel like you are part of something, like you have some purpose. But sometimes it is just so hard to hold-on to those moments, and they can be even harder to capture in words.

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