June 29

Wednesday I was coming home from Adnan’s house at night, and I ran into the kids who watched us playing soccer a few weeks ago. They remembered me! I now know where they live, on the street next to the park, and am going to give them one of the pictures I took. I finally found a taxi to take me home. The driver was very friendly, and we attempted to talk for the half hour we were stuck in traffic. He told me all about his family, and how he didn’t want to have kids until he could afford them. I thought this was a revolutionary idea here, and I was very impressed. When he dropped me off, he wouldn’t let me pay but I threw the money in the door as I closed it. These people, giving so much even when they have so little to give!

Thursday afternoon I walked home along the railroad tracks, which is a popular route to travel. I took some pictures there, of the shacks right next to the tracks and the friendly people that live there. I was caught up meeting people when one man pointed down the tracks and said “car” and I realized that a train was coming. The trains are topped with young boys standing up, dancing, looking as if they are on a thrill ride. It seems seriously dangerous, I wonder how often people fall off or are hit. I met a nice old man who insisted on walking me to the end of the tracks to make sure I made it, and bought me some tea at a little stall and would not let me pay. Thursday night I moved out of my home due to a fight with my host mother. Luckily I had a friend over at the time and she said I could stay with her in the hotel for a few nights. But it was dark and I was upset, so we walked about 3 houses down the street where another intern who is Bangladeshi lives. He and his family were so hospitable to us, they insisted we stay for dinner and then stay the night, and then I think they would have tried to have us stay forever if we hadn’t left. Turns out his dad teaches at SIT in Vermont! Sarajane and I then went to a BRAC staff member’s home for a 2 year old’s birthday party, where we met about 30 relatives, every one invited us to their homes. People here really are very friendly and hospitable. They insisted we eat mango and jackfruit, and kept brining it out until even I had to forcefully refuse, which is rare. Lunch was chicken biriyani, which is rice and chicken and egg, again giving us serving after serving. We ate with the men on someone’s bed. It was interesting to finally see how the middle class here lives. That evening we went to a concert and dinner at a local club, with a band that did mostly US rock hits. I felt conflicted spending even $15 doing this, when it is more than many people here make in a week. This could easily be expanded to many peoples’ lives, should we feel bad spending money on any luxuries when people all over the world are barely getting by? Is that any way to go about living? I feel better when I think that I am here trying to help, to make some difference. I think there should be a balance of self-indulgence and attempting to make the world a better place.
Saturday Sarajane and Jean and Jahanara, another intern and I went to Old Dhaka, went to an old fort, a Hindu temple, and a Sikh temple. The fort was a hangout for couples who sit in the shade and chat. Holding hands is about as far as anyone goes in public, anything more than that is considered scandalous. We also visited a narrow but crowded street , Shankharia street, that is known for its jewelry makers, gravestone makers, and hat makers. Incense was burning along the street, laundry was waving in the breeze just above our heads, and the bells of the rickshaws were ringing in our ears. The next street over was a combination of womens’ religious garment shops and clock shops. It was strange traveling with Jahanara’ driver, because while we ate, walked around, he was always waiting for us. I don’t think I could ever feel comfortable having someone wait for me like that all of the time, although I’m sure he doesn’t mind, he is probably paid well.
In the evening, I went to a film about garment workers here- it was actually quite positive, portraying the garment factories as a way for young women to escape the patriarchy of the villages and to become independent and self sufficient in the city. The women interviewed seemed very happy, but still they were making $30-50 dollars a month. I lived right next to some garment factories, I’d love to go into one but I am sure it is difficult to do, especially for a foreigner.

So I have figured out a way to deal with beggars- most of them if you just talk to them will stop asking for money and want to talk. Of course I know about 3 sentences, but it is usually enough to distract them. I think they are unused to people paying attention to them as people at all.