So I had my first real First Aid adventure of this year. At the parade ground practice a child from one of the Taize schools fainted from heat related symptoms. I quickly sprang into action getting shade and breeze and items to rehydrate when she woke up. I will not go into details, for it is not important. But it suffices to say, that at that moment I was glad for my First Aid training and to be able to help ensure noone did anything rash.
Now for prevention, I thought, probably other children should be given water, all marching on the spot for an hour in the hot sun. But this suggestion went unheeded and less than 5 minutes later, another victim from another one of our schools was brought to the shade unconscious. Finally, water was brought out for those who were thirsty on the field, and after another round of First Aid, I was glad to find that people had listened and were going for prevention rather than First Aid. Hopefully, in other areas of society, in the near future, Bangladeshis will look for ways to prevent accidents rather than responding to them.
Paix.
Steve.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
When Violence Worked
What does the advocate of nonviolent change say? It doesn't work, nonviolent struggle is more powerful than armed conflict? This sounds good, and there are many historical examples of when nonviolent struggle achieved some desired goal, when nonviolence triumphed or violence; but Bangladesh is not one of those places. Gandhi was all well and good for driving away the British, but it was violence, it was mass uprising and guerilla-style warfare which won Bangladesh its independence. And what do you say here, when violence worked?
The problem is two-fold, mass demonstrations were part of what invited a crackdown by the Pakistani army, and once the army was on the loose, they were killing all of the intellectuals, looting and raping at will. And it was in this scenario that mass uprising and insurgency won. The Freedom Fighters overpowered the much better trained, and well-equipped army. So the Freedom Fighters won, and Bangladesh was created, on the back of a short, and brutally violent civil war.
Now why do I bring this up, well today is Independence Day in Bangladesh. Today the populus celebrates their freedom from Pakistan over 30 years ago. And how do they celebrate? They celebrate with a military parade, not only attended by the military and police force, but also by the school children in the city. To witness these children, saluting and marching in formation similar to that of the soldiers was a painful sight for me. Why must these children be taught the way of the gun at such a young age? Why must they be forced to imitate soldiers in school?
This display of military regalia was fascinating for me, the outsider, from a nation with a professional army. The whole procession seemed closer to a reenactment from World War 2, with vintage firearms and full procession, closely resembling footage of the German Army. On this independence day, the celebration is on the military defeat of the Pakistani's not on the power and strength of Bangladesh, which I feel is a tragedy. But how do I advocate for peace in this context? This is a question to which I have no answer. A question, like many others, which will continue to stretch my views and my understandings of peace and of conflict. What do you say, when violence worked?
Paz.
Steve.
The problem is two-fold, mass demonstrations were part of what invited a crackdown by the Pakistani army, and once the army was on the loose, they were killing all of the intellectuals, looting and raping at will. And it was in this scenario that mass uprising and insurgency won. The Freedom Fighters overpowered the much better trained, and well-equipped army. So the Freedom Fighters won, and Bangladesh was created, on the back of a short, and brutally violent civil war.
Now why do I bring this up, well today is Independence Day in Bangladesh. Today the populus celebrates their freedom from Pakistan over 30 years ago. And how do they celebrate? They celebrate with a military parade, not only attended by the military and police force, but also by the school children in the city. To witness these children, saluting and marching in formation similar to that of the soldiers was a painful sight for me. Why must these children be taught the way of the gun at such a young age? Why must they be forced to imitate soldiers in school?
This display of military regalia was fascinating for me, the outsider, from a nation with a professional army. The whole procession seemed closer to a reenactment from World War 2, with vintage firearms and full procession, closely resembling footage of the German Army. On this independence day, the celebration is on the military defeat of the Pakistani's not on the power and strength of Bangladesh, which I feel is a tragedy. But how do I advocate for peace in this context? This is a question to which I have no answer. A question, like many others, which will continue to stretch my views and my understandings of peace and of conflict. What do you say, when violence worked?
Paz.
Steve.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
The Pain of Dishonesty
I hesitate to even breach this subject on my blog. But I choose to, because it poses a significant challenge to peace and more specifically to justice in this country. I have witnessed a couple instances recently, which I feel should be exposed for what they are, but I fear the consequences of exposing them in this public forum. It will suffice to say, that what I am about to describe runs deeper than just these instances and poses a serious problem to the future development of Bangladesh.
I do not believe that this problem is engrained in the Bangladeshi psyche, nor does it make Bangladeshis in any way bad people; for all of the things that bother me in this country, the people are incredibly friendly. The problem is systematic, and as such, it will prove a challenging foe to overcome quickly. It manifests itself on a larger scale as corruption, a word all too commonly heard here in Bangladesh, but I have been witness to it on a smaller scale in my everyday life.
Why, I ask myself, can people not be honest? I know they are poor, this is a poor country, and they need money. And I am entirely willing to give a small amount more from my wealth to help as many people as possible. I never attempt to hoard my allowances, and I do not give anyone less than they deserve. I try my very best to allow each and every person an equal opportunity to receive from my wealth. I am not in a place to know who needs the money more than others, only God knows that, and I quite happily grant Her that knowledge.
Regularly, especially in Dhaka, people attempt to receive as much as they possibly can for any service they provide. And drivers are no exception. Taking public transit in Dhaka is a hassle, and as everywhere, there are honest people and there are dishonest people. If I haggle a price for a ride (illegal as that may be), I am willing to pay for that ride. Officially, I have been told, any driver asking for more than the price shown on the meter, is breaking the law, and it is in fact considered a bribe. And this happens regularly. As a foreigner I rarely, rarely, have a driver who is so honest that they will give me the meter rate. And even if they do, I tip them extra because I understand that the meter rates do not provide enough money for them to support their families. But these men (women don't drive) are honest. And I respect them for that, and I thank them profusely for being honest.
Their are of course others who are dishonest, who ask for bribes, and try to charge as high as they possibly can. Very often I find myself paying an extra 50% or higher to take public transit in the city. But even among the dishonest men, there are those who simply ask for more and take what they are given, there are those who arrive and ask for an extra few Taka as bribe, there are those who refuse to give change, and then there are those who tell intricate lies to get more money as a bribe.
I was lucky enough to experience these liars on a regular basis on my last trip to Dhaka. The first pales in comparison to the second. I was taking a baby taxi from Dhaka University to the Guest house and asked the driver why he would only accept a large bribe. He explained that there was a traffic jam, and that the time wasted would mean that he would lose money if he gave me the meter price. I accepted this story, not wanting to assume the man was dishonest. We then proceeded to return without any traffic jam whatsoever, and I paid the man almost 150% the meter rate. I was very unhappy with his deceit and dishonesty and told him so. I explained very nicely that I was going to give him the agreed on price but that he was a liar and was being very dishonest.
The second instance makes the first but a pebble on the beach. It makes a bump, but it pales in comparison to this rock. The man was asking for a large bribe, and no other drivers wanted to go where we were hoping to go. I had explained to him that the last driver had lied to me and I wanted to make sure he wasn't lying to me about the traffic as well. So we were off, and the driver was lucky that we waited for 15 minutes at a light as the police let the traffic going the other direction through. The light changed 6 times while we waited, and we were at the front of the line. So I had agreed to pay him the price we had agreed on in a traffic jam. I had no problems with this. We arrived at what he said was the place I wanted to go, when I realized he had taken me to the wrong park. So I asked him where we were, he told me the name of the place I was going. I told him it wasn't right and that he needed to go to the other place. He agreed, but first said that it was a kilometre away and he asked for a larger bribe. I told him I would give him a little extra because I did not want a fight. He promptly drove 400 meters and once again stopped, nowhere near where I had told him to go. He turned off the vehicle and I was very unhappy (to put it lightly). I told him I was not giving him more than originally agreed on, because I was in the wrong place, and he had lied to me. He then refused to give me my change, and held me asking for more money. I felt so violated that I told him calmly (a gift of God) that he had taken me to the wrong place, he had lied to me, he was a dishonest person, he had stolen my money and that he could be put in jail for any of the things he was doing to me. I told him he would not receive any more money, and that I hoped he would think a little bit about the type of person he is. That man received 100% more than the ride was worth.
Now those stories speak of dishonesty, which is not a characteristic of most Bangladeshis, but it does create a large problem when mixed with a culture of bribery. I was the unfortunate recipient of two very dishonest men who lied to me, took advantage of me, and stole from me. And it primarily caused me pain, more pain than the person who stole my money and phone. Because these people were using very low techniques of lying and cheating the trust of a customer. There followed an untellable story which caused me to think even more about the case of corruption and bribery in this culture.
I see no answer to this problem, only questions. How can something so rampant, from top to bottom, be changed? When the system is the only system people know, how is it possible to develop a system of righteous and honest dealings, taking into consideration the need for money to support a family? It pains me to see this side of the culture. The side of Bangladeshi culture books speak of, but one which I hoped was shrinking, but it is increasingly rearing its ugly head at me. I sincerely hope that somehow this culture, this system, moves beyond what is presently known, into an honest and strong system providing justice for its citizens.
Paining for Peace.
Steve.
I do not believe that this problem is engrained in the Bangladeshi psyche, nor does it make Bangladeshis in any way bad people; for all of the things that bother me in this country, the people are incredibly friendly. The problem is systematic, and as such, it will prove a challenging foe to overcome quickly. It manifests itself on a larger scale as corruption, a word all too commonly heard here in Bangladesh, but I have been witness to it on a smaller scale in my everyday life.
Why, I ask myself, can people not be honest? I know they are poor, this is a poor country, and they need money. And I am entirely willing to give a small amount more from my wealth to help as many people as possible. I never attempt to hoard my allowances, and I do not give anyone less than they deserve. I try my very best to allow each and every person an equal opportunity to receive from my wealth. I am not in a place to know who needs the money more than others, only God knows that, and I quite happily grant Her that knowledge.
Regularly, especially in Dhaka, people attempt to receive as much as they possibly can for any service they provide. And drivers are no exception. Taking public transit in Dhaka is a hassle, and as everywhere, there are honest people and there are dishonest people. If I haggle a price for a ride (illegal as that may be), I am willing to pay for that ride. Officially, I have been told, any driver asking for more than the price shown on the meter, is breaking the law, and it is in fact considered a bribe. And this happens regularly. As a foreigner I rarely, rarely, have a driver who is so honest that they will give me the meter rate. And even if they do, I tip them extra because I understand that the meter rates do not provide enough money for them to support their families. But these men (women don't drive) are honest. And I respect them for that, and I thank them profusely for being honest.
Their are of course others who are dishonest, who ask for bribes, and try to charge as high as they possibly can. Very often I find myself paying an extra 50% or higher to take public transit in the city. But even among the dishonest men, there are those who simply ask for more and take what they are given, there are those who arrive and ask for an extra few Taka as bribe, there are those who refuse to give change, and then there are those who tell intricate lies to get more money as a bribe.
I was lucky enough to experience these liars on a regular basis on my last trip to Dhaka. The first pales in comparison to the second. I was taking a baby taxi from Dhaka University to the Guest house and asked the driver why he would only accept a large bribe. He explained that there was a traffic jam, and that the time wasted would mean that he would lose money if he gave me the meter price. I accepted this story, not wanting to assume the man was dishonest. We then proceeded to return without any traffic jam whatsoever, and I paid the man almost 150% the meter rate. I was very unhappy with his deceit and dishonesty and told him so. I explained very nicely that I was going to give him the agreed on price but that he was a liar and was being very dishonest.
The second instance makes the first but a pebble on the beach. It makes a bump, but it pales in comparison to this rock. The man was asking for a large bribe, and no other drivers wanted to go where we were hoping to go. I had explained to him that the last driver had lied to me and I wanted to make sure he wasn't lying to me about the traffic as well. So we were off, and the driver was lucky that we waited for 15 minutes at a light as the police let the traffic going the other direction through. The light changed 6 times while we waited, and we were at the front of the line. So I had agreed to pay him the price we had agreed on in a traffic jam. I had no problems with this. We arrived at what he said was the place I wanted to go, when I realized he had taken me to the wrong park. So I asked him where we were, he told me the name of the place I was going. I told him it wasn't right and that he needed to go to the other place. He agreed, but first said that it was a kilometre away and he asked for a larger bribe. I told him I would give him a little extra because I did not want a fight. He promptly drove 400 meters and once again stopped, nowhere near where I had told him to go. He turned off the vehicle and I was very unhappy (to put it lightly). I told him I was not giving him more than originally agreed on, because I was in the wrong place, and he had lied to me. He then refused to give me my change, and held me asking for more money. I felt so violated that I told him calmly (a gift of God) that he had taken me to the wrong place, he had lied to me, he was a dishonest person, he had stolen my money and that he could be put in jail for any of the things he was doing to me. I told him he would not receive any more money, and that I hoped he would think a little bit about the type of person he is. That man received 100% more than the ride was worth.
Now those stories speak of dishonesty, which is not a characteristic of most Bangladeshis, but it does create a large problem when mixed with a culture of bribery. I was the unfortunate recipient of two very dishonest men who lied to me, took advantage of me, and stole from me. And it primarily caused me pain, more pain than the person who stole my money and phone. Because these people were using very low techniques of lying and cheating the trust of a customer. There followed an untellable story which caused me to think even more about the case of corruption and bribery in this culture.
I see no answer to this problem, only questions. How can something so rampant, from top to bottom, be changed? When the system is the only system people know, how is it possible to develop a system of righteous and honest dealings, taking into consideration the need for money to support a family? It pains me to see this side of the culture. The side of Bangladeshi culture books speak of, but one which I hoped was shrinking, but it is increasingly rearing its ugly head at me. I sincerely hope that somehow this culture, this system, moves beyond what is presently known, into an honest and strong system providing justice for its citizens.
Paining for Peace.
Steve.
Monday, December 3, 2007
The Power of Faith, The Radiance of Light
The Faith and Light programs organized by the boys at Taize on the last Friday of every month, highlight a powerful gift the Taize community provides here. Through the power of faith, the Brothers break down barriers and allow a radiant light of joy to shine through these beautiful events. The Faith and Light events are an extension of the l'Arche community started by Jean Vanier, and provide an opportunity for the handicapped and their caretakers to enjoy a day of happiness and respite. A time for laughter and joy.
I use the term handicapped not at all sparingly, for that is what we all are. We are all handicapped in some way, the reality is that some people have much more severely disabling handicaps than others. But to say someone is handicapped in one area, does not mean they are handicapped in others. For Rajib, a boy I have gotten to know very well, he may be handicapped mentally, he may not be able to communicate, or go to school, but he cares about those he meets with such love and affection it would soften the hardest of souls.There is no denying the challenges of living daily with someone who is handicapped, especially when they require constant supervision. The task is daunting and often leads to despair. And here again, the light shines through. For in these meetings, the boys from Taize care for the handicapped and the children, they allow the caregivers and parents a time to discuss and reflect on their lives with those in similar positions.
And no Faith and Light (especially the picnic on November 30), is complete without a time of games, laughter and song. Games not only for the handicapped, but also for their guardians. It is a time of relief, a time for joy and laughter in community, a community bridging generations and faiths.
May we all learn to love those labeled unloveable, and to stand with those who are handicapped in faith and in light. Loving unconditionally and caring incessantly. For I have learned, your love will never go unreturned.
Peace and Joy.
Steve.
For All Those Learners Who Just Aren't Sure
This is a quick note to anyone out there who is just not sure whether or not they want to be a learner. I have found the company to help you do just that. "Sceptic Learning" is a company in Dhaka designed to help people learn. Don't worry they will help you with "chapterwise question paper solving" (whatever that means!), I just wonder whether they teach you to be sceptics or not. I must admit, I'm a little bit sceptical about the whole idea myself.
Dhaka - Creating a society of sceptics, one sceptic at a time!
Peace.
Steve.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Something We Can Never Understand
I will now write a small reflection on a story I read today in The Daily Star English language newspaper in Bangladesh. For the full story visit, http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=13756. The story entitled, "Slum dwellers also come in aid of Sidr victims", really touched my heart and brought to mind some tough questions.
The story details a slum in Dhaka, Bangladesh, who have collected a truckful of clothes and other items to aid victims of cyclone Sidr in Southern Bangladesh. What a powerful message! It reminds me of the story in Luke 21:1-4, where Jesus speaks so favourably of the woman giving all she has to the Lord. What has happened to us? Those of us, wealthy beyond the imaginations of the slum dwellers in Karail slum, yet what do we do with that wealth? Could I, the student that I am, give anywhere near what these poor families are giving? Could I ever give to the poor in the way that these poor have done?
The concept of giving from your excess is common, and most people do this in some form or another. But the concept of giving from what you lack, giving something from the figurative nothing, this is the amazing story of the slum dwellers of Karail. The people living in this slum live in terrible conditions. They live in conditions unimaginable in affluent Canada, yet they gave what they had, what they may very well need in the future, they gave those things to help others who now have even less than they do.
In reflecting on this amazing display of love and care, I will draw our attention to this quote, "We are poor, but the cyclone-hit people are poorer now. They have nothing, no home, clothes or food to eat. We poor people can realise how painful it can be to be in a situation like that". Now what does that say about us? The distant, aloof, affluent group living in large houses, driving large cars, entirely oblivious to these instances of amazing self-sacrifice. It says that we cannot understand, it is not possible for us to understand what it means to be poor. I can live simply, but I don't know what it means to live in poverty, and I likely never will. That is not, however, a justification for not following in this powerful example. When all your wordly possessions fit in a house the size of most North American garden sheds, and you still choose to give to those who have even less than you do. That is radical, that is love for your neighbour at its best, that is an example of what those of us who have more, should be challenged to do.
This story proves a challenge for me, a challenge to bring the gift of love and empowerment to the poorest in society, and to realize that I can give even when I don't think I have enough to live comfortably. I challenge myself, and you, to think about the poor when you desire something new. Because until you try to understand the poor, and live like the poor, you will never be able to give like the poor.
In Peace and Seeking Justice.
Steve.
The story details a slum in Dhaka, Bangladesh, who have collected a truckful of clothes and other items to aid victims of cyclone Sidr in Southern Bangladesh. What a powerful message! It reminds me of the story in Luke 21:1-4, where Jesus speaks so favourably of the woman giving all she has to the Lord. What has happened to us? Those of us, wealthy beyond the imaginations of the slum dwellers in Karail slum, yet what do we do with that wealth? Could I, the student that I am, give anywhere near what these poor families are giving? Could I ever give to the poor in the way that these poor have done?
The concept of giving from your excess is common, and most people do this in some form or another. But the concept of giving from what you lack, giving something from the figurative nothing, this is the amazing story of the slum dwellers of Karail. The people living in this slum live in terrible conditions. They live in conditions unimaginable in affluent Canada, yet they gave what they had, what they may very well need in the future, they gave those things to help others who now have even less than they do.
In reflecting on this amazing display of love and care, I will draw our attention to this quote, "We are poor, but the cyclone-hit people are poorer now. They have nothing, no home, clothes or food to eat. We poor people can realise how painful it can be to be in a situation like that". Now what does that say about us? The distant, aloof, affluent group living in large houses, driving large cars, entirely oblivious to these instances of amazing self-sacrifice. It says that we cannot understand, it is not possible for us to understand what it means to be poor. I can live simply, but I don't know what it means to live in poverty, and I likely never will. That is not, however, a justification for not following in this powerful example. When all your wordly possessions fit in a house the size of most North American garden sheds, and you still choose to give to those who have even less than you do. That is radical, that is love for your neighbour at its best, that is an example of what those of us who have more, should be challenged to do.
This story proves a challenge for me, a challenge to bring the gift of love and empowerment to the poorest in society, and to realize that I can give even when I don't think I have enough to live comfortably. I challenge myself, and you, to think about the poor when you desire something new. Because until you try to understand the poor, and live like the poor, you will never be able to give like the poor.
In Peace and Seeking Justice.
Steve.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Like Little Fish in a Can
If anyone is curious about the title. It is in reference to sardines in a can, but with a Bangladeshi flavour. That not yet acquired taste, the flavour of little fish. And where is like little fish in a can? The Bihari camp.
I will begin by briefly describing the situation of the Biharis in Bangladesh. During the Liberation War of 1971, the Bihari ethnic group, Muslims from India, considered themselves to be Pakistani and therefore supported the Pakistani army in the atrocities they committed in Bangladesh during the war. But following the war, Pakistan conveniently decided that an influx of Biharis into West Pakistan would destabilize the country and they would not accept the Bihari refugees. So, refugee camps were established in Bangladesh where these "Pakistanis" could live. Now 35 years later, these Biharis are still here in Bangladesh.
Where do I belong? The Biharis are not citizens of any country. They cannot vote or obtain a passport from either Pakistan or Bangladesh, and they live in the same camps established over thirty years ago. This creates a population implosion. When over 300 families (often of 8-10 members) live in a tiny, walled community. The Mymensingh Bihari camp has 13 latrines for 300 families, often these latrines are backed up and unhygienic. There is one clean water pump for the camp, and three hundred families line up everyday to get water. There are no schools, no greenery, no place for children to play, and no place to call your own. Families dwell in single rooms, often holes exist where the corrugated iron of the roof does not meet properly creating waterfalls when the rains come. The streets, alleyways in fact, are not wide enough for two people to walk past each other, and people's doors open one into the other.
It is in the midst of these cramped quarters that you will find 12 youth, all in high school or first year college, who are interested in learning about peace. What can they do about the constant quarrelling at the water pump, or the screaming outside the latrines? How can they improve their situations, both in the camp and in the larger society? Questions they ask, answers we hope to discover. This is one of my most exciting pieces of the Peace program. The opportunity to work with these youth, who are there to learn, to add a little healing salt and give some new flavour to their can of problems. In this small place, there is hope for change and the idea of future possibilities excites and inspires me.
Be the Peace in the World.
Steve.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Untold Stories from Cyclone Sidr
I am about to paraphrase two stories found in The Daily Star, the best English newspaper in Bangladesh. The stories are taken from the Monday, November 19, 2007 edition.
The world sees a death toll, and it is rising fast. They see pictures of devastation, death and loss. They hear of the storm which hit Dhaka. I will make a quick note here that pictures of devastation coming out of Dhaka are unrepresentative of the damage, so don't be fooled. There was one billboard knocked down in the storm, it was all over the media; there were a number of small trees and a few larger trees felled in the storm, also covered by the media; there was lots of water soaking people's homes, not covered by the media. But for clarity's sake the damage in Dhaka is almost non-existant. There have been some interesting stories to come out over the last few days which are not likely to reach mainstream media but give a little bit of insight into the country and problems in Bangladesh.
The story of slavery island. This first story will sound like the plot of a novel, and the article was written in much the same way. If it sounds unbelievable, I agree with you, but I will write about it as it is. The Bangladeshi navy were searching islands in the Bay of Bengal looking for survivors of cyclone Sidr. There they came upon Meher Ali Island where they found 106 slaves, all men on the island working for their Master drying fish. These men were all enticed to come to the island looking for well paying jobs. Told they would be receiving thousands of Taka per week and lots of benefits, these men were taken to a remote island, robbed of all identity papers, money and phones, and forced to work drying fish by day and guarding the island by night. Often they were severely beaten by the owners and were not ever able to leave the island. They were captured slaves on the island. When Sidr approached the masters ensured that all the fish were hung in the trees so they would not be destroyed, while the slaves were told to guard the fish. When the waves came the slaves ran for safety. The next day they were rounded up and beaten for leaving the fish unguarded. They have now been rescued by the navy and are going to be returned to mainland Bangladesh. For more detailed information visit, http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=12207.
The story of Crying Wolf. This second story is one of deep sadness and details the pain and crushing realities felt by many villagers. They were in a catch 22, with no way out. The last time there was a warning for villagers to enter cyclone shelters was the Tsunami, when in no uncertain terms, there was no danger in Bangladesh. The damage people did find when they returned home after the Tsunami warning was the disappearance of their cattle and possessions. Many villages were looted while their proprietors and occupants were safely hidden away from the storm that never came. Families lost their livelihoods, their cattle and their keepsakes. So, fearing another story of Crying Wolf, many villagers were hesitant to leave their homes until it was too late. Often these families lost loved ones in the storm. This is a sad story that illustrates the pain involved. To go or to stay, both scenarios risked losing everything these people had, they played the game and lost. For more information on this story visit, http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=12271.
Many more stories are emerging daily from this disaster, and people's lives have been greatly affected. I urge each one of you to keep those affected in your thoughts and prayers.
Peace.
Steve.
The world sees a death toll, and it is rising fast. They see pictures of devastation, death and loss. They hear of the storm which hit Dhaka. I will make a quick note here that pictures of devastation coming out of Dhaka are unrepresentative of the damage, so don't be fooled. There was one billboard knocked down in the storm, it was all over the media; there were a number of small trees and a few larger trees felled in the storm, also covered by the media; there was lots of water soaking people's homes, not covered by the media. But for clarity's sake the damage in Dhaka is almost non-existant. There have been some interesting stories to come out over the last few days which are not likely to reach mainstream media but give a little bit of insight into the country and problems in Bangladesh.
The story of slavery island. This first story will sound like the plot of a novel, and the article was written in much the same way. If it sounds unbelievable, I agree with you, but I will write about it as it is. The Bangladeshi navy were searching islands in the Bay of Bengal looking for survivors of cyclone Sidr. There they came upon Meher Ali Island where they found 106 slaves, all men on the island working for their Master drying fish. These men were all enticed to come to the island looking for well paying jobs. Told they would be receiving thousands of Taka per week and lots of benefits, these men were taken to a remote island, robbed of all identity papers, money and phones, and forced to work drying fish by day and guarding the island by night. Often they were severely beaten by the owners and were not ever able to leave the island. They were captured slaves on the island. When Sidr approached the masters ensured that all the fish were hung in the trees so they would not be destroyed, while the slaves were told to guard the fish. When the waves came the slaves ran for safety. The next day they were rounded up and beaten for leaving the fish unguarded. They have now been rescued by the navy and are going to be returned to mainland Bangladesh. For more detailed information visit, http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=12207.
The story of Crying Wolf. This second story is one of deep sadness and details the pain and crushing realities felt by many villagers. They were in a catch 22, with no way out. The last time there was a warning for villagers to enter cyclone shelters was the Tsunami, when in no uncertain terms, there was no danger in Bangladesh. The damage people did find when they returned home after the Tsunami warning was the disappearance of their cattle and possessions. Many villages were looted while their proprietors and occupants were safely hidden away from the storm that never came. Families lost their livelihoods, their cattle and their keepsakes. So, fearing another story of Crying Wolf, many villagers were hesitant to leave their homes until it was too late. Often these families lost loved ones in the storm. This is a sad story that illustrates the pain involved. To go or to stay, both scenarios risked losing everything these people had, they played the game and lost. For more information on this story visit, http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=12271.
Many more stories are emerging daily from this disaster, and people's lives have been greatly affected. I urge each one of you to keep those affected in your thoughts and prayers.
Peace.
Steve.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Wind and Water
Global Newsflash: Cyclone Sidr hits Bangladesh, thousands die
Reality Check Newsflash: Crops lost, thousands may die
To quote a famous little jingle, "one of these things is not like the other!" Bangladesh was struck by a deadly cyclone on Thursday night, and the death toll is rising daily. This is likely not news to most, and I am very thankful for everyone's concern for my safety. Being here, in the midst of this crisis is very surreal. I live in Mymensingh, a district barely affected by the storm, an area in which most people have no idea of the pain other Bangladeshis are experiencing. Yes Thursday night was odd, "why all this wind and water?" was a common question. But here the concept of cyclone is not on anyone's mind.
The current situation in the south is something most of you will know more about than me. I know the death toll is over 2000 people so far and will undoubtedly rise, but until you see the situation a death toll is meaningless. Who are the dead? The answer is obvious, because it is the same people who are likely to die from disease and malnutrition, it is the poorest in society. The dead are those who were not accepted into the cyclone shelters, the people who are so poor they had no warning that a storm was coming. The forgotten in Bangladesh, never mind the world, those people are the worst affected by this disaster. And the help that will come for the survivors of this disaster is important, but media does something to people which is a blessing and a curse, the media shows the "exciting" stories of the suffering and loss of poor in Southern Bangladesh. The media does not show the boring stories of children wasting away with no rice to eat, the stories of people who have to find a new piece of plastic to use for a house, the stories of the forgotten people in Bangladesh.
The future is not something we can predict, nor do I hold by these predictions. But I would like to describe some of the possibilities to come for Bangladeshis, long after the international media has forgotten about them. The risk of flooding in Bangladesh, for the third time this year, is a distinct possibility as the remains of Sidr cross over the Himalayas and wash down the rivers and through Bangladesh. More flooding can only compound the problems caused by Sidr long after the international attention fades. Here and now, I see very little effects of Sidr, as I travel around the area the only real sign of the storm is in the puddles and flooded paddies surrounding the city. But this innocent sight could compound an already challenging year causing more pain throughout the country than the original storm did. The storm came and went, it was dramatic and powerful. The starvation and hunger which may grip the nation as a result of losing rice for the third time in as many months is an even bigger problem. In the south 95% of crops were destroyed by the storm, and even in the least affected areas, the crops were destroyed.
Now what? What will happen to the price of rice, already rising monthly? What will happen to the winter vegetables bringing nutrients? How will the average family be able to afford to eat? These are questions which rise in my mind. And starvation will hide in the villages, it will hide away in the bloated stomachs of little children, forgotten by the world when the storm passes over. My hope is that anyone reading this thinks about the real impact of this storm. And not just for the people of Bangladesh, because the people of Bangladesh constantly face a barrage of natural forces which create an international fervour, but that people also think about the people of Burma, of Laos, of Pakistan, and elsewhere. When the media focuses your attention on the graphic and the exciting, the challenge I put forth is to equally remember those who are too often forgotten. To remember the poor as they struggle for rice, to remember the injured and handicapped and to remember to love them all. This is my challenge to you.
Peace.
Steve.
Reality Check Newsflash: Crops lost, thousands may die
To quote a famous little jingle, "one of these things is not like the other!" Bangladesh was struck by a deadly cyclone on Thursday night, and the death toll is rising daily. This is likely not news to most, and I am very thankful for everyone's concern for my safety. Being here, in the midst of this crisis is very surreal. I live in Mymensingh, a district barely affected by the storm, an area in which most people have no idea of the pain other Bangladeshis are experiencing. Yes Thursday night was odd, "why all this wind and water?" was a common question. But here the concept of cyclone is not on anyone's mind.
The current situation in the south is something most of you will know more about than me. I know the death toll is over 2000 people so far and will undoubtedly rise, but until you see the situation a death toll is meaningless. Who are the dead? The answer is obvious, because it is the same people who are likely to die from disease and malnutrition, it is the poorest in society. The dead are those who were not accepted into the cyclone shelters, the people who are so poor they had no warning that a storm was coming. The forgotten in Bangladesh, never mind the world, those people are the worst affected by this disaster. And the help that will come for the survivors of this disaster is important, but media does something to people which is a blessing and a curse, the media shows the "exciting" stories of the suffering and loss of poor in Southern Bangladesh. The media does not show the boring stories of children wasting away with no rice to eat, the stories of people who have to find a new piece of plastic to use for a house, the stories of the forgotten people in Bangladesh.
The future is not something we can predict, nor do I hold by these predictions. But I would like to describe some of the possibilities to come for Bangladeshis, long after the international media has forgotten about them. The risk of flooding in Bangladesh, for the third time this year, is a distinct possibility as the remains of Sidr cross over the Himalayas and wash down the rivers and through Bangladesh. More flooding can only compound the problems caused by Sidr long after the international attention fades. Here and now, I see very little effects of Sidr, as I travel around the area the only real sign of the storm is in the puddles and flooded paddies surrounding the city. But this innocent sight could compound an already challenging year causing more pain throughout the country than the original storm did. The storm came and went, it was dramatic and powerful. The starvation and hunger which may grip the nation as a result of losing rice for the third time in as many months is an even bigger problem. In the south 95% of crops were destroyed by the storm, and even in the least affected areas, the crops were destroyed.
Now what? What will happen to the price of rice, already rising monthly? What will happen to the winter vegetables bringing nutrients? How will the average family be able to afford to eat? These are questions which rise in my mind. And starvation will hide in the villages, it will hide away in the bloated stomachs of little children, forgotten by the world when the storm passes over. My hope is that anyone reading this thinks about the real impact of this storm. And not just for the people of Bangladesh, because the people of Bangladesh constantly face a barrage of natural forces which create an international fervour, but that people also think about the people of Burma, of Laos, of Pakistan, and elsewhere. When the media focuses your attention on the graphic and the exciting, the challenge I put forth is to equally remember those who are too often forgotten. To remember the poor as they struggle for rice, to remember the injured and handicapped and to remember to love them all. This is my challenge to you.
Peace.
Steve.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Staring at Walls
Wall.
More Wall.
Still Wall.
Bored?
Nope.
Me neither.
One of the more useful skills to learn here in Bangladesh is "how to stare at a blank wall". Literally and figuratively, I spend many hours here doing nothing. In Canada I hated the idea of sitting and doing nothing. I wanted productivity, and I always found things to do. Although the same is often true here, I have also learned the art of sitting and waiting. White walls have taken on new significance, and the thoughts spinning endlessly in my head also receive more airtime. The new me is content to sit and do nothing for hours if need be. A three hour wait in the embassy, an equally long wait for the bus or walking aimlessly for hours, nothing pressing to do. This is learning "how to stare at a blank wall".
Pax.
Steve.
More Wall.
Still Wall.
Bored?
Nope.
Me neither.
One of the more useful skills to learn here in Bangladesh is "how to stare at a blank wall". Literally and figuratively, I spend many hours here doing nothing. In Canada I hated the idea of sitting and doing nothing. I wanted productivity, and I always found things to do. Although the same is often true here, I have also learned the art of sitting and waiting. White walls have taken on new significance, and the thoughts spinning endlessly in my head also receive more airtime. The new me is content to sit and do nothing for hours if need be. A three hour wait in the embassy, an equally long wait for the bus or walking aimlessly for hours, nothing pressing to do. This is learning "how to stare at a blank wall".
Pax.
Steve.
Stories in a Taxi
Driving in Dhaka can be a nightmare, traffic jams, beggars and the incessant honking make moving about the city a chore. But tonight I had one of the more interesting rides since arriving in Bangladesh. "Kon desh theke eshechen?" (Where country are you from?), what an innocent question, but tonight I was feeling talkative and so I piped up from the back seat, "he's from Holland, and I am from Canada". And so began one of the most in-depth, informative conversations I have had here.
In Bangladesh, no question is off-limits. They ask me everything under the blue sky and so why should I not be able to do the same? The information I discovered may seem inconsequential, but it opened my eyes to the learning that can happen in the simplest of situations. With my limited Bengali what kinds of things did I learn about life in Dhaka and driving a taxi? Alot. The following is a summary of my lessons learned in a taxi.
Driving a taxi in Dhaka was once a respected profession, one which was known to bring in a decent wage and provide for the family, but things were changing. Changing for the better, and for the worse. Taxi drivers no longer had to worry about politicians and police corruption robbing them of their incomes, now they must fear the inflation. Prices are rising and the income of the taxi driver is not, squeezing the drivers out of their livelihoods. Obtaining a driver's license in Bangladesh is not for the poor in society with a hefty price tag of 5000 Taka to obtain the license. (For perspective, I will pay 6000 Taka for room and board for 4 months). Owning a taxi in Dhaka is not a money winning proposition, in fact drivers choose not to own vehicles because then they would be required to pay for repairs and vehicle licensing. The dream of a driver in Dhaka is to find a way to emigrate and drive in another country, a goal shared by most Bangladeshis I talk to. Although it is not seen as a good job to have anymore, driving a taxi still provides for the family and is a steady income in a land where unemployment is extremely high and the employment market is saturated. The life of the taxi driver is a thankful life, but not necessarily a desirable life.
I hope this gives a little insight into the life of another strata of Bangladeshi society, as it definitely has for me.
Peace.
Steve.
In Bangladesh, no question is off-limits. They ask me everything under the blue sky and so why should I not be able to do the same? The information I discovered may seem inconsequential, but it opened my eyes to the learning that can happen in the simplest of situations. With my limited Bengali what kinds of things did I learn about life in Dhaka and driving a taxi? Alot. The following is a summary of my lessons learned in a taxi.
Driving a taxi in Dhaka was once a respected profession, one which was known to bring in a decent wage and provide for the family, but things were changing. Changing for the better, and for the worse. Taxi drivers no longer had to worry about politicians and police corruption robbing them of their incomes, now they must fear the inflation. Prices are rising and the income of the taxi driver is not, squeezing the drivers out of their livelihoods. Obtaining a driver's license in Bangladesh is not for the poor in society with a hefty price tag of 5000 Taka to obtain the license. (For perspective, I will pay 6000 Taka for room and board for 4 months). Owning a taxi in Dhaka is not a money winning proposition, in fact drivers choose not to own vehicles because then they would be required to pay for repairs and vehicle licensing. The dream of a driver in Dhaka is to find a way to emigrate and drive in another country, a goal shared by most Bangladeshis I talk to. Although it is not seen as a good job to have anymore, driving a taxi still provides for the family and is a steady income in a land where unemployment is extremely high and the employment market is saturated. The life of the taxi driver is a thankful life, but not necessarily a desirable life.
I hope this gives a little insight into the life of another strata of Bangladeshi society, as it definitely has for me.
Peace.
Steve.
Monday, November 12, 2007
My Bangladesh Quiz
For those of you who got a look at my Bangladesh Quiz and for those of you who sent back your guesses thank you. For those of you who didn't see the quiz, it was a fun way to show people the random things I had experienced in my first two months in Bangladesh. I will give the questions with the proper answer indicated. I will then provide a brief description. Hope you all enjoy!
1. Which of the following buses have I not seen while in Bangladesh?
a) A bus with a large hole in the floor
b) A bus with no working meters (speedometer, odometer, etc.)
>c) A bus with no roof<
d) A bus with no front windshield or grate with a visible motor
I have been on a bus with a large hole in the floor, watched the ground rush by underneath, I have never been in a bus with working meters (they are always broken) and I have in fact seen a bus with the entire front of the bus missing. I could see the driver's foot on the gas pedal moving up and down. The only kind of bus I haven't seen is one with no roof because people are always sitting on the roof.
2. Which of the following animals have I not seen on some type of rickshaw?
a) Cows
>b) Dogs<
c) Goats
d) Chickens
I have never seen a dog on a rickshaw because dogs here are generally not pets. I often see chickens and goats on rickshaws and cows do appear on flatbed rickshaws fairly regularly although the sight of a cow on a rickshaw does still catch me off guard.
3. What is my average living cost per day without any large purchases (including lodging, meals, tea, transportation and internet)? (Approximate US Dollars)
a) $0.80
>b) $1.30<
c) $1.90
d) $2.80
e) $5.00
This was calculated before the US Dollar plunged, so now it would be a little higher. Two months ago the average was $1.30 per day. That is actually under the UN basis for living in poverty which I am definitely not doing! So that goes to say that numbers need to be looked at carefully!
4. Which animal have I not seen inside a bus?
a) Chicken
b) Goat
>c) Pig<
d) Duck
I have not seen a pig inside a bus. Pigs and hogs are only raised by indigenous groups and are not eaten by either the muslim majority of the hindu minority. Only Christian and animist tribal groups eat pork, so I have never seen a pig inside a bus. Everything else I have seen, often flapping around and causing a rucus.
5. The famous Chinese motor is not used for which of these?
a) Boat motors
>b) Tempo motors<
c) Tube well motors
d) Fan belt motors
e) Tractor motors
The answer is a little stumper because many people do not know what a tempo is (oops) A tempo is a small taxi with two bench seats in the back. They generally stink and are not very comfortable. I in fact had the front wheel of one of my tempos fall off while driving once (not a nice experience). All the other items use chinese motors. Chinese motors are very basic and very noisy, you seem them almost everywhere you go.
6. The best quality goods in Bangladesh come from which country?
a) The United States of America
b) Bangladesh
c) Japan
>d) China<
e) Korea
The best quality goods in Bangladesh come from China (copies of Japanese or quality goods) The following is often heard in order to convince you to buy something, "Made in China, best quality!"
7. What type of house or building have I not stayed in while in Bangladesh?
>a) Wood<
b) Brick
c) Concrete
d) Mud
I have never stayed in a building made out of wood in Bangladesh. There may have been wood for the bed and dresser, but not the frame. Concrete and brick frames are most common in the cities, and mud houses are common in villages. I in fact stayed for a week in a friend's house on the second floor of their mud home.
8. What is the name of Bangladesh's version of the Kit-Kat bar?
a) Lic-Lac bar
b) Tit-Tat bar
>c) Nic-Nac bar<
d) Chit-Chat bar
The Nic-Nac bar is looks indentical to the Kit-Kat bar and is always placed next to the imported real version. The packaging is indistinguishable except for the name "Nic-Nac". Recently I was looking at cell phones and noticed the following "name-brands" all made to look official. "NOKLA", "NCKIA", "Suny Ericssun", "Suny Erikssun", and a fake iPOD.
9. Cow feces is not found in which of the following ways in Bangladesh?
a) Formed into paddies and thrown against a wall
b) In cooking fires as fuel
>c) Sold as fertilizer<
d) Formed into kebabs on sticks
I am always fascinated at the many uses of cow feces. The only way I have not seen cow feces is sold as fertilizer. In the winter it is often formed by hand around sticks to be dried on the roof. Another common drying technique is formed into paddies and thrown against a wall, telephone pole, etc. These are all then used as fuel for cooking fires once they are dried.
10. Which is most likely to be found in a home?
>a) Cell phone<
b) Television
c) Radio
d) Computer
The cell phone has taken off in Bangladesh. It is not out of the question to see a poor rickshaw wallah chatting away on his cell phone. Minutes here are cheap and the phone is not particularly expensive. Even if people don't own a phone, many own a SIM Card which they borrow other people's phones to use.
11. Which animal are you least likely to see on the streets of Mymensingh?
a) Goat
>b) Cat<
c) Cow
d) Dog
e) Chicken
Cats are the least common animal I have seen in Bangladesh. There are a few at Taize, but outside Taize there are almost no cats. Lots of stray dogs and cows wandering the streets. Chickens are mostly being carried on bikes and rickshaws and goats are wandering around grazing all over.
12. What is the most common thickness of mattress in Bangladesh?
>a) 2-inches<
b) 5-inches
c) 7-inches
d) 10-inches
In this I was considering people who actually have mattresses, not the people who sleep on burlap sacks and on the concrete. Of people with beds and mattresses the average is no more than 2-inches. My mattress is less than 2 inches thick and I rarely see people with mattresses thicker than that unless I am at a guest house.
13. How many different styles of cycle-rickshaw in Bangladesh have I ridden on?
a) 1
b) 2
c) 3
>d) 4<
e) 5
All rickshaws are cycle-rickshaws, some are the type you normally think of, some are flatbed normally used for carrying goods, some have two bench seats for carrying large numbers of people and some are like little boxes on bicycles. I have ridden on them all!
14. What is the most common question I am asked on the streets in Bangladesh?
>a) Your country please?<
b) Your name please?
c) Your brothers and sisters how many?
d) Your age please?
The first question, and only thing people tend to care about is what country you are from. Your name often does not appear in a conversation, nor does your age. Whether you are married or not is common as is how many siblings you have. Your enjoyment of the sport of cricket is another common question. The list of questions would be easily compiled into about 6 sentences.
15. Which animal have I not had in my room?
a) Large spider
b) Large frog
c) Stray cat
>d) Bird<
e) Rat
The answer to this question changed the day I wrote the quiz. It was going to be a large frog, until the morning after I wrote the quiz and I saw a large frog hop across the floor of my room and into my shoe. So I had to come up with something else. I figured monkey would be too obvious, so I went with bird. I have a family of mice living in my room at the moment, and I had a large cockroach crawling up my leg on my first week in Bangladesh. Large spiders are not common but they definitely show up on occasion.
16. What is the average number of cups of "cha" (tea) that I drink in a day here in Bangladesh?
a) 2
b) 3
>c) 4<
d) 5
e) 6
Some people think I drink tonnes of tea! This is average folks! Yes some days I do drink as many as 7 or 8 cups of cha, but on a normal day it is 4 cups and occasionally I only drink 1 or 2 cups.
17. Which type of famous individual have I not met in Bangladesh?
a) Musician
b) Artist
c) Model
>d) Athlete<
I have met a famous Artist and designer, a famous musician, and a famous model (at a party in a mud house!). I also met the author of the next Lonely Planet guide book. I have not however met a famous athlete in Bangladesh.
18. How many lunghis (tubes of fabric worn by men) do I own?
a) 1
b) 2
c) 3
>d) 4<
e) 5
The answer as of the time I wrote this quiz was 4. I do now own 5 lunghis, all different funky designs and very comfortable. I always wear them around my room and bring them places for swimming and changing purposes.
19. A typical Bangladeshi family eats dinner at what time?
a) 6:00 pm
b) 7:00 pm
c) 8:00 pm
>d) 9:00 pm<
>e) 10:00 pm<
The answer to this question is after 9pm, why I put 10pm I don't know. I have eaten dinner as late as 11:30pm, although that was at a party that didn't end until 6am. Most times, people eat their "rice" at around 9pm.
20. What is the greatest number of people I have seen on a 2-person rickshaw in Bangladesh?
a) 2
b) 3
c) 4
>d) 5<
e) 6
The greatest number of people I've seen on a normal cycle-rickshaw is 5. This is 5 full grown men. Two on top, two on the seat, and one on the one man's lap, hanging off the side of the rickshaw. Now that was a sight to behold!
That was my quiz, hope it gives a little insight into the exciting time I had on my first two months in Bangladesh!
Peace.
Steve.
1. Which of the following buses have I not seen while in Bangladesh?
a) A bus with a large hole in the floor
b) A bus with no working meters (speedometer, odometer, etc.)
>c) A bus with no roof<
d) A bus with no front windshield or grate with a visible motor
I have been on a bus with a large hole in the floor, watched the ground rush by underneath, I have never been in a bus with working meters (they are always broken) and I have in fact seen a bus with the entire front of the bus missing. I could see the driver's foot on the gas pedal moving up and down. The only kind of bus I haven't seen is one with no roof because people are always sitting on the roof.
2. Which of the following animals have I not seen on some type of rickshaw?
a) Cows
>b) Dogs<
c) Goats
d) Chickens
I have never seen a dog on a rickshaw because dogs here are generally not pets. I often see chickens and goats on rickshaws and cows do appear on flatbed rickshaws fairly regularly although the sight of a cow on a rickshaw does still catch me off guard.
3. What is my average living cost per day without any large purchases (including lodging, meals, tea, transportation and internet)? (Approximate US Dollars)
a) $0.80
>b) $1.30<
c) $1.90
d) $2.80
e) $5.00
This was calculated before the US Dollar plunged, so now it would be a little higher. Two months ago the average was $1.30 per day. That is actually under the UN basis for living in poverty which I am definitely not doing! So that goes to say that numbers need to be looked at carefully!
4. Which animal have I not seen inside a bus?
a) Chicken
b) Goat
>c) Pig<
d) Duck
I have not seen a pig inside a bus. Pigs and hogs are only raised by indigenous groups and are not eaten by either the muslim majority of the hindu minority. Only Christian and animist tribal groups eat pork, so I have never seen a pig inside a bus. Everything else I have seen, often flapping around and causing a rucus.
5. The famous Chinese motor is not used for which of these?
a) Boat motors
>b) Tempo motors<
c) Tube well motors
d) Fan belt motors
e) Tractor motors
The answer is a little stumper because many people do not know what a tempo is (oops) A tempo is a small taxi with two bench seats in the back. They generally stink and are not very comfortable. I in fact had the front wheel of one of my tempos fall off while driving once (not a nice experience). All the other items use chinese motors. Chinese motors are very basic and very noisy, you seem them almost everywhere you go.
6. The best quality goods in Bangladesh come from which country?
a) The United States of America
b) Bangladesh
c) Japan
>d) China<
e) Korea
The best quality goods in Bangladesh come from China (copies of Japanese or quality goods) The following is often heard in order to convince you to buy something, "Made in China, best quality!"
7. What type of house or building have I not stayed in while in Bangladesh?
>a) Wood<
b) Brick
c) Concrete
d) Mud
I have never stayed in a building made out of wood in Bangladesh. There may have been wood for the bed and dresser, but not the frame. Concrete and brick frames are most common in the cities, and mud houses are common in villages. I in fact stayed for a week in a friend's house on the second floor of their mud home.
8. What is the name of Bangladesh's version of the Kit-Kat bar?
a) Lic-Lac bar
b) Tit-Tat bar
>c) Nic-Nac bar<
d) Chit-Chat bar
The Nic-Nac bar is looks indentical to the Kit-Kat bar and is always placed next to the imported real version. The packaging is indistinguishable except for the name "Nic-Nac". Recently I was looking at cell phones and noticed the following "name-brands" all made to look official. "NOKLA", "NCKIA", "Suny Ericssun", "Suny Erikssun", and a fake iPOD.
9. Cow feces is not found in which of the following ways in Bangladesh?
a) Formed into paddies and thrown against a wall
b) In cooking fires as fuel
>c) Sold as fertilizer<
d) Formed into kebabs on sticks
I am always fascinated at the many uses of cow feces. The only way I have not seen cow feces is sold as fertilizer. In the winter it is often formed by hand around sticks to be dried on the roof. Another common drying technique is formed into paddies and thrown against a wall, telephone pole, etc. These are all then used as fuel for cooking fires once they are dried.
10. Which is most likely to be found in a home?
>a) Cell phone<
b) Television
c) Radio
d) Computer
The cell phone has taken off in Bangladesh. It is not out of the question to see a poor rickshaw wallah chatting away on his cell phone. Minutes here are cheap and the phone is not particularly expensive. Even if people don't own a phone, many own a SIM Card which they borrow other people's phones to use.
11. Which animal are you least likely to see on the streets of Mymensingh?
a) Goat
>b) Cat<
c) Cow
d) Dog
e) Chicken
Cats are the least common animal I have seen in Bangladesh. There are a few at Taize, but outside Taize there are almost no cats. Lots of stray dogs and cows wandering the streets. Chickens are mostly being carried on bikes and rickshaws and goats are wandering around grazing all over.
12. What is the most common thickness of mattress in Bangladesh?
>a) 2-inches<
b) 5-inches
c) 7-inches
d) 10-inches
In this I was considering people who actually have mattresses, not the people who sleep on burlap sacks and on the concrete. Of people with beds and mattresses the average is no more than 2-inches. My mattress is less than 2 inches thick and I rarely see people with mattresses thicker than that unless I am at a guest house.
13. How many different styles of cycle-rickshaw in Bangladesh have I ridden on?
a) 1
b) 2
c) 3
>d) 4<
e) 5
All rickshaws are cycle-rickshaws, some are the type you normally think of, some are flatbed normally used for carrying goods, some have two bench seats for carrying large numbers of people and some are like little boxes on bicycles. I have ridden on them all!
14. What is the most common question I am asked on the streets in Bangladesh?
>a) Your country please?<
b) Your name please?
c) Your brothers and sisters how many?
d) Your age please?
The first question, and only thing people tend to care about is what country you are from. Your name often does not appear in a conversation, nor does your age. Whether you are married or not is common as is how many siblings you have. Your enjoyment of the sport of cricket is another common question. The list of questions would be easily compiled into about 6 sentences.
15. Which animal have I not had in my room?
a) Large spider
b) Large frog
c) Stray cat
>d) Bird<
e) Rat
The answer to this question changed the day I wrote the quiz. It was going to be a large frog, until the morning after I wrote the quiz and I saw a large frog hop across the floor of my room and into my shoe. So I had to come up with something else. I figured monkey would be too obvious, so I went with bird. I have a family of mice living in my room at the moment, and I had a large cockroach crawling up my leg on my first week in Bangladesh. Large spiders are not common but they definitely show up on occasion.
16. What is the average number of cups of "cha" (tea) that I drink in a day here in Bangladesh?
a) 2
b) 3
>c) 4<
d) 5
e) 6
Some people think I drink tonnes of tea! This is average folks! Yes some days I do drink as many as 7 or 8 cups of cha, but on a normal day it is 4 cups and occasionally I only drink 1 or 2 cups.
17. Which type of famous individual have I not met in Bangladesh?
a) Musician
b) Artist
c) Model
>d) Athlete<
I have met a famous Artist and designer, a famous musician, and a famous model (at a party in a mud house!). I also met the author of the next Lonely Planet guide book. I have not however met a famous athlete in Bangladesh.
18. How many lunghis (tubes of fabric worn by men) do I own?
a) 1
b) 2
c) 3
>d) 4<
e) 5
The answer as of the time I wrote this quiz was 4. I do now own 5 lunghis, all different funky designs and very comfortable. I always wear them around my room and bring them places for swimming and changing purposes.
19. A typical Bangladeshi family eats dinner at what time?
a) 6:00 pm
b) 7:00 pm
c) 8:00 pm
>d) 9:00 pm<
>e) 10:00 pm<
The answer to this question is after 9pm, why I put 10pm I don't know. I have eaten dinner as late as 11:30pm, although that was at a party that didn't end until 6am. Most times, people eat their "rice" at around 9pm.
20. What is the greatest number of people I have seen on a 2-person rickshaw in Bangladesh?
a) 2
b) 3
c) 4
>d) 5<
e) 6
The greatest number of people I've seen on a normal cycle-rickshaw is 5. This is 5 full grown men. Two on top, two on the seat, and one on the one man's lap, hanging off the side of the rickshaw. Now that was a sight to behold!
That was my quiz, hope it gives a little insight into the exciting time I had on my first two months in Bangladesh!
Peace.
Steve.
On Monkeys and Lunches
I have tended to keep my blog entries somewhat heavy. I write of the challenging things I encounter and I always try to picture everything in the best light I can to show the good that I see here. Well, my time in Pirgatcha was a wonderful light for me and I would like to share some of that with you.
The village of Pirgatcha is situated in one of Bangladesh's largest National Forests, Modhupur National Forest, and is one of many Mandi tribal villages in the area. It is a beautiful area, full of beautiful people and beautiful wildlife. The intensity of Bangladesh's population melts into oblivion in this place of natural wonder, and it is here that I love to come to relax and think.
This month, Sarah, another MCC Volunteer in Bangladesh is living near Pirgatcha doing language study and living with a wonderful family. The Modhupur area is one of the largest fruit producing areas in Bangladesh, and so the opportunity to eat bananas and pineapples was relished. The frenzy of rice harvest is in full swing in Pirgatcha, huge oxen pulling carts heavy-laden with freshly harvested chal (rice), men and women cutting the chal and laying it in the drying fields. A beautiful sight of activity flowing against the sky, a stunning backdrop of every hue of blue imaginable. Past the dhans (fields), the banana trees freshly picked and looking weary from lack of moisture, sighing on the land from overuse, an unfortunate sight in this area full of so much beauty.
The Modhupur forest is not only a place for tribal villagers and their crops, it is also home to many animals driven out of most other places in Bangladesh. I have not yet been to Pirgatcha and failed to see a monkey sitting in a tree. This weekend was a Hanuman monkey, and what a creature of grace. There he sat in the tree, looking at us on the path below. Sitting gracefully, like a boy who just climbed up a tree, sitting and watching the world go by. His long tail flowing down behind him and tufts of hair on his cheeks and head gave him a regal appearance. What a beautiful creature, and what poise; almost human in appearance. The second primate I was privileged enough to see was an Indian Rhesus monkey as we drove through the park in the bus on the way back to Mymensingh. A beautiful species just ambling down the path beside the road.
Pirgatcha had more than just physical beauty to provide its sense of happiness and relaxation. Hours were spent just staring out from the veranda, or sitting being fed lunch. More lunch than I could handle. When I first arrived at noon I was invited to have lunch with Father Homerich, an eccentric man who always speaks his mind. It was a wonderful lunch of chicken and rice, and following that meal I went out to visit Sarah. About an hour after arriving and meeting Mabel's family, I was invited to have lunch for the second time. Another large plate or rice and curry later, we were off to a baby dedication prayer. A wonderful opportunity to practice my Bengali and of course the opportunity to eat more lunch. First we had a snack of puffed rice and tea, which I assumed, being almost three o'clock in the afternoon, was an afternoon snack, but that was quickly followed up by a large plate of rice and pork, not a vegetable in sight. After the pork and chicken curries, I was so full I could barely move, I don't think I have ever eaten so much rice so quickly, but the hospitality and conversation were wonderful.
Sometimes the places I go and the people I meet can be overwhelming, but in Pirgatcha, a sense of peace and relaxation falls over me and I am just happy to be. To be in a place of natural beauty and with people who appreciate what it means to be different. It is a place I will always love.
In Peace.
Steve.
Friday, November 9, 2007
God Is Forgiveness
God is Forgiveness
debts are forgiven
God will be with you
God is Forgiveness
Love and do not Fear
These lyrics sung today at our noontime Taize prayer could not have been more accurate or blessing to my ears. To remind me that God is Forgiveness, even when someone betrays your trust, Forgiveness is possible and that I must Love. This morning, we played another joyful game of Football (Soccer) in the park beside Taize. Everyone was there, playing, laughing and enjoying a beautiful sunny day. Upon returning to Taize I received a little surprise. My pants, which I had placed in the room of the boys, were not in the same place I had left them. I put them on and immediately noticed something was wrong, my cell phone was not where I had left it, and neither was my wallet. And there's the story. During our game, someone entered the house and stole my cell phone and all the money in my wallet. Not the most wonderful of surprises but a blessing in Forgiveness all the same.
I never felt any hostility towards whoever stole the cell phone and money. In fact, I am quite sure that they need that money much more than I do. To be certain I was slightly upset that someone would enter such a peaceful place and hurt me, even if unintentionally, by stealing what was given to me. Instead of anger or hostility, I made one prayer. I prayed that whoever had taken my money, will use it for some productive purpose. To support their family, to feed their brothers and sisters, to buy a present for their parents. I prayed that they would use the money and cell phone in a way which will bring joy and happiness to someone's life. I continued this prayer with the counterpart, I prayed that they not use the money to buy drugs or to pursue some other destructive habit. In a way, it is like donating money to a person, albeit not the most righteous and pure of people. But I know that I don't deserve the money I have, and stealing is not an appropriate way for anyone to make a living. I don't blame whoever has my phone and money, I just pray that they use that money in a good way.
God is Forgiveness, and I also must forgive. If I were to meet the people who took my phone and money, I would ask for nothing in return, except maybe the numbers stored in the phone. I would ask them if they used the money in a way which made someone smile, and I would tell them that I hope they can find a new way of obtaining that which they desire, a way which does not involve hurting others. And Forgiveness is never easy, it is not saying that what they did was right, or that it should have happened. No, Forgiveness is saying, "yes you did something that hurt me, but what happened is in the past, I respect you as a person and I wish only the best for you. I forgive you."
In Peace.
Steve.
debts are forgiven
God will be with you
God is Forgiveness
Love and do not Fear
These lyrics sung today at our noontime Taize prayer could not have been more accurate or blessing to my ears. To remind me that God is Forgiveness, even when someone betrays your trust, Forgiveness is possible and that I must Love. This morning, we played another joyful game of Football (Soccer) in the park beside Taize. Everyone was there, playing, laughing and enjoying a beautiful sunny day. Upon returning to Taize I received a little surprise. My pants, which I had placed in the room of the boys, were not in the same place I had left them. I put them on and immediately noticed something was wrong, my cell phone was not where I had left it, and neither was my wallet. And there's the story. During our game, someone entered the house and stole my cell phone and all the money in my wallet. Not the most wonderful of surprises but a blessing in Forgiveness all the same.
I never felt any hostility towards whoever stole the cell phone and money. In fact, I am quite sure that they need that money much more than I do. To be certain I was slightly upset that someone would enter such a peaceful place and hurt me, even if unintentionally, by stealing what was given to me. Instead of anger or hostility, I made one prayer. I prayed that whoever had taken my money, will use it for some productive purpose. To support their family, to feed their brothers and sisters, to buy a present for their parents. I prayed that they would use the money and cell phone in a way which will bring joy and happiness to someone's life. I continued this prayer with the counterpart, I prayed that they not use the money to buy drugs or to pursue some other destructive habit. In a way, it is like donating money to a person, albeit not the most righteous and pure of people. But I know that I don't deserve the money I have, and stealing is not an appropriate way for anyone to make a living. I don't blame whoever has my phone and money, I just pray that they use that money in a good way.
God is Forgiveness, and I also must forgive. If I were to meet the people who took my phone and money, I would ask for nothing in return, except maybe the numbers stored in the phone. I would ask them if they used the money in a way which made someone smile, and I would tell them that I hope they can find a new way of obtaining that which they desire, a way which does not involve hurting others. And Forgiveness is never easy, it is not saying that what they did was right, or that it should have happened. No, Forgiveness is saying, "yes you did something that hurt me, but what happened is in the past, I respect you as a person and I wish only the best for you. I forgive you."
In Peace.
Steve.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
"It's Something We Knew Nothing About"
Recently I had a meeting with my friend and colleague Supar regarding our plans for Peace Meetings in the Bihari Camp. And as I attempted to explain some broad categories to conceptualize teaching peace in North America I asked him nearly haphazardly what people's ideas are about peace in Bangladesh. His response caught me quite off guard and although it is not entirely accurate, the ramifications are actually very promising. His response went something like this, "Peace, that was something we knew nothing about. We never thought about it, we never talked about it, nobody knows anything about it".
Although at some level Supar is correct in his interpretation, I would disagree in that people here deal with conflicts and do not wish for civil war, so at some level they do think about peace. But, when I think deeper about what it means to "not think about peace". It implies some level of ignorance about the subject, and when you've never acknowledged how you deal with conflicts, there is the opportunity, when the subject is brough up, to then think about what peace means. Peace here, at least in Supar's view, does not have a concrete meaning because it is not something which is often discussed or even used rhetorically.
This realization of my role in peace education here in Mymensingh is a blessing, but also a great challenge. It is my challenge to bring the definition of peace, along with my colleagues, into the minds and worldviews of the young people in Mymensingh. And to take a holistic and accurate definition of peace and bring it to life. People in Bangladesh are set in their ways, but at the very least, we can bring them a new topic to think about. We can bring to their consciousness a message of hope and empowerment. Through the work of Supar and our team, we hope to make peace something that the youth here "Know Something About".
Peace.
Steve.
Although at some level Supar is correct in his interpretation, I would disagree in that people here deal with conflicts and do not wish for civil war, so at some level they do think about peace. But, when I think deeper about what it means to "not think about peace". It implies some level of ignorance about the subject, and when you've never acknowledged how you deal with conflicts, there is the opportunity, when the subject is brough up, to then think about what peace means. Peace here, at least in Supar's view, does not have a concrete meaning because it is not something which is often discussed or even used rhetorically.
This realization of my role in peace education here in Mymensingh is a blessing, but also a great challenge. It is my challenge to bring the definition of peace, along with my colleagues, into the minds and worldviews of the young people in Mymensingh. And to take a holistic and accurate definition of peace and bring it to life. People in Bangladesh are set in their ways, but at the very least, we can bring them a new topic to think about. We can bring to their consciousness a message of hope and empowerment. Through the work of Supar and our team, we hope to make peace something that the youth here "Know Something About".
Peace.
Steve.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Giving the Gift of Love
To know the love of God is to know the love of a child!
Poor children here in Bangladesh live in some of the harshest conditions I could imagine. Conditions which, if I were to imagine myself in, I wonder if I would have survived. And sadly, many of these children do not live to see life through the eyes of adolescents and adults. I see children in many situations here in Bangladesh, each one unique, each one different. I have just described the story of Mamoon, and now I have three separate stories in which I felt the love of a child.
On Tuesday, October 29, I ate lunch at Taize, as I normally do. And once again, brother Guillaume, the man with a heart of gold, had invited a young child and his mother for lunch. This child was the frailest child I have ever seen, and to describe his state makes me cringe. For this child was starving, his arms and legs were nothing more than bones, barely larger than my finger. Each vertebrae jutting out of his back, forming a ridge. His ribs protruding out of his chest, with the appearance of a washboard. He was bald and had the protruding stomach, a stomach dying for food. It took only a few minutes before his muffled coughs, indicating some respiratory infection, could be heard. This boy and his mother came to eat here, they were given milk for the mornings and told to come to Taize at lunchtime for a meal. But through all of this pain, this suffering that I could see, when his little hand touched mine, or when I looked into his sunken eyes, I could see a little light of joy and happiness, and a little boy so at home with the love he was being shown.
On Wednesday, October 30, I was attending a farewell party for Jerry and Ethel our MCC Bangladesh country representatives who are returning home in a few days. And the new CR's daughter Faye, a gorgeously sweet girl, with quite an affection for me, jumped up on my lap as soon as I came in the room and sat down. She loved to whisper "secrets" in my ear. It is a joy to see her enthusiasm and happiness and her affectionate love. The love of a child.
On Wednesday, October 30, I was riding in a CNG when I was approached by a child on the street. Here in Bangladesh, I have a terrible fear of having children on the streets. After seeing a taxi hit a group of small children begging outside of my CNG I always wish that there was some way that these children could find a safer place to work selling their flowers and popcorn. I hate the very idea of a 6-year old child on the streets of Dhaka selling something, risking his or her life to make a few Taka. But there I was, approached by a small child wanting to sell me flowers. Now I feel so bad for these children, so instead of being entirely rude I try to ask them where they live, how old they are, where there parents are, and any other silly questions that they might understand. After a short time talking to this child he put a necklace of flowers in my lap, and I told him that I could not give him money for it, and he said that I should have it, and walked away. He turned around and I beckoned him to return, I asked him, if he wanted it back because I could not give him anything for it, but instead he just said it was for me. "For me?" I asked incredulously, and he smiled and walked away. And as our CNG came to life as the light changed to green, the boy looked at me once again, smiled and waved. I still have that little flower necklace. And I will keep those wilted little flowers as a reminder of the love that the poorest of the poor can give. The love that a child can give. Nothing that child could have done could have made me happier than to see that smile when I waved and smiled at him. I pray that he feels peace tonight and knows that somewhere out there, a man from far away is praying for him and thanks him for the love he showed me.
When I recall those three separate incidents I have been blessed with over the past few days, I realize that the love of a child is unaffected by who they are. They may be poor or rich, American or Bangladeshi, naked or clothed, sick or healthy, but the love they exude is pure and rich and it flows from them like a river. The love I have experienced from these children reminds me of what my challenge is, to love unexceptionally, to love completely, and to love unconditionally. That love that comes from God, and that love which is exhibited so well by children in all situations.
Let the love of a child impact you today.
Love and Peace.
Steve.
Poor children here in Bangladesh live in some of the harshest conditions I could imagine. Conditions which, if I were to imagine myself in, I wonder if I would have survived. And sadly, many of these children do not live to see life through the eyes of adolescents and adults. I see children in many situations here in Bangladesh, each one unique, each one different. I have just described the story of Mamoon, and now I have three separate stories in which I felt the love of a child.
On Tuesday, October 29, I ate lunch at Taize, as I normally do. And once again, brother Guillaume, the man with a heart of gold, had invited a young child and his mother for lunch. This child was the frailest child I have ever seen, and to describe his state makes me cringe. For this child was starving, his arms and legs were nothing more than bones, barely larger than my finger. Each vertebrae jutting out of his back, forming a ridge. His ribs protruding out of his chest, with the appearance of a washboard. He was bald and had the protruding stomach, a stomach dying for food. It took only a few minutes before his muffled coughs, indicating some respiratory infection, could be heard. This boy and his mother came to eat here, they were given milk for the mornings and told to come to Taize at lunchtime for a meal. But through all of this pain, this suffering that I could see, when his little hand touched mine, or when I looked into his sunken eyes, I could see a little light of joy and happiness, and a little boy so at home with the love he was being shown.
On Wednesday, October 30, I was attending a farewell party for Jerry and Ethel our MCC Bangladesh country representatives who are returning home in a few days. And the new CR's daughter Faye, a gorgeously sweet girl, with quite an affection for me, jumped up on my lap as soon as I came in the room and sat down. She loved to whisper "secrets" in my ear. It is a joy to see her enthusiasm and happiness and her affectionate love. The love of a child.
On Wednesday, October 30, I was riding in a CNG when I was approached by a child on the street. Here in Bangladesh, I have a terrible fear of having children on the streets. After seeing a taxi hit a group of small children begging outside of my CNG I always wish that there was some way that these children could find a safer place to work selling their flowers and popcorn. I hate the very idea of a 6-year old child on the streets of Dhaka selling something, risking his or her life to make a few Taka. But there I was, approached by a small child wanting to sell me flowers. Now I feel so bad for these children, so instead of being entirely rude I try to ask them where they live, how old they are, where there parents are, and any other silly questions that they might understand. After a short time talking to this child he put a necklace of flowers in my lap, and I told him that I could not give him money for it, and he said that I should have it, and walked away. He turned around and I beckoned him to return, I asked him, if he wanted it back because I could not give him anything for it, but instead he just said it was for me. "For me?" I asked incredulously, and he smiled and walked away. And as our CNG came to life as the light changed to green, the boy looked at me once again, smiled and waved. I still have that little flower necklace. And I will keep those wilted little flowers as a reminder of the love that the poorest of the poor can give. The love that a child can give. Nothing that child could have done could have made me happier than to see that smile when I waved and smiled at him. I pray that he feels peace tonight and knows that somewhere out there, a man from far away is praying for him and thanks him for the love he showed me.
When I recall those three separate incidents I have been blessed with over the past few days, I realize that the love of a child is unaffected by who they are. They may be poor or rich, American or Bangladeshi, naked or clothed, sick or healthy, but the love they exude is pure and rich and it flows from them like a river. The love I have experienced from these children reminds me of what my challenge is, to love unexceptionally, to love completely, and to love unconditionally. That love that comes from God, and that love which is exhibited so well by children in all situations.
Let the love of a child impact you today.
Love and Peace.
Steve.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
A Prayer for Mamoon
As I begin to write this story, a small tear builds in my eye, for the story of Mamoon is one which my heart and mind have not yet come to peace with. I met Mamoon last night following prayer, and on that peaceful night, he touched my heart. Mamoon was holding brother Guillaume's hand at the time, the time when I made contact with his eyes. And Mamoon was drawn to me.
Barefoot, his feet and ankles swollen like balloons, he hobbled to my side and wrapped his little arms around my waist. With all the delicacy of a beautiful child, he wrapped himself around me and quietly, with a voice raspy from a respiratory disease, he said to me "Boro bhai, boro bhai" (Big brother), and nestled his little head into my body. There I was, absolutely engulfed by this young boy's affection and pain, and I put my arm around him and held him there. And with my other hand I gently held his hand, that hand dry, cracked and blistering, and I let myself be absorbed in the moment.
And as that beautiful moment came to a close, it was time to help Mamoon walk around to the dining area to eat rice and curry. After lifting him and helping him sit down, we passed around the meal, and Mamoon looked at the large plate, full or rice and curry, and seemed dumbfounded. Then he asked, "Morizh?" (Hot pepper) We said that they were coming, and as we lifted our plates to eat, Mamoon sat there, didn't touch his plate. While the peppers were coming around, Mamoon carefully pulled two one-Taka coins from his shirt pocket and started playing with them. We gently asked him if he wanted to eat, and after we were all half finished, Mamoon finally started eating his rice and peppers. But he never touched the curry, and although I have my theories why that may be, that is not something for me to guess. So there Mamoon sat, the rest of us washing our hands, Mamoon's plate still piled high with rice and curry, but he was finished eating. Whether out of fear or uncertainty or some other unknown reason, Mamoon would barely touch his food.
And after dinner we took him and he went with one of the boys by ricksha back to the area near the train station were brother Guillaume had found him in the middle of the street. And as we helped him go to the ricksha, a little sob started to come and he said, that he was in pain, and as we carried him the rest of the way, Mamoon, that little boy of 8 or 9 years, I saw more fear and thankfulness in the same expression, as I have ever before felt.
Now, I have my doubts that I will ever see Mamoon again, he will return to his home, to the middle of the streets, not to see a doctor, and not to be well fed. And as he goes, he has done something that he will likely never know. He touched the heart of one foreign boy, and returned that compassion that I feel sometimes disappears in this place. And as my heart longs to love him, I pray that he feels love right now, and I pray for his safety and peace. For Mamoon deserves peace and happiness, love and joy, as do we all. And he reminds me of the love that I need to share.
Peace.
Steve.
Barefoot, his feet and ankles swollen like balloons, he hobbled to my side and wrapped his little arms around my waist. With all the delicacy of a beautiful child, he wrapped himself around me and quietly, with a voice raspy from a respiratory disease, he said to me "Boro bhai, boro bhai" (Big brother), and nestled his little head into my body. There I was, absolutely engulfed by this young boy's affection and pain, and I put my arm around him and held him there. And with my other hand I gently held his hand, that hand dry, cracked and blistering, and I let myself be absorbed in the moment.
And as that beautiful moment came to a close, it was time to help Mamoon walk around to the dining area to eat rice and curry. After lifting him and helping him sit down, we passed around the meal, and Mamoon looked at the large plate, full or rice and curry, and seemed dumbfounded. Then he asked, "Morizh?" (Hot pepper) We said that they were coming, and as we lifted our plates to eat, Mamoon sat there, didn't touch his plate. While the peppers were coming around, Mamoon carefully pulled two one-Taka coins from his shirt pocket and started playing with them. We gently asked him if he wanted to eat, and after we were all half finished, Mamoon finally started eating his rice and peppers. But he never touched the curry, and although I have my theories why that may be, that is not something for me to guess. So there Mamoon sat, the rest of us washing our hands, Mamoon's plate still piled high with rice and curry, but he was finished eating. Whether out of fear or uncertainty or some other unknown reason, Mamoon would barely touch his food.
And after dinner we took him and he went with one of the boys by ricksha back to the area near the train station were brother Guillaume had found him in the middle of the street. And as we helped him go to the ricksha, a little sob started to come and he said, that he was in pain, and as we carried him the rest of the way, Mamoon, that little boy of 8 or 9 years, I saw more fear and thankfulness in the same expression, as I have ever before felt.
Now, I have my doubts that I will ever see Mamoon again, he will return to his home, to the middle of the streets, not to see a doctor, and not to be well fed. And as he goes, he has done something that he will likely never know. He touched the heart of one foreign boy, and returned that compassion that I feel sometimes disappears in this place. And as my heart longs to love him, I pray that he feels love right now, and I pray for his safety and peace. For Mamoon deserves peace and happiness, love and joy, as do we all. And he reminds me of the love that I need to share.
Peace.
Steve.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Peace in the Silence, Peace in the Song
As night falls over the river, and young and old trickle away from Circuit House Park, a faint sound can be heard, the sound of a gong. And there, nestled in a grove of houses and trees, the great river quietly flowing nearby, sits a beautiful white chapel, neatly ornamented with green trim, surrounded by gardens and trees; it is an oasis from the hustle and bustle of life in Bangladesh. And as the sound of the gong fades into the crisp night air, young men appear quietly from the surrounding houses and calmly file into the chapel, not a word is spoken, as an air of anticipation and peace falls over the place.
Inside, five men clothed in white gowns sit facing the cross, one of few decorations in this simply furnished space. And all around them sit the boys, silently they sit on the grass mats, with Psalm book in hand, waiting for the sound of the harmonium to break the silence, bringing with it the sweet sound of many voices. And as the lines continue the sound grows, the harmonium is joined by the empowering beat of the toblas and the grounding rhythm of clanging cymbals. And voices raise together in adoration of the Lord. And there I sit, and I let the sounds wash over me, words only slowly beginning to take form in my mind, I realize now why music need no boundaries. Music does not need to be understood it needs to be experienced.
As the opening hymn comes to a close the lights come on and as if drawn with strings, each boy picks up his Psalm book and together the psalm is sung. It is sung as a conversation to God, one side sings a line, followed by the other, and back and forth, throwing their praises across the room. Preparing the place for the reading. With those last few syllables of the scripture, the darkness returns to the room and peace falls, like a gentle blanket, covering me, relaxing every fibre in my body. I slowly look around the room, three flickering candles provide all the light I can see, a beautiful, softly glowing light; and faintly I smell the fragrance of incense rising to greet me. And it is here that I sit. It is here that I am at peace, there is nothing beyond this moment, for it is in this moment that I feel love and joy, happiness and relief. My body relaxes, it melts into the moment and I pray, I let my daily worries, my challenges, and my joys join the multitude of prayers in the space, and I enjoy the silence.
I find in Bangladesh, that peace is so often tied to the silence, that rare and beautiful concept of silence. And for ten minutes of my day, that communal silence surrounds me. Then a voice breaks the silence, and in Bengali, a mantra is said, the time for communal prayer has begun. And in turn prayers are raised in this community, all concluded with "Probhu, amader prarthonna shuno" (Lord, hear our prayer). And as the final Amen resounds, silence returns, save one lone voice singing, "Oh Lord hear my prayer, Oh Lord hear my prayer, when I call answer me; Oh Lord hear my prayer, Oh Lord hear my prayer, Come and listen to me". And voice by voice, the sound multiplies until the room is gently ringing with the sound of voices. The sound of that music soothes and prepares, it comforts and empowers, and with a joyful Amen, the music fades, and those present bow before the Lord, rise, and silently leave the chapel. Where in very hushed tones the chatter begins, for it is time to eat.
Standing in a circle, we wait for the brothers to exit the chapel and give any necessary instructions, introductions or farewells, and then off to dinner. Because Taize is a community, we eat together, joined in a circle, sitting patiently on grass mats on the concrete slab. As slowly the plates of bhat ar torkuri (rice and curry) are passed around the circle until everyone has been served. The call for silence is followed by a prayer and frenzied hands ripping through a full plate of rice. In Canada, I have been told I am a fast eater; here in Bangladesh I am quite pleasantly surprised not to be the last one finished. As the rice very quickly disappears, hands are washed and the water thrown away, it is time for announcements. Anyone with anything to say is invited to speak, time limits are never enforced, as this is sharing time. After a few minutes of informing, joking, and much heartfelt laughter, the meal is officially closed with the call, "Ishorer joyo gan kori" (To God we sing praise), and followed with the response, "Ishorer donnobad hok" (Thank-you God). And each night as I laugh and joke on my return walk home, I am amazed at the peace that I experience; Peace in the silence, and Peace in the song.
Apnader kache shanti. (Peace to you)
Steve.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Successful Picture Upload
This is a short note to say, I have managed to upload a few pictures onto my blog. So look back through the old posts, because some of them now have related pictures attached.
Paz.
Steve.
Paz.
Steve.
Partying Village-Style
So there we were, in Joypurhat town, four of us returning to Uchai village for a party. We had just been to see the ancient Buddhist temple ruins, one of the oldest and most excavated historical sites in Bangladesh. It is a fascinating place, and quite beautiful. But that night, October 20, 2007, was a party for Sister Rebekah who was celebrating her Silver Jubilee as a Sister in the Catholic Church. We had a long way to go from Joypurhat, at least 35 kilometers, and being 6 o'clock it was already dark. So we hopped in a couple rickshaws and were off to hire a Tempo.
Now a Tempo is a small, three-wheeled motor vehicle, with a covered cab on the back. The entire structure is Bangladeshi-made and is welded together in a somewhat haphazard fashion. Not to mention the stench inside the vehicle, the gaseous fumes emanating from somewhere under the cab were nauseating. Luckily it was only a 20 minute ride from Joypurhat to Pach Bibi...or at least it should have been. If it were not for the carelessness of our driver and the insanity called driving in Bangladesh, it would have taken 20 minutes. But instead, there we were, standing on the side of the road, thanking God that we were still alive. For our Tempo, while avoiding an oncoming truck, hit a pothole, and in the most Bangladeshi way, the front wheel conveniently fell off the Tempo and we stopped, in the middle of the road with buses approaching behind us. Luckily for us, the buses saw us stopped and managed to apply the oft-failing brakes in time to not hit us. After a few men decided to move the Tempo off to the side of the road we got on a rather full intra-district bus (the kind you picture with people hanging out all the windows, even the ones that aren't supposed to be windows at all). Well, after that little adventure we made it to Pach Bibi and were on our Vangari (rickshaw) to the village near Uchai where Kaka's family lives.
After 40 minutes by van, and 20 minutes hetei hetei (walking) we arrived at his home. By now it was 8 o'clock and dinner was just being prepared. So we went and had some muri (puffed rice) and waited, and waited, and waited. After what seemed like an eternity we ate, a wonderful meal of pork and fish curry and rice. (On a side note, the food in the village is the spiciest food I've had while in Bangladesh, if it didn't make you sweat, turn red and cry, it wasn't hot enough, this was true for every meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner.) Finally, dinner was served at 11 o'clock at night. All the guests ate this wonderful meal, and after cleaning up, it was time to pray. At midnight, it was time to say your "Ave Marias" and so in Bangla they all prayed for half an hour. Following the prayer, it was time to get the party started!
First came the music. Songs, not in Bengali, but in their rural Urau language. They sang with the aid of drums and the occasional flute and tamborines (very biblical). And by half past one in the morning, the drinks started to flow. The local rice whisky, homemade, came out and people started to drink. Then we waited, and waited, and the singing continued, I wondered if they would ever get tired. But quite the opposite occurred, at about 4 o'clock in the morning (no typing error), the dancing began. And what a sight to behold! Maybe 20 men and women all joining hands in a circle, dancing and singing. It was a sight like no other. And I, being the unofficial guest of honour, by way of my nationality, was very quickly invited to dance with them. Now the issue was, that I didn't know the steps, because as I quickly found out, they have very specific footwork to their dances. At first glance, it appears as though they just walk back and forth, but in fact they have very fancy footwork, kicks and steps. Well after a few minutes of stepping on people's feet I managed to get the steps to at least a few of the dances and had quite a blast dancing around and around into the wonderful morning.
Finally by about half past six in the morning the dancing slowed and the music faded and people began to disappear, I was exhausted by this point, but was only to rest for half an hour before it was time to go to celebration Mass for Sister Rebekah. And so off we went, to celebration Mass, all exhausted from a long night of partying, only slightly dozing off during a Mass I only partially understood, followed by a cultural show and some mingling. Finally, after lunch, I had a good long nap. Because after-all, I was tired, I had spent all night "Partying Village-Style".
Peace.
Steve.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Pictures
Greetings,
Well it has been a while since I have posted anything here. And I unfortunately do not have the time at the moment to post anything of any great importance regarding my wonderful trip to Uchai village, that will come in the next few days. But, I do have some unfortunate news. I have been trying ever so hard over the last few days (with terrible internet connections) to put some pictures on my blog upon request. But unfortunately the internet here in Mymensingh is not allowing me this opportunity. So until further notice, there will unfortunately be no pictures of this wonderful country of Bangladesh. Sorry about that.
In Peace.
Steve.
Well it has been a while since I have posted anything here. And I unfortunately do not have the time at the moment to post anything of any great importance regarding my wonderful trip to Uchai village, that will come in the next few days. But, I do have some unfortunate news. I have been trying ever so hard over the last few days (with terrible internet connections) to put some pictures on my blog upon request. But unfortunately the internet here in Mymensingh is not allowing me this opportunity. So until further notice, there will unfortunately be no pictures of this wonderful country of Bangladesh. Sorry about that.
In Peace.
Steve.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Retreat to Srimongol
Between October 10 and 12 all of the expat MCC staff in Bangladesh and Sri Lanka (Jodi) were in northeastern Bangladesh having our retreat at the tea gardens in Srimongol. It was a relaxing time to enjoy the pool, the cool air of the tea gardens and some wonderful food. We spent two days without any rice and curry! Unfortunately our new Country Representatives Larry and Gayle could not come along because Gayle was very ill with Dengue Fever, a disease which has not been kind to their family over these first two months. But their two daughters Faye and Annika came with us, and what a spark they added to our couple days. Those girls are fish, they would spend hours each day in the pool. And we enjoyed spending time as a group and discussing the topic of "compassion" in our sessions. We could side trips to the National Forest to see monkeys and a very rural village, we went to a tea factory to see how tea is processed and we went walking through the tea gardens. It was a really nice break to spend time with friends and relax away from all the people of this country. Now I'm off to an entirely opposite experience, visiting a friend in his village for his sisters 25th birthday.
Oh my life in Bangladesh!
Shanti.
Steve.
Oh my life in Bangladesh!
Shanti.
Steve.
In Love There Is Hope
Written for the MCC Ontario Annual General Meeting 2007
How easy it would be to write cliche after cliche; a story of the happiness I see in the midst of the poverty, or better yet the story of the man whose home was in the middle of the water yet he still talked to us with such joy and radiance. There is no doubt, those are stories of hope and God's love, and often I celebrate those stories of God's love overcoming pain and hurt. In so many ways I wish I could only celebrate those stories of God's love through the pain, but that can be a challenge when normally all I see is poverty, pain and desperation. I wonder how the mother and her infant, begging on the street could possibly feel God's love. But we all experience God's love, and here in Bangladesh is no different.
When I think of God's love, I think of a man I met a few weeks ago. I was at a gathering of physically and mentally handicapped people, each with their own challenges and gifts. At the retreat there was a little man, I will call him Sir, he is about three and a half feet tall, and he loved me. He followed me almost everywhere I went for the entire retreat, and although people following me is a daily occurrence, it is not a part of Bangladesh I particularly enjoy. To add just slightly to my frustration at the situation, Sir's Bengali was so slurred and heavily accented that I could not understand a word he spoke. So there I was one evening, with Sir following me, when he suddenly asked me to take a picture of him. Now I was tired and I remember thinking to myself, "should I bother taking a picture, the lighting will be terrible, and it won't be a very good picture", but I ended up taking the picture anyway. Sir had a fun idea for the picture, he wanted a picture on the Honda! When else would he ever be able to drive a motorcycle? So I took the picture, nothing spectacular, partially washed out by the flash; but the moment Sir saw that picture a huge smile spread across his face. He preceded to show the picture to everyone he could find, with me in tow. I was finally told through my friend Supar what Sir was saying. He was telling everyone everyone, "that day was the happiest day of his life". Through this picture he finally felt a sense of power and control. He felt a sense of worth and he beat all odds, he was pictured riding a motorcycle. On that day, Sir felt God's love.
But what does that simple story say about God's love? To me it shows God's ability to work through the mundane. It was a mediocre picture, never going to win a prize, but that picture brought God's love to a man in the most joyous way possible. God's love can be so simple and so beautiful, and that is why this story is so meaningful to me when I think of God's love. Sometimes it is easier to see God's love in the big disasters or the worst situations, and this is vitally important, but to see God's love in the everyday and in the small things, for me this year, that is my challenge.
Peace.
Steve.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Jesus Compassion
This post was written as a Reflection for our MCC mini-retreat in Srimongol, Bangladesh on October 10-12, 2007.
Jesus' compassion is something I see often lived out in this country and in the people around me. Compassion is intricately tied to what many refer to as the "golden rule", to "love the Lord your God with all your heart and to love your neighbour as yourself". Because to love your neighbour, to truly and fully love your neighbour requires more strength and self-control than we could individually attain. To love your neighbour requires that you care for them like your own family, and this is compassion; caring for the world as your family, as Jesus makes it very clear who our neighbours are, in the parable of the good Samaritan.
Compassion as Jesus demonstrates is not charity and it is not equality. It is important to note that Jesus had abilities we obviously do not possess and so it is unfortunately not possible to go about healing all mental and physical disabilities we encounter. But, that does not stop us from trying. Jesus' compassion is not charity, it is selfless love. Jesus does not give to the beggars, he heals the source of their infirmity. And, in this example shall we not also look to the source of the issue to deal with the painfully visible results. How can children living with curable diseases receive those cures and lead happier, less painful lives? How can people join together as brothers to unleash their bonds of poverty and hunger? How can we support them in these challenges? For that is compassion, and that is love. One unfortunate reality of these challenges which is particularly obvious in Bangladesh is that success is not equal. When to love a neighbour may mean providing a job to the least in society, and thus showing them compassion; then walking down the street seeing more and more people who would be so very deserving of that same compassion. Thus, the challenge is to find a way to show these people compassion, with the obvious limitations in resources we will eventually have if we are continuously financially generous. And even Jesus did not heal all of the lepers or heal all of the blind, how did Jesus choose those lucky few? However, the important aspect is that Jesus did not heal everyone, and neither can we; and as hard as we try, we will never be egalitarian or impartial. As such, we must not use this as an excuse to limit our compassion, because our compassion must belong to everyone. Therefore our compassion must be more than just good deeds, it must include an emotional, and relational component.
The most important aspect to remember about Jesus' compassion is that it was not financial, it was sacrificial. It was sacrificial in all ways imaginable, right down to his life. If Jesus was willing to sacrifice the pleasure, time and his own life out of love and compassion; then should it not be our challenge to love in that capacity? To love our neighbours and make our life about compassion is to love completely, not only the individual, or the community, but also our Creator. For to love the created is to love the Creator. If we all personally strive to love and show compassion to others in our daily lives, that compassion will only multiply time and again when we gather together with the compassion of Christ.
In Peace.
Steve.
Jesus' compassion is something I see often lived out in this country and in the people around me. Compassion is intricately tied to what many refer to as the "golden rule", to "love the Lord your God with all your heart and to love your neighbour as yourself". Because to love your neighbour, to truly and fully love your neighbour requires more strength and self-control than we could individually attain. To love your neighbour requires that you care for them like your own family, and this is compassion; caring for the world as your family, as Jesus makes it very clear who our neighbours are, in the parable of the good Samaritan.
Compassion as Jesus demonstrates is not charity and it is not equality. It is important to note that Jesus had abilities we obviously do not possess and so it is unfortunately not possible to go about healing all mental and physical disabilities we encounter. But, that does not stop us from trying. Jesus' compassion is not charity, it is selfless love. Jesus does not give to the beggars, he heals the source of their infirmity. And, in this example shall we not also look to the source of the issue to deal with the painfully visible results. How can children living with curable diseases receive those cures and lead happier, less painful lives? How can people join together as brothers to unleash their bonds of poverty and hunger? How can we support them in these challenges? For that is compassion, and that is love. One unfortunate reality of these challenges which is particularly obvious in Bangladesh is that success is not equal. When to love a neighbour may mean providing a job to the least in society, and thus showing them compassion; then walking down the street seeing more and more people who would be so very deserving of that same compassion. Thus, the challenge is to find a way to show these people compassion, with the obvious limitations in resources we will eventually have if we are continuously financially generous. And even Jesus did not heal all of the lepers or heal all of the blind, how did Jesus choose those lucky few? However, the important aspect is that Jesus did not heal everyone, and neither can we; and as hard as we try, we will never be egalitarian or impartial. As such, we must not use this as an excuse to limit our compassion, because our compassion must belong to everyone. Therefore our compassion must be more than just good deeds, it must include an emotional, and relational component.
The most important aspect to remember about Jesus' compassion is that it was not financial, it was sacrificial. It was sacrificial in all ways imaginable, right down to his life. If Jesus was willing to sacrifice the pleasure, time and his own life out of love and compassion; then should it not be our challenge to love in that capacity? To love our neighbours and make our life about compassion is to love completely, not only the individual, or the community, but also our Creator. For to love the created is to love the Creator. If we all personally strive to love and show compassion to others in our daily lives, that compassion will only multiply time and again when we gather together with the compassion of Christ.
In Peace.
Steve.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Once Again Wading Through Water
Well, ironically my Aunt Bonnie asked me early this morning whether I was still wading through water, and I smartly responded that the water had gone down by 3 meters and the flooding was over... well I was wrong! Last night and today it rained, it rained hard, incessantly, for almost 24 hours. The papers are stating that there was a tropical depression in the bay of Bengal and that depression first caused the intense 40 degree heat I experienced in Sylhet over the weekend, and then this amazing rain. And as I got wet everywhere I went today, the water in the sewers began to rise. It rose so much, that by the point we left the office at 4pm to go to the train station the water on the roads was between 3 and 9 inches deep. And so, we took pictures and rode in rickshas, literally wading in water in the middle of Mymensingh. Oh, the irony.
In peace.
Steve.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Living in Community
Written: October 5, 2007 from Lokiphur Mission, Sylhet
What does itmean to live in community? I don't know if I will ever live in community like rural Bangladeshis, although I am not at all opposed to the idea of communal living. In this country, family is everything, it is what defines who you are and family is interwoven into all aspects of culture from the social ills of child marriage through to the amazing generosity to the poor. I know I could never live the same life my parents live, and always live in the same place; which is clearly witnessed through my choice to leave for a year. But, I am so very blessed to be living in such a great community. Religion is very important to Bangladeshis and the Christian community is relatively small, this combination has allowed me, a foreigner, to truly be part of a community. I eat entirely in community, everywhere I go. Be that passing plates of food around a circle, passing a cup of water, or eating the same puffed rice as everyone else. Everything here is done together and in huge quantities. The puffed rice for 30 comes in a large, garbage-style bin, and even catering pots don't compare to the pot for serving bhat (rice). It is so wonderful to see everything here being done together.
This community makes me think of intentional communities in North America. Why is it that our communities have lost so much of the sharing I see here. Why must a mutually beneficial community need to be somewhere people need to look for? There are many challenges to creating this type of community in somewhere like Waterloo, one of which is people don't need a community. Community living tends to be simple, but the life in a community is so wonderful. And in this place, the community brings me closer to the lives of others around me. This sense of inclusion is entirely beneficial to my emotional well-being and my ability to relate to those around me.
In Peace.
Steve.
What does itmean to live in community? I don't know if I will ever live in community like rural Bangladeshis, although I am not at all opposed to the idea of communal living. In this country, family is everything, it is what defines who you are and family is interwoven into all aspects of culture from the social ills of child marriage through to the amazing generosity to the poor. I know I could never live the same life my parents live, and always live in the same place; which is clearly witnessed through my choice to leave for a year. But, I am so very blessed to be living in such a great community. Religion is very important to Bangladeshis and the Christian community is relatively small, this combination has allowed me, a foreigner, to truly be part of a community. I eat entirely in community, everywhere I go. Be that passing plates of food around a circle, passing a cup of water, or eating the same puffed rice as everyone else. Everything here is done together and in huge quantities. The puffed rice for 30 comes in a large, garbage-style bin, and even catering pots don't compare to the pot for serving bhat (rice). It is so wonderful to see everything here being done together.
This community makes me think of intentional communities in North America. Why is it that our communities have lost so much of the sharing I see here. Why must a mutually beneficial community need to be somewhere people need to look for? There are many challenges to creating this type of community in somewhere like Waterloo, one of which is people don't need a community. Community living tends to be simple, but the life in a community is so wonderful. And in this place, the community brings me closer to the lives of others around me. This sense of inclusion is entirely beneficial to my emotional well-being and my ability to relate to those around me.
In Peace.
Steve.
Monday, October 1, 2007
"Ji Sir" Teaching in Action
This morning I was invited to go visit a school where a few of my friends are teaching. They are my age and teaching primary school as a side job. Just that fact is so different from Canada, where a teaching job is a challenge to get and requires a university degree, not just studying in the equivalent of high school (college here). I visited this school and found a very nice place. The buildings are constructed with a concrete base (except 2 with mud bases), and they have corrugated iron sheets up about 3 feet on the walls and then jute mats for the rest of the walls. The roof is also corrugated iron, and the interior of these buildings would probably warrant a day off school in Canada. I began to sweat just stepping through the door, and without any airflow this place would be a tough place to learn. I felt useful right away helping some of the Class 1 and 2 students with English and Mathematics, and I visited 3 different classes, introducing myself and observing the teaching styles. Then we had a break where I was offered breadsticks covered in chili powder and muri (puffed rice).
Then, entirely lacking any foreknowledge, I was told I was teaching the entire school a song. Being slightly unprepared I racked my brain and came up with "The Hokey Pokey" which is, as I found out, not an easy song to explain, or to sing along with, when the children are not native English speakers. But the children loved the actions and requested that we sing the song 5 or 6 times. When the song was finished I was told I still had 10 minutes to teach them a new song. I was now stationed in the centre of a large circle of about 100 children and was asked to teach them a new song. Luckily, I remembered the song "Head and Shoulders", a song which teaches the parts of the body, but is very easy to learn and sing along with, it also has good actions. This song also was well appreciated and before lunch the children finished by singing a song in Bengali for me. This experience reminded me that learning has to be fun, and that it is possible to find fun activities to do and songs to sing even without preparation. Thankfully I am not someone for whom lack of preparation, or planning is a huge problem. I loved the ability to visit the school and will be very happy to return often to do peace trainings.
In Peace.
Steve.
Then, entirely lacking any foreknowledge, I was told I was teaching the entire school a song. Being slightly unprepared I racked my brain and came up with "The Hokey Pokey" which is, as I found out, not an easy song to explain, or to sing along with, when the children are not native English speakers. But the children loved the actions and requested that we sing the song 5 or 6 times. When the song was finished I was told I still had 10 minutes to teach them a new song. I was now stationed in the centre of a large circle of about 100 children and was asked to teach them a new song. Luckily, I remembered the song "Head and Shoulders", a song which teaches the parts of the body, but is very easy to learn and sing along with, it also has good actions. This song also was well appreciated and before lunch the children finished by singing a song in Bengali for me. This experience reminded me that learning has to be fun, and that it is possible to find fun activities to do and songs to sing even without preparation. Thankfully I am not someone for whom lack of preparation, or planning is a huge problem. I loved the ability to visit the school and will be very happy to return often to do peace trainings.
In Peace.
Steve.
Rules of the Road
I will now list for you some of the unwritten rules of the road here in Bangladesh (in my interpretation):
1) The Rule of the Horn - This is either a horn, or a bell (on a Rickshaw). It is almost continuous and it indicates one of a number of things:
a) Move aside or you may be roadkill.
b) You are going too slowly.
c) I am in your lane, don't hit me.
d) You are in my lane, move over.
e) I am passing you on the right.
f) I am passing you on the left.
g) Why aren't you moving?
h) You are pushing me off the road.
i) I am bored.
2) The Rule of the Stoplight - This rule applies anywhere where the stoplight is functioning or when it is not (as in the case of Mymensingh). If the light is green, go. If the light is yellow, go. If the light is red, go. If there is a police officer, stop.
3) The Rule of Where to Drive - This rule applies to all roads without barriers. Driving lane, middle of the road (on the line). Passing side, normally right, often left. Oncoming truck, move off the road.
4) The Rules for pedestrians - this applies to all roads (two-way and one-way):
a) Look both ways before crossing either side of the street.
b) If a vehicle is fast approaching, hurry up.
c) If you are Bangladeshi, walk in the middle of the road.
5) The Rule of the Hand - If the hand (or head) tells you to go right, do it. If the hand (or head) tells you to go left, do it. If the hand goes up, stopping is optional.
I publish this post partially as a joke, but it is actually fairly accurate. Vehicles in Bangladesh are now known for their safety or for being courteous (by anyone's standards). I was speaking briefly to the group in Bangladesh from Bolivia, and one man was joking that you need a "strong heart" to ride a rickshaw in Bangladesh, because you always think you are going to die. But despite the seeming chaos of traffic in this country, on the roads like everywhere else there is a system. Which, I might add, works most of the time. If two vehicles are vying for the same spot, the one that edges out the other one, is given the space to occupy that spot, in a way it resembles a game. And it always seems as though rickshaws are going to collide but through a common system of hand signals they usually manage to avoid bad collisions. Driving and travelling in Bangladesh can be a harrowing experience. And one in which you must be cautious, as the Bangladesh Lonely Planet notes, "if your bus driver is more reckless than the average reckless bus driver, you can always get off and take the next bus". I have found it a great learning experience for this white boy from Canada to start understanding the traffic system in Bangladesh, to realize that it is not just a huge melee of vehicles, but there is a system to this madness. And as well, for me to know this system makes travelling just that much easier.
PS The train service in Bangladesh has made some enormous strides recently and I find taking the train a much less harrowing way of travelling in this country.
Pax.
Steve.
1) The Rule of the Horn - This is either a horn, or a bell (on a Rickshaw). It is almost continuous and it indicates one of a number of things:
a) Move aside or you may be roadkill.
b) You are going too slowly.
c) I am in your lane, don't hit me.
d) You are in my lane, move over.
e) I am passing you on the right.
f) I am passing you on the left.
g) Why aren't you moving?
h) You are pushing me off the road.
i) I am bored.
2) The Rule of the Stoplight - This rule applies anywhere where the stoplight is functioning or when it is not (as in the case of Mymensingh). If the light is green, go. If the light is yellow, go. If the light is red, go. If there is a police officer, stop.
3) The Rule of Where to Drive - This rule applies to all roads without barriers. Driving lane, middle of the road (on the line). Passing side, normally right, often left. Oncoming truck, move off the road.
4) The Rules for pedestrians - this applies to all roads (two-way and one-way):
a) Look both ways before crossing either side of the street.
b) If a vehicle is fast approaching, hurry up.
c) If you are Bangladeshi, walk in the middle of the road.
5) The Rule of the Hand - If the hand (or head) tells you to go right, do it. If the hand (or head) tells you to go left, do it. If the hand goes up, stopping is optional.
I publish this post partially as a joke, but it is actually fairly accurate. Vehicles in Bangladesh are now known for their safety or for being courteous (by anyone's standards). I was speaking briefly to the group in Bangladesh from Bolivia, and one man was joking that you need a "strong heart" to ride a rickshaw in Bangladesh, because you always think you are going to die. But despite the seeming chaos of traffic in this country, on the roads like everywhere else there is a system. Which, I might add, works most of the time. If two vehicles are vying for the same spot, the one that edges out the other one, is given the space to occupy that spot, in a way it resembles a game. And it always seems as though rickshaws are going to collide but through a common system of hand signals they usually manage to avoid bad collisions. Driving and travelling in Bangladesh can be a harrowing experience. And one in which you must be cautious, as the Bangladesh Lonely Planet notes, "if your bus driver is more reckless than the average reckless bus driver, you can always get off and take the next bus". I have found it a great learning experience for this white boy from Canada to start understanding the traffic system in Bangladesh, to realize that it is not just a huge melee of vehicles, but there is a system to this madness. And as well, for me to know this system makes travelling just that much easier.
PS The train service in Bangladesh has made some enormous strides recently and I find taking the train a much less harrowing way of travelling in this country.
Pax.
Steve.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Wading Through Water
The Title of this post may give some idea of what I did today. Yes, to get to the school at Binpara I had to roll up my pants, take off my sandals, and wade through the water. As you may guess this is a result of the flooding, but not necessarily bad flooding. As the book I am reading now entitled Reflections on Water points out, the floods in Bangladesh are what drives the rice production to such great quantities. It is the floods which bring the silt and sand and drive much of Bangladesh's economy. And so, I thought of the beauty of the floods, as I let the silt and sand squish between my toes as I crossed the field, wading through the water.
And now it is easy to talk about the floods in Mymensingh area, as the water is dropping at least a foot every day. It is almost unimagineable how quickly the water level drops. I am amazed each time I walk to Taize, twice a day, the water has always dropped a little more. What once, only a week ago was under water, is now dryland and the water is a full 2 feet below that level. As I watch this process I realize, this is God at work, this is nature at its finest. The change of the seasons, the rise and fall of the tides, what wonderful gifts the waters of life are.
Shantite. (In Peace in Bengali)
Steve.
And now it is easy to talk about the floods in Mymensingh area, as the water is dropping at least a foot every day. It is almost unimagineable how quickly the water level drops. I am amazed each time I walk to Taize, twice a day, the water has always dropped a little more. What once, only a week ago was under water, is now dryland and the water is a full 2 feet below that level. As I watch this process I realize, this is God at work, this is nature at its finest. The change of the seasons, the rise and fall of the tides, what wonderful gifts the waters of life are.
Shantite. (In Peace in Bengali)
Steve.
The Beauty of the Land
I have often mentioned the poverty, the suffering, and the hurt I see here in Bangladesh. And all too often that is a reality I am faced with. But, as a great beacon of light shining through the dark clouds, the beauty of this country so often shines past the pain. Today, I visited a school across the Bramaputra River at Binpara. We were once again presenting the peace puppet show, and engaging the children in discussion. But today, it was the beauty of the Bangladeshi countryside which swept me away. There I was, bouncing haphazardly along a dusty path on the back of what appears to be an oversized, flatbed, tricycle. The van-gari is a common mode of transportation in Bangladeshi villages. And slowly passing by, a thousand shades of green, each one as vibrant as the colours on the sari's worn by the women working in the fields. These fields, are in fact rice paddies, each one a perfect square, and each square uniform in size, with the rice shoots jutting skyward, jutting towards that great blue expanse dotted with billowing clouds. The sky itself was a sight to behold, for as many colours of green as there were on the ground, the sky held as many shades of blue. Not the dull blue of the summer sky at home, but a vibrant blue, a Bangladeshi blue. The contrast of field and sky, meeting on the horizon, with the rise and fall of the palm trees, the mango trees and the banana trees, all reaching heavenward, creating an umbrella of shade for the small huts they protect. This sight, this beauty, these colours, are the beauty of Bangladesh. For as many challenges as Bangladesh faces, I shall never forget its beauty, and it is that beauty which I hope reminds us all that nowhere is without hope, nowhere is beyond the sunshine, and beauty resides wherever we search for it.
In Peace.
Steve.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Language Breakthrough
Today I have a fun item to report. Having only finished a little more than half of my language study, I am now officially able to understand and converse in Bengali. As I say this, I must note that I still struggle and often forget words numerous times before finally having them stick. But now that I can converse in Bengali, the speed of my learning seems to be rapidly increasing each day. This is the excitement for the day.
Peace.
Steve.
Peace.
Steve.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Breakfast Anyone?
The month of Ramadan, in the Muslim calendar is a month of fasting. What does this mean for me, a Christian, in this setting. Well each morning, my neighbours rise at 4am to begin cooking their breakfast. They eat before sunrise at 6 when an announcement is made to start the fasting. Then, there is no eating or drinking, even water, until Iftar (the breaking of the fast) at sundown. Twelve hours, everyday people fast. And at Iftar people buy treats and snacks and pay more than normal to make a wonderful meal to break the fast, and they invite anyone passing by to break the fast with them. What a wonderful show of hospitality. And for those people not observing the fast, all shops with food put drapes or curtains in front of them so that people observing the fast do not look at those people who are eating. For muslims, this time is meant to be a time of prayer, and is a very important time in the year for muslims. I am glad to begin to understand what this means.
Peace.
Steve.
Peace.
Steve.
Knee Deep in Water
Yesterday, Matt and I went to Bolajpur to take pictures of a flooded area of Mymensingh. This area is where we did the puppet show last Thursday and there are many areas of this slum underwater. We never expected the excitement that two skinny white boys from Canada with cameras would engender, although in retrospect it is no surprise.
After taking a few pictures of houses up to 6 feet under water, we were approached by an older man, shirtless and so skinny his ribs protruded like knives from his sides, with tousled hair, a stereotypical blue plaid longhi (cotton tube skirt) and a little half smile. This man, whose name I still cannot manage to reproduce, beckoned us to follow him, down the dirt path, over a porch, directly to the river's edge. "Okhane" (There), he said as he pointed to the middle of the river. "Ota apnar bari?" (Is that your house), I asked politely, full well knowing that it was. He replied and after a few more awkward questions I ascertained that this house of his, stranded like a twig in the middle of the stream, stuck under 4 feet of water, was flooded every year. And so after taking a few pictures I asked him about his family, and off we went, up the balcony and down the other side. There, under a corrugated iron roof, protected by only three walls, was his family. There were at least 10 of them there, with no protection. Babies, children and elderly, all packed in for a shot of their living quarters, they were so excited and happy for us to be there, us Bideshis with our camera. Knowing that their story will be told far from their home, that their pictures will be shared with rich, white people in North America.
As we were preparing to leave, I asked another man, Rubel, about the school in the area. The one I knew was underwater. And he said very kindly that he would take me there. But first, out of his hospitality, he offered us tea and showed us his house. His small one room house, in a line of houses, all the same. In this room slept at least 5 people, with only one bed. Hist little corrugated iron abode was identical to the other houses in this slum. Obviously built all at once the buildings had the distinct appearance of barracks, long metal buildings with many doors, all lined up parallel with long dirt paths running down between them. We were then taken to the school, I was asked to introduce myself and we took a few more pictures before leaving.
This was meant to be a short, quick look at one of the flood affected areas of Mymensingh, but it became a display of hospitality and care from people who, despite their poverty, live with joy and happiness in this wonderful country of Bangladesh.
In peace.
Steve.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Violence des Pacifiques
Title: Violence of the Pacifists
Written: September 15, 2007
I have finished reading an influential book written by frere Roger of Taize called Violence des pacifiques. This book calls for a search for a third path between passivity and destructive violence, one he calls violent pacifism. In my search for a personal understanding of pacifism as it relates to my life and my place in the world; I would like to share some reflections on this book.
I long for peace, and in this I am not unique, for all people want peace. What I also want is harmony and justice for all people. As I look around this country (Bangladesh) with talk of corruption and poverty, I realize that I must start to look for the third way; a violent pacifism. This term is seemingly contradictory, but I begin to reconcile the term in that people who willingly hurt and depricate the lives of others are violent and passivity does nothing but condone that violence. The pacifist looks not to use destructive violence but creative violence(1) to solve this dilemma. The goal of the pacifist must be one of cohesiveness and unity, not of divisiveness and hate. If the pacifist can find a mechanism of creative violence which is necessary to build an enriching and cohesive community, one which does not destroy or divide the people, but brings them together; then the use of that creative violence signifies a violent pacifist.
To clarify, this violence should, in my mind, never lead to murder or killing of another. This destructive violence cannot bring unity, it can only bring divisiveness, anger and revenge. Therefore, it must be the goal of the pacifist to actively engage society in search of constructive, creative solutions to problems otherwise solved with destructive violence. Pacifists must "love their neighbours"(2), in such a way that they seek mechanisms of destroying barriers of hate between neighbours and building, through preferably non-violent, but occasionally creatively violent mechanisms, a peaceful, welcoming environment for their neighbours everywhere.
I have intentionally avoided the use of specific solutions to the challenges of being a violent pacifist. I am by no means successful in this endeavor to bring people together in peace, often I am passive or destructive. In fact I struggle here daily in my attempt to understand what pacifism means in the face of such extreme poverty, structural violence and loss. But the exciting aspect of being a creative pacifist is that it is a lifelong challenge, each situation is a new opportunity to be creative and look for a new solution to bring people together.
As a pacifist, this is my challenge.
Peace.
Steve.
Footnotes:
(1) f. Roger, Violence des pacifiques, Presses de Taize, 1968.
(2) Matthew 19:19, NIV Bible.
Written: September 15, 2007
I have finished reading an influential book written by frere Roger of Taize called Violence des pacifiques. This book calls for a search for a third path between passivity and destructive violence, one he calls violent pacifism. In my search for a personal understanding of pacifism as it relates to my life and my place in the world; I would like to share some reflections on this book.
I long for peace, and in this I am not unique, for all people want peace. What I also want is harmony and justice for all people. As I look around this country (Bangladesh) with talk of corruption and poverty, I realize that I must start to look for the third way; a violent pacifism. This term is seemingly contradictory, but I begin to reconcile the term in that people who willingly hurt and depricate the lives of others are violent and passivity does nothing but condone that violence. The pacifist looks not to use destructive violence but creative violence(1) to solve this dilemma. The goal of the pacifist must be one of cohesiveness and unity, not of divisiveness and hate. If the pacifist can find a mechanism of creative violence which is necessary to build an enriching and cohesive community, one which does not destroy or divide the people, but brings them together; then the use of that creative violence signifies a violent pacifist.
To clarify, this violence should, in my mind, never lead to murder or killing of another. This destructive violence cannot bring unity, it can only bring divisiveness, anger and revenge. Therefore, it must be the goal of the pacifist to actively engage society in search of constructive, creative solutions to problems otherwise solved with destructive violence. Pacifists must "love their neighbours"(2), in such a way that they seek mechanisms of destroying barriers of hate between neighbours and building, through preferably non-violent, but occasionally creatively violent mechanisms, a peaceful, welcoming environment for their neighbours everywhere.
I have intentionally avoided the use of specific solutions to the challenges of being a violent pacifist. I am by no means successful in this endeavor to bring people together in peace, often I am passive or destructive. In fact I struggle here daily in my attempt to understand what pacifism means in the face of such extreme poverty, structural violence and loss. But the exciting aspect of being a creative pacifist is that it is a lifelong challenge, each situation is a new opportunity to be creative and look for a new solution to bring people together.
As a pacifist, this is my challenge.
Peace.
Steve.
Footnotes:
(1) f. Roger, Violence des pacifiques, Presses de Taize, 1968.
(2) Matthew 19:19, NIV Bible.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Prayer Requests
This entry involves one simple request, a request for prayer, in whatever form that takes. There are two items I would like you, my friends, to pray for. Primarily, pray for the people of Bangladesh and keep them in your minds as we wait and see how these continuing rains will effect the country. Pray for safety from the flooding, for food, and for strength to endure the challenges of the approaching year. And pray for respite from the continuing rain threatening to flood many areas of the country, possibly for months. Secondly, pray for my tutor Hilton who is quite ill at the moment. He has some combination of kidney, blood and appendix illnesses, and everyone is quite worried about him. He has spent a night in the hospital and has been in bed ever since. His mother is now also exhausted and they recently had flooding in their house. So I implore you, my friends to keep these two concerns in mind over the coming days.
If anyone is so inclined, financial support for food aid directed towards flood victims in Bangladesh would me most welcome. Each day as I stroll the river bank after lunch I notice a slight rise in the river height and watch as more of people's houses sink below the rising water. And to note that Mymensingh is not an area prone to flooding, I can only imagine what some areas of Bangladesh look like. After the great loss this country is experiencing, any donation will make a huge difference.
Thank you.
Peace.
Steve.
If anyone is so inclined, financial support for food aid directed towards flood victims in Bangladesh would me most welcome. Each day as I stroll the river bank after lunch I notice a slight rise in the river height and watch as more of people's houses sink below the rising water. And to note that Mymensingh is not an area prone to flooding, I can only imagine what some areas of Bangladesh look like. After the great loss this country is experiencing, any donation will make a huge difference.
Thank you.
Peace.
Steve.
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