Wading Through Water

Three Days with the Station Children

2008-07-01T05:46:00.000-07:00

This article was written by Ludivine, a volunteer from the organization Missions Etrangères de Paris (Foreign Missions from Paris). She is living in Mymensingh and working with the Taizé Brothers for two months.

We left for three days with about twenty very poor children from the Mymensingh Rail station, our destination was a beautiful village a few kilometers away from the town of Haluaghat, north of Mymensingh. Let me tell you, this group of children was ecstatic to be going on this adventure! With no luggage to be found, not even a little sack, they arrived with big smiles on their faces. Having left behind their little houses and their burlap bags, normally used for picking up paper found on the streets in order to resell it, they were ready for a new adventure.

After an hour of driving “Bangladesh-style” (that is, ridiculously fast and laying on the horn the whole way), we arrived alive in the town of Haluaghat. From there, we continued our journey in a “tempo”, a very bumpy type of minibus, which is always overflowing with an unimaginable number of passengers. Once again it was a wild ride, and quite the adventure! Every five minutes or so around 10 children would get off the tempo to lighten the load and push the vehicle through the ruts and over the bumps of the virtually destroyed road. But even that could not dampen our spirits! A few hours later we had finally arrived in the little village where we were staying the next few days. We were hosted by a wonderful family of farmers, friends of the Taizé Brothers, and members of the Garo indigenous group.

The program continued with regular dips in the cool waters of beautiful ponds, sessions full of songs, games and drawing, strolls by the river and finally a large work site, the “tree plantation.” Thanks to a great idea by brother Guillaume, we were going to plant a hundred saplings. Now this is not an easy task, but for a group of courageous, brash, young children, with no worries in the world, it is but a challenge to be overcome. There again I underestimated their remarkable creativity and ability to do whatever it is they want. Some of these children are no more than three feet tall and yet there they were, digging, planting, and clearing the field as if they had been doing it all their lives.

Apart from their incredible ingenuity, it became obvious that these children were no angels! Like many Bangladeshis, it is unbelievable how easily they become angry and hot under the collar. At the slightest provocation between the children, without a moments delay, a fist fight would ensue, because after all that is how problems are solved, a lesson these young children have had engrained in them at a very early age. At times it was necessary for us to intervene and calm the childrens nerves; brother Guillaume noted quickly that I had picked up the most important phrases for solving little fights among the children; phrases such as “choop koro!”, which means “be quiet!”, or “eyta bhalo na!” to say “that’s not good!”.

We had a wonderful three days together. Everyone returned exhausted (both the children and the volunteers), but we were all so happy! For me, I really appreciated the opportunity to get to know the children a little bit better during our time together, and it was so fun to be able to put names to the faces of the children at the station. I have been able to better understand the children who live in such poverty by the Rail station, and I hope I can help them more in the future, and be able to understand a little bit more about their daily lives.

Ludivine.

This article was translated from its original French, any mistakes in translation are my own.

Peace.
Steve.

The Marriage Dilemma

2008-07-01T00:20:00.000-07:00

A friend confessed to me yesterday that he was having a rough day; he was confused and wanted some help. The story is one that I have heard too many times here, and it is one to challenge cultural practices around the world. The Marriage Dilemma.

Marriages are a strange proposition here in Bangladesh. My friend's sister got married just before Christmas 2007 to a guy she had only met once. This may seem strange to a North American or European audience, but here in Bangladesh and India this is the norm.

The process starts:
- A girl's mother and father decide their daughter is of a proper age for marriage (this age depends on many factors including education, trust, financial stability, and more).
- A boy's mother and father decide their son is of a proper age for marriage (all the same factors are involved)
- The girl's parents find a trusted friend or relative to look for a suitable partner for their daughter.
- The boy's parents find a trusted friend or relative to look for a suitable partner for their son.
- Those friends or relatives searching for a marriage partner then begin the search, they listen to gossip about those who may or may not be near ready to get married, they listen to stories from people who have been to other villages for news of someone wanting to marry.
- Finally those searching friends or relatives find each other and they start talking. Discussed are matters such as finances, gifts, ages and family expectations.
- Once everything is fixed, the wedding proceeds within a few months.

And there is the process. This cultural process is followed consistently by Muslims, Christians and Hindus. This method of choosing marriage partners is a good way to keep families happy (most of the time), and to keep the community happy. And everyone knows, happy communities make for happy families. Of course, it doesn't always work.

The idea of a "love marriage" here in Bangladesh, is one of communal shame and sadness. It is a choice a young person makes to marry because they truly love as opposed to marrying to maintain their position and their family's name. Marriage here is not based on two people's choice to spend their lives together, it is based on the community.

Back to my friend's story. His sister got married to a man she had only met once before. That was 7 months ago. Now come the problems. The gifts were not given in full, and the families begin to quarrel. Another girl (a Muslim no less) comes on the scene. And the problems begin.

Now here is the dilemma. There is a girl who this boy thinks he likes. She is nice and they get along well, but they can't really learn about each other because in this society that is taboo. Now this boy is married, but married to a girl he still doesn't know, married because his family told him so. What must be going through his head? What do you do when there is someone you were told to learn to love? What if that love never materializes? These are the questions of marriage. Why should he remain faithful to someone he never loved, and married not of his own volition? The flip-side. He is married. There is a woman who, pressured or not, he married. In this society she is very much dependent on him and what he does. What morality would he have to be unfaithful to his new wife? How much damage would he do to him and her by being unfaithful? What to do?

The other side of the dilemma. There is a girl whose reputation will be ruined if her husband leaves her or is found to be cheating. How can she be loved? How can she maintain her reputation with a man who she doesn't love and never loved her? What must be going through her head? Why does she slave for this man in the kitchen? Why should she raise his children when he just goes from woman to woman? Why should she remain with this man who she never loved, and married not of her own volition? What to do?

The community. The people who in effect caused the dilemma and will never be affected by it. The people who will gossip and spread rumours about husband and wife, often blaming the wife if something goes wrong. The wind to spread the flames of doubt and hurt, the community is a force that inhibits and makes its will known. The community is the powerful force keeping the system in place.

There is the marriage dilemma. Two young souls, joined in "love" sanctioned by the community. Two young people, with their lives ahead of them but one of life's biggest choices made for them. Two young lives, changed forever by their familes. My friend asked me what he should do, and I don't know. The dilemma is a dilemma for a reason. The answers have their benefits, they have their downfalls, and two young lives are at stake. The Marriage Dilemma.

Peace and Wisdom.
Steve.

The Sleeping Child

2008-06-25T21:23:00.000-07:00

Lying on the street undisturbed,
Cradled in a ripped banner,
Lifeless and alone,
The Sleeping Child.

God bless this Child,
Your son who you have not abandoned,
Protect him in his innocence,
God of Love.

There I passed him, lying on the side of the street, alone and sleeping. There he was, wrapped in a ripped piece of a banner found as trash on the street. As I walked towards him he stirred but did not wake up, men and women walked by not batting an eye. As I walked past him I looked into his face, his eyes closed in serene silence, a world away from the loud, busy street on which he was asleep. I looked into the face of an innocent child, a child left alone to fend his way on the streets of Dhaka. A boy with a story, a story I will never know, and one that would likely melt the hardest hearts. I stood there, a few steps away from this sleeping boy, and I prayed for him. My prayer did not include words, for words were unnecessary, this child didn't need my words, this child needed love.

What to do? I wanted to sit with the child, to let him know that he is loved. But sleep is precious, and I did not want to disturb him. So I waited, I prayed and without any thought of what might happen, I slipped a gift into the child's pocket. I pray that God's gift brightened this boy's day, I hope that he could eat a proper meal and gain some energy, and most of all I pray that he felt loved; loved not by me, for my love is temporary, but loved by God.

We pray tonight for the sleeping children,
We pray tonight for the lonely children,
We pray tonight for the hurting children,
We pray tonight God, for all your children.
Amen.

Peace.
Steve.

Changing Faces

2008-06-24T22:01:00.000-07:00

* This article was written for the MCC Bangladesh Global Family Newsletter.

The girls at Baluchaura Mission quickly hid their giggles behind the nearest object, be it a book, a scarf, or their hand, as they silently disappeared into the nearest room. The boarding girls, like many girls here in Bangladesh, were very shy and embarrassed around us, the newly arrived foreigners. The girls are supported through MCC Bangladesh’s Global Family program and we were there not just to teach them English but to share in their lives and learn with them.

Baluchaura Mission is a small place, and the girls were always intrigued by our activities, swimming in the pond, singing on the roof, or joking in the dining room. But for the first few days, if it weren’t for our two English sessions a day, we would have been nearly unaware of the girls’ existence. Life for these girls includes daily chores, study times, cooking, and prayers. In comparison, our lives were devoid of work; never expected to exert ourselves, the time we tried to fill our own water buckets, Sean and I had barely begun before a line of girls appeared and the buckets were instantly full. Our initial days at the Mission we felt separated from daily life and routine, we were honored guests not close friends. We learned quickly that classes needed to be fun or the formality would stifle the joy of learning.

Our classes often revolved around songs. Singing was a gift our group shared, and we spent many hours singing. Using songs to teach English was a perfect fit. Repeating hits, especially action songs; the girls could listen and practice the words, it raised the energy level in the room, and it rejuvenated us. As the first week passed, we started to hear “Kumbaya” sung by the girls washing at the pump in the morning, “This Little Light of Mine” being rocked from the cooking fires behind the dorm, and the Moose song being stumbled through at full volume. We started to notice a change in the girls; instead of covering their faces and running away, they would offer a quiet “good morning” as we walked by.

The teaching of “Duck, Duck, Goose” was a breakthrough in building friendships with the girls. A spontaneous evening of silliness degenerated into raucous laughter and regenerated into the group favorite, “Duck, Duck, Goose”. Some evenings, after returning from an afternoon of visiting families, we would arrive at the Mission to a game of “Duck, Duck, Goose,” always made more entertaining by the antics of the crazy foreigners. The evening games and activities were always a time of joy and laughter.

With the use of our art supplies, games and of course, songs, we continued to connect on a deeper level with the girls at the Mission. They would often come tell me how much fun they were having with us. With a few days remaining at the Mission another change was noticed, the girls no longer ran away when they saw us, they came to talk, to ask us how we were, and to sing with us. No more covered faces, no more running away; we might have been guests, but we were also friends. Our time at Baluchaura Mission ended with a night of laughter, song and dance. The girls performed beautiful dances and we all sang our well rehearsed favorite songs together. Not only had we taught English and lived at Baluchaura Mission for two weeks, we had developed friendships, and had shared songs, games and memories with the girls. Leaving the girls at Baluchaura Mission was a challenging and powerful time. The power of friendship and laughter was starkly contrasted with the power of separation, and leaving our new friends. As Annika noted, “If it is hard to leave, then you must have done something right.” The tears shed upon our departure are a testament to the love and happiness that was shared in our short time together.

A quote that was shared by a number of the girls at the Mission as we were preparing to depart, is a testament to the power of friendship and happiness. Between tears the girls said, “Thank you so much! We have had so much fun with you! We can’t remember a time when we have ever had more fun! Please don’t leave; we want to keep having fun!” I pray that in their lives these girls will find many more occasions for joy and happiness, more memories to join the memories of our fun and laughter together.

Shanti.
Steve.

Hai Hai!

2008-06-23T03:08:00.000-07:00

"Oh Annika! Katal kabey?" The familiar sing-song voice of Sister Nisha drifts across the table. Annika, will you eat some jackfruit? The Salesian Sisters at Baluchaura Mission were full of joy and life. Often Sisters or Nuns are stereotyped as boring, old and out of touch, the Sisters at Baluchaura were nothing of the sort; the Baluchaura Sisters were too cool.

There was Sister Nisha, gang leader and jokester extraordinaire. Sister Nisha is one of the first Bangladeshis I have met who understand sarcasm! She is also a host with the most, "Eat more, you've only had 3 plates of rice!" Sister Nisha hosted us in true Bengali fashion, three feasts and two meals per day (also known as three meals and two tea breaks) were enough to keep the most active person strong and happy. It was also enough to make the most ravenous stomach entirely satisfied at all hours of the day. And Sister Nisha was not without her beautiful quirks. "Oh Annika" was the call to summon the group together, the use of no other name was necessary, we all understood. Sister Nisha cared for us like a big sister (which is sort of what she is). She always made sure our water buckets were filled and we were well rested (although we tended to go play soccer when we were supposed to be "taking rest"). Under the care and supervision of Sister Nisha we were not in need (or want) of anything.

There was Sister Rina, punster and fanner extraordinaire. Sister Rina was a blast. She would twist words in funny little ways and always pull off a chuckle. Rina could make you smile just by walking in the room. And there was her fanning abilities. I have never seen anyone fan like Rina fans! The little plastic fan spinning faster and faster, blowing a steady breeze in all directions, drying the sweat on the brows of the ever hot and sweaty foreigners. To our regret, Sister Rina left after only a week with us to go to Mymensingh for a course, her smile, laughter and mad fanning skills were missed.

There was Sister Shantona, quickly learning the ropes of witty sisterhood. She quietly honed her skills as the days went on, topping up our plates with food and zipping in a joke about Annika and her kolas. She's got the making of a Sister extraordinaire, all she needs is a little more practice. Sister Shantona was also dearly missed for the last few days at the Mission when she also went to Mymensingh for classes and almost disappeared without a song (but not quite!), I will never forget her frienly laugh.

And finally, there was Sister Benuka. Resident nurse and expert on all things dirty. She could keep you clean and proper in a mud slide! Sister Benuka was a nurse with an edge. Not a meal went by without a few friendly jokes in Bengali about my accent, my sentence structure, how little I was eating or about my lunghi. She was a nurse Sister, with the wit and prowess of a tiger. Sister Benuka was kind and had a wonderful laugh to accompany her wit. She was a darling to Sean when he fell ill and was always available to tell you what animal was making dirty in the field! Sister Benuka, always up for a fun time.

The Baluchaura Sisters were a well matched team of supersisters. Always ready to help out and always ready to explain Bangladesh to us, the willing students. The Sisters at Baluchaura were a large part of what made our time at the Mission so rewarding, and I thank them for that. I will close with one of our favourite quotes from the Sisters. This game is played in Bengali and English here and is something like "Darling, if you love me". In a sing-song voice it went something like this:

Sister 1: Hai Hai! Oh my God!
Sister 2: What happened?!
Sister 1: I have fallen in love!
Sister 2: With who?!
Sister 1: With... Sean! (or Annika, or Bacca, or Eva, or Stiphen)

Hai Hai!
Steve.

A New Song

2008-06-20T08:23:00.000-07:00

The power of music never ceases to amaze me. Music has the power to unite, the power to lift spirits, the power of peace, and the power of joy. A song transcends words, it speaks directly to each person in its own way. Music is a gift granted and received, and it moves through time and change, but always remains. Music was, for our group at Baluchaura Mission, the main point of connection with the people we met. How blessed I was to be surrounded at Baluchaura with people who love to sing; people who enjoy making music for the sake of making music. And it was there that I was reminded of the power of music. I will share with you a few examples of the power music played in our two weeks at the mission.

Music provides a bridge. We found ourselves in a village in Northern Bangladesh on the way to the Mission with a flat tire. Not an entirely atypical situation, but one which required some attention, so there we were standing by the rickshaws when, and slowly emerging from their dwellings were the local children, mothers and unemployed men. Cautiously they approached us to watch us, and feeling friendly and cheerful we struck up a conversation. Within a few minutes the crowd had grown from a handful of children and women to a group of over fifty people. The normal greetings were exchanged, the necessary questions were answered, and we found ourselves facing a large crowd not having any idea what to do. When suddenly a young girl was pushed in front of us and told to sing a song. She sang a beautiful song in Bangla and to thank her we decided to sing a song. And so we sang, the children's fascination grew as big as their eyes, and when we finished they quickly asked for another song. Now the crowd was quickly growing as word spread of the bideshis singing in the village, and a minute or two later, after another song, we were ushered onto a concrete platform, provided with a bench to sit on and stared at. It was the closest you could come to a village stage, the crowd grew to over a hundred people, and we sat there on the stage and sang until our rickshaw was prepared. The fascination and joy on the faces of the children and women said it all. Songs are a powerful tool to bring people together. The sharing of songs could brake the awkward barrier between us that no words ever could.

Songs provide a connection. Music also played a large role in our english classes at the Mission. Songs were in many ways the bridges or connectors to the girls at Baluchaura. Songs brought us together, songs made language irrelevant, songs provided entertainment and friendship without need for words. We taught upbeat versions of "This Little Light of Mine" and "Kumbaya" to the girls, as well as "Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes", and the songs were a hit. With most of the girls still hiding and giggling behind their ornas when we walked by, we would often hear them quietly singing the songs we had done in class while they washed their clothes or before brushing their teeth. The songs were not boring class, songs are fun, enjoyable, and not like work. But songs did more than teach English, songs started the connection, the bond that formed between us all. When the end of our class time together came, the girls would all ask for one more song (which often turned into more than that!). The songs we would sing brought us together and were the launch pad for some wonderful friendships.

Songs console. One day we went to visit a woman gravely ill with cancer. The was on her deathbed and we came to pray for her. I was asked to pray in Bangla which did not work as well as I would have liked, due to my lack of preparation. And after the prayer we asked if we could sing for them. We sang the song "Lord, Listen to your Children Praying". The words were not understood by the family, caring for their ailing mother, but the meaning was. The music was an inspiration to the family, a consolation in a time of sadness, and after praying once more in english for the woman, with tears of thanksgiving in their eyes, the children of this dying woman thanked us for coming to pray for them, and the happiness in their faces spoke louder than a thousand words. Prayer is a powerful tool, and music is a gateway.

Song bring us together. They brought our group together at Baluchaura, they brought us together with the Bangladeshis we visited and met, and they linked our communities at home, with the community here in Bangladesh. Music is a gateway to our common humanity, a torch in the darkness, and tie that binds. As we go forward in life may we all sing a new song of joy, happiness, peace and communion.

Peace.
Steve.

UWB - Unidentified Walking Bideshi

2008-06-20T04:44:00.000-07:00

What would it be like to see the first foreigner of your life? How many of those firsts have we been the privileged recipients of?

In Canada we come from a multicultural society. A society where people from around the world live in relative harmony. Our frame of reference is not limited to those identical to us. But how would we react if suddenly Tintin the lime green, pink haired alien showed up speaking some wild language? Sometimes here I feel like Tintin. Here I am an Unidentified Walking Bideshi- a white skinned, blond haired stranger who happens to speak a little Bangla.

Where are you from? The most common question received by guests to Bangladesh is where they come from. To the highly educated in the country Canada is a country in Europe, or Africa, or America. To the less educated in the country, Canada might as well be Venus, outside of their immediate reality is in many ways nothing more than a dream. Sometimes, as a joke, when people ask me where I am from, I will first tell people I am from another district of Bangladesh, and the number of people who believed me is astounding. Where I am from is really not what's important other than the fact that I am different. I am novel and I am different.

I don't think we, from Canada, could understand the concept of standing for 15 minutes staring at someone without moving. The idea of having someone from another place walk by you and being entirely awestruck by them. In the villages I am (and we were) the attraction. We provided the entertainment for everyone we passed, people gather from the surrounding villages just to stare at us.

I am the unidentified Walking Bideshi.

Shanti.
Steve.

Looking Past the Little Things

2008-06-03T03:18:00.000-07:00

Colourful vegetables in the market...
A small crowd gathering to watch us buy coconuts...
The rainbow variety of cloth to choose from...
The varied and occasionally semi-musical honking...
The slightly yellowed tinge of curried fingers...
Children playing cricket in the field...
The every day...

This is Bangladesh. A country of colour, noise, smells, an assault on your senses. Watching people as they arrive and process the sights, sounds and smells of this new country is provides a chance to reflect and once again notice the little things I miss everyday. The things that have, despite the seemingly constant newness and incredibly unbelievable experiences, become routine and so often go unnoticed. The quickly approaching vehicle, the crowds that gather when foreigners have congregated around a store, these are routine and often go unnoticed or undernoticed in my everyday life. It is a privilege to have the opportunity not only to share my knowledge and experiences with this Shikka team, but also to see things more from the perspective provided by fresh eyes. To note once again the beauty in the mundane, the excitement in the routine, the beauty that is Bangladesh. The beauty that is sometimes hidden behind blinders but does exist outside of my occasionally jaded vision. This week I have had the opportunity to see the little things instead of looking past them.

Shanti.
Steve.

Shikka Arrives

2008-06-02T20:35:00.000-07:00

The Shikka Learning Tour from Ontario (and Oregon) has arrived in Bangladesh. The group has a blog www.mccbangladesh.blogspot.com, that you can visit to learn more about them. Early morning pick up at the airport and a wonderful bangla breakfast we went shopping for appropriate clothing for the ladies.

Walking out of the CR Flat it started to rain a little bit, not hard, but enough to make us a little damp, and for me to realize that I had forgotten my umbrella. We went to a shopping complex and haggled a little bit for some slightly cheaper clothing, before eating a wonderfully flavourful indian lunch. As we left the shopping complex the sky was in constant motion, changing from light gray, to black, slipping and sliding. The rain was coming, made all the more obvious as thunder cracked and lightning split the ever darkening sky. Rickshaws were quickly found and the return journey to Mohammadpur was underway. Then, half way home, it hit, slowly, huge drops of water landed on the road, exploding into thousands of tiny fragments, faster and faster they fell until it was a torrential downpour. Paper bags were disintegrating in our hands, gamchas raised overhead to block the rain were quickly soaked through, as were our clothes, to the point where we might as well have been swimming.

In the downpour, people got confused, the normally beacon-like whiteness of us foreigners was hidden under the rickshaw covers protecting people from the rain. The rain-water dripping into my eyes and the chaos of the quickly flooding roads prevented me from focusing my attention on the other rickshaws around me. And within seconds the other rickshaws are out of sight, I assumed they all had rushed on ahead, heading to Iqbal Road, our destination. Our rickshaw, with three passengers, was the heaviest, so I assumed we were last, but it was not so. We arrived at Joyce's apartment only to realize that no one else had arrived yet. How had we passed all the other rickshaws? Then Matt with the other girls arrived, but the boys weren't with them. I was frustrated at this point because the rickshaws were supposed to be staying together, but we always say that and they never do. The problem was, the boys didn't know where we were going. So, off I went, wading through water, walking down the flooded streets, looking for the lost boys. At the end of the street, who should I meet, but the rickshaw wallah who had been driving them, with another passenger in the rickshaw. I called him over and he told me which direction to go, but before he left, I nicely gave him some choice words about not taking advantage of people and stealing from them. I went in the direction the rickshaw wallah pointed me, and there walking down the street towards me were two large white half-drowned-rat men, somewhat scared and confused, and me happy to see them, also a half-drowned-rat man, still frustrated at the rickshaw wallah for taking advantage of them and me, and happy that all worked out well.

We finished the day with some more shopping, a little time on the internet to greet those loved ones people were missing, and finished off with some more shopping. As the day progressed, eyes were slowly drooping and attention jumping from subject to subject, giggles abounded as did full-on hearty laughter, and finally, following bhat and dhal, sleep; long restful sleep. It brings back memories of nine months ago, when I arrived in Bangladesh, when everything was wild and crazy, I didn't know where to go, and I couldn't keep my eyes open. I am excited to see what this month has to offer, what new things we will see and do, and how it changes each of us.

Peace.
Steve.

The Vicious Judge

2008-06-01T04:14:00.000-07:00

Who is the most vicious judge I know? Me. As Gandhi very candidly pointed out in his campaign for a free India, there were three entities he was trying to change. The easiest was the British, harder yet was the Indian people, and by far the most challenging to overcome was the devil in himself. We all have our devils, our challenges to overcome, and those things we need to change in our lives, and as Gandhi will remind us, the changes in ourselves are the most important. I have always had a tendency to judge, I judge others positively or negatively. Sometimes I would pride myself (judge me positively) on judging others positively. Sometimes I would pride myself the I was in some way not as bad as that person (judge me positively and them negatively). To judge is a human trait that we all share in some form. I want to share some thoughts on that judging attitude.

Normally, I think I know myself pretty well, sometimes I think I don't, but for the most part, I figure I know more or less who I am. I judge certain things about me to be good and certain things to be bad. Those are judgments, they are not necessarily truths, some of them are and some of them aren't, and I may never know which are which. I judge myself based on what I THINK other people think about me. And I try to improve those places that I think other people judge negatively. This is self-improvement, and a good thing (so I judge). Then there are the the things in my life that I THINK God judges as negative in me, those things are a lot harder to know, because God is more complex than people are. But I search for those and try to make changes there too. In that way, for myself, for changing myself, the judgment of others can be a positive tool. It can also hurt and destroy, for judgment is rarely neutral. But as Gandhi pointed out, changing me is much harder than trying to change other people. Changing me requires changes that go beyond the concrete and the visible to the thoughts and reasons behind the visible. Changing me is something that cannot be done alone, but must be started at home in my own thoughts and actions. Judging me can be both positive and negative, helpful and destructive, it is a force that is always pulling one way or the other.

Judging me is one thing. I have the ability to change ME, I have the ability (with some divine assistance) to know ME. But I rarely if ever have the chance to know someone else at a level so deep as to really know, or ever change someone. For me to judge someone, positively or negatively, with any accuracy, is outside my ability. Only God has that ability, because there aren't any other humans with an all encompassing knowledge of everyone they judge. If I am to accurately judge people, I would have to sit down for days and learn every detail about their life, their family history, the good, the bad and the ugly. Then, and only then, could I make a more-or-less accurate judgment. And that is obviously physically impossible for each of us to meet with every other person and learn their life history (it's hard enough to do with a small group of friends). When I judge someone, without knowing about the person, it is like judging who is at fault in a car crash based on the colours of the cars. He is at fault because the car is blue, and blue cars are all the same, they have bad drivers. I should not be judging others if I don't have all the facts, and since I don't have all the facts, why am I judge? Why do I play god? Deciding who is good and who is bad, who is right and who is wrong. I can help people to grow, to improve, but not by judging them. The line that is all too often dismissed in Christianity is telling here. "Why do [I] search for the speck in [my] neighbour's eye while there is a log lodged in [my] own eye?" How can I ever judge someone else properly if I can't even see properly because of my own logs?

This brings me to the dilemma. The vicious judge. Me. Why do I play god time and time again? "Why are all Bangladeshis this way?" When the reality is they are not, and I know it. "Why does that person have no respect?" When what I really mean is, "why did that person do that?" I have gone through very judgmental phases here in Bangladesh, and to be honest, it sometimes feels good. It falsely explains away frustrations and my own failings by projecting them on someone else. I stop asking the question, "why did that make me angry?" And start asking the question, "why is that person so this, or so that, so rude, or so inconsiderate?" These questions are judgmental, and negatively so, they do not lead me to a love or compassionate stance in regards to that person, they place that person somehow below me, when in reality they are not. I have been rude and inconsiderate many times in my life, why do I not judge myself so harshly in these instances? I often feel that the actions of others are an affront against me, but what they really are is one action, one of the thousands of actions that person will make that day. To judge someone based on one of their thousands of actions is like basing the grade of an essay on the single misspelled word rather than on the content of the essay. To judge based on one action and ignore the content, the humanity of the person, to judge in this way is false, accusatory and not helpful to anyone. Here, I often make judgments about why people do what they do. "They did that just so that they could speak to a foreigner." It may be true, it may be false, who knows, and who cares. To judge others serves to compartmentalize them, to stereotype them, those Bangladeshis, those Canadians, those Christians, those Muslims, those Rich, those Poor, those Conservatives, those Liberals, those Addicts, those Men, those Women. Judging prevents me from knowing the real person, and prevents me from loving that person fully for who they are.

As I try to change from judgment to support, to love, and to openness, I face many obstacles, and the biggest one is myself. Even if, with some divine intervention, I manage to take the logs out of my eye, I will still have to take care to heal the holes, to prevent big black spaces from continuing to cloud my judgment, and from the risk of allowing those logs to return. And in all honesty, as admirable a goal as that may be, it is mostly dreaming. I will not manage to remove my own logs, and I will have to struggle with them for the rest of my life. But until those logs are dealt with (probably never), I should not be judging others. And if I think those logs are dealt with, I have probably put one back. I am a vicious judge, not fit to be holding the gavel. Yet I grip it with impunity and I fight to maintain my ability to judge harshly and unfairly. I am the vicious judge.

My prayer is that I can start to turn from this judgment to an all encompassing love and compassion.

Peace.
Steve.

*Much of my thinking on the subject has been inspired by the book Repenting of Religion: Turning from Judgment to the Love of God by Gregory Boyd.

The Flowing River

2008-05-31T22:29:00.000-07:00

There in the water I stand,
The current flowing swiftly by,
Not knowing which way to go,
I go with the flow.

There the current surrounds me,
Gently pulling me in its ebb and flow,
I am oblivious to the movement,
Lost in the current.

Time passes by and I float,
The water rises and falls as I float by,
The current takes me through time,
And I am blind to it all.

There life goes floating by,
Nutrients and junk gliding side by side,
Moving down the river of complacency,
Trying my best to tread lightly.

When am I going to stand?
To dig my feet into that life-giving sand?
To brace myself against the current,
To stand up and live.

I wrote this poem after swimming in the Bhramaputra River in Mymensingh with other expats, and then following a powerful prayer at Taize that previous evening. Change is a scary thing, but so is complacency. Ignorance, living without thinking, living without understanding what we are doing or why. Habits are scary, and we rarely think about them long enough to understand our habits. But habits can lose their meaning. The power of prayer can become habit, as I feel it has for me at times this year. The tough and grind of daily routine can become habit. To think about where we are, what we are doing, and why; to ground ourselves and stand up against the current of complacency and self-righteousness. To think of others, and their role in this creation, that is pro-life and pro-love. To stand up against the current of judgment and disapproval, and to see life as a river to be enjoyed; not to be lulled to sleep by the current. I hope to fight the current of complacency and ignorance, and to embrace the current of love and life. I hope to stand up and live.

Peace.
Steve.

Creating Creative Spaces

2008-05-30T23:57:00.000-07:00

We enter the room. "Good morning teacher" sings a chorus of young voices as their small undernourished frames rise from the desks in respect. "Good morning" we reply, and off on a fun filled journey of education. The presence of two foreigners in class is a chance to learn about geography. I am from Canada, Gayle from the US (America as it is known here), most Bangladeshis think Canada is in Europe (this includes college students and many well educated people). So we tell the students about Canada and America. Questions fill the room. What are your names? Where are you from? How many brothers and sisters do you have? The students all smiling and laughing at our many Bengali slip-ups. Smiles graced the faces of those children, and as they buckled down to study, English, Bengali and Math, we walked around the room helping the children (2 times 2 is 4, can you say 4 in English?). After a few minutes, it is time to move on, to meet more students and greet more smiling, inquisitive faces.

This was my visit with Gayle to Bolajpur School. I have mentioned Bolajpur before, I visit monthly with our peace team for programming, but it is not often that I get out there for a class visit. Our visit was an empowering visit. Something positive is happening at Bolajpur school, and it has the ability to flower into something even more amazing. Watching the teachers at work is a blessing at Bolajpur. The morning classes are mostly Kingergarten, Class 1 and Class 2, and at that young age it is so important for the children to gain an appreciation for learning. To learn because reading stories can be fun, because singing English songs can be a new pastime, because there is benefit in learning to read, write and do math.

Walking into a Kindergarten classroom at Bolajpur is nothing spectacular on the surface, children sitting in circles working, the setting looks like school anywhere. But in Bangladesh this is a radical teaching style. Children, from the moment they enter a public school, are sat down in lecture rows, facing the teacher, and are told to repeat after the teacher. That is learning. At Bolajpur, groups of children work independently or with the teacher. Each day there is a focus, a group of students the teacher focuses their time on. That day it was Bengali, teaching spelling and alphabet to the students, the other children copied English words or learned to add. The children are not lined up in lecture-style like a regiment of soldiers, they are allowed to help each other, to learn independently, in a more comfortable environment. The rooms at Bolajpur are hot, and classes are larger than ideal, but these children have a smile on their faces, and a joy of life that gives a classroom life. Children, sitting and standing, repeating the teacher's every word like little trained robots is an all too common sight in Bangladeshi schools, at Bolajpur they are trying to change this.

What makes Bolajpur different from government schools? First of all the schools were started and are monitored by the Taize Brothers and by Ronni and Jyotti. But the exciting part is that the teachers are excited to teach. Now using college students to teach primary school was a novel and experimental idea. Virtually all of the teachers at the Taize started schools are merely students themselves, most not striving to teach for a living and not in teacher's college. The teachers work either the morning shift or the afternoon shift, and attend school when they are not teaching. But these teachers make up for any lack of training on how to teach, with the desire to teach these children to the best of their ability. They are not paid extremely well, but the teachers are more than satisfied with their jobs. To my surprise and delight, while drinking tea after the morning shift had finished we were asked, "How could we teach better?" followed by "What could we improve?" Taken off-guard, I was not prepared to critique their teaching, but I was quick to note the benefits of the style they were trying, and looked for little ways for them to make classes more interactive and creative. The teachers at Bolajpur are giving this project their all, and it shows.

There are many good things going at Bolajpur, and all of the schools run by Taize, but they also have their limitations. The school buildings are deteriorating, two of the three primary schools flood during the rainy season and classes must be cancelled, and the lighting is often poor. When funds are short, upgrading buildings is a rather difficult prospect, but at brother house in Mymensingh they have decided that the time is right. The goal is to creative not just an effective school, but a creative learning environment, one of those places education specialists talk about where children are free to learn and grow and teachers are aids in the process of learning. Searching for grants, the Brothers are looking for funding to start this process of creating creative spaces.

The vision of a creative space is a place where children can learn through all their senses. Where children have desks and chairs that are appropriate for children and are not designed for lecturing. Chairs and desks that can be moved easily to change class formations and allow for creative teaching styles and group creation. There is the building itself, clean walls, raised ground to avoid flooding and spaces for teaching as well as community gatherings. It should be a place where children are excited to come to school because it is a welcoming building, a welcoming classroom and a welcoming environment. Then there are teaching aids, props if you will, maps, posters, blocks, and so on, tools for children to explore topics such as Math, English and Bengali on their own. These are all part of a creative space, a space designed more for exploration and creativity than rote memorization, a space for growth and problem-solving. And a creative space will provide more than creativity for the students, it will provide a creative teaching environment as well. Teachers with props and pictures to use, will figure out new and creative ways to use them. Children being able to use blocks for Math, and children sitting in small groups will encourage the teachers to think of new ways to teach Math and new formations in which to teach a class. This is the goal of creative spaces.
"When a teacher walks into a room that looks the same as their primary classroom, they are going to teach like they were taught." This is what we are trying to avoid. Brother Erik's comment points to a reality of the system here, if the environment is not conducive to creativity, the students and teachers won't be either.

Therefore, the goal is to create creative spaces in our schools.

Peace.
Steve.

Praying in Jail

2008-05-22T04:48:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday, I had the opportunity to visit Mymensingh Jail. Each week brother Guillaume visits about 10 prisoners in the jail. He has been making these visits for the last 15 years. Now you may ask why he is involved with such criminals, and the answer is, because they are only partially guilty.

Many years ago, in the Modhupur Forest area, a group of indigenous, tribal Mandi people lived and had their land. Today, some still live there, but their land is constantly being taken away despite promises that they have special rights within Bangladesh. These men are in jail because once again, the system was failing them. Their native lands, their traditional land of history and lore, was being stolen. It is said that a group of Bengali farmers came one day to plow Mandi land. By plowing that land communally they were stealing the land, for whoever plows land, has the rights to that land. The problem was that this had happened before to the Mandis, and the government had awarded the stolen land to the Bengalis. The group of Mandi men decided that they could not trust the government to protect their land or their rights, and if their people were to survive, they had to stop these Bengalis. In the ensuing melee two Bengalis were wounded and eventually died. Nobody knows who actually killed them, and if it was the Mandis then they deserve punishment for their crime, noone denies this. But here in Bangladesh life is not that simple. The Mandi men were arrested and their appointed lawyer, whose job it was to defend them, was given thousands of Taka by the group of Bengalis, he instead condemned them and provided them no defence whatsoever. In this situation, like in many others, money equalled justice. They were condemned and sent to jail indefinitely. A few years ago a group managed to convince a higher court to reopen the case and provide a proper trial. Thousands of Taka were collected by the Mandi community to pay for legal council, and they were represented well. There were two judges on the bench, a young aspiring judge and an elderly devout Muslim. The devout Muslim part plays a key role in the story because this group of Mandis are Christian, and the two people who died were Muslim. The younger judge, according to court records, apparently favoured the release of the Mandi as they were able to cast enough doubt on the convictions that they did not deserve to remain imprisoned. But sometimes religious and ethnic realities overshadow facts, and the young judge, with a career to fulfill, decided that the smartest career choice was to agree with the elder judge as he probably would have lost that battle in the end anyway. And so they remain. A group of Mandi men, in Mymensingh Jail indefinitely. With very few visitors except brother Guillaume.

The second group of tribals we talked with in Mymensingh Jail are a few men who are there for adding too much sugar to honey. What a charge! According to brother Guillaume, they are in a tough position because the police approached them one day and asked for "ghush" or a bribe. The men refused to pay the police officer, and a few days later this charge appeared against them. Obviously a very serious crime, I wouldn't want too much sweet honey!

So there I found myself, standing in front of large bars, peering through at about 12 men some in prison issued pants and shirts, others in their own clothes(those not yet convicted). And they asked me the normal questions, where I was from, what I was doing in Bangladesh, what I thought of Bangladesh, how long I was staying. Then, as time was limited, they began their list. Soap (10), white lunghi (1), gamchas (2), oral saline, 6 liters of clean water, lemons, toothbrushes (3), toothpaste (6), medicine with names all somehow ending in -ine. For in jail, they are not issued with the daily necessities, those must come from friends and family on the outside. So every week brother Guillaume goes and makes a list of what the men need, and the next week they have their requests, unless of course their requests are deemed excessive in which case, they are out of luck.

Following the listing of purchases, was a moment I will not likely forget for a very long time. There, with a caucophony of sounds running around the simple concrete room, 12 men on one side of the bars, 3 on the other, we sang. We sang a Mandi song of praise. And as our voices joined together, erasing the barriers physical and cultural, our voices raised to heaven, there was peace. Men, imprisoned for years, and us, free to walk the streets, yet at that moment, we were one in faith, love and humanity. As the last echo of the last note rang off the concrete wall, and a serenity had filled the room, Asheesh read a passage from Hebrews and we prayed. In Bangla and Mandi, we prayed for peace, for justice and for hope. There, in that place of sadness and incarceration, was hope, happiness and thanksgiving. The feelings raging inside me were overcome with a sense of tranquility, and of knowledge that there is a force more powerful than all of us, and that is where we can find rest and peace.

Jishuna Rasong.

Peace.
Steve.

Working Youngsters

2008-05-22T04:11:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, a couple boys ate lunch this us at Taize. Brother Frank was asking them about their lives at home and what they did during the day. They told us that they were just wandering around during the day and then they go to work at night. "Where do you work?" they were asked. "Boro bazaar, at the hotel" they responded. "We make rooti!" These two young boys maybe 9 or 10 years old, work the night shift at a small restaurant in the city making flatbread. They work from 11pm until dawn making bread and what is their wage you might ask?

"50 Taka per night"... 50 Taka!

An entire nights work, and these boys receive less than a dollar. Something here needs to change. Children who should be going to school should not be working like slaves for 50 Taka, nor should they be forced to work the night shift, but they do, and they have little choice.

I wish I had the life story of each of those boys. I don't know if both their parents are alive, working or sick. I don't know how big their families are, or where they live. But I do know that they are desperately poor and like many young boys here in Bangladesh, they look for work not because it's fun, but because it puts rice in their stomachs. I do not blame these boys for working, but the system needs to change. The problem is that it is illegal. It is illegal, and not monitored. Hungry children, starving because their parents cannot find work, can be hired for virtually nothing, because virtually nothing is still something; and something is better than nothing. These children often eat only one meal a day at home, and a hungry person is a desperate person. Being a slave and being alive is better than the alternative; starvation. Now this analysis of the problem is stark, and possibly slightly exaggerated, but the problem is real. And it gets no easier when those people hiring the children have no ethical qualms about child labour, or more to the point, they know that there are so many others doing it, that they do not fear breaking the law.

The solution to the problem is complex. Many of these children would not be going to school if they weren't working, they would be out doing something else to make money. Many boys collect recycled paper and waste to sell as recycling in the markets. But while many boys go off to work, their fathers sit at home, lazing around and gossiping, not by choice, but because they cannot find work. Who would hire an adult and have to pay them more, when you could hire an obedient child?

Child labour is not a problem that will disappear quickly in Bangladesh. Not that North Americans and Europeans were always stellar at not hiring children either, it will take time, and it will need some outside help. But it is a problem, and a problem that needs to be addressed.

To finish off our conversation. Brother Frank asked the boys if foreigners were allowed to make rooti. The answer was unequivocally "no". Nor were indigenous people, elderly or overweight people eligible for the job. Apparently, here in Mymensingh, only boys are allowed to make rooti.

Peace.
Steve.

Hospitality and Friendship

2008-05-18T03:14:00.000-07:00

Jishuna Rashong - God Bless You!

I have a special place in my heart for the family of my friend Asheesh. Philip (my brother) and I spent Christmas with them and Philip was sick. Asheesh's family did everything they could to make Phil comfortable, they bought him medicine and cookies and clean water, they helped him as much as they possibly could with their limited resources, and they did so in the most gracious way.

Last week I went to visit Asheesh's family again to say goodbye. I had told them I was coming around noon and when I showed up early, at 9am, everyone quickly came over to greet me. I sat down in the courtyard as tea was prepared chatting with whomever passed by. I was given slightly green lychees, a wonderful flavour of fruit (just think sour patch kids without the grating sugar). And as I sat there watching the family work, all ages mingling together, so happy to have me there to enjoy their company; I realized the meaning of friendship and hospitality. Asheesh's family is not well-off by any standard, but they always treat me as an honoured guest, giving and never asking anything in return.

The feeling of being accepted and welcomed in this country is such a humbling and powerful experience. Experiences like this have the opportunity to be transformative. To open eyes and let true hospitality and a servant heart serve those of us who think we can do it on our own. To be served and welcomed by those who we think should be sad and lost in self-pity, is humbling and simultaneously overwhelming. I hope that someday my actions can give that joy and happiness to someone else, that joy that comes from being served and welcomed not out of necessity but out of happiness and love.

There I sat in the courtyard drinking tea and playing cricket with Asheesh's little brother and I felt an overwhelming sense of peace in the world. Nothing needed to be done at that moment, I could just sit and be. I could play, I could talk, I could just sit. Noone needed to entertain, they were busy, but every so often they would come over and ask me to help with something, or ask if I wanted more tea; I was more than a guest, I was a friend, I was almost part of the family.

Asheesh's cousin came along after a while and we visited his mom at her work at the silk weaving centre and visited the fathers at the Mission before returning for a wonderful lunch of chicken curry and dhal. Chicken curry is a very special dish in Bangladesh, especially for a poor family. To be served chicken is an honour and it was another demonstration of their love and how gracious hosts they were.

Just before I left to return to Mymensingh for a meeting, I took this picture of their family so I will always be able to remember them. I will give Asheesh a copy of the picture and I also gave them a picture frame and a picture so they can remember our time together. Life can sometimes be a challenge, but in those little times of friendship and hospitality I really sense a deep connection with people here.

Peace.
Steve.

Burma: A Story of Fear and Power

2008-05-10T20:15:00.000-07:00

I want to address the situation in Myanmar/Burma as I see it from the outside. Having witnessed Sidr and the damage it wrought on Bangladesh, and noting the obvious differences between what is reported and the actual effects of the disaster. The story itself is surprisingly clear. A cyclone made land-fall on the Iawaddy coast and destroyed huge swaths of land and killed thousands in a country whose poverty level is high, and whose political freedom and transperancy is possibly the tightest in the world. I will try and explain some of the complexities surrounding this issue. None of these are hidden, but some are often forgotten about.

Problem: Burmese citizens are in desperate need of clean water, food and shelter.

Solution: Somewhere between unilaterally entering the country to help and not doing anything because the government is not welcoming.

Firstly, I have a sinking feeling in my stomach just thinking about the victims of this disaster. Not only were they the victims of a terrible storm, but they are the victims of the Junta, of unpreparedness and poverty. This story is made ever more poignant by the fact that the world stands by and watches while people die, and a leadership based on fear and power maintenance does not have the capacity to make any headway. I pain most not for the thousands of dead, that deed was done, but for the families of the survivors. I pray for the sick, the injured and the orphan. But the question remains what is our response?

Material aid is needed. Food aid is desperately needed and housing will be a huge priority as the monsoon season is just a few weeks away. But most important is clean drinking water. Months after Sidr, clean drinking water was still being distributed in the worst hit areas where wells and ponds had yet to be cleaned and serviced. But immediate material aid is only a start. A start that has yet to materialize. The long term needs of these victims need to be thought about now. What will happen after the Junta removes aid workers? How will people be able to cope with their loss in the country when the world has once again forgotten about them? These are some of the challenges faced outside of the need to actually get people into the country.

That brings me to the sad tale of a government whose fear of the world, has made them capable of allowing thousands of people to die, and all this out of fear. The Junta understand that they are not popular, not among their own people nor in the world at large. They have retained power by imposing a restrictive censored state. Information does not get in, and information does not get out. Tourists are not welcome outside the Juntas hand-picked cities and "tourist sites". The country is covered in a blanket of silence, but a massive storm with the power to kill such as this, cannot go unnoticed. Interestingly enough, the Junta's hold on power is seemingly more important to them, not only than the lives of those in the country, but also more important than the money they could make off of aid organizations. Governments are not stupid, and governments like to skim off the top. A figure of 10% has popped up in conversation recently as the percentage of aid that actually gets to the victims. And that was in the context of Bangladesh, I would not doubt that Burma could be even lower. The Junta could, and possibly will, use the money that does come in to fill the coffers and maintain a stronger iron grip on the country. But seemingly more important than that, is that Burmese people would not have access to international aid organizations. This fear of foreigners messing in internal affairs could, and hopefully will be a tipping point for the Burmese people. The role of the international community in this scenario is to support the people in their struggle for survival and for a government based on care and support of the people. To not forget about Burma is the most important thing we can do.

There is no easy solution to what is happening now in Myanmar/Burma. Aid is needed and people are dying. The government is oppressive and fearful of international pressure, and the victims are stuck in the middle of this political landscape. People need help, and the wrong people are going to benefit, the sad reality of poverty and power. How to address those poverty structures is an area of study and thought for years to come.

Peace and prayers to the victims of this horrible atrocity.
Steve.

Kolkata in Pictures

2008-05-08T03:23:00.000-07:00

Here are a few pictures I took around Kolkata. I am now forced to be a little more creative with my composition as my zoom and manual features on my camera are broken.

The buses in Kolkata are all blue and the routes are clearly marked, a very wise system.

The bright yellow taxis look like they are from another era. Thank you Tata!

The Victoria Memorial, a reminder of colonial India and a beautiful edifice.

Shanti.
Steve.

Living Together

2008-05-02T04:08:00.000-07:00

I am here in the stereotypical "hell hole" of cities. When people talk of Kolkata (Culcutta), minds run wild with images of poverty, hunger and desolation. And objectively I can understand these thoughts. For someone who has not spent the last nine months living in the Indian sub-continent, the city of Kolkata would be limited to sights of poverty and sadness. But that is not the Kolkata I see.

Kolkata is a menagerie of diverse people, situations, buildings, smells and realities. This city has history and it has modernity, it has class and it has craziness, Kolkata has life. Located in West Bengal, whose counterpart is East Bengal (Bangladesh), the way of life in Kolkata is very similar to that of Bangladesh, but Kolkata has more class, more pizzazz. The city streets bring you back to the good old days (eg. before my time), the taxis and buses are Indian through and through. The streetcars were made in some bygone era but seem to run with efficient creaking and groaning. But the buildings and construction of Kolkata have been the real draw for me.

Kolkata is an old capital. A remnant of British ruled India, with a modern face. Deteriorating buildings, architecturally stunning, intricate arches and pillars splashed across buildings in need of a fresh coat of paint. Reminders of the rich history Kolkata has to offer. And there, under this historical facade is the face of the new India. A country freshly industrializing, and importing brands I have not seen in months. Passing the Levi's store, the Nike store and a fancy restaurant, I look in and see the rich modernity running its tentacles through the history of this city.

There on the streets lie the most obvious of Kolkata's poor. Those people you step around, beggars asking for some money. Frail men and woman sitting by walls, unsure of their future. This is a sad reality, that should never be overlooked, but is a reality of life in Bengal. This sight, is not foreign to me, and it can turn from sadness to joy in a matter of seconds. The cities poor, showering in the street as the pipe sprays water, sitting down and drinking tea with a friend, the realities of life often bring a lighter face to a city's poverty.

Life in Kolkata is a fascinating experience for the senses, a city with lots to offer and never a boring moment. This place is a place where the old lives with the new, the rich with the poor, the fresh with the rundown, where nothing is as it seems, but you can see everything.

Peace.
Steve.

Bangladesh: A Tourist Destination?

2008-04-28T03:07:00.000-07:00

"I met a couple the other day who said they were tourists. I think they were the last of the hippies. They wanted to find some Italian fathers, so I directed them to the Mission. I think that's the third time I've met someone here, in the last 18 years, who referred to themselves as tourists."

I am in the process of trying to figure out how Jess could obtain a Bangladeshi visa to visit Bangladesh. I have asked everyone I know who has been here for any length of time; everyone has a different story, and none of them are particularly encouraging. It is virtually impossible to obtain a visa on arrival it appears, at least people highly advise against it. So Jess might have to go to Bangkok to get a visa, a long journey to one of the few places in the world with a Bangladeshi Embassy.

Bangladesh does not understand tourism. The one time I thought I had met a tourist in Mymensingh, he turned out to be the writer of a guide book. Bangladesh is not a tourist destination, and I can understand why. I think I have visited 75% of the tourist attractions in this country and I have not always had the most wonderful of experiences. Never mind not having the best experiences, I couldn't imagine trying to get to any of those places without knowing Bengali AND having a guide. They have not made tourism in Bangladesh easy, and it shows, there aren't any tourists.

I have visited a few other countries this year, namely Laos and Nepal and soon to be India. Laos and Nepal understand tourism, granted they are some of the largest tourist destinations in Asia, but there is a reason for that. Firstly, they understand what tourists want, secondly they have the natural beauty to add to a cultural and historical heritage that lends itself to good tourism. But most importantly they try to make the tourist happy. Because happy tourists bring more happy tourists, and happy tourists bring money. Bangladesh could develop tourism. It has areas of natural beauty that would, if preserved and made accessible, be tourist attractions. But first, people here need to realize that tourists are not going to flock to a country that doesn't seem to care if they come or not. And tourists are definitely not going to come to a country that makes it difficult for them to come. Tourism is not the solution to the struggles of Bangladesh. But attracting tourists could provide an income to the country, outside of cheap labour and foreign aid.

As it stands, Bangladesh is not a tourist destination, and until they start having a reliable system and method for tourists to visit, and places for them to see, tourists won't come.

Peace.
Steve.

Teaching Peace

2008-04-27T00:55:00.000-07:00

Teaching Peace. Some people might say that's what I came here to do. First off, my bengali is not good enough to teach anything other than English, so my teaching of peace is limited to times when I have a translator. But something is happening that is even better than learning peace. Children are learning peace through having fun.

I have watched as our peace programs at the school have developed. We started tentatively. Puppet shows about important themes, great stories to back it up, but sometimes unsure of the purpose. What are we doing here? The children were always excited to see what was in store for them, and seeing puppet shows is always interesting. And as we continued our confidence level grew, the children grasped the concepts and the discussions were enlightening. But every month still looked the same.

Now we have expanded. We are using new techniques and skills to not just teach peace, but to let the children discover peace on their own. This month was skit month. I am part of the Bolajpur School group, and we had 4 groups of students, each being helped by a teacher from the school. The students’ task was to develop a role-play and to come up with a solution to the conflict we presented. Then they had to present that skit to the class.

The conflict was this, there were two families in a village. One family owned a cow, one family owned a vegetable garden. There was also a neighbour family, but they were not involved in the conflict. The cow was, time and again, breaking away from its line and wandering into the vegetable garden and eating the vegetables. The first few times the vegetabel owner would return the cow to its owner and ask him to keep the cow tied up, the cow's owner would respond "Oh yes, he won't end up in your vegetables anymore." But invariably, the next day, there was the cow in the vegetables. The vegetable owner got so frustrated that one day, instead of returning the cow to the owner, he brought the cow to the Kuwar, the cow jail. Now the Kuwar is a spot in the bazaar where stray cows are brought if they are found wandering around. The owner, must then go to the bazaar and pay a fine to have his cow back. Therefore, having your cow brought to the Kuwar is expensive, and it is also embarassing. To have to pick up your cow from the Kuwar is shameful to a cow owner. Needless to say, the cow's owner took the actions of the vegetable owner as an attack against him. He was angry and bitter towards the vegetable owner. So in spite, the cow owner blocked off a path through his land which was often used by the vegetable owner. The conflict grew and this was where we turned it over to the children.

And the students didn't disappoint. They came up with funny, creative and all slightly different solutions to the conflict. In the end, each group decided to use the neighbouring family to help resolve the dispute, either through compensation of money, compromise, new tether to keep the cow from the vegetables, many different solutions to the same conflict. Success! The point was made. No two conflicts are ever alike, and no conflict has only one right solution, there are many ways of responding to each conflict, and some may be better than others, but there is always a choice of solutions.

The use of this activity was very exciting for me. To see the teachers and our team members work alongside the students, to help the students come up with their own skits and their own solutions to the problem. We didn't need to teach peace, we could assist the children in learning something they all knew at some level. This is part of the fun of peace. We often know what it is and how it works, we just don't spend the time to really think about it and use those skills when they would be most useful. I sincerely hope that this upward momentum in the learning and teaching styles in these schools can continue and thrive over the coming years. Not only in the teaching of peace, but in the life of the schools in general. It's not about teaching peace, it's about helping others to learn peace.

Shanti.
Steve.

A Wedding, Hindu Style

2008-04-21T00:33:00.000-07:00

"Shubho Bibaho" - Merry Wedding

First, I would like to wish all the best to my friend Jyotti who's wedding I attended last night. I wish her and her husband the best and hope that they learn to love each other in their lives together.

This post will in part describe the Hindu wedding but is also an exploration into the tradition of marriage in Bangladesh. Hindu weddings as I was told by my friend Ronnie, are night-time affairs, unlike Muslim weddings which take place most often during the day. We arrived at 9 o'clock at the wedding house, a decorated area near Jyotti's house, hemmed in by small tin houses. Neither family is particularly rich, therefore the renting of a hall for the wedding was not a possibility. I am in fact amazed that the family had the money to have the decorations they had, after the payment of dowry. We entered Jyotti's house and there she was in her pre-wedding shari, looking very beautiful yet not joyful, not happy, not excited for this new chapter in her life.

Bangladeshi marriages are a family affair. Not just that the family is involved in the marriage ceremony, the family is involved in every part of the marriage preparation. In fact, the bride and groom have essentially no voice in the arranging of the marriage whatsoever. The bride's family and the groom's family are involved in arranging the marriage. And once the arrangement is set, it is a matter of weeks before the wedding. Once the marriage has been decided upon, then comes the families discussion of dowry. Dowry is paid by the bride to the groom's family upon arrival at their home as the new addition to their family. Dowry is an important part of a marriage here in Bangladesh, but it is also the cause of much strife. I have only second hand information about the actual dowry given in this instance, but I was told that the sum of cash was 50,000 Taka ($750) and on top of that 6 gold nuggets were to be given, each worth over a thousand Taka. That puts the dowry of this low-income family at over $1000. To put this in perspective, a salary of 5000 Taka per month here is a decent salary. This is why I am amazed they had any money left over for food and decoration, and that brings me back to the wedding day.

After we arrived was the ceremony, symbolizing the leaving of the bride from her family. There sat my friend, crying as her father, brothers, and uncles fed her sweets and gave her money as a blessing. As I watched this I felt sorry for this normally happy, bubbly and cheerful friend of mine, sitting there scared and alone, unsure of the future, not knowing the man she is going to spend the rest of her life with.

After the ceremony we helped serve dinner for the guests. Hindu weddings here are small affairs, with this wedding having no more than 50 guests, mostly family, with a few friends. We served and ate dinner between 11 and midnight, then we sat and talked as the bride and groom were prepared for the wedding ceremony. Shortly after 1 o'clock in the morning we visited Jyotti in her room, in a beautiful shari, and ornate bangles, her hands covered in gold henna. We took pictures and joked with the women who were part of the ceremony. Then, at 2am the wedding started.

The wedding took place in a small pagoda-style enclosure decorated with finely cut paper and faux flowers. The dirt floor had been painted in typical Bengali fashion and the many accessories to the wedding were strewn around. The proceedings were interrupted at one point, also in Bengali fashion, when they could not decide whether the bride should walk around the groom to her left or to his left. After they figured that out, the proceedings went smoothly and despite the constant interruptions and the awkward video photographer from somewhere, it was an enjoyable night.

As I think about the marriage customs and rituals of this culture, I see history and and tradition woven into a web, intertwining people and joining them in marriage. I sincerely pray for the future of Jyotti and her husband as they take this new step in their lives.

Peace.
Steve.

Peace Through Stories

2008-04-18T00:07:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, April 9-12 was our Taize Peace Committee Retreat. We went to a retreat center at Jolchatro Mission for a time of bonding and relaxing. The focus of the retreat was on internal peace.

Think of 10 things in your life that made you really happy. This was one of the tasks Father Gilbert, the retreat leader, asked our group to write down. Times in our lives when we have been really happy. This task should not be as difficult as it was. Why do we remember the negative events in our lives so much more easily than we remember the joyful moments? Hearing participants responses to what made them really happy, was a moment of cultural enlightenment for me. Here I had written down times that I am happy, for example, when I listen to music, or when I exercise, and so on. When we returned together to share the things that make us happy, I quickly found out that my list was not the Bangladeshi way of saying what makes us happy. I had written down ideas, things that make me happy when I do them or when I receive them from others, everyone else, had written down stories. "There was this one time when..." or "When I was 5 years old my father...", all stories, stories of times when they had been happy. People here think in stories, they do not think in point form, they do not think in abstractions, they think in concrete stories. Here, in this country, peace must be built through stories, stories of when peace prevailed, stories of the damages of conflict, only through stories will people stay engaged.

Then, the last day before we left we introduced the idea of a sharing circle. A piece of bamboo was taken from outside and as we passed the stick around the circle, we listened to what had impacted people during our retreat. And here, once again, I was struck by the stories. A good North-American would name a list of things that had impacted them, they would not tell it as a story. I for one, would not have thought of telling what had impacted me in the form of a story, but each person, time after time, told a story, or two, or three. Stories are how they process their worlds. Stories are the vehicle for peace in this country.

As I think about the value of stories, I wonder whether using stories more in our North American lives would not be beneficial? Stories connect you and your place to others around you. Stories connect the ideas being discussed to a concrete reality and personal or communal history, and stories provide an fun method for transmitting important information. In our search for peace, stories must play an important role.

Shanti.
Steve.

Starving People... Who Cares?

2008-04-14T04:18:00.001-07:00

I was reading comments people were making on the BBC regarding the world's food price increases. Many people make very valid comments about overpopulation and the movement towards crops for bio-fuel, but there was one comment in particular that shocked me and I wanted to share it here.

Bangladesh is one of the countries where people are starving. It's a fact, a slightly hidden fact, but a fact nonetheless. I have spoken to poor families who at the moment eat only 1 meal of rice per day. I met a friend today, he was pulling hundreds of pounds of sand down the street as a coolie, last I knew him he was unemployed. Luckily now he has a job to feed his family, but to what effect? The strain I could see in his body was unbelievable, this older man struggling to pull hundreds and hundreds of pounds of sand through the streets of Mymensingh. And with all this work, he eats maybe two meals of rice a day, with no protein and a few vegetables. These are the effects of rising food prices on the population of Bangladesh. People lining up all day to receive rice at a reduced price, rationing hand fulls of rice every meal. People are starving, and Bangladesh is not alone.

Now back to the comment that provoked me enough to write this post. Someone wrote, "Who cares, I have a cupboard full of glorious food and a freezer full of meat let them eat cake!" This comment was so provocative, I am almost inclined to say it was posted to make a point or as a wake-up call, I can hardly believe someone would be so callous or insensitive, but it is possible. This comment may be over the top, we all may say, "I would never say that!" or "That's terrible!" or some other comment to retain our image as a caring and sensitive human being. But how many of us, by our actions, are in fact making the same comment as this person? I have a cupboard full of glorious food and a freezer full of meat, they can deal with their own problems, I'm just fine. I encourage everyone today to stop and think, food prices are rising, economic systems are struggling, what can we do? How can we remember to include the people who will be most affected by our economic decisions and hoarding of food? How can we keep from starving the poorest in society? These questions have no easy answer, but I claim with no reservations that "Who cares... let them eat cake!" is not the answer. Because they will not eat cake, the reality of the matter is that they very well may die of starvation or a related disease. Who cares? I care, and I hope you do too.

Peace and Justice.
Steve.

PS The quote was taken from the article, http://newsforums.bbc.co.uk/nol/thread.jspa?forumID=4606&edition=2&ttl=20080414120447 from BBC World Website.

Pain Amongst Joy

2008-04-14T04:04:00.000-07:00

Today was a wonderful chance to enjoy Bengali New Year. To enjoy a large festival and smile with friends, but there is always something in this country that makes me think, and think deeply, about what it means to be rich.

As thousands of middle-income and upper-income Bangladeshis wandered the streets outside of Taize, in our little oasis we were enjoying a typical meal of rice, shobji and dhal. Brother Guillaume, face painted and all, had enjoyed a morning out with some of the local children he spends much of his time with. We were all sitting around eating and talking, when someone beside me asked one of the boys from the street where his shirt was, he answered very matter of factly, "I only have one". That comment found its way down into my heart in a way that few others have recently. How many children do I see running around shirtless, and I naively thought it was because they were hot, but how many of those children only have one shirt, and they can't afford to wear it everyday or they won't have any shirts. As I walked around the mela outside, looking at the fancy sharis and hand-painted shirts, the fine embroidery and expensive fabrics, my mind wandered back, again and again to the little boy, shirtless, eating his rice. In the midst of the joy, it is important to keep grounded in the reality, and today I had that ability.

Peace.
Steve.

Shubho Noboborsho

2008-04-14T03:09:00.000-07:00

Happy Bengali New Year to all! Today is the first day of the year 1415 in the Bengali calendar and today, April 14 is Bengali New Year's day. A wonderful excuse for a mela. After lunch my friends Kokhun, Dulal and I went and visited the celebrations in the park along the Bramaputra River. Tens of thousands of people lined the streets along the river, stalls were set up selling hand-made goods and cheap toys for children.

Stalls selling tasty street food, tea and ice cream littered the park. There were even petite amusement park style rides available. Not that I would trust my life to a few pieces of wood swinging around like a merry-go-round. We visited the Zainul Abedin art gallery to see an exhibition where Abir, an MCC Bangladesh designer has works displayed, and met up with a few other friends for some tea and gossip, a Bangladeshi specialty.

Today's New Year's celebrations were a wonderful opportunity to relax and spend some time with friends, to see the colourful dress and intricately hand-painted shirts and sharis, and to be a part of the Bengali New Year.

Shubho Noboborsho.

Shanti.
Steve.

Expecting the Unexpected

2008-04-07T04:43:00.000-07:00

So strange things happen, it's a rule of life right? If you expect something to happen, chances are it won't. I have noticed this to quite the extreme in the last couple of days.

Take two days ago for example. I went to get a haircut, at least that's what I asked for. And a haircut is what I got... as well as an hour long facial, complete with facial massage, peel-off face mask, exfoliating lotion and yes, skin whitening treatment. Makes your skin whiter in only 15 minutes! And after an hour of trying to convince the hairdresser that I really did not need the pampering or the added cost, I gave up and completed my treatment. Needless to say, I may be going to the 10 cent a pop hair-dresser around the corner from now on.

So the facial was unexpected, slightly amusing, slightly pricey and definitely unexpected. But today's surprise might just take the prize. I woke up this morning to a knocking at my door. There stood a young man who asked me if my name was Steven. When I replied in the affirmative, he proceeded to tell me that he was moving in. No mistake, he was in fact living in my room. Brother Frank apparently sent him to live with me, and I am now with an unexpected roommate. Not an iota of warning whatsoever. I am slowly starting to realize that was has become expected after 8 months should not be, and the unexpected should always be expected to occur. I just hope that the unexpected doesn't get much more intense than it already is!

ecaeP. (Did you expect that!)
Steve.

Learning to Think

2008-04-06T03:21:00.000-07:00

I am someone who believes in the power of education. As a product of the public education system in Ontario, I believe that public education can be successful and can provide results regardless of the situation from which a child comes. But more important than any system or method of education, I believe in learning how to think. Empowered with the ability to think and reflect, people have the ability to improve not only their lives but the people around them.

It seems in Bangladesh that learning to think is not high on the priority list. Rote memorization, an important stepping-stone in education, is the goal to which all students aspire. Students here understand that with enough memorization and money for a tutor to explain what to give, exams can be passed quite easily. Standardized exams provide a benchmark, but a benchmark for what? I do not believe that the benchmark set by standardized exams is the ability to think critically or truly understand the material.

The ability to ask questions and discover new answers, exploration and discovery, these skills are virtually ignored in the education system here. Creativity and innovation are brushed aside for the all important memorization of when to use "thee" instead of "thou" (a rule which is all but antiquated). And this in a country rife with inventors and creative minds. In a country where they can make anything with wheels into a method of transportation, where they can use a single square of fabric in a hundred different ways; in a country where creativity as a product of daily life is so important; the education system seems designed to destroy that creativity and create a society of like-minded followers.

When I look around me at the many challenges facing Bangladesh, and I talk to Bangladeshis with experience beyond Bangladesh, they are often very skeptical of this society and the ability of Bangladeshis to improve their own lives. "They will do as they have always done, that's how they were taught," is a line that sums up the predictions of some. They claim that Bangladesh needs international aid, that Bangladeshis could not improve their own lives, that Bangladesh needs handouts, but I do not believe this needs to be the case. What Bangladesh and Bangladeshis need is to be taught how to think; to be taught how to address their own needs as they see them, and if they do not wish to change them, who are we to tell them otherwise?

Bangladeshis may not be ready to address their own challenges today, and they won't be tomorrow, but unless the system is developed to teach them how to think, they will never have the opportunity to reach their full potential.

In Peace.
Steve.

Praying Together

2008-04-03T23:19:00.001-07:00

Inter religious prayer... is it really possible? Is it possible for people of different faiths come together and worship? At first glance the answer should be "no", people with seemingly opposing world views who are trying to change each other should not be able to pray together. But I do not believe the answer is as simple as that, the answer is that it is possible for people of different faiths to pray together but their faith cannot end there.

We, the Taize Peace Committee, are in a unique position to think about and create a framework for inter-religious prayer. Our group includes Christians, Muslims and Hindus, all of whom are dedicated to peace and harmony in our societies and in our world. We also are connected to three homes for handicapped children, where the volunteers and children are Muslims, Christians and Hindus. Because this group is a part of the international l'Arche community, spirituality is an important part of everyday life, so how do these children and volunteers from three different religions all join together in prayer? This is the role of the Taize Peace Committee.

We are searching for a style of prayer that is not just accepting of everyone but fulfilling for everyone. I do not know if this is possible, but that is not for me to decide. The goal is to open a space for prayers to be raised from different people in their own faith while being in harmony and solidarity with the people around them. We are searching for songs, psalms and readings affirming our call to love one another and lift others up. We are not saying that these religious traditions are the same, nor are we trying to minimize their importance in people's lives. Instead we aim to bring people together in faith, and affirm a common spirituality in each other.

So we aim to bring spirituality, love and peace together in a supportive environment of prayer to God. To leave it there, thinking that everyone could be happy and fulfilled would be naive. I do not pretend to think that through inter-religious prayer people can grow in their faith. I believe that everyone could be spiritually renewed, but they could not grow and affirm each other in their common beliefs. This inter-religious prayer is an opportunity to be inclusive yet affirming, not to detract from anyone's faith. But prayer in one's own religious group, gathering together to worship with sisters and brothers is of vital importance. As a Christian I could not grow in my understanding of God and Christ without the support of Christian role-models in my life. And so I believe that inter-religious prayer can only be a part of a person's walk of faith.

Inter-religious prayer is about praying, doing something all our religious traditions do, and in doing so demonstrating God's love for all people. In this form, I believe inter-religious prayer has a place in these handicapped homes and is an idea of importance in our violently polarized religious landscape.

Shanti.
Steve.

Of Knitting and Peanut Butter

2008-03-16T03:26:00.000-07:00

You may be wondering what these two things could possibly have in common, well the answer is that the handicapped women working at Shantineer (Peace House) produce both these items. In this Islamic context, the opportunity for me to talk with women is very limited, so I greatly appreciate those couple mornings a week I spend at Shantineer with the women.

Home-made peanut butter is probably my favourite snack food in the world right now. It might have something to do with the fact that it keeps really well without refrigeration, and so is the only thing I can eat with my crackers, but nevertheless CCH Peanut Butter is to die for! Well it might not be so good dead, but it's fantastic. There are things that I never realized were so easy to make. Get out the grinding stone and away you go, after not too long, with a little bit of oil and salt, you have all natural peanut butter. That's my update on my food situation and my mention of how much I love peanut butter, on to knitting.

As many people know, knitting is one of those hobbies I learned from Jess last year and have had some fun with it. When I found out that the women at Shantineer knit scarves, I decided I would go knit with them. It was a good way to pass the time and meet some new people. Then I found out that scarves were the only thing these women knew how to knit, what a shame! Needless to say, thanks to my parents for the knitting book with great pictures and some more knitting needles, the women are on their way to making hats and bags, and someday soon a child's sweater! A couple days a week, I love to go in to Shantineer, sit down and pull out some knitting, teach a couple new stitches to the women and give them some new ideas for things to knit. When you leave home for SALT you just never know what kind of serving you will do, and that could not be more obvious to me than when I am sitting there with women teaching them how to knit.

So, the story goes, knitting and peanut butter make my days go by, give me some protein and joy. Life is good.

Shanti.
Steve.

The Success Story that Could have been Much More

2008-03-13T01:40:00.000-07:00

I recently wrote a story about the victims of the Sidr storm in November. The people, who had so little, and now have nothing. The people facing the monsoons with grim determination but not much hope. The victims of more than a storm, these are the victims of promises broken, time and time again. The people in these areas do not have the means to solve their own problems. They are in many ways like the poor victims of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans (except that New Orleans is in America). The devastation of Hurricane Katrina is still receiving support from groups years after the storm. In this case, it seems Sidr is but a distant memory.

Here in Bangladesh, the MCC Housing Project has been receiving government officials as guests, officials who are praising the work MCC has done in providing emergency shelter for these victims at a cost well below what anyone imagined possible. These government officials are so impressed that they are willing to help us continue this work. This is a story of success in Sharankhola, in a district where much has been promised and little has been delivered. See the article from the Daily Star, http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=27440. This is a story of relief working, people in desperate need, who lost everything in an instant, 1400 families now have something they can build on, they have a place to escape the monsoon rains, they have a new place to call home. I want to say congratulations MCC.

But this story of success has an unfortunate ending. As predicted, and as always happens, when the storm is gone, and the people have no food and shelter, the rest of the world turns their backs. And people need not give to the same cause forever, emergency relief is just that, for emergencies. MCC cannot build houses for every victim of Sidr, it just is not possible, but MCC could do so much more with so little financial support. But decisions are made, and there are millions of people around the world who need that money, and despite the success of this story, we are not receiving anymore funds. We will finish off what is pledged to us, and unfortunately we will break the hearts of people who could have received an MCC built house. They will be, yet again, left in their tarpauline tents, to stew in the monsoons; hopefully they will survive and be able to continue rebuilding their lives in the years to come. Hopefully these people will not succumb to the elements, to disease or hunger, hopefully they will have life breathed back into them. I do also wish people in North America and other rich countries, would reconsider allowing this machine to run full force until the monsoons, until building must stop, and until there is nothing left for us to do. I wish this story could be more than a success, I wish it could be an enriching tale of the amazing work MCC does with those people the rest of the world has forgotten about. I wish MCC could be the role model in Bangladesh, that light of Christ that shines when the darkness falls.

This is my hope and my prayer, that the victims of this terrible tragedy that was Sidr and the tragedy to come, which is the monsoons, will find support and respite to give them a boost out of the hole of devastation. That someone will keep their promise and shine a light in the darkness to work with the most desperate of people.

May Peace Abide.
Steve.

Visiting the Hills: Views of Baromari

2008-03-09T04:10:00.000-07:00

These photos were taken at Baromari Mission near the Indian border north of Mymensingh in Bangladesh.

This photo is of the reconstruction of a mud house in a village beside Baromari Mission.

This is St. Paul's Parish Church in Baromari Mission, built in 1942.

Baromari Mission has very comfortable accommodations and the sisters' hospitality is to be admired.

Cooking a meal at Baromari Mission (bhat ebong dim). Meals are very tasty and surprisingly varied.

Baromari is a beautiful Catholic Mission situated on the hills mere kilometers from the Indian border. The beauty of the surrounding area makes this Mission something of a retreat within Bangladesh.

Pax.
Steve.

To Have Nothing and Lose it All

2008-03-03T23:29:00.000-08:00

"It is a kingly act to assist the fallen." - Mother Teresa

"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."

This quote is from a post I made following the devastation as cyclone Sidr pummelled the coast of Bangladesh. Since that time, the media attention and awareness of the devastation have waned, but for the people with nothing, the people promised everything and left with nothing, the upcoming reality is grim. I had the fortunate opportunity, along with my parents, to visit MCC Bangladesh's Sidr reconstruction projects in southern Bangladesh. This story will outline the situation we witnessed in the Sherankhola district of Bangladesh.

The home that used to stand on this foundation is gone. Some members of the family who used to live here were probably victims of the storm. The few pieces of tin and straw that would have comprised this house are no more. For months after the storm victims of Sidr's awesome power were found littering the field behind this home. This is what it means to have nothing and lose it all. The images engrained in my memory from this visit to Ward 8 were of plastic huts for houses, boats poking out of the earthen fields far from any water, and people desperately begging MCC to build them houses. People here lost everything in a brutal storm and they are waiting, hoping that someone will come through for them and provide a helping hand, a step up out of the pit.

Emergency relief and aid belongs to the world of politics. Promises are made, money is given, money is used well, money is wasted, promises are kept, promises are broken, and stuck square in the middle of this confusion are the victims. Those people with nothing, the people for whom this aid is destined are the puppets to be thrown around, tugging heartstrings but rarely receiving what they are promised. Millions of dollars have been pledged to rebuild houses destroyed by Sidr, plans are drawn up and districts allotted. The most devastated areas are given to government agencies, because politics is important, and governments need to project a good image. But governments are also beaurocratic black holes, where the money pledged must pass through so many barriers, checks and balances, that the desperately poor victims receive nothing. Such is the case in the Sidr affected areas. Those areas where the devastation was the greatest, are the areas left fending for themselves through the cold and possibly through the coming monsoons. Promised beautiful houses by foreign governments in gestures of goodwill, the people here are becoming cynical. Foreigners come, foreigners leave, promises are made, and they have no assurance that those promises will ever bear fruit. These are the people who need your help!

This is where I will bring MCC into the story. MCC made the decision to provide emergency shelter for as many victims of Sidr as possible. MCC had a plan, politics changed that plan, so MCC made a new plan. MCC made lists of families needing houses in one area, then were told to move to a new area. MCC quickly complied and with the help of dedicated staff (and Matt), MCC started building. Building emergency house I have learned is like running a machine. The right components, the motor, the axles, the drive trains, everything must be in place, and when that happens, presto you have MCC the house building machine. MCC carpenters were putting up over 40 houses per day! MCC's plan involved building 1250 houses, and those houses are now a reality. In less than three months, MCC Bangladesh has built 1250 emergency houses for families devastated by this storm. Driving down the paths in that area was like driving through an exhibition for MCC houses. Little tin MCC built houses on the horizon in every direction. I cannot imagine what this must have been like before any of these houses existed. MCC is building houses faster than any other organization or government I know of in Bangladesh, and this is where you can help!

The MCC Sidr project is a machine running out of gas. The Bangladesh government representatives in the area are taking notice, and MCC is being allowed to work in an area set aside for another group who have not built houses yet. The small tin houses built by MCC are what people in the Sidr affected areas desire as they start to rebuild their lives from scratch. One of the more amazing aspects of this whole operation is that MCC is building houses for less than half the cost of what the Bangladesh government thought it would cost. An MCC built house in the Sidr area costs approximately 20000 Taka or less than $300 per house. MCC is a well oiled machine, trying to go as far as it can on the financial gas it has. Now the reason I am mentioning all of this is in fact what you might think. I will not try to hide my hope that someone out there will not forget about the people here in Bangladesh who lost everything they had. I hope that for those of you who cannot help financially, you will at very least pray for, and think about the people who have been forgotten, like victims of these tragedies around the world.

If you are interested in helping, you can visit the MCC website, mcc.org, and contribute to the rebuilding of houses for Sidr affected victims in Bangladesh.

In Peace.
Steve.

Ki Phol Chai?

2008-03-03T03:34:00.000-08:00

Ki phol chai? What fruits do we wish to see? This was one of the opening questions of our three-day peace training with the Taize-brother sponsored Peace Committee. Literally, the question is one of results; what results do we envision arising not just from the training, but also from our broader communities through our Peace Committee. This question encompasses and arouses a multitude of thoughts and pictures in my mind. The most important is that of a fruit tree. For fruits grow not on their own, but on a plant, a tree, a vine, or a stalk; and that plant grew out of a seed. That seed is what we need to plant, which fruit we wish to plant is important, but the most important thing is to plant the seed, because without the seed, the plant, and therefore the fruit will not have the chance to grow.

The peace training over the last three days has proved an inspiring and strong reminder of the power of community and peacebuilding. Together we discussed topics of creative conflict resolution, compassionate listening, power structures, religious dialogue and human rights. With exciting role-plays, fun games, and lively discussions, days seemed to disappear and the participants were engaged and attentive through it all.

The most insightful moments for me during these sessions were the moments of self-realization. Those precious moments when participants discovered something new about themselves and their relationship to their communities and each other. For instance, the realization that they have power in many situations and they must take care to use that power positively or justly, or the understanding that listening goes deeper than the words people say to the feelings and values underlying those words. The questions raised during these discussions were deep and transformational, questions of ones role in their community, of how power can be used positively, and of how listening can be improved and what to listen for. These insights were a powerful reminder of what our goal is in peace education, but the most important message we transmitted during this training is what I will call Creative Solutions.

Creative Solutions seems pretty straight-forward, looking for new ways to solve a conflict. And that was part of the role-plays we did discussing different solutions to a conflict. In this activity we divided the group into three teams to do a role-play to resolve a village land dispute between brothers. Each team was given the same scenario to develop their own solution. As they presented, the solutions to the conflict seemed to remain the same. Now how is this Creative Solutions if the solutions all seemed the same? The answer lay in the process. Each group found a different way to the same solution, a new path to the same town. The idea that was developed out of this activity was one brother Erik and I have been wanting to develop for some time; the idea that there is not one right path to solve a conflict. Not knowing the answer to a question about peace, or not knowing how to resolve a conflict is not a reflection of one's ability to work for peace, it is a chance to grow together and find a new solution. Peace is not about knowing the right answers, peace is about a common goal and a process for coming together. This was the essential element in freeing us from a feeling of inferiority and inadequacy because we did not have the answers.

Ami ki phol chai? What fruit do I wish to see from this Peace Committee? I hope this Peace Committee comes to an understanding of peace as a wholistic and powerful goal of humanity. A vision for the empowerment of not only Mymensingh, or Bangladesh, but the world.

Shanti.
Steve.

Banderban: A Real Retreat

2008-03-02T04:58:00.000-08:00

We, the MCC expatriate staff in Bangladesh, had a retreat recently, and did I ever need a retreat. After two months of go, go, go, it was time for a rest. Bangladesh is a country of extremes. It is an intense country and the chance to retreat to somewhere away from the crowds, the smells and the noise, was a prayer come true. Shown a picture of Banderban, I would never have placed the location as Bangladesh. Bangladesh is flat, overflowing with people and rice fields. Bangladesh is not a hilly oasis of tribal groups floating down the river and climbing hills with large bundles of wood.

Banderban was the polar opposite of the Bangladesh I have come to know. But it was exactly what I needed. After some frustrating cultural exchanges and Bangladesh induced stress, the sound of birds and the smell of vegetation was a beautiful reminder of the natural beauty of God's creation.

The resort was a little natural paradise. Bamboo huts on stilts, built off the edge of a large hill. A porch and bathroom with a stunning view of the Burma hills, as they are called. The physical beauty and relaxing atmosphere coupled with time to enjoy the excitement of the children and the chance to exercise was empowering.

The theme of our retreat was meditation. Now meditation is not something I had ever given much thought or time too. I always assumed that meditation was not something for me. I should learn better than to think such things! Meditation provides a powerful time for relaxation, a time to be in concert with creation and with myself. The singing and silence during our sessions was a prayer answered and a peace relished. There was nothing I could have wished for more in that time (Bangladeshi saying), than to have the peace, silence, beauty and solitude that Banderban provided.

Shanti.
Steve.

Boluchaura Beauty

2008-02-07T23:13:00.000-08:00

These pictures are of Boluchaura Mission in northern Netrakona District of Bangladesh. They were taken while on a two day visit with a volunteer from France.

Peace.
Steve.

Creativity and Vision

2008-02-06T03:28:00.000-08:00

I have just finished reading a powerful book discussing the art of Peacemaking called The Moral Imagination: The Art and Soul of Building Peace by John Paul Lederach (2005). This book takes an academic approach to the usefulness of artistic and creative processes in the building of peace. It involved a large variety of useful concepts that merit thought and application. But there were two specifically that grabbed me as important in the field of social change, especially in the setting I am in.

The first concept I would like to mention that struck me as powerfully important in viewing the ways in which we as foreigners, with certain goals in mind, approach our work. Our goal should be to avoid "tunnel-vision" (118) at all costs. The word of choice here was "serindipity" (114), a word I will not use because of its complex nature, but the idea was to constantly expect the unexpected. To look peripherally at a problem while maintaining a fixed goal in mind. For me, this equates to understanding the goal, and realizing that the best way to reach that goal is the route that I cannot plan for. In my context this could take many forms, none of which I could explain for precisely the reason they are important... because I have yet to understand them. What is important is that I remember as the "expert" in my context, is that there are hundreds of ways to promote peace, and I must always be ready to listen and step out of the tunnel to find them.

The second idea I wish to share is best described with a quote. "The challenge of the artful connection is how to respect what we create, nurture love for what we do, and bring beauty to what we build, even in the simplest tasks. ...To nurture the artist however does not require becoming whom we are not. The opposite is true. It requires what we pay attention to what already lies within us, within our capacity" (162). This paragraph describing the artist brought me to the heart of what creativity means in the search for peace and justice. Creativity comes from being who we are, but paying attention to the little things about each of us that draws us together. We must allow ourselves to be artists, to be creative in our search for peace; in that creativity we find the unexpected, the new way forward. We are all artists and we can all be peacebuilders, so long as we are not tied down to the formalities of mediation and training methods. Here in Bangladesh this is a risk we run. In trying to develop mediation capabilities in village settings to use in place of the current arbitration system; we risk limiting problem solving to mediation if we do not adequately look for ways to bring out the mediative artists in the community. Those willing to look for a new way, a creative solution, are the real peacebuilders in the community and we need to build this capacity along with any other formal mediation strategies.

As we travel through this river delta of life, there is not one path, but many. Each one is different, yet similarly directed to the sea. In peacebuilding we must not look for the "right" path but for the most scenic and beautiful path to the sea, for that path is the "right" path.

Peace.
Steve.

Rice, Rice, Rice

2008-02-03T20:08:00.000-08:00

Question: What is your favourite food?
Answer: Rice, plain white rice.

I was surprised the first time I heard this response to the question of favourite food. But months later, I see more and more how important rice is to Bangladeshis. I will not make any judgments on whether or not this is a good obsession or not, but I will suffice to say that it does not involve a balanced diet.

I have heard some interesting comments about the rice here in Bangladesh. One was that curry here is only a way to make the rice go down faster. Instead of looking for the curry with some flavour, they just want the rice; the curry is just a method for eating rice. Another comment I hear often is, Bangladeshis cannot go to bed without a full stomach of rice, or they will not sleep. Therefore any Bangladeshi who goes out for fast food or Mexican food, will inevitably follow it up with a plate of rice before going to bed. The importance of rice here will never cease to amaze me!

This love Bangladeshis have of rice can prove to be a problem when crops are lost due to floods and hurricanes. The most often heard complaint I hear these days is "What is with the price of rice? I can't even afford to feed my family!" The price of rice alone, determines the poverty level of many people in this country. But mostly for the very poor. I read stories here of families living in slums eating vegetable peelings from rich neighbourhoods. They used to eat these vegetable peelings with their rice, but with the price of rice as high as it is, they can't even afford the staple food!

So I have eaten lots of rice here. And I am sure that I will continue to do so, everyone remember the importance of rice next time you pop some Rice Krispies in your mouth.

Paz.
Steve.

An Explosion Waiting to Happen

2008-02-03T19:02:00.000-08:00

To say I could see it coming would be a lie, but neither does it surprise me. Today while walking to my house I heard an explosion. It shook the neighbourhood and left me feeling very uneasy. As I continued on to find a rickshaw to take me here I saw a crowd around the welding shop. I didn't need to ask what had happened, I knew that a spark had ignited one of the many barrels of fuel littering the shop and had exploded. I discovered that two people had been inside the shop and there was a great deal of blood outside the entrance.

The background. This shop was a talking point among foreigners I have worked with at Taize. It clearly demonstrated the lack of safety precautions or foresight involved with such a dangerous profession. It was a welding shop, and I see many like it. There are large barrels of fuel sitting beside hot machinery. Noone wears eye protection and often the welding is done outside on the street, creating not only a hazard for employees but also for those of us walking by. Many time I have heard, "This would never be acceptable in...!" whichever country they were from. The pain and loss that will result from this occupational "accident" are unknown to me. Did anyone die? Will they be able to work in the future or be handicapped? Will anything change? One thing I do know is that this brought to mind an idea of poverty and riches I have not put much thought into before.

We in the rich world are constantly decrying the poverty that is caused by sweatshops. Large corporations paying very little to make a profit. Bangladesh is a country with many sweatshops, and I have had brief opportunities to peek inside some. Then I walk down the streets and through the slums, and I wonder what the fuss is about? We are projecting our desire for riches and wealth onto others and forcing them into poverty, yes that is true. But when we decry the situation of the sweatshops, what should our focus be? I am in favour of what some people would call sweatshops! I do not consider them sweatshops, I consider them factories; these are well lit, relatively safe environments where women are paid less than a dollar a day to work. This sounds terrible, and I do not disagree entirely, but what these women have is safety.

Large factories have unions, large factories have the worker base to look out for each other. Small shops, paying slightly more, have nothing. These shops are accidents waiting to happen. The concept of workplace safety is foreign in this country, but something in the sweatshops is better than nothing on the streets. Perhaps working for a shop on the street, you will make a little bit more money. You will be richer than those poor folks in the sweatshops... that is until you are nearly killed or even die in an "accident" which is by no means an accident it is an explosion waiting to happen.

I hope this invites you to think about what the poor need. Do they need money? Yes they need money for food and clothing. But what good does that extra money do them if they are dead? That is the unfortunate reality, and it doesn't happen everyday, but you never know when it will. Let us work together to develop safer, happier socities throughout the world.

Peace.
Steve.

Peace is about Changing Us

2008-01-23T05:14:00.000-08:00

Peace does not happen alone...Peace happens in Community. I cannot force peace upon you, just as you cannot force peace upon me. If I were to attempt to force someone to behave peacefully, and they disagree, then what? My only resort is to violence.

Lasting peace is only possible by changing US; by changing our relationship. By demonstrating the benefits of peace and the security true peace brings, and by building a positive relationship we will increase respect and understanding between us. If WE change instead of changing each other, the antagonism disappears. Conflict between us is the catalyst for change, and when we approach that conflict intentionally and constructively, the change that happens in US will strengthen the peace. If I change and try to force that change upon you, that harmonious peace disappears.

So what is peace? Peace is not the reduction of conflict, or the reduction of anger, it is the happiness and rightness of strengthening OUR relationship. This strengthening of relationships can happen individually, spiritually, comunally, culturally or politically. And those relationships are the foundation on which peace is built. The changing of those relationships is the dynamic of peace in this world.

Peace.
Steve.

Views of the Himals

2008-01-15T05:22:00.000-08:00

These pictures illustrate in bland colours the vistas awaiting travelers to Nepal. The snowcapped mountains of the highest range in the world are nothing short of awe-inspiring. A beauty not adequately captured by my simple photography. I hope you enjoy some of these beautiful views, as you wonder at the power of creation.
Peace.
Steve.

A Modhupur Wedding

2008-01-13T03:52:00.000-08:00

So I went to a Christian, village wedding. It seems like every event I go to is in a tribal village, which is a blast! This was my first Christian wedding in Bangladesh, and an interesting one is was. To start, we had to get to the village, riding on the back of a motorcycle across a bombed out field (used as a practice bombing range by the Bangladesh Airforce) then on to the bride's home we went, just in time to follow the procession of drum-wielding youth down the long path to the groom's home. This is one of the cultural traditions here. The groom's family and friends come to the bride's home for a party before bringing her back to the groom's home for another party. A symbolic parting of families, in a culture where family is vital. The party at the groom's home. The groom Linkon, my friend's cousin, and his bride-to-be began the festivities with traditional Mandi dancing, in a circle, and the festivities lasted long into the night.

After crashing past 2am I rose the next morning to a plate full of rice and pork fat in a curry (they call it pork). Following breakfast we watched the preparation of the wedding feast. The pigs and chickens had to be prepared, as did the curries and the rice, a feast for all the villages around, numbering almost 1000 people. The wedding was a fairly typical affair, typical that is for Bangladesh. Neither the bride nor the groom ever looked up at the guests, the only physical contact included holding hands to exchange wedding bands and the only speaking was the repetition of the vows. Besides the upholding of these cultural norms, the ceremony was quite typical, despite being outside surrounded by the mud walls of the family home.

Following the ceremony was the meal. A huge meal of pork and chicken curries with rice. As per usual, the only "vegetable" was potatoes and even that I had to ask for because I had not eaten a vegetable since early the last day. Because of their special status guests are served meat as it is expensive and a privilege to eat. Despite the fact that I would much prefer lots of vegetables with a little meat to the meat extravaganza I ate. After the meal, gifts were given to the guests and each received pan (a common chewed leaf like chewing tobacco). After the gifts were given we departed, having thoroughly enjoyed my first Modhupur Wedding.

Peace.
Steve.

New Year, New Challenges

2008-01-08T02:17:00.000-08:00

A New Year has come and I am in Bangladesh, still. The first year, or actually half year, of our work as the Taize Peace Team is finished, and despite the many challenges of Holidays and Exams, we managed to visit all of the schools at least 3 times and start a program at the Bihari Camp. For a group of busy students and teachers, we have started slowly but started well. I am excited for this new year, as new programs are added to our schedule and more people will be affected by our message of Peace. What is peace? We are slowly learning to answer this question ourselves, and we are challenging others to seek the answer themselves. Keep us in your thoughts as you go forward this New Year. That we can show the benefits of Peace and Justice to the people we meet here in Bangladesh.

En Paix.
Steve.

The Excitement of Newcomers

2008-01-08T01:52:00.000-08:00

I have the privilege here in Bangladesh to witness the changes that occur to people as they move through the stages of Bangladeshi culture shock. I heard an acronym recently that has so far described Bangladesh for most of us, and it goes like this T.I.B. (This Is Bangladesh!). For each individual aspects of Bangladesh come with different reactions and different levels of confusion. But there are a few comments which come as a shock to even our guests from outside of North America and Europe.

The first comment from a recent arrival to Bangladesh is about the traffic. Everyone is amazed that we have lasted as long as we have. They cannot understand the system and strongly claim that they will not leave where they are staying because it is too dangerous. That of course, changes within a week or two, and people are out enjoying the streets and the joys of being out in Bangladesh.

The second comment most often heard is in regard to men and boys holding hands and placing their hands on each others shoulders. In the places from which we come, that would be assumed an act of a homosexual nature, but not in Bangladesh. It is a natural gesture between friends to walk down the street holding hands, and I must admit to having done that a few times (never initiated by me).

The third comment comes in many forms but usually involves the "disgusting" nature of Bangladeshi expulsions. Burps are often indicators of a good meal being well digested, and clearing of the lungs, throat and mouth of mucus in a very raucous manner before proceeding to spit the glob as far as humanly possible is a very common sight. And for men, it is not uncommon to see men lined up by the sewers on the sides of the road relieving themselves. This combination of normally private, or "rude" behaviours catches most newcomers off guards and they have some fearful reactions to Bangladeshis who act in such a "vulgar" manner. To be clear, in North America Bangladeshis acting in this manner would be considered vulgar and rude, but we are not in North America, and in Bangladesh that's the way they do things.

I guess that's the best explanation to newcomers to Bangladesh. That's how they do things. This is the way things work in Bangladesh. If it's got wheels, it's on the road carrying passengers as a form of public transit. If it's someone else's trash you'll find it resold in the market the next day. If you can't import it, they'll make it. T.I.B. This Is Bangladesh!

Peace.
Steve.

The Mountain Air

2008-01-01T23:41:00.001-08:00

To those of you who are wondering if we were walking in the Himalayas, I'm sorry to say the answer is, no we weren't. I'm not sure I would have survived that kind of altitude change so quickly, and so for my health we kept to the "little hills". For me, coming from the unending monotony of flat, which is the country of Bangladesh (Mymensingh is 35 feet above sea level, and about 400 km from the sea). Even the small foothills of the Himalayas surrounding Kathmandu were an impressive sight for me. Philip and I did do a two day walk, although our distances would not indicate only two days. We spent the first day walking around an ancient city which charges exorbitant prices for foreigners to even walk through to the other side. Then we followed roads and trails up a hill to the gorgeous temple of Changu Narayan, a World Heritage Site. It was here that we ate a small lunch of crackers and water, before hiking the next section of trail on the road to Nagarkot. Nagarkot is situated at the top of the hill, and is a tourist attraction because of its beautiful morning scenery and views of the Himalayas snowcapped peaks. Unfortunately for us, the timing of our foray into Nepal coincides with the time when fog often shrouds the views of the Himalayas, but that did not stop us from witnessing some spectacular views. The last 9 km climb into Nagarkot is straight up a small hill, the entire way. And by the time we reached the village having covered some 22 km or so that day, we made our way to one of the many guest houses lining the town at the top of the hill.

Following a beautiful evening and morning on the mountain, surrounded by some of the most majestic mountains on God's great earth, we walked on to Botechaur, where unlike the guidebooks all agree, there is no guest house. And so on we walked. The path from Botechaur was likely the most grueling climb I have ever done. The trail climbed over 600 vertical meters in the space of less than two kilometers. The physical strength of the inhabitants of this land astounds me. We climbed, and climbed, and climbed, stopping many times to catch our breaths but never long enough to sit down, for fear we wouldn't reach the top. But the views were astounding. Having brought enough gear that we could, if need be, sleep on top of the small hill, which I bought just before Botechaur, we walked all the way on to Sundarijal. The descent down the hill was much more gradual than the climb up, and provided good views, but for two exhausted boys, some of them may have been lost a little bit. The final descent into Sundarijal proved one of the toughest of my physical exploits ever. After approximately 40 km of walking in two days, we needed to descend the last few kilometers down rough stairs hewn into the valley, as the sun was setting and our way become less visible. Our legs were shaking uncontrollably but we were nearly there, and as we finally walked in the near dark into Sundarijal and I bargained a taxi price, we both felt an unbelievable feeling of accomplishment.

We climbed into the mountain air, and the hills did not defeat us. We saw the beauty of the surroundings and our bodies did the rest. On a side note, we were so exhausted the next day that we slept most of the day.

Peace.
Steve.

Beauty and Grandeur

2008-01-01T02:10:00.000-08:00

Here we are in the gorgeous country of Nepal, in Kathmandu Valley. The greatest peaks in the world, obscured by the winter mist, we look to the hills and know we are in a majestic place. There is no mistaking the beauty of this land, despite the invisibility of the Himals, the architecture and people bring this country alive.

What were my first impressions of this country? It is serenely beautiful, mystically empowering, yet full of secrets and dichotomies. The traffic driving through the valley was what I saw first, and I knew immediately I was in a new place. The traffic was dense, yet civilized; drivers obeyed traffic signals and there was patience shown by our driver. The traffic here in Nepal is quieter, and not quite as busy, but still chaotic.

The next impression I will mention is the architecture. The architecture in Nepal and especially Kathmandu is stunningly gorgeous in comparison to the very plain and simple designs of Bangladesh. Window frames are almost as intricately carved as their attending shutters. Ornately carved wells are common sights throughout older areas of the valley, figureheads carved out of stone deep in a hole, surrounded by walls of carvings and graffiti. Pagodas and Temples, sights of worship for Nepal’s most common religions, Buddhism and Hinduism, are ornately decorated, beautiful pieces of architecture. And in my naïveté, as a lay-tourist, these architectural designs have an appeal, a draw, much beyond any religious connotations and religious ceremonies for which they are still used. But probably the most stunning image of architectural beauty is simultaneously the saddest reality of this country, its buildings decaying and rundown give an air of historical beauty. Walls, barely standing with intricately carved windows, inject the surroundings with the sense of past glory. The downside to this beauty is the obvious poverty in which the inhabitants of these buildings live. The dangerous instability of the structures and the cold chill the winter months bring.

The third impression I was struck by in this beautiful country was the lack of people. Even in the capital, the bustling centre of Kathmandu, the people seemed to flow in a calm current. It was not the raging torrent of people I often feel in Bangladesh. The people here are calm, collected and used to waiting for hours for anything to happen. The other aspect of the people I noticed has its positives and negatives. Foreigners are common in this country. I was shocked by how many foreigners I saw, and was even more shocked when told that this not the tourist season and the numbers were actually very low. In a place where I am used to knowing all the foreigners I see because there are so few, being in this country with tourist attractions and tourist infrastructure was really nice, but it also has its downside. The price of things are double, triple, quadruple, the price for the Nepalese, just to enter a city could cost $10 per person. The tourist influx which will not likely materialize in Bangladesh for the next little while, will keep the cost of goods very low, and make living there one of the cheapest places in the world.

Nepal, being only a short plane hop away from Bangladesh, has its similarities and its differences. It is naturally one of the most stunningly beautiful countries I have ever seen. It is a wonderful destination and a relaxing holiday, a place I will not soon forget.

Shanti,
Steve.

True Hospitality

2008-01-01T01:53:00.000-08:00

Written by: Philip Rempel

My Christmas was slightly different from Steven’s. There I was all ready to go for Christmas in the mission. I had my sweater incase it got cold and I was ready for anything, so I thought. My body decided that this was the time it was going to react to the food I had been eating, which was very different than my regular diet. I got to Asheesh’s family and there house and decided it was time for a nap. They gave me a nice bed full of blankets and pillows where I could start to fend off this sickness. That was extremely kind of them to begin with. Then my body began to fever, and with this they brought me water, and tried to keep me from overheating as best they knew how. They even went out of there way to buy bottled water, which is expensive, for this foreigner. Along with Steven’s experience with the food they kept offering me food. I wasn’t feeling hungry and so I felt bad about that. Then I slept a while longer, with people constantly checking to see if I was okay, and checking to see if I felt warm or if it was getting better. Then I started to get some bowel issues from the food and probably water, and as soon as that started they went into overdrive because of how many people die from diarrhea. They went and got saline and boiled water to put it into, and got me drugs to harden my bowels. This isn’t exactly cheap stuff for them, but they wouldn’t let my brother or I pay for any of this, and when I drank the saline too fast and threw up all over there nicely cleaned mud floors they wouldn’t even let Steve or I clean it up. They kept making sure I was alright, and when I started getting better they made food that would be good for my body, without being deepfried and some cooked vegetables. Their hospitality for this white foreigner was incredible. They made me feel like I was worth something and that it is true that every creature God created has a place. There love and caring will not soon be forgotten by me.

Philip.

A Bangladeshi Village Christmas

2008-01-01T01:45:00.000-08:00

Christmas 2007 is a Christmas I will likely never forget. Instead of snow, Christmas decorations, trees, lights and cookies, there were mud houses, warm welcomes, banana trees, no electricity, and crepe-like sweets. Philip and I went with my friend Asheesh to visit his home village of Jolchatro in the Modhupur district of Bangladesh. His home, like all homes in the area, is a mud structure, without electricity and his father is a farmer. These poor, tribal farmers, are one of the few groups of Christians in Bangladesh, and hence, they are one of the few people to celebrate Christmas.

Christmas at Jolchatro had a distinctly Mandi touch. None of the traditional Christmas carols are sung, and the Christmas traditions are not similar to anything I have experienced before. We were joined by a group of Japanese from Dhaka, who were all living in Bangladesh and very proficient in their Bengali. We spent a few minutes learning Mandi greetings and sentences, while drinking tea and eating a snack. Then we went for a walk before returning only a mere hour later to eat a wonderful dinner prepared by Asheesh’s mother. After dinner late on Christmas eve, we went and were joined by a few more men and women and with a couple drums our group of 15 walked to a neighbouring house.

So began a tradition, which I thoroughly enjoyed. To call people into community, we started singing and dancing in the courtyard of the first house. And as the music rose, the family inside finished preparations, came out and joined the circle, after another song or two, we all moved on to the next house; and so again began the singing and dancing, until we could no longer fit into the courtyards of these tiny mud dwellings.

Singing and dancing was an experience of complete joy, here in the middle of impoverished Bangladesh. And dancing not individually but together, stepping in unison as we slowly twirled in a circle, letting our voices raise to heaven. This display of joy, happiness, and unity brought tears of joy to my eyes. These people, living in poverty we can hardly imagine, are always so seemingly happy, so joyful, and so ready for a party. They are ready to sing, to dance and to enjoy life to the fullest especially at this time of Christmas.

As midnight approached the large crowd dispersed and everyone changed into their Christmas finery and walked to Jolchatro Mission for midnight Mass. Midnight Mass was beautiful, candles lit up the room as the electricity in the room died and the room was plunged into a glorious half-light as people sang joyous songs to celebrate Christmas.

The following day, Christmas day, began a slow morning, very typical of village life in Bangladesh. And after much visiting and sitting in the warmth of the sun looking over the fields and banana trees. We went for lunch at another house. The meal consisted of meat, a rarity in poor families around the world, and not just meat, but pork. Pork is not eaten by Muslims and so it is virtually impossible to find in Bangladesh, and these rural Mandi villages are the only places I ever have the joy of eating pork. But on this day, the pork proved a little bit too much for me! For in celebration of Christmas day, they had cooked three different kinds of pork curries. These were eaten with everyone’s favourite food group, rice. Vegetables were nowhere to be found on the menu. By late afternoon, Philip and I were on our way back to Mymensingh in an overcrowded bus, and crashed early, neither of us particularly wanting dinner.

Christmas in Jolchatro was an experience not to be forgotten. It was not in any manner a stereotypical Christmas. But it was a Christmas filled with happiness, joy, dancing and new experiences. Merry Christmas to all, and a Happy New Year (from Nepal)!

Peace.
Steve.

First Aid and Prevention

2007-12-16T03:20:00.000-08:00

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.

When Violence Worked

2007-12-16T03:03:00.000-08:00

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 Pain of Dishonesty

2007-12-12T00:41:00.000-08:00

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.

The Power of Faith, The Radiance of Light

2007-12-03T21:40:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-03T20:43:00.000-08:00

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.

Something We Can Never Understand

2007-12-01T00:04:00.000-08:00

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.

Like Little Fish in a Can

2007-11-26T01:17:00.000-08:00

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.

Untold Stories from Cyclone Sidr

2007-11-19T21:27:00.000-08:00

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.

Wind and Water

2007-11-18T06:00:00.000-08:00

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.

Staring at Walls

2007-11-13T07:10:00.000-08:00

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.

Stories in a Taxi

2007-11-13T06:43:00.000-08:00

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.

My Bangladesh Quiz

2007-11-12T01:05:00.000-08:00

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.

On Monkeys and Lunches

2007-11-12T00:15:00.000-08:00

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.

God Is Forgiveness

2007-11-09T00:34:00.000-08:00

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.

"It's Something We Knew Nothing About"

2007-11-07T21:17:00.000-08:00

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.

Giving the Gift of Love

2007-10-31T07:34:00.002-07:00

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.

A Prayer for Mamoon

2007-10-30T01:02:00.000-07:00

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.

Peace in the Silence, Peace in the Song

2007-10-28T00:53:00.000-07:00

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.

Successful Picture Upload

2007-10-26T05:03:00.000-07:00

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.

Partying Village-Style

2007-10-26T03:47:00.000-07:00

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.

Pictures

2007-10-25T05:35:00.000-07:00

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.

Retreat to Srimongol

2007-10-13T07:39:00.000-07:00

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.

In Love There Is Hope

2007-10-13T07:24:00.000-07:00

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.

Jesus Compassion

2007-10-12T23:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Once Again Wading Through Water

2007-10-09T08:17:00.000-07:00

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.

Living in Community

2007-10-08T00:35:00.000-07:00

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.

"Ji Sir" Teaching in Action

2007-10-01T01:56:00.000-07:00

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.

Rules of the Road

2007-10-01T01:02:00.000-07:00

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.

Wading Through Water

2007-09-27T03:24:00.000-07:00

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.

The Beauty of the Land

2007-09-27T02:49:00.000-07:00

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.

Language Breakthrough

2007-09-26T00:13:00.000-07:00

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.

Breakfast Anyone?

2007-09-18T02:15:00.000-07:00

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.

Knee Deep in Water

2007-09-18T01:38:00.000-07:00

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.

Violence des Pacifiques

2007-09-16T03:49:00.000-07:00

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.

Prayer Requests

2007-09-12T23:06:00.000-07:00

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.

A Traditional Curry

2007-09-12T22:58:00.000-07:00

Written: September 12, 2007
Warning: Entry makes reference to harming of animals.

Tonight I learned how to make a traditional Bangladeshi chicken curry. I will not detail the spices as that is for my return whe I shall happily oblige to prepare occasional Bangladeshi meals. In Bangladesh, chicken curry requires purchasing a chicken, an expensive feat for very scarce meat. Then, sparing details, the chicken was killed and we returned to the house to prepare the chicken. We plucked and cleaned the bird in Supar's house and then two curries were prepared. First, a chicken and potato curry and second, a traditional curry. The chicken curry contained the chicken meat and potatoes, while the traditional curry contained salt, water, ginger and the remaining parts of the chicken. Both curries were a wonderful treat, and seeing the preparation of the meal was a new experience for me; so my best regards go out to Supar for tonights traditional curry.

In Peace.
Steve.

Aro bhat lagbe?

2007-09-12T22:41:00.000-07:00

Title: Would you like to have more rice?
Written: September 11, 2007

This evening at dinner, the words of my Bengali teacher Ms. Naht came to life. This morning, after buying a few vegetables, she explained the effects of flooding in Bangladesh and how it was increasing the price of food. Bangladesh is experiencing its second round of floods. In the last two months Bangladesh has been inundated twice and many farmers have now lost their second round of crops. The effects of this seem to have spread to my dinner table tonight.

I will place my description of dinner in context. Dinner at Taize is always simple, bhat ar shobji (rice and vegetables), and only one plate per person. Today I observed a noticeable decrease in the amount of rice as I passed the warm metal plates around the circle of boys, all laughing and joking together. When I received my plate, after attempting to pass it on as a result of my inattention, I gazed at my plate and noted something shocking. Today, curry consisted of only potatoes (alu tarkuri) and I realized that I could count on my fingers, the number of small potato pieces on my plate. My meal tonight was small, not at all balanced and yet I appreciated every single piece of rice on that plate, so much more than I ever would have in Canada.

In reflecting on this experience I wish to note a few realizations I had. The most powerful realization I had today, and this likely will sound odd, is that malnutrition and famine can remain entirely hidden from wealthy individuals around the world. At the moment in Bangladesh there is still food, for those who can afford it. But prices are climbing and as fears of flooding grow, so do fears of being unable to afford good food. The world will always have food for the wealthy; those who can import whatever it is that they need. Already, vegetables are expensive enough that at Taize they cannot afford enough vegetables to eat a balanced diet every day, never mind the lack of protein. I feel fully blessed not to be excluded from this position because of my "white privilege". Which brings me to my second thought, that my "white privilege" means that any time I am not getting a proper balanced diet I can go eat at a restaurant or buy vitamin supplements. It is my wealthy, white privilege which allows this. And there I face a challenging reality, I am playing the "white privilege" card in this game of life, in order to ensure I stay healthy when millions of people around the world and in this very country, cannot afford enough rice to feed their families. My final realization is also very obvious, food shortage can strike quickly and has to do with both what people are eating as well has how much. If prices inflate so rapidly that all people are eating is rice, they will not get the nutrition they require. This has been noted in the newspapers as a reality already now in some areas, and if the flooding increases and is prolonged, this reality could become even more pronounced.

End note: In this piece I have referred to the word famine. This word is not descriptive of the current situation for most people in Bangladesh. I use the word not in a scientific, nor a political manner, but as the most descriptive term I can use in an attempt to describe my experiences.

In Peace.
Steve.

Shared Space

2007-09-10T01:52:00.000-07:00

Occasionally metaphors of Bangladesh become glaringly apparent, and one that often comes to mind is a picture of a little stone in a bag of rice. I am that little stone, out of place, in this sea of rice. Everywhere I turn I see rice, not other stones, I see wonderful people all around. I realize increasingly each day that I am not the rice, and I never will be the rice, but I enjoy being with the rice. Sometimes though, the rice all around is suffocating, I long for the open field, I look for a place for myself, and I find that place in prayer.

Here in Bangladesh, people are everywhere, and everyone wants to be my friend. Privacy is in many regards a foreign concept, and everyone knows who you were with and what you were doing. I know this is not my space, it is their space, and I am but a guest in this space; it is a shared space. Together all Bangladeshis and Bideshis, together, share the little physical space available in this country, and though this is a challenge it is also a blessing. It is a lesson in sharing and a lesson in finding peace in the crowded space; and finding peace in the shared space.

Shantite. (Bengali for In Peace)
Steve.

East Meets West

2007-09-07T01:11:00.000-07:00

Eats meets West, a musical, cultural experience, was a joint concert between British Saxophonist Andrew and Bangladeshi Guitarist and Vocalist Arnob. This fundraiser was held in Gulshan, the most upscale area of Bangladesh, in a posh restaurant decorated with lights on trees, red chair covers and lots of rich individuals. This concert, in support of a hostel for abused women and children led by the Bangladeshi Women Lawyers Association, was a wonderful experience and very different from the poverty of surrounding Dhaka. Arnob, is the son of a Prokritee staff and so we attended this concert to watch him. The music, I would describe as a blend of folk, pop, and modern Western influence, mixed with Bengali vocals. It consisted of many traditional Bengali folk tunes and Arnob songs with a saxophone twist. This experience was one of rich, privileged individuals coming together for a good cause, but a far cry from the simple living of the Taize in Mymensingh. The different faces of this country will be ever appearing.
Paz.
Steve.

Running Through Mud

2007-09-04T02:37:00.000-07:00

Chuti! Tumi futbol kelo? Tik, ami futbol kelte porchundo kori. (Holiday! Do you want to play soccer? Yes, I love playing soccer) Today was an early morning of intense football (soccer) action. The Taize boys invited me to play with them after morning prayers and breakfast. And down to the field we went, barefoot, sludging through the shin deep mud to the pitch (field). Teams were created and the barefoot game of football began. Slipping, sliding, the ball coming to rest squarely in a puddle of mud as the players all went skidding by, the joy of the international game. It seems that anywhere I go, football is the common game played by young people, and what a game it was. With a final tied score and a phenomenal free kick goal, this mornings football extravaganza could not have ended any better. The joy of learning, making new friends, and running through mud.
Peace.
Steve.

Living In Water - Glimpses of Poverty

2007-09-03T01:50:00.000-07:00

How is peace possible in the face of such iniquity? Today in The Daily Star newspaper it was stated that Sheikh Hasina, previous Prime Minister of Bangladesh was sued for Taka 3 crore graft (30 million Taka), and each and every day, new allegations are brought against business owners and government officials involved in corruption and financial scandals in the country of Bangladesh. This to demonstrate the gross inequality of rich and poor in this nation.
Upon taking the train from Dhaka to Mymensingh, some areas of intense poverty are visible within Dhaka. The living conditions are apalling. Houses (if they can even be called such), are often smaller than the majority of North American camping tents. Haphazardly constructed beside the railway tracks, many of these dwellings are constructed of jute, newspaper, magazines and ripped tarpaulines. They are between 3 and 5 feet tall and many had 4 or 5 people in them, even during the day. Cooking was done outside, and these dwellings, perhaps 4 feet by 6 feet in surface area were packed together like a game of Tetris. The North American joke about "living in a cardboard box" takes on new meaning in this situation where a cardboard box is no bigger or more luxurious than the places these families call home. The larger houses, built of corrugated iron, often bordered small ponds and are prone, each year to flooding and destruction, yet this source of unsafe drinking water is a necessity for these families. Safety is relative in these hellish conditions, as young children and toddlers could often be seen playing on railway tracks as trains come and go. How often, I wonder, must children here unnecessarily die because they have no safe place to play.
As I reflect on this ugly reality I face every day, I wonder what could the solution be? In a place of such extremes, where is love and empathy, and how can I, a lone individual do anything to show love and empathy to these thousands upon thousands of starving, destitute people? I cannot meet each of them, I cannot give them all food, or shelter, sometimes I wonder if the only solution is to pray, and to advocate systematic change, from the smallest, rural village, to the sprawling capital of Dhaka. To know the situation these people face, not by choice, nor by any flaw of character; is to know that change is vital, and that relationships, love and knowledge are they beginnings to a more just, sustainable society, in Bangladesh, in Canada, and globally.
En Paix. (French: In Peace)
Steve.

The Noonday Sun

2007-09-01T05:03:00.000-07:00

My return to Dhaka for the weekend has been quite the shift from nearly two weeks in Mymensingh. The highspeed internet, expensive coffee shops, expensive CNG's (taxis) and the showers. The heat here is more intense than Mymensingh although most places have air conditioning which makes it bearable. I come here and realize how glad I am to be living in the simplicity of Mymensingh, the ebb and flow of life by the river, ricksha's downtown to buy sandals, fruit and clothing (I had two pairs of pants and two short sleeved shirts tailored). Mymensingh has the peace of Taize prayers and the quiet nights in my room. I am glad for friends here in Bangladesh, for Supar, Hilton, Max, Ashish and Simol. I am glad to be in Mymensingh where English is uncommon and Bengali will be easier to learn. But for this weekend I am spending in Dhaka I am thankful for the people I met. The new country representative's from MCC to Bangladesh Gayle and Larry Alderfer-Fisher and their daughters Fay and Annika are wonderful people and I will be happy to work with them. Ethel and Jerry have been so kind to us and I am excited to plan a Global Families learning tour from North America to Bangladesh in June 2008. There are many challenges ahead this year I know, but I see so many opportunities, only two weeks into this experience to get involved and work with people at something new and exciting. Even working in the Peace program with MCC will be a huge blessing, to be involved in this new and emerging field in the life of MCC Bangladesh. I am excited for this partnership to grow and to learn and be changed for the better.
In Peace.
Steve.

Experiential Learning

2007-08-26T04:02:00.000-07:00

Written: August 26, 2007

So Bangladesh is a wonderful place. But I will admit it has it's challenges. For over two days I had no power in my room because I blew a breaker and could not get an electrician because it was the weekend. The heat without a fan was challenging to bear. I was expected when I arrived to figure out my own breakfasts, and noone told me where to find clean water or where was a good place to buy breakfast or eat something. I asked and found a tube well, and found a good little restaurant near my house with good cha and chapati. At lunch I was in a house, after the first day without anyone who knew English. My bangla for eating, what I enjoy and talking about my family has improved quite rapidly out of necessity. Today, I went to the shopping district alone to buy sandals, cloth for new clothes and an umbrella, and my little Bangla served me quite well. I am now at the point where I feel confident in this country, after only a week. My Bangla learning from Ms. Naht is wonderful and important, as it is more complicated, proper Bangla. But my proficiency with getting around the country, is quite quickly coming from experience. The best way to learn a culture and learn a way of life is to get out and experience it, not to sit and study it. A lesson to all you aspiring cross-cultural adventure seekers.
In peace.
Steve.

Where is the Peace?

2007-08-26T03:58:00.000-07:00

Written: August 23, 2007

Today in Dhaka the city was under curfew, no gatherings allowed and noone was allowed onto the streets or they were questioned by the military, and there have also been many arrests recently. I wonder; what does peace mean in this context? Accepting the status quoo or pushing for change? For one, peace requires dialogue. And if the part5ies are past dialogue? Two, peace requires other methods of resolution to problems. And if people are not willing to change from their established ways? How can beace be assured in this context?
In peace.
Steve.

PS See linked stories for details of Bangladeshi political situation and curfew details.

Mymensingh Thake (Living in Mymensingh)

2007-08-26T03:52:00.000-07:00

Written: August 22, 2007

We arrived in Mymensingh and met our English teacher Ms. Naht. We had tea with her before I went to eat lunch with the pastor's family. The food in Bangladesh is spicy but not unbearable, unlike the humidity. Paper is damp in my room from the humidity. And in speaking of my room I will describe it for you. It is a squre room, fairly large, about 15 feet across. I have not yet furnished it so there is a metal bed with wooden slats for the mattress. On top is a small 1" thick padded mat and a sheet. There is a mosquito net above the bed. A small table has been moved inth the corner and my bathroom is just off my outer walkway. My bathroom is about 3 feet by 6 feet, with no sink or shower, only a bucket for showering and washing hands and a porcelain squatting toilet. I do have power in the room, 2 lights, a fan, and one outlet, which I haven't had working yet. ON the floor is a grass mat and a small carpet. I have 3 windows which I keep closed for privacy because otherwise I can see into other peopl's houses. Living here is very simple, which is a lesson I am excited to learn. Matt and I have Bangla lessons 6 days a week for 2 hours each day with Ms. Naht and a 1 hour tutoring session with Hilton starting in September. Soon I will have a less factual, more reflective post.
Peace.
Steve.

First Impressions

2007-08-26T03:46:00.000-07:00

Written: August 20, 2007

Returning to Bangladesh is a wonderful feeling, I'm really excited to spend this year here. Today Matt and I explored Prokritee (The Source) gift shop and Aarong Dept. store to kill some time. Looking at things is very different when you know you have a year to get whatever you need. Matt and I slept through when we were supposed to get out cell phones and hopefully tonight we will sleep well. The intensity of the country comes flooding back. The heat and humidity is pretty intense, with temperatures around 34 degrees Celcius with fans running and nearly 100% humidity. Tonight has been relaxing, I have been going over some Bangla books we received and am preparing to move up to Mymensingh. Dinner tonight was the spiciest dish of soup and vegetables I've had in months; hopefully my stomach accustomizes quickly. So far I'm doing great and am excited for this adventure.
Peace.
Steve.

Safely in Bangladesh

2007-08-19T21:53:00.000-07:00

After many hours in transit Matt and I arrived safely in Bangladesh at just before 7 this morning. It is a sunny day today and quite humid. Bangladesh is essentially as I remember it, crowded, intense and exciting. I'm thoroughly looking forward to this challenging year ahead. So starts the adventure. Tomorrow we leave for Mymensingh (August 21) to start language training and meet with the Taize Brothers. I am excited for all the new adventures coming my way.
Peace.
Steve.

Preparing to Depart

2007-08-17T17:09:00.001-07:00

Greetings,
Now that my passport is back in my possession and I have my flight itinerary and tickets all seems ready to go. With the IVEPers off to their host families throughout Canada and the US the orientation group feels very small and different. People seem to be getting really excited for their flights tomorrow. An apology for my previous entry, the plan was for it to be much longer and more involved and to talk about the stresses around waiting and being unsure of whether or not I would be travelling when, as if in answer to prayer, our passports arrived and I had to deal with the rest of my passport stuff. This will be my last post before I leave the continent and therefore I am unsure of when my next post will be. Keep updated.
Peace.
Steve.

Lesson in Patience

2007-08-17T13:02:00.000-07:00

I am learning a lesson today in patience. Matt and my passports have not returned from the Bangladeshi embassy to get our visas stamped. We are supposed to leave tomorrow evening for London. And as I write this the passports have arrived. What a joy.

Community of Service

2007-08-14T19:22:00.000-07:00

It is such a unique opportunity to be in such a large group of people committed to service and growth in the name of peace and faith. Discussions abound in this orientation and the real learning comes not from the sessions but from discussions between SALTers and IVEPers and within our groups. Discussions of faith, of fears, of challenges, of joys; this is an opportunity to join together with other young people who love to give, who love to serve. It was a wonderful discussion I had with my table this evening at dinner surrounding expectations of our years, and what it is we hope to accomplish and how our lives need to be testaments of our faith. It is wonderful to develop relationships even prior to getting to our assignment, and to know that there are others who are going to face the same joys and challenges as I will in this coming year.
In Peace.
Steve.

The Journey Begins

2007-08-13T05:19:00.000-07:00

Greetings,
Our time in Akron has begun. I am beginning to meet and talk with many of my fellow IVEPers (coming to NA from countries around the world) and other fellow SALTers (going to many of the same countries). As this week progresses I feel many wonderful discussion will take place. I met the other Bangladesh SALTer named Matt who will be working in Dhaka and I will probably be doing some travelling with. Each day we have hours to sing, talk, play, and grow as a multicultural, multifaceted group. This is a wonderful exposure to the world around us in a very open, and inviting setting. As we continue through this week I see many opportunities for growth and learning to take place between IVEPers and SALTers, what an experience!
Peace.
Steve.

Mohamadpur Flooding

2007-08-10T18:26:00.000-07:00

This is my last post before Akron,
I was looking online and found this image of Mohamadpur, Dhaka. This is the area in which the MCC offices are located. This was as of a few days ago when ricksha's were the only mode of transportation in the area. Looking forward to this physical challenge to start off my term.
Peace.
Steve.

2007-08-09T21:00:00.000-07:00

One day left before Orientation and the situation in Bangladesh remains challenging at best. I discovered today that Mohamadpur, Dhaka, is a few feet underwater. This is the area in which MCC has its offices and guest house in Dhaka. I imagine the flooding at the moment is only going to make life more challenging for many Bangladeshis this coming year. Disease and homelessness is rampant (over 9 million people have been displaced to date), and moving around the country is dangerous and very difficult. I think Wading Through Water may be a very apt description of the beginning of this adventure. I pray for safety and learning.
In Peace.
Steve.