Rozina

There’s a story that I haven’t told. Of Rozina. I don’t know why I haven’t told it. Perhaps it is because my feelings about Rozina were too raw. Perhaps it is because I couldn’t find the words. Probably because I thought the story incomplete. However, recent developments have inspired me to share this beautiful little girl with you all… even though I won’t be able to do her justice.

***

Rozina and her mother – Ferdousy – spend their days outside a posh hotel. They are beggars. My first interaction with the family consisted of Ferdousy holding her hand out for money while Rozina motioned her hand to her mouth indicating, in that clear sign language used by all of Bangladesh’s homeless children, that she was hungry. Wanting to acknowledge their presence, but not give them any money, I simply smiled at the child and shook both their hands. This became our little routine for the next few days until they eventually stopped asking for money and would simply run up to say hello each time I went between our van and the hotel entrance.

But that was extent of our relationship. To me (I shamefully admit) Rozina and Ferdousy were just two in a nameless, faceless sea of Bangladesh’s beggar population.

On the day I left Bangladesh, Vanessa, Riton, Jason, and I went out for breakfast, deciding to invite Ferdousy, Rozina, and two young boys who also made their living in front of the hotel. It took us a while to find a restaurant that would accept our eclectic party. When we did, the restaurant staff treated our dear friends with the utmost respect (thank you to The Lord’s Inn Restaurant for the kindness you showed).

We instructed our guests to each order whatever they wanted off of the menu. Rozina wanted chicken curry and fresh squeezed juice, but when my toast with marmalade arrived, her eyes got wide. So I bid goodbye to my toast and shuttled it down to her end of the table. She quickly finished it, along with her juice, and got started on her chicken and vegetables with flat bread. An omelette arrived at the table. Again, this was handed down to Rozina who wolfed it down along with a second cup of juice. Back she went to her chicken and vegetables, this time pausing between bites to lean back in her chair, groan, roll her eyes, and sway her head in nauseating circles. Everyone at the table leaned forward waiting for the small four-year old to either faint or toss her cookies. But each time we asked if she was okay, she would smile, nod yes, and resume her task. She put more rice on her plate. More bread. When tea was brought to the table, she requested a glass of hot milk. Without stopping for breath, she finished the glass, leaving a wide, white ring around her mouth. Riton poured her a second glass. Finished. By the time she started on her third glass, our table had attracted an audience, eagerly waiting to see what Rozina would eat next. As the little girl slammed her final glass on the table in satisfaction, my heart swelled and broke at the same time. We had given her a good day and a lasting memory, but it wasn’t enough. One good day will not break the pattern of poverty that she has been born into.

With Riton and Jason as our guides, Vanessa and I continued our day as tourists, no longer volunteers. As we shopped, the four of us selected outfits for our friends back at the hotel. Shorts, shirts, and sandals for the boys. A bright green dress and pink sandals with built in squeakers for Rozina. A simple, purple sari for Ferdousy. As we gave them their gifts, Riton and I asked for a promise from Fordousy that no matter how difficult it may be, she would do everything in her power to send Rosina to school. But even as she agreed, I knew she was powerless.

I went upstairs to finish my packing and hugged my fellow volunteers and the World Vision staff goodbye. As I loaded my luggage into the taxi, I heard a squeak, squeak, squeak and a child cry Auntie! Auntie! and saw little Rozina – in her new dress and squeaky shoes – ducking passed the security guard who was chasing after her. Casting a dirty look at the guard, I gathered Rozina in my arms and kissed her smudged, salty face. And I left Bangladesh.

It’s been 55 days since I left Bangladesh and I still think about Rozina almost every day.

***

See? Incomplete.

But it seems that little Rozina’s story has picked up again!  Elmer Lighid - World Vision Canada's Regional Programs Director for South Asia - is in Bangladesh right now and has been following up on Rozina.  Please read the following threads to see what's been happening:
https://www.mychildsponsorship.ca/template/blogs/Lists/Posts/Post.aspx?ID=59
https://www.mychildsponsorship.ca/template/blogs/Lists/Posts/Post.aspx?ID=60
We'll keep you posted!

We all have dreams...

Amanda: And what do YOU want to be when you grow up, Syma?
Ivee (translator): something in Bangla
Syma (adorable litte girl with no front teeth): something in Bangla
Ivee: She wants to be a teacher.
Amanda: Wow! And what are you drawing here?
Ivee: something in Bangla
Syma: something in Bangla
Ivee: She says “Those are the desks in my classroom”.
Amanda: Wow! And what are you drawing here?
Ivee: something in Bangla
Syma: something in Bangla
Ivee: She says “I’m teaching the children”.
Amanda: Wow! And what are you drawing here?
Ivee: something in Bangla
Syma: something in Bangla
Ivee: hysterical laughter
Ivee: She says…
Ivee: more hysterical laughter

Ivee: She says “That’s me beating the students”.

 

A Fan, a Message, a Hope

With Patenga situated as a major port-of-call, there is a growing fear that the global HIV/AIDS epidemic will not stay at bay for long. Fortunately, Bangladesh’s HIV rate is still quite low, and World Vision aims to keep it that way. How? Education.

These men are rickshaw drivers and they have been invited to attend a three-day course on HIV, how it is spread, what the myths and facts of it are, how to prevent it, and what the warning signs are. In addition to several other educational resources, each man – who, because of his profession, has been identified as “high risk” for contracting the disease – is given a fan that he can use to cool himself on a hot day. The fan is inscribed with educational facts about HIV so that the students can, in turn, teach their peers. Each man we spoke with was excited about the prospect of sharing this information with other rickshaw drivers. They want to see change in their community.

But what makes rickshaw drivers high risk? In this shy culture, it took awhile for me to get an answer to that question. And when I found out, I almost wished I hadn’t asked. The going rate for a prostitute in Patenga is about $0.70. As a matter of “courtesy” (yes, I say that with sarcasm), sailors seeking out this form of “entertainment” (more sarcasm) will often offer their rickshaw driver a turn.

And again, we are back to education . Until the value of a woman is raised above $0.70, this problem will continue to exist. But in the eight years since World Vision’s Patenga Area Development Program started, school enrolment had shot up from 35% to an astounding 92%, with most of that increase coming from girls! And that is a reason to celebrate. And hope.

They said she couldn't...

They said she couldn’t do it. When Goltaz told her friends and family that she wanted to attend a course World Vision was offering on textiles and tailoring, they said she was too stupid and that she would never be accepting into the training program. She got in.

They said she couldn’t do it. When she completed the World Vision course, she announced that she was starting her own business. Again, they told Goltaz – who at this point could not even read or write her own name – that she would never succeed. She has.

With her husband unable to work due to an injury he received in the 1991 Cyclone, her family’s situation was dire. Desperate and determined, Goltaz set out on a door-to-door marketing campaign among her neighbours telling them that now that she was trained, it was their responsibility to bring their tailoring needs to her. And they did.

Today, Goltaz has 22 women working for her out of two locations. Her elaborate saris are in demand in urban centres like Chittagong and Dhaka, and she has just received her first international order for $7,000 worth of product to Germany. When we visited her, she was busy making the passport arrangements for her family. Her children are in school and her husband is running a delivery and taxi business with two brand-new vehicles she has bought him. And what's the best part of her new situation? She knows that if her children ever get sick, she knows that she will now be able to buy them medicine.

Her hope for each employee is that they will run their own businesses one day and be every bit as successful as her. She sees her business as an extension of World Vision’s training programs. In fact, the day after we saw her, she was planning to take three women to the bank to help them each secure their first micro-loan.

Perhaps the most poignant moment of the day was courtesy of Goltaz’s father, a traditional-looking man who had spend most of our visit solemnly standing in a corner. When asked what he thought of his daughter’s success, he began to cry (prompting tears from everyone else in the room, from us, to Goltaz, to our translators): You raise your children and you have dreams for them. But you never dream this big. I am so proud of her.

Wisdom

This man is 79 years old and spent his life working in social development and disaster management.  We found him in the middle of a poor, rural village where he surprised us with his English, his willingness to help, and his passion for improving his community.  Actually, he found us.

In case you have a hard time understanding him, I've transcribed the video word for word (I think) below.  The grammar isn't important... the message is.

Canada, you’re a friendly country, and the people of the country your friends and we the district people of Bangladesh are also their friends. We want to make a friendly link between these two countries so that we are developing countries and you are a developed country. Developed countries must join hands with developing countries; we want it. We would be very helpful and would be very grateful to the people of Canada if we get enormous help with the expense of development in this country. We once again give our thanks and gratitude to the people of Canada. Thank you.

Quote of the Day

Excuse me. Why aren't we talking about me?

- Jason Gomes, Translator/ Volunteer/ Student/ Comedian/ DJ/ Child Charmer/ Dance Choreographer to the Stars

Beauty

I have stuggled over whether to post this girl's story or not.  I have decided not to; however, if you ask me I will tell you.  For now, I just want to at least show the world how beautiful she it.

I finally found a Bangladeshi child who likes me!!!

(I'll start by telling you that I saw Rosel again yesterday when we visited the Child Corner.  He was so afraid of me that he literally started grabbing onto tables and chairs to keep himself from being dragged over to me.  Later, when I tried to wave at him, he hid under his desk.)

But Abdus... Abdus loves me!  And I love him.  Who wouldn't?  Look at those dimples (which - as you can see in the pictures - no one can resist touching)!  He was still shy and said very little, but boy can he giggle.  And giggle.  And giggle.  He wants to be a soccer player when he grows up.

Abdus gets his dimples from his mother, Pakiza.  Her husband - Abu - is a day labourer and his work is sportatic.  It is tough for them to keep their four children in school, but it is their top priority.  As she carefully signed her name on the consent form that I gave her, she informed me that her children had taught her how to write her name.  In her own words, they are living a miserable life.  Her dream for her children is that they will be educated, happy, and that they will grow up to be good men and women.

Here's the part where I ask you for money.  Abdus needs a sponsor.  But I'm not just going to let anyone sponsor him.  He is an amazing kid, but given his family's circumstances, I think that he will need alot of encouragement to stay in school.  If you can spare $35 per month and a few letters each year to remind Abdus of how special he is, please let me know.  Thank you.

May 12 Update - So it turns out that my meeting with Abdus was a twist of fate, an entry error.  Abdus is already sponsored by a very lucky family in BC.  But I guess God knew that I needed to meet a child who wasn't terrified of me to lift my spirits a little!

I call this one "Boy with Broken Arm Leaning on a Blue Wall"

This is where your money goes

Does sponsorship make a difference? Ask Abu, Abdul, Sasabuddin, and Sohel.

These secondary students have been sponsor children for eight years. They are happy and healthy, inquisitive and intelligent, and kind, community-oriented young men. We did not seek them out, but they found us when we went to go visit a World Vision Child Corner.

I’ll rewind.

World Vision’s Child Corners are a first of their kind in the Patenga area. Before they started, there were no places for children to gather under one roof. Idle time was spent in the streets, gossiping, working, or getting into trouble. There was no library; the only books they read where those assigned to them in school.
Now, 600 children (yes, 600!) gather every Thursday and Friday afternoon to read books, use computers, play games, and learn music. The Child Corner is the only library in town, where older children encourage the younger ones to step into the world of literature. For many of the children, it is the only place that they will be able to play with games, toys, building blocks, and musical instruments.

Perhaps the most impressive thing about the Child Corner is that it is entirely run by child volunteers. World Vision helps with the organizing and required material resources, but activities are planned and decisions are made by a democratically elected committee of 11 children.

Back to Abu, Abdul, Sasabuddin, and Sohel, four of the 11 committee members.

Not only are these boys excelling in their studies, but they are giving back to their community. They do it because they want to see the small children live a full life. They draw their inspiration from the positive changes that they are seeing in these children, who they consider to be their little brothers and sisters… all 600 of them.

If not for their sponsors, both Abu, 17 and Sohel, 17 believe that they would have dropped out of school by now and begun their careers as daily labourers or sweatshop workers. These boys are now aiming for college. They have already seen many friends go this route and know that they are the lucky ones… something that their less fortunate friends remind them of regularly as they encourage them to not waste the opportunities that they’ve been given.

For those of you who may still be on the fence about sponsorship, they have a message for you (paraphrased, as we were working through translators): While they are the success stories, Bangladesh still has many children not attending school or dropping out. Sponsorship is not only about money, but is a source of communication, of friendship. It is a bridge for the children. Education is the most important tool in releasing children of the developing world from extreme poverty. To live generously is a fact of pride and a matter of grace.

Making hungry babies eat

“In Bangladesh, children with malnutrition are not dying. But they are living like they are dying.” Dr. Shatadal Dhar, World Vision Bangladesh

In the North Bandar area of Patenga, a group of mothers meets to learn about nutrition, health, and wellness and to rehabilitate their toddlers, who have all been identified as severely malnourished. There are two goals: 1) to educate the mothers, and 2) get those babies as fat as possible in two weeks.

Umme and Anjana, the women who teach the course, truly are the peers of those they teach. They have no financial resources - in fact, one of them has a child who is sponsored - but what they do offer is in abundance… a willingness to learn and to teach, a desire to revolutionize their community, and infinite patience.

We met with the mothers at the halfway point of their fourteen-day course as they were preparing a late morning meal for their children of porridge and a special treat that they had brought from home. The babies sat together, clanging their bowls together to make music, laughing, hitting one another in the face with spoons, crying… just like you would expect from any baby in Canada.

Many people often ask what is the point of educating women about nutrition if they can’t afford to food anyways. But this is when it is most important… if a family is only having one meal per day, it is essential for that meal to be as nutritious and calorie-laden as possible. And tasty, so that the children will actually eat it. Even a malnourished child in rural Bangladesh can be a fussy eater just like your children at home (perhaps even more so due to the listlessness of hunger and illness). For families with no food available whatsoever, World Vision will offer assistance.

We asked the mothers what was the most important thing that they have learned so far. The overwhelming consensus was the importance of hand washing before preparing food and after using the washroom. When asked what their husbands thought of these new family rules, the woman giggled and said that most of their husbands were happy as they had been practising hand washing all along!

After just one week, the mothers are noticing that their children are happier, healthier, and more active. Although the program is just for children 36 months or younger, there is a noticeable improvement in their other children as well.

And what do Umme and Anjana see as their greatest success? When the program started two years ago, many mothers refused to have their children weighed (it is these monthly weighings that identify malnourished children) as they believed that the weighing itself would cause their children to lose weight. Now, mothers in the community are lining up for these regular checkups.

I’ll end with one mother’s story. She had an older child as well, who was always sick throughout his early years. She never knew why. After just seven days in this course, she knows why. She sees her children getting better already. She is now confident that her youngest child will not suffer the same life as her oldest child. And she is full of hope for both. So am I.

Mr. Forkan, Superhero-at-Large

There’s a superhero in Patenga. His name is Mr. Forkan. He is a 23 year old, first year university student who had been volunteering with World Vision for the past six years. He is currently in charge of keeping tabs on 190 sponsor children, and he knows each of them by name and their four-digit ID numbers. He also know their parents’ names, although, he bashfully admitted to me that his does not know all of their siblings… just most of them.

When he was 14, he started paying his own way through school by tutoring the other children for money. He continues to pay his own way through university by tutoring and also receives some help from World Vision for the work he is doing. As if being a volunteer, a tutor, and a student wasn’t enough, Forkan must currently support all eight members of his family.

He is the first member of his family to attend post-secondary school. At one point, his younger sister was a sponsor child. Unfortunately, her sponsor dropped her and - while World Vision still continues to provide assistance to the family - she was not sponsored again.

Forkan believes that each person had a duty to help our fellow man. He is fiercely passionate about education being the solution to the poverty in his community.

I asked him what his most meaningful experience was as a volunteer. He told me of a time when he visited a family as part of his regular rounds. The furniture was gone from their house; they didn’t even have a seat to offer him. None of the men were able to work and two family members were disabled. They were living in a dire situation. Fulkan informed a World Vision program officer and together they met with the family to discuss their options. The mother was invited to join a World Vision development group and receive training in sewing. In six month time, she was supporting the entire family with her income… something virtually unheard of in rural Bangladesh.

With both pride and humility, Forkan acknowledged that without his help, the family would probably still be in the same dismal situation. I get the feeling that the same could be said for a lot of Patenga’s families.

(Photo taken by Lydia Keen.)

Now I know why Britney did that thing with the umbrella

If you have ever dreamt of being famous and thrive on flattery, Bangladesh is your kind of place.

Today was the Bengali New Year, so we put on our brand new sharis (actually the front desk girls at our hotel put them on for us) and went out to celebrate in style.  A few of the World Vision staff picked us up for the afternoon to take in some of the events around town.  Our first stop was a section in town where the streets were closed to traffic (what a relief!) anf filled with thousands upon thousands of pedestrians.  It actually reminded me alot of the Vancouver Olympics.  It seemed every step we took was met with "Hello Madam.  What is your country?" or "Wow. Very nice." (in reference to our sharis).  Cell phone cameras snapped shots.  Girlfriends were abandoned.  Pictures with us were requested.  Email addresses were shouted out.

As we entered an amphatheatre to listen to some music, the situation got even more wild.  When we stopped for a group photo, the crowd around us got so large - at least 150 people pushing and shoving to get a picture of us - that our WV guides/ bodyguards became concerned and decided that we needed to leave immediately.

But fame has its perks too.  As I entered back into the hotel, the man at the front desk noticed that the pleats in my shari had come undone and before I knew it, two women were ushering me into an empty conference room, undressing me, redressing me, teasing my hair, putting garlands of orange flowers around my ponytail, doing my make up, spritzing me with perfume, and showering me with compliments.  Forty-five minutes later I emerged, ready to party like it's 1417... which it is, Bengali-style.

Shubho Noboborsho!!!

Nafchita’s family

Nafchita is a five year old girl sponsored by West Coast Community Church. Like Rosel, I think she was a little bit terrified of me. And just like at Rosel’s, the family was incredibly gracious with me. Despite the dozen cultural faux pas that I’m sure I made in our first five minutes together, they offered me drinks (again, catering to my made-in-China stomach) and a seat of honour in their small home. Her father even shook my hand, which truly is a big deal here.

Like everyone else here, they were curious about whether I had any children. But when I answered no - rather than asking why - they simply said that Nafchita is my daughter now. (Surprise, Justin!)

I think if I could choose one superpower, it would be to know every language in the world. Nafchita’s mother Nasima was like a bubbling brook. In answering a question, she should would talk and talk, with hands flying all over the place, laughter never ending, and her head scarf falling down in excitement and animation. Then my translator would look at me and say something along the lines of “she is happy you are here”. But after several rounds of “that’s not what she said”, I usually managed to get the full story. Her father, Mohammod was kind and gentle and his love for his family was so evident in every move he made.

In a culture that is still struggling to see the value of women outside the home, Nafchita’s family is a good news story. Mohammod and Nasima’s dreams for their two daughters is that they will take their education as far as they possibly can. Nafchita would like to be a pilot and her sister would like to be a doctor… and that is exactly what their parents want for them. For them to be whatever they want to be.

When Nafchita was asked if she had any questions about Canada, she replied that she would like to come visit. Although it was tempting, World Vision has a very strict policy against stealing children, so instead I promised her that when she is a pilot, she can fly to Canada and come stay in my home.
Thank you West Coast Community Church for giving Nafchita permission to dream, hope for the future, wings to fly, and the chance to live life in all its fullness.

WV Website

The website still has a few kinks, so it's not technically live yet, but you can read my first post here.

Hello Canada!

Even though I hate that I can hear my own voice in this, the way the whole group imitates me is priceless.

Rosel's family

Yesterday I visited me and Justin's sponsor child, Rosel.  The poor kid was terrified.  As if the strange foreigner in his home wasn't enough, there were no less than three translators speaking to him at once and thirty neighbours spilling through the door of his home to see the spectical.  To top it all off, apparently some of his school friends had told him that I was there to take him back to Canada.  He wants to be a doctor, so I told him that the only time that he will ever have to come to Canada is when I am an old woman and I need him to come take care of me.  That got a smile.  A small one.  It lasted for about two seconds.

When he did finally get up the nerve to say anything to me, it was to tell me that he wished my husband would have come instead of me!  From there on, most of the questions I fielded were about Justin.  Why would he let me travel alone?  Do we have children?  Why don't we have children after three years?  Is something wrong?  Why would he allow me to travel alone?  Do I see my inlaws often?  Why don't we live with them?  Will Justin come to Bangladesh next time?  Eventually - and much to their amusement - I took out my cellphone and called Justin.  But he didn't answer!  So, Justin woke up this morning to the sound of a quiet little boy whispering (in English!) "Hello.  I am Rosel.  I love you."  Man, I hope he doesn't delete that message!

Despite the fact that most of their concern was with Justin, the family was extremly welcoming and served me Pepsi and bananas once they heard how weak our Western stomachs are.  (Once again in the words of Riton, Translator Extraordinaire - who is providing me with quotable moments galore - "Our Bangladeshi stomachs were built in Germany and Japan.  Your Canadian stomachs were probably built in China or India.")

Once we got outside, the family seemed to relax a bit.  I finally got a smile out of Rosel when his friends attacked him with tickles in an effort to make him laugh.

Although the family is poor, it is clear that great effort is made to keep their home welcoming.  Despite the dirt and the dust outside, their bamboo leaf walls, and near constant power outages, their home was immaculate.  By our standards, their waterfront location - where the mighty Karnaphuly River opens into the Bay of Bengal - would be to die for.  Unfortunately, by their standards, it literally could be to die for.  They must experience the full force of all of Bangladesh's constant natural disasters.  But I didn't ask.  So I can add that now to the list of two dozen questions that I wish that I asked during our visit.

How to Lose Your Life in 10 Ways (in Lowacherra National Park)

Cowritten with Joanna Robertson.

1. Giant Orb spiders, lethally venomous.

2. King Cobra.  (Saw one. Under Joanna's feet.  Froze.  Ran.)

3. Python.

4. A snake that bites only your head as it comes down out of trees.

5. Another snake that bites your head.

6. Coconut to the head.

7. Wild boars. (Heard one. Ran.)

8. Bandits. (Met one. Kinda.)

9. Shalwar Kameez. Actually, heat stroke (brought on by shalwar kameez). Restrictive, especially with the scarves that must be draped around your neck and chest to cover your "special pieces" as one local put it!

10. The beautiful yet irritable female Canadian tourist. Very rare in these parts. Legend has it that they can kill a man as fast (if not faster) than a snake bite to the head, particularly if said man is playing pranks involving spiders and snakes.

Quotable Moment

The essential difference between Bangladesh and Canada is this:
In Canada, you can kiss in the street, but you can't piss.
In Bangladesh, you can piss in the street, but you can't kiss.
- Riton, Translator Extraordinaire

This is what 5 days of Bengali laundry looks like

I have a whole new appreciation for the amount of sweat I am capable of.

Photo link

More photos here.

Compassion

Today we took a seven hour train journey from Srimongal to Chittagong. It was sticky, sweaty, stinking, sweltering hell. But even in hell, I saw glimpses of heaven. For one thing, six of the seven hours took us though alternating scenes of rice paddy fields and children playing in lakes and rivers. The greenest greens I’ve ever seen.

But what really impressed me today was the compassion of the Bangladeshi people. In any country I’ve ever been to - Canada included - beggars are the lowest of the lows. They are beaten, they are cursed, they are resented. At best, they are ignored (is this best?). But not here. Here money is placed into their hands with a caring squeeze and perhaps a blessing. At the train station, a young beggar boy climbed up beside our guide, grabbed his hand, and placed his head on Tapas’ shoulder. On the train, a man named Madmun tried to create a seat for another young boy to lie down and sleep. All day long on the train, the beggars came up and down the isles and the passengers’ wallets kept opening.

I think we have some things to learn.

 

PS - I know I still need to post about Dhaka... and I will.  Tomorrow.  Give me a break.  I just got internet access :).

The Blog I Can Never Post

Gahhh!!!! I have the funniest blog EVER ready to go in my head. It’s amazing! Unfortunately, if I publish this blog, there’s a chance that between 1 and 3 lives will be ruined. We can’t have that.

It’s too bad. You are really missing out.

The Progression of a Smile

A tea planter in Srimongol. The goverment pays her 40 Taka per day... just over 50 cents.

(Note: Pictures 2-4 are Joanna's and she worked hard for them.  I can't take any credit.)

The Most Adventurous 24 Hours of My Life

And Joanna’s life too… which I believe says a lot.

(Warning - This is the longest post you will ever read by me… but it truly has been the most action-packed day of my life, so I don’t know how to shorten it. Sorry.)

Boring background info: I picked Joanna up from the airport on Wednesday morning. We got stuck in a two hour traffic jam. We feared death (Fear of Death = A common theme that you will pick up on anytime I mention transportation in this blog). We napped. We ate room service. We left for the bus depot.
No one at the bus station spoke any English so we blindly trusted that after showing a few men our ticket that they would get us on the right bus and our luggage too. (Blind Trust = Another common theme you will discover, and one that is proving to be an absolute necessity in this country.) Blind trust paid off and after a few bus transfers that we didn’t quite understand and about five hours, we arrived in Srimongol.

Here is where the adventure intensifies.

The bus dropped us off in Srimongol at about 9:00pm. Fairly quickly, we were surrounded by about 10 rickshaw-wallahs (men who pull people around in terrifying and decorative bicycle carts) offering us a ride. Unfortunately, none of them knew where our Eco Cottage was. So one of them stole my itinerary and started wandering up and down the [busy and dark] street asking if anyone knew where this cottage was. No luck. Fortunately I had my cell phone with me so I called Mahmud. No answer. So I called Rubel (my guide from Dhaka) and passed the phone over to the self-appointed leader of our group of helpers, which had grown to about 30 men at this point. Not a single woman. After a short conversation, the leader felt pretty confident about where we were going and gave instructions to no less than three rickshaw drivers (yes, we had a lot of luggage) and - in sign language, as English was not playing a role tonight - told us that we should give each driver 10 taka (about 15 cents). And away we were, holding on for dear life whilst trying to take pictures of our crazy journey and praying to God that we would meet up with our luggage again soon. I wish I had gotten a good picture of our driver as he looked to be about 12 years old and kept looking back at us with the hugest smile I’ve ever seen. I think it was a pretty proud moment for him that the older men only got our luggage, but he got to drive the two Canadian women.

And then we arrived. About 200 feet from where we had started and completely in the wrong place. Mahmud called at this point and once again my phone was handed back to a complete stranger. Once again we attracted a crowd. All of a sudden the tallest Bangladeshi man I have ever seen emerged from the crowd and spoke the most beautiful words I have ever heard… “Can I help you ma’am? I am a tour guide and it is my duty to help you.” So Mahmud/ my phone were transferred to our new guardian angel, our luggage was loaded into two baby taxis, and we were on our way out of the town an into a dark, winding road smelling of tea, pineapple, and relief. Heaven. Needless to say, we had found our tour guide for the next day, Tapas.

The Nishorgo (Shamsul) Eco Cottage is breathtaking. We have our own private hut - woven completely out of bamboo - overlooking a bubbling river (which is apparently a raging river during the rainy season). The night is filled with the squeaks of geckos and the call of a cricket-like bug appropriately called “Jungle Music”. Heaven.

More background: Over the past few years US AID, the Bangladesh government and the local “Nishorgo” group has been working to bring eco tourism to the area by training up guides like Tapas and hoteliers like Shamsul.

Tapas picked us up ready for a full day. First we went to Lowacherra National Park where we were informed that pretty much every species of animal in the park could kill us, from spiders to snakes to wild pigs (the barking deer and hoolock gibbon are harmless). This is where Tapas noticed that we were both wearing sandals and proceeded to make us take off our shoes so that he could rub a fine, dusty medicine on our feet.

Seeing our nervousness, our fearless leader decided that the best thing to do at this point would be to mess with our heads. After a few heart stopping false alarms, Joanna called out “I’m on a snake. There’s a snake. Oh crap. There’s a snake by me.” Given the calm in her voice, I thought she was just trying to point out some interesting wildlife. But Tapas covered about 30 feet of ground in 2 seconds and screamed “Oh shit, that was a King Cobra”. And just like that, the jokes stopped and all three of us tread very carefully on our way out of the forest.

Later we went to a local tribal village which was truly amazing. Their houses are all painted vibrantly… I think the turquoise, purple and silver one was my favourite. Most of the people in the village were pretty shy but we were incredibly fortunate to be invited into the home of Lila where we visited with her and some young school girls and they got to watch my first - and last - beetle nut experience. Basically, a chewing tobacco that their village is known for. Have you ever chewed on the end of a 2x4? Personally, I haven’t. But I imagine that the taste is close. What really impressed me about the whole village was how clean everything was. I’ve been living like a sweaty, stinky, dirtball since arriving. And here they are in the middle of the forest with no electricity or running water and immaculate.

Then we went off to the lake, which was beautiful, but the real treat was when we happened upon a group of tea planters taking a break and cooling off by the lake. One woman was in the lake when we walked over but quickly ran out. We asked her if she would go back in the lake and pose for a picture. She said only if we gave her money. Now, normally I would never pay someone for a picture, but the fact that her friends were howling with laughter at the audacity of her request made me pretty confident that they wouldn’t get used to this.

There’s so much more to write about this day, but if you are still reading this by now, I think you’re ready for me to quit. Plus, I still have to finish my ode to Dhaka.

Dhaka

Dhaka.  Oh Dhaka.  You have chewed me up and spit me out like a gob of pan.  I'm going to bed.  I'll deal with you later...

Don't worry Mom. I'm fine.

It's 2:46 Dhaka time and all I want to do is sleep, but already the details of the past two hours are getting fuzzy, so I think the best thing to do is hammer it all out now into an incoherent mess... which is actually quite suiting to my last two disorienting hours.

Our plane landed with a little boy screaming bloody-murder behind me and kicking the back of my chair, while his sister joyfully cried "Oh my God, Bangladesh!  I am in Bangladesh, my true home country!"  She spoke with the faint accent of a child who is growing up in an English-speaking country but has not yet started school and subsequently been scrubbed clean of the music in her parents' voices.  But as much as her exclaimations made me smile, the fear of the unknown that I was about to walk into made me wonder if perhaps her little brother had the right idea.

I've heard people talk about the humidity when you get off a plane in India.  I had always assumed that they had been on one of those planes where you walk down the set of stairs onto the tarmac and then into the air-conditioned airport.  Not the case.  How can I describe walking into Dhaka's airport?  Ever been to a butterfly exhibit at the zoo?  Like that but without the animals or exit.

I believe I've seen about 5 women since getting off the place.  1 outside the airport.  Then again, it is the middle of the night so I don't know what I was expecting.

As I climbed into the car that was waiting for me at the airport (thankfully!) I noticed a small child in rags standing alone.  I am tempted here to use the cliche expression "I couldn't help but notice", but the fact, is I could help it... In reality, I very nearly missed him (or her).  As people scurried this way and that around him, managing to give him a foot-wide berth without ever looking at him, I almost wondered if he was a ghost that only I was seeing.  And then I looked away.  I am here to help people, but the backpack that I arrived with contains $2000 worth of possesions.  I consider myself a generous person, but I know - surrounded my all this poverty - that by the end of this trip there will be children that I can't see either.  Where is the balance?  How can I find it?

The rest of my story tonight is typical.  Driver going too fast.  No one heeding red lights.  Lines on the road with no apparent meaning.  Gripping fear of death.  Anyone who has travelled to a developing country knows the drill.  I calmed myself down by reminding myself that driving in a city like this is survival of the fittest, and my driver is still alive, therefore, he is fittest.

Well, as I told the bellboy an hour ago when I kicked him out of my room and refused to let him listen to my iPod, I really need to sleep.  So good night.

Why I'm going there

I guess before I start filling up this site with all of my stories and ramblings, I should tell you why I’m going to Bangladesh. Actually, it is to tell stories and ramble! Just not my own stories…

World Vision is launching a new website (soon! very, very soon!) and it turns out that they need volunteers just like me - people who enjoy over-sharing every moment of their lives through blogs, Facebook, and other social media outlets - to help get the site going. So when I head off to Chittagong on April 10th, I’ll be meeting up with a number of other volunteers who also like to over-share, be it through writing, photography, or videography. Together we will be bringing you the stories of the people that we meet in World Vision’s Patenga Area Development Program.

Once the site goes live (soon! very, very soon!), I will be letting all of you know just how to access the site. It’s really easy to use. Basically, it’s like Facebook or LinkedIn, but for people who are interested in international development and poverty issues. You’ll be able to create a profile and join interactive groups based on where your interest lie. Of course, you will all want to join the “Patenga” group, because that where I’ll be!

I really hope that you will all consider checking this site out once its ready to go. It’s very cool. Watch here for updates.

Bangladesh? That's by India, right?

I once considered myself to be quite the little smarty-pants when it came to geography. In fact, this is how dorky I was as a kid: I had a little red duo-tang (sp?) where I would create geography lessons for myself and then I’d make my parents test me. There was one point – I think I was about eight – when I could recite every county in Europe. I was pretty proud of that fact and any of my parents’ friends who had the misfortune of coming over to our house during this phase probably fell victim to this “game” of mine. I was a geography nerd. Hard core. So, when the opportunity came up for me to travel to Bangladesh, I’m embarrassed to say that the first thing I did was refer to a map. But my secret’s out now… here on the internet for so many people to read (even though I know few actually will). I didn’t know where Bangladesh was.

But now I know! It’s a small, densely-populated country mostly surrounded by India, but also bordering Myanmar (Burma) on the south-east side. Nepal and Bhutan are close but not touching. Until the 1971, it was East Pakistan. Before that, East Bengal. And before that it was colonial India (watch Ghandi; you’ll understand… kinda). It regularly endures flood, famine, monsoons, cyclones, and tsunamis. In fact, it seems the only nature disaster that it doesn’t have to contend with is drought. All this and more prompted Henry Kissinger to once call Bangladesh “an international basket case”… a reputation it is fiercely trying to shake. It is the birthplace of Muhammad Yunus, the man who invented micro-loans, a Nobel Peace prize winner, and a hero of mine. It contains a crazy city that never sleeps in the centre (Dhaka), a man-eating-tiger-filled mangrove in the south-west (the Sundarbans), ruins of ancient cities and temples in the north-west, old colonial tea estates in the north-east (Sylet), and beaches, ship-breaking yards, and remote hill tribes in the south-east (Chittagong, where I’ll spend most of my time).

This is pretty much everything I now know about the country. That, and that there will be a man waiting for me at the airport holding an “Mr. Amanda” sign. The rest of my knowledge is yet to be learned. Truthfully, I don’t really know if there’s a point in learning much more before leaving as I fully expect all pre-conceived notions to be challenged. I guess I’ll just have to find out!