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!
