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.