In which Tim goes to the zoo, and discusses his research

If you have known me for a very long time, you know that I do very much enjoy a nice day spent at the zoo. Earlier in my life I had plans to study the zoological sciences in my career. Alas, high school chemistry convinced me that I did not apparently have what it takes to be a real scientist (thankyou, Ms. Pumper), so I've had to settle for dealing with people instead. But I still like going to the zoo.

The National Zoo of Bangladesh is no Sandiego Wild Animal park, but it made for a pleasant afternoon. It was nice to get away from the noise of traffic, the smell of car exhaust, and the crowds of people, and to just stroll along the shaded paths. The state of the zoo is a little depressing. Lots of bars, cement pens, and under-fed animals who don't look terribly happy to be there. I think the zoo is government funded, making the condition of the zoo no surprise. If I were to call Bangladeshi government "inefficient", it would probably be a compliment. I will leave it at that for now, and follow that line of thought later. The animal experience was not completely depressing, since I DID get to take my first Elephant ride ever. That was fun.


I promised a few entries ago that I would share a little bit about the research I am doing. Here it goes...

Acid attacks are a serious problem in South Asia. Bangladesh has more occurences than any other country. What usually happens is that a man gets angry that a woman has refused his marriage proposal and/or sexual advance, so he goes and buys a glass of some seriously strong acid, and goes and pours it on her. It's extremely sick and twisted. BRAC has done quite a bit of work as far as providing help and support to victims, but has done very little to figure out what may need to be done to prevent attacks from happening in the first place. Rachel and I are beginning to project that will examine six or seven specific cases in depth. Our goal is to come up with a decent profile of the perpetrator, with the intent of giving BRAC something that will be useful in designing a prevention program. We are working pretty closely with the a group called The Acid Survivors Foundation. They are helping us get interviews set up and stuff. Work begins full speed this next week. That last link has a lot more interesting info on acid attacks, if you want to educate yourself a little more. These attacks are a terrible thing. Hopefully our work will contribute something useful to the fight against it.

In which Tim purchases a camera, gets very wet, and eats fried chicken

It started off as a fairly normal afternoon trip to the market. The traffic was bad, the rickshaw driver wanted too much money, etc. etc. I was purchasing a new digital camera (I lost mine recently. Oh well, great excuse to get a new one! After all, I can't be in Bangladesh without a camera...). After finding the store, being served by five salesmen at once, and emerging back on to the crowded street, I noticed that this errand had not taken as long as I thought it would. I could still visit the Indian embassy to pick up a visa application before they closed for the weekend. I had probably a mile and a half to travel, and failed to take note of the foreboding dark clouds on the horizon.

A short walk, a rickshaw ride, and another short walk later it had started to sprinkle. I didn't think to take shelter, figuring that I would have plenty of time before it started to rain too hard. I was horribly wrong. Within a matter of minutes, the skies had opened up as though God himself were pouring down his judgment in a manner worthy of the Old Testament. I was soaked to the bone. The paper bag that I was carrying my new camera in had melted (fortunately the camera box was quite a bit tougher. I won't have to buy yet another camera.).

I was just around the corner from the Indian embassy, and it would have been a shame to waste the trip. So in I went, and asked for a visa application. I wonder what they could have thought of this tall, out of breath, wet white person who stumbled through the gate, unable to see through his own glasses. I know that if I were a visa officer I would be hesitant to let someone like that in.

It was still pouring when I emerged from the embassy (I was hesitant to overstay my welcome), and the nearest shelter just happened to be good ol' Kentucky Fried Chicken, and it was about snack time. So in I went, not realizing how wet I was until I noticed an employee following me with a mop, trying to clean up the flood I was wreaking on his shiny marble floor. I tried to apologize, but I just got a big smile and a "no problem sir. Please enjoy, sir." So I sat down, ate my chicken, and waited for the rain to pass.

Pass it did, and I began the journey home, quite damp in my business style clothes. That's when the kids started making fun of me. Usually when little children accost me on the street they are after money. This time, they seemed content to laugh and tug on my sleeves. It wouldn't have bothered me much, but their numbers were growing. When I thought I could count a dozen kids, and I realized that I was beginning to jog to get away, I decided enough was enough. I got in a rickshaw to ride the two blocks home, and overpaid terribly.

I must remember to carry smaller bills with me.

And maybe an umbrella...

in which Tim sets the stage

As I am sure that many of you are frequently checking this blog for updates (and becoming huge fans in the process...), I feel a degree of obligation to share with you a short description of the setting from which my reflections are forwarded to cyber space. I am in a medium sized, rather luxurious (relatively) cyber cafe, on the third floor of an in-door market. I call it an "in-door market", rather than a "shopping mall" because I don't want you to picture me frequenting one of those massive atrocities with shiny floors that feature over priced goods where many Americans choose to do their shopping. This is not like that at all. There ARE many stores, and there IS a roof overhead, but much more crowded, busy, and far better organized. Allow me to explain the organization. Similar merchants tend to group together (stationary stores next to more stationary stores, movie stores next to more movie stores). When I first observed this, I thought it made poor business sense. Isn't that too much competition in too small a place? It didn't fit the model of competition that I am used to seeing. Who ever heard of two grocery stores right next door to each other? Upon further thought, I realized that it works very well for the customer. If the first shop I go to doesn't have exactly what I need, I only need to go next door. Not across the building. If the keeper of one shop is busy, I can just go next door and not have to wait. It's remarkably convenient! I still don't know how well the whole competition thing works, but they seem happy in their business, and Asian economies are the fastest growing ones in the world, so who am I to judge?

This cyber cafe is called "Adda Internet Cafe". They have comfortable chairs, reasonably fast connection, and they play loud Bengali music. The guys who work here have gotten to know me well, as nearly every time I come in I have some strange request that they don't hear very often (plug my laptop in? attach my camera to the computer? connect my vonage box?). Props for customer service. But I think they must like me, since they let me stay until a few minutes after closing to finish whatever blog I happen to be writing, or IM convo etc. Speaking of which, that time is soon, so I should probably wrap this up.

After I log off, I will leave this air conditioned haven to be greeted by the sticky aroma of the city street. I will dodge rickshaws and mini cabs on the two block walk back to my apartment, and maybe give a piece of candy to a beggar kid (I think that's better than giving them money. You never know who may be extorting it out of them. At least they can eat the candy.). Tomorrow is another day. Soon I will write about the research I am beginning to do. It's gonna be exciting. Stay tuned!

In which Tim learns the difference between green beans, and green chilis

Take a good look at that picture. Those two pieces of vegetable look pretty darn similar, don't they? I agree. The problem is that one is a green bean, and one is a particularly explosive little breed of chili pepper. Those of you who know me well know that I do not usually shy away from strong flavor. In fact, I usually enjoy it. But eating this thing is like allowing a small nuke to be detonated on top of your tongue. Not pleasant. So next time you happen to be eating green beans in Bangladesh, be careful. You might get more than you bargained for.

So we got back from the field late last night. After seeing the elementary schools that I talked about in my last post, we toured some health clinics, village community groups, regional offices, a silk harvesting plant, and a very cool recycled paper mill. But after three days of being the 'honored guest' everywhere we went, both Rachel and I felt a strong desire for a little bit of anonymity. I guess we'll have to get used to 'sticking out' for a couple months. This pic is a good example of that (can you find me?)...
While we were in that village, we figured out that the little kids (and the adults, I guess) really get a kick out of seeing their picture on the screen of a digital camera. So for about twenty minutes, we were up to our elbows in crowding, staring, laughing, chattering Bangladeshi villagers. It was a lot of fun. I will figure out a more efficient way to post more pics, so that you can share my joy...

So yeah. I am looking forward to this week, since my internship will sort of be starting in earnest. I will be able to get into a routine, and start to get my life a little more structured and a little less hectic. I appreciate the prayer and the emails.

Regarding Boredom, School Children, and being an Ambassador

Written on 9/12/06

So after our jaunt to the market, we settled into a nice little routine of sleeping off our jet lag and waiting for the long weekend to be over so that we could start our internships at {BRAC}. We have enjoyed eating delicious Bangladeshi meals featuring lots of rice, dal (lentils), rhooti (round, flat bread), chicken, fish, vegetables, and ridiculously hot little peppers that enjoy masquerading as green beans (I will not make that mistake twice!). We were also delighted to discover that our apartment has come with 80 channels of satellite tv. This was delightful not so much because we are slaves to the television, but rather due to the fact that at least 60 of these channels feature some form of singing and/or dancing Bengali or Indian people. Great fun. Especially since we had a few days with absolutely nothing to do, and no one to really show us the city yet.

I will not bore you with a description of our boredom, as I am sure it would be quite boring. But Monday morning, we found ourselves being driven to BRAC headquarters. We met with our intern supervisor, and watched some videos about the history of what BRAC has been doing, etc. Then we were sent to a field station to learn first-hand about BRAC's various programs in micro finance, primary education, women's advocacy, health work, social development, etc. etc.

The TARC (Training And Research Center) that we were sent to is about two hours by road outside of Dhaka. It is one of 16 facilities owned by BRAC, and used to train and support their myriads of rural field staff (teachers, health workers, librarians, micro finance managers, etc. BRAC has a national staff of about 60,000 people, mostly field workers). The TARC sort of reminds me of a South Asian version of Cedar Campus, or other similar training/retreat centers. Lots of people from lots of places are coming and going all the time, but the full time staff go out of their way to make it a peaceful and relaxing place where you can accomplish what you need to, and get some relaxation at the same time. The rooms are comfortable, the food is good, and the gardens are beautiful.

When we arrived in our private car, we found our luggage being carried to our rooms, and a pleasant afternoon tea being prepared for us. We have been getting such royal treatment that I am starting to think that maybe BRAC thinks that we are wealthy potential donors, as opposed to penniless interns! I am definitely not complaining, though.

Today we were touring primary schools run by BRAC in the villages in the vicinity of this

training center. We visited about four single room school houses, and one multi-room school. The day was both entertaining and enlightening. Entertaining, because everywhere we went we were entertained. Kids sang songs, performed dances, recited poems, and were generally very cute (see photos). The enlightenment came in seeing how much can be done with so little. At one school, there was an entire group of parents waiting to visit with us. By way of a translator we were able to hear from them how much of a difference the school has made in their village, and about the new hopes that they have for their children. Worlds are being opened up for their kids that they themselves could never have imagined entering. All this is happening with little more than a medium sized shack, a few tattered books, and a teacher with the training and support to do her job. These kids do not have television, computers, play-station, pokemon or pop-tarts. Despite this (or maybe BECAUSE of this), they sit more attentively in class and seem to have a genuine enthusiasm in the fact that they are being given a shot at something good. I think I could learn a lot from these kids.

The most lively part of the day came when we were visiting an after school type club for girls between age ten and nineteen. After they performed their music, etc. they started asking us questions about the good ol' USA. There were the fairly easy questions like “what kind of food do you eat?”, the slightly more surprising and difficult ones like “what kind of clothes do people in America wear?”, and then the utterly foreign ones like “what is the standard dowry rate in America?” or “who arranges the marriages?”. It was a lot of fun to answer the questions, but really stretching when it hit me that these girls really had no point of reference when it comes to America. Obviously they have never been there, but it was interesting to be reminded that even in this day and age of mass media, blogs and globalization, there are many parts of the world that have yet to be touched by most of it. So in conclusion, I hope that my communication of American culture was representative. I did not realize how quick or easy it is to slip into being an ambassador of ones entire culture and country.

Regarding “Banani”, bicycle rickshaws, and “bishtea borre”

Written on 9/9/06

My last entry ended in confusion, as we were a little bit unsure of where we were or what we were doing. I went to sleep shortly after typing it, and was suddenly awakened a short while later, finding a smiling, bespectacled man standing in my bed room. He introduced himself as Mr. Rahman, the head of the internship program here at BRAC (with whom I had already had frequent correspondence). He said that he had just wanted to stop by and see how we were settling in. Truthfully, I was extremely happy to meet the first person (so far on this trip) with whom I could communicate in complete sentences! He told me that this apartment would be home to Rachel and I for the next three months, so we should get comfortable. He answered some more logistical questions, and then told me that on Monday we would be headed out to the field for a few days to become familiar with BRAC's work from the ground up. I'm really looking forward to this “field trip”.

After being awake for a few hours, I went back to bed. With the help of some drugs (thanks, mom), I slept like a baby for fourteen hours. In the morning, Rachel and I decided that it would be a good idea to poke around the neighborhood and see if we couldn't get some shopping done (I needed to buy a SIM card for my phone, as well as some other odds and ends). After walking around the block a few times and turning down the many rickshaw drivers that seemed desperate for our business, we found a small market place featuring a vendor who seemed to deal in cell phone paraphernalia. (An interesting note about Bangladeshi retail: every shop, no matter how small, seems to have about twenty people hanging out in it. I am working on learning how to figure out which of them actually works there. Although, all of them seem to be able to answer questions, so maybe I don't even need to know?). Anyway, I asked the crowd at the cell phone stand about SIM cards, and they all shook their heads and said “Banani, Banani” and pointed down the street.

We guessed (and hoped) that “Banani” was a shop or something similar. We decided to take the risk, so we hailed a bicycle rickshaw, and told the driver that we wanted to go to “Banani”. Luckily we guessed right, and Banani did end up being a market. What would the poor driver have thought if it turned out that “Banani” meant “not on Friday” or “we are all out”? A note on bicycle rickshaws: they look spacious and balanced enough to accommodate more than one person. This appearance is slightly deceptive. We decided half way through the ride that the limit was probably one and a half Americans to a rickshaw, rather than two. We were quite squished. The poor driver was probably afraid we would break the source of his livelihood. I hope I paid him enough. Upon arrival at Banani we discovered that it was difficult to find a store open on Friday (the day of religious observance in much of the Muslim world) that carried SIM cards, so we went into a cyber cafe instead.

After an hour of checking email for the staggering rate of about sixty five cents American, we left to walk home, only to discover that a monsoon rain-storm had descended on our fair city. It was almost the time that had been set by our cook for lunch (and we were hungry), so we decided to brave the torrential down pour for the four blocks it took to get home. When Shatira (our cook) opened the door for the two soaked Americans, she exclaimed “bishtea, bishtea!” and ran for towels. This provided the opportunity for her to teach us our first complete phrase in Bangla. “Akashte bishtea borre”. We think it means “the rain falls from the sky”. Now we can talk about the weather in Bangla! Only when it's raining, though...

One step at a time.

Regarding Air and Asian Airports

Written on 9/7/06

When I am on a long trip, I tend to really live for that moment when you finally step out of the car or plane and take your first breath of the atmosphere in this new place. It's usually much more dramatic when traveling by air, since the pressurized cabin keeps one completely oblivious to changes in temperature and humidity. But you can tell a lot about a place based on what that initial breath tastes like.

My first breath of Bangladesh was not disappointing. The humidity hit me like warm, wet towel straight to the face. The air is so full of moisture that my clothes felt damp after but a moment. It's that hot, thick heaviness that one can only associate with saunas and countries that have just been through the monsoon.

The air brought with it not only the heat and humidity, but the medley of smells that can only be created by a metropolis in the developing world. It's a blend of car fumes, food cooking, garbage rotting, buildings going up or coming down, domestic animals, and the sweat and blood of a seething mass of humanity. You would have to smell it to really appreciate it, but once it hits your nose you never forget it.

When I finished sniffing the air, Rachel and I proceeded through the airport without much incident. There was a long line at immigration, and we spent the time getting to know one of the guys who was in line with us. He is from Dhaka, and has been in Toronto for four years getting is undergrad degree. This is his first visit home in all that time. He was giving us some tips about getting around the country, where to visit, etc. and he became the third person thus far to tell us that Bangladesh happens to have the longest beach in the world, and we really should visit it. It seems that this beach is really a point of national pride.

Anyway, after immigrating (successfully, so far...) and finding our bags, we were ready to walk through those big doors that would welcome us into the actual country. This is where the developing world developed into something beyond an abstract idea. Outside the airport door, there is a pavilioned pick-up area surrounded by an iron fence. Inside the fence was the expected zoo of coolies and drivers trying to be of assistance, as well as soldiers with large guns. Outside the fence, though, all I remember is massive wall of people. Men, women, old, young, all packed like sardines, most likely meeting people or looking for some sort of work. It seemed like there were thousands of them crammed around that fence, watching through the bars. Many looked to be quite poor.

We in the west often talk about the exploding populations in Asian countries, and the numbers seem to make some kind of sense to our imagination. The reality of a population 25% of America's packed into a country probably not a lot bigger than Michigan in size is much more intense than a book (or a blog, I suppose) can communicate.

Anyway, we found the driver who was assigned to pick us up, and after getting into the car we found that despite his remarkable ability to safely bear us through heavy traffic at high speed, his English left something to be desired. We could not figure out where he was taking us (our instructions had been to meet a driver at the airport, nothing more). A little later, we realized that the driver wasn't exactly sure where he was taking us either. He had to stop and ask directions three times! We were not comforted.

Yet soon enough we ended up at a pleasant and air-conditioned apartment that seems to be a BRAC guest house. We are being seen to by lady named Shatira who cooks delicious food and is teaching us various random phrases in Bangla. She is not a scholar of English either.

So here we are, at an apartment in Dhaka, waiting for whatever is next. We do not know where we are supposed to go or what we are supposed to do next, but we have good food, beds, and air-conditioning. It could definitely be worse.

regarding timezones and tater-skins

Hello from London! Well, as close to London as one considers Heathrow airport to be...

My body is very angry at me right now. My body thinks it is 6:30 AM (Wisconsin time), the clock reads 12:30 PM (London time), but I am pretending it is 5:30 PM (Bangladesh time). This whole International travel thing can become extremely confusing if you let it. If it really is 6:30 AM, then I have just managed to successfully stay awake all night long. It helped that I had several moderately entertaining films, as well as my grandmother's book to keep me occupied. I was also helped along by frequent helpings of delicious English tea. British Airways is definitely the way to go.

Upon arriving in England I decided to have a snack. I purchased some delicious tater-skins in a posh little cafe, not realizing that I was miscalculating the exchange rate. Let's just say they didn't taste quite as good after I realized how much I had REALLY paid for them. And there was something not quite right with the sour cream...

On a more serious\reflective note, I am always blown away by the huge amount of commercial activity that takes place in western airports. The duty-free stores here in Heathrow take up a ridiculous amount of space. Looking at the $70 shirts and the $40 neckties I was struck by just how much money really is floating around in the pockets of westerners. It presents a pretty drastic contrast to what I will be seeing in another twelve and a half hours.

Now I think I will do some reading to keep myself awake for a couple more hours. I will try to sleep through most of this next flight.

Let the record show that I have n o i d e a what will happen to me when I land in Dhaka. All I know is that I am looking for a driver holding a sign. Should be interesting...stay tuned for updates. Thanks for the prayers!