Regarding problems in the political process

Today I feel as if I have woken up in a country other than the Bangladesh I have come to know over the past few months. There is a different feeling. When I opened the newspaper, I was greeted by images of burning cars and violent crowds. Tales of death and destruction. These pages that a few days ago were fountains of optimism, praising the Nobel prize winner for the ways he has led the country forward, are now presenting rivers of uncertainty between the lines of the obituaries.

The situation didn't grow up over night. The two main political parties in Bangladesh have been at each others throats for decades. This year was supposed to be worse, since there is an election coming in January, but no one expected what it's come to. Let me tell you a little bit about the Bangladeshi political process. Here's how it works during an election year: a few months before the vote, all the elected officials resign their posts to begin the campaign season. There is effectively no government. During this time, the affairs of the country are seen to by what's called a “care-taker government”. There is a political process to determine who leads this interim government, but normally it's not that big an issue since it's such a short amount of time that they are in power. Things are different this time around, since the two parties are in a phase of particularly harsh hatred for one another. At the eleventh hour, the man who had been agreed upon to lead the care-taker government “fell ill”, and decided not to take the oath. That was when all hell broke loose.

Each party immediately started yelling about who they thought should be appointed. No one agreed. They told their supporters to take to the streets. One parties mob comes across another parties mob. They start yelling. Someone throws a rock. Another person throws one back. Get some sticks! Light that car on fire! Pretty soon someone else pulls out a gun, and you can guess how things go from there. Now take that scenario and duplicate in almost every major city in a country of 150 million. Here's what it comes out to: on Saturday there were 12 dead, and over 2000 injured. I don't have numbers (or news really) for what's happened today yet.

While there is no violence in my neighborhood, I saw the symptoms of the disease affecting this country as I walked home tonight. At the market place, people who are normally laughing and enjoying each others company are now gathered in tight clusters around radios or televisions, looking suspiciously at those who pass by. Guards, who normally stand in front of their gates offering warm greetings are now behind those gates with the bolt thrown across. They cautiously peer out through the bars.

I have never felt at all uncomfortable walking down that street. Now I can't help but get the chills. It's just so different from how it was two days ago, when complete strangers were giving me hugs and offering me tea along with their hearty “eid mubarak!” greetings. The bright colors of eid clothes have been traded in for the uniform of a swat officer. What can be happening to this world?

p.s. I assure you all, I am perfectly safe. I live in the heart of the diplomatic enclave, and all the demonstrations have taken place miles and miles from here. I am keeping abreast of the notifications sent out by the embassy, so I will be fine. Please pray for the situation, though.

in which Tim apologizes

The more perceptive of you will have noticed that my last entry was posted four times. I just really wanted to make sure you read it. jk.

Sometimes the internet in this part of the world does funny things.

in which Tim's nose swells to the size of a cantalope

Originally written on 10/25 To prevent malaria, I have been taking a drug called mefliquine. There are no negative physical side effects, but the pill has been known to cause depression, hallucinations, paranoia, and vivid dreams. I was TOLD that the vivid dreams are the only common side effect. I have experienced these, and they are often quite amusing. Ask me about them sometime. I would write about them here, but I might get censored for sounding like a crazy person.

I take the pill once a week, and I am supposed to take it with a meal. Yesterday I was supposed to take the pill, but forgot to do it until bed time. I did not have any food handy, and I didn't want to wait until morning (I have it in my head that I take the pill on Tuesday. Why switch to Wednesday?) so I took it with just a glass of water and went to sleep.

I woke up at three am with a funny swollen feeling in my nose. It felt very large. I went to my mirror, and noticed that my nose was indeed very large. It seemed about as big as a small melon. I was unsure what to do. I didn't have any ice. My mom had given me an entire pharmacy of medicine to bring on the trip, but I didn't think there was any swollen nose medicine. After a few minutes of thinking, I decided I was tired, so I went back to sleep after opening and drinking part of a bottle of water.

When I woke up in the morning, I immediately checked my nose. It was normal again! I was very confused about what had happened, but then I stopped to think (this time fully awake). If my nose had indeed been the size of a cantalope, how would I have been able to breathe through it? Also, how would I have even seen past it to see the reflection in the mirror? Clearly it was a dream. But no. The bottle of water that I had opened was still sitting on my bed side table. So it wasn't a dream, but it didn't happen. Wierd.

I guess I will never take those pills without food again...

in which Tim comes to terms with not being able to do everything he wants to do

It's easy, at the beginning of an experience, to make a lot of a grand plans and generally become very excited about all that one will be able to accomplish. This is especially easy for people like me, who tend to bask in the grand vision of things, ocasionally losing sight of the nitty-gritty details that need to be seen to. After achieving this vision and excitement, there very often comes a time (after having dealt with the nitty gritty for a while) when it becomes apparent that the original vision will not be achieved in the exact way it had been imagined it.

Case in point: my current research. We had originally hoped to investigate and write up eight or ten different cases, in depth. After a little more thought and planning, we lowered our goal to six. Now we are discovering the difficulty of trying to do research during Ramazan. Everything closes early. People are hard to get a hold of, and even more hesitant to set up meetings and interviews. Everyone keeps saying "after Eid, after Eid". So we are behind schedule, and the interviews that we have gotten done have not been quite what we had hoped they would be.

I guess it shows the difficulty of this kind of quantitative research, though. People are not like books in the library. You can't go and get them off the shelf whenever you want, page through them, and quote them to your hearts desire. It's a lot more complex, requiring patience and flexibility.


I suppose that's what I'm here for. Not so much to produce incredible research on development programs, but more to learn about how research works in this field. To be exposed to the issues, before I decide which direction to launch my career in. And for that it has been infinitely useful. I am learning so much more than if everything had just gone right.

I just need to work on countering my habit of getting disappointed at not achieving original goals. I think a little bit of disappointment is appropriate. If I didn't let my goals motivate me, what good would it be to set goals in the first place? I just can't allow the dis-satisfaction to cripple me from continuing forward. I must keep thinking ahead, planning, rolling with the punches, and being creative.

Wish me luck.

Wow. I was more self reflective here than I usually am via this medium. Hopefully it's not too boring for you readers.

regarding Nepal

Those of you who are avid checkers of this online publication will have taken note that I have been silent for roughly the past week. I assure you, there is a very good reason for it.

The story begins in the Bangladeshi embassy in Washington DC, where on a lovely summer day a passport was delivered, bearing the name of yours truly. It was supposed to be stamped with a visa authorizing a one time stay of three months. When the passport returned to Tim, all was not as it should have been. The visa said that Tim could visit Bangladesh as many times as he wanted for a year, but could only stay for a month each time.

Tim made several valiant attempts to get the problem mended, but success eluded him like it usually does the Tigers Baseball team (good job, by the way.). The solution was to take a few short trips out of the country during his stay, so as to allow the visa to renew. Not really that bad a punishment.

So about a week ago, Tim found himself on a plane bound for the Kathmandu valley and the Himalayas. It was a lovely trip, full of fresh air, stunning vistas, entertaining ex-pats, and lots of those touristy treats that are not generally available here in Dhaka (hot shower, anyone?).

The highlight of the week was a two day trip up into the mountains. (If you work for MSU and can get fired for knowing about the silly things that students do while abroad, I recommend you skip to the next paragraph). Rachel and I (no more third person in this entry) decided to take a public bus up for the equivalent of a few cents, as opposed to going a more touristy route and paying lots of money for the comfort. You'd think that the bus drivers wouldn't make much of a living charging that little, but you should see the number of people they cram into these things. When it became clear to the conductor that these Americans had little experience being packed in like sardines, he invited us to ride up on the roof! Ever since I was a child, riding around the mountains in Pakistan, I had always thought that it would be tremendous fun to ride up one of those winding mountain roads on the top of a bus. No windows, no seat belts. Just the hair-pin turns, the wind, and the mountain. It was just as glorious as I had hoped it would be.

For those of you who've not been to Nepal (which I assume is most of you?), I highly recommend taking a visit. Kathmandu is a fascinating city, historically, culturally, and religiously. It is very easy to get around (everyone speaks English), and the prices are great.

I will try to get some photos posted soon.

in which Tim drives a rickshaw

For an American in Dhaka, it is simply a fact of life that when you walk down the street (no matter what street it is, or the time of day) you will be the object of an awful lot of attention. The attention-givers generally fall into one of three categories. The first are the beggars, who I have talked a little bit about in the past. The second group is what I like to call "the English speakers", despite their limited vocabulary. These interactions usually begin with them politely inquiring "your country is what?". I always reply truthfully (although I might start having a little fun by saying something like "Korea". What do you think?), and they usually run out of English after one or two more sentences. Fortunately my Bangla is improving, so I can start to make the conversations a little more interesting.

The third main group of people who pay attention on the street are the rickshaw drivers. Some are polite (they leave when you tell them you don't need a ride). Some are rude (they stop in your path to try and get your attention and force you into their cart). And some are as persistent as the desperate telemarketers that tend to call around dinner time.

Last night I had an amusing encounter with one such driver. I was walking home from a friends place quite late at night. I had about eight blocks to go, and fancied the walk. Toward the beginning of the route, I picked up a persistent rickshaw driver, who just kind of cruised along next to me, chatting with me for six blocks. I appreciated his sense of humor and relative politeness, and told him since he was kind of wasting his time with me since I wanted the exercise anyway. I told him that he got plenty of exercise in his line of work, but some of us sit at desks and in cars all day and like to stretch our legs on occasion. He then told me that if I liked, I was more than welcome get some exercise by driving his rickshaw. How could I turn down such an invitation? So on I got, and he climbed into the rear passenger seat. Down the street we went, drawing a few shocked looks and even more laughs from fellow rickshaw drivers and pedestrians who were struck by the image of a Westerner pedaling a rickshaw down the street.

The most shocked look came from the guard of my apartment building (who knows me quite well) when I pulled up to the gate. Sure, it was socially unconventional. But I got some exercise, and it makes a half decent blog entry. At the end of the day, I think that's a pretty good score.