Tala waterlogging

Coming back into town we past some public areas crammed with people living in temporary camps.  We stopped and met a few people.  First is Babu Ram.  He and his family have been in this temporary camp for three months.  The road to their house is under water and their porch has turned to mud.  

Walking further down the road we came to another camp.  People came quickly to meet us.  Here are some of the faces I saw.

And last but not least.... here is baby Bona... meaning flood.  She is so named because she was born into this camp during the flood.  You may notice her mom looks like she should be playing with dolls rather than having a baby.  Unfortunately, natural disasters exacerbate social problems such as early marriage, child labour, ... as families often don't have the resources to provide for their children any other way.  

Floodlands Shatkira Bangladesh 2009

Makeshift houses along roadside

Toilet serves the community

Mango trees dying from being submerged

Kids playing in spite of the hardships

 A bridge to the road

This highschool is not operational due flooding

This is the road to the primary school, now underwater

Tala Upazilla of Shatkira district in Bangladesh was once a place where people could grow rice, pulses, vegetables, and have fruit trees.  For the past four plus years the rivers have become increasingly clogged and water can't flow out into the sea, leaving people waterlogged for up to seven months of the year.  The people's homes are typically made of mud, which become engorged with water and collapse.  Some who are able to build their houses on higher foundations or use cement or bricks, are perhaps able to stay in their homes, but larger numbers are forced to relocate to temporary shelters on the roadside or in public areas such as school grounds.  Obviously there are health and safety issues, not to mention the pain and stress of having your livelihood, your home, your food sources... being wiped out year after year after year.  We are working with a local NGO to put in tubewells that will be raised above flood levels so that they will be accessible and remain uncontaminated year round.

Return to Bangladesh

I scribbled notes in my little book when I first arrived back in Bangladesh.  As the newness wore off, I thought maybe they didn't still apply, but I think it does.  So here you go, scribbled out 15 October and making it to a posting 8 November:

So I'm back in Bangladesh and what can I say....  One comfort on my return was that I was to arrive at midnight, to slip back discreetly into the quiet and coolness of night.  The storm in the Pacific Nothwest, the mad dash to catch my flight in San Francisco after a delay from Portland, the taxi to the runway only to sit for 3-1/2 hours watching the fierce winds blow water in sheets along the pavement, the eventual return to the gate accruing ultimately a 13 hour late arrival into Bangladesh... all meant that I was instead thrown immediately into the steamy heat of the early afternoon, the weaving traffic, the skinny boys indicating they want food, the limbless men waving their stubs seeking a donation, a woman vomiting from a bus, a rickshaw wallah straining with a massive load stacked way above his head.  And you may be asking, how does it feel to be back.  And what can I say?  I would love for the warm days of an Oregon summer to linger forever.  To continue spending time with my family, watching my nieces and nephew grow, riding my bike, floating down the river in my kayak.  No amount of relaxation can last long once thrown back to the throbbing mass, the sooty humid air, the constant disparity between the arrogant rich and the desperate poor.  But there's something here that is gritty and real, that will break your heart and heal it up again, that will teach you what hope and love really is.  And I wish I could show you this place because there is something about it that feels like home.  

The “who needs a bed (or shower)” tour of Rajasthan day 2 - 4

So a noisy train doesn’t seem like the best preparation for 3 days on a camel, but time limitations didn’t allow for a break in between. Guess we slept well enough as we were all woken by someone banging on the train windows at 5:30 am at Jasailmer station. The man from Ganesh travels was waiting to take us for breakfast and a shower before we needed to get to our camels. We were in their guest house which is inside the fort… an ecological no no according to Lonely Planet but boy it was nice to eat breakfast as we watched the sun rise over the fort and temple walls. A cup of coffee and a shower and I was ready for whatever came my way.  
They drove us out into the desert about an hour where our camels were waiting. I was introduced to Sunday, my travel companion for the next 3 days. Sunday was typically the leader of the group and was taken to fairs and such to show off his talents such as to put his head cutely down on the ground upon demand. He had some stomach issues which didn’t make him hugely popular with those following closely behind (sorry Sarah). I’m not sure what my compatriots meant when they say we all had the camel most suited to their personality. Jodi had the naughty one… I see that. Dave’s Papaya just followed along but once in a while got a bit more adventurous ie: trying to snuggle up to Sarah and running away for a night of feasting on the second night; Sarah’s regal and steady; and mine… slow and steady leader with particularly bad smells? Does that fit?  

Overall I feel my preparation of kicks and squats courtesy of Billy Blanks Bootcamp prepared me as much as possible for 3 days on a camel, but really, how do you prepare for 3 days on a camel? When we stopped for lunch I was pretty surprised my legs could still hold me up. I loved the simple meals of whole grain chapatti’s and vegetables always preceded by tea. We had hours of siesta which did get long as suddenly the heat became really intense and sticky. Around 3 it cooled off a bit and it was time to climb back up on the camels and carry on. It was really relaxing to travel through the desert seeing the plants, wildlife (deer and mice), birds and just enjoying life. Just when I was about ready to really STOP enjoying life, these children came running out of the desert like a mirage carrying water soaked jute bags full of semi cold sodas. It was the most amazing think I have put in my mouth! It was also time for the camels to have a drink from a well, and a short hike later we were making camp on a beautiful sand dune, settling in first to watch the sunset and then to see the most amazing display of stars I have seen for a long time.  

My response to the sand beetles was not exactly what one would refer to as stoic. The Camel Guide’s assistant, in his limited English, assured me they would not hurt me and would only give “beetle kiss”. O but how much I did not WANT beetle kisses. The first night they seemed like they liked Dave best but night two, perhaps as my hair smelt more like camel dung, they seemed to be drawn to me as well. As were some wild dogs trying to befriend Sarah during the night. Regardless, sleeping on the sand dunes and waking to a big cup of tea being put by your bedding in the morning was pretty fabulous.  

Our camel guide was a character as well. He’s 28 and got married at 23 when his wife was 10. He only saw her that one day and will not live with her for another 5 years. He’s illiterate but has picked up some pretty hilarious sayings from tourists all over the world. He referred to himself as “bloody camel man” and regaled us with his camel man rendition of “I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world” (“I’m a camel man, in a camel world”) and tales of people he’s taken on safari. One he swears went sleepwalking for miles but didn’t want to have to end her camel trek early so had him tie her down like a camel. Another was offended when he referred to her “grandfather” which was in fact her husband but later she admitted she would take his money when he died, “like a vulture,” according to Shajan, our leader and story teller extraordinaire. We attempted to teach him a good American line since the majority seemed more Australian or British, but found it difficult to explain what our chosen phrase, “Here’s a quarter, find someone who cares,” means. Come to think of it, that’s already becoming obsolete in the US as well, isn’t it. Shame… it’s such a great line.  
The desert is full of windmills, according to our guide to give water to the villages. According to the audio tour we did later, to provide power to the armed forces on the border. Hopefully Shajan’s version is true as well.  
I was perhaps the only one of our team sad to see the trek come to an end. Everyone else was feeling sore and tired but I definitely felt less sore the third day. I also had a chance to rinse off 3 days of sweat and dryness which gave me a whole new lease on life. But all things must end and it was time to return to Jasailmer town and explore by foot. PS… no one is exaggerating the tales of camel flatulence… it’s rough, but otherwise they are amazing animals PSS… Saw one snake trail but no snakes which made it a GOOD trip! PSS Never changed clothed or bathed on this trip aside from some wet wipes but seriously, I smell so much worse after a day walking around in Bangladesh than I did after 3 days in dry desert heat on a smelly camel.   Go figure!

The “who needs a bed” tour of Rajasthan 2009 Day 1

Sarah and I had started planning our next holiday while we were still in Kerala, but took some time to decide on a destination. I had camel treks in Rajasthan on my mind for a long time but was surprised she was interested as well. Sarah is transferring from Kolkata to the Middle East so it was our last big hurrah before she goes. Two others from MCC Bangladesh decided to join the camel brigade as well, and we had a team.  
My trips to India always start with the overnight 13 hour bus ride from Dhaka to Kolkata as this is the $12 option rather than the $150-200 but o so pleasant (I’m imagining) flight. So I arrived in Kolkata at 8:30 am, going through customs very quickly as foreigner lines are short! I got to Kolkata in time for an afternoon meeting which ended up being postponed until evening but was still productive. I was meeting with a lady who does dance therapy with people, which I think will be ideal for Bengali women coming from trafficking/prostitution who have experienced unimaginable trauma but for whom a therapist’s couch is too foreign and traumatic in and of itself.  
A few hours in a bed were welcome but it was a 4:30 am trip to the airport for Sarah and I to fly to Jodhpur. There we were to meet Jodi and Dave and although I imagined any numbers of complications, it worked like a dream. We hurried to the Mehrangarh Fort…. Wait, I actually took notes of this one… I know, I’m a nerd…. Or just pragmatically aware of the limitations of my memory!  
So the Maharaj here no longer have power of state but they are developing the trust to keep the heritage alive in the area… and to keep themselves in the manner to which they are accustomed, I presume! The current Maharaj was just four when he was crowned after his father’s death in an air crash in 1952. He said he doesn’t clearly remember other than being a solemn and important occasion, but an onlooker told a story of how, as people passed, they gave him money as tokens of their esteem. As they did so, he began to give the money received to the next person and they saw this as a sign that he would be a great leader.  
As with some of the other forts, the entry way has a sharp turn so elephants could not gain momentum to storm the gates. Next to this gate are handprints of women who performed Sathi. This is when a widow throws herself on her husband’s funeral pyre. This proved to be a common thing among the Rajput rulers… When they died, their women went with them. When they knew that defeat was imminent, the women would prepare themselves all night and go into the fire in the morning, after which the soldiers would ride into the enemy troops to their death. This way, the castle was never stormed and they were never taken by the enemy. They also felt the sword was chivalrous while guns showed weakness. Needless to say, a massacre eventually ensued by those feeling otherwise.
The tradition was for women to keep purda (not showing their face) so there are ornate women’s quarters with specially carved wooden screens so the women can watch the goings on but not be seen. The grandmother of the current Raj kept purda, and, when she once visited London, the journalists, quite intrigued, were all after a picture of her. They never saw her face, but someone did get a picture of her ankle. The Jodhpur contingent was so riled, they reportedly bought every issue of the paper in which the photo appeared.  
The women would play polo, believe it or not, and this is where Jodhpur’s (riding trousers) and they had these dumbbells the women would use to keep in shape! There was a gallery of Marwar Miniature Painting which is amazingly intricate. I would have bought some samples but didn’t fancy dragging anything extra along on a camel trek!
Jodhpur is an especially picturesque town as the Brahmin caste traditionally paints their houses a lovely indigo blue. Now it’s not restricted only to Brahmin, and the hills are littered with these lovely houses. There is also a palace in the distance where the Maharajah and his family live and where people not restricting themselves to the budget accommodation section of the lonely planet can also stay!  
After the fort we had saffron lassi’s which were incredibly rich and refreshing and nothing like what we call a lassi in Bangladesh or the US. Seriously, amazing. This was followed by me going on a quest for a functional ATM (I’d found 4 previously that were not functional), and then to discover why it is essential to destroy your outdated cards so you don’t inadvertently use the old one and curse the bank when it doesn’t work, when in fact, you are the idiot. Luckily I had some dollars to exchange which tided me over until I could recognize my folly and try again with a current card.  
After a dinner on a guest house roof it was time to pack up and head to the train and on to the next day.  photos: view of a woman in purda/ Mehrangarh Fort

Blessings in disguise

It has been quite a week.  For our alternative employment program, we have been working with an NGO that provides support and empowerment to street based sex workers to ensure their human rights and promote their health and safety.  There are more than 500 women who are members of this NGO.  We took 26 women last year, and gave them training and an a way out of the trade.  As it's not easy to develop work for people, we started with only 10 new women this month.  We selected criteria to prioritize who we would take... women who were the wage earners of their families, widows, women without options.  Unfortunately, some less than respectable people decided to try to profit from the situation and took money from women saying they could get them in, and then tried to threaten our staff to get their way.  There were threats and scenes throughout the week, and at one point we went to the police and had them come to address the issue.  

The training center where they meet is right in their community and has some issues like poor ventilation, flooding, dampness, lack of light... but as they could not find anyone else locally who would rent to a project like this we had just the week before decided to make the best of it and make a few alterations to try to solve these problems.  As the troubles erupted, the ladies with fear in their faces said they wanted the center to be moved out of the area, and with concerns for safety, we decided to look for a new building.  The one we found is ideal; very secure, midway between the slum where most of the women are coming from and the MCC office, has space to start our childcare program and have a separate office and maybe even a showroom, is clean and dry and well ventilated.  My colleague was giddy with excitement and said, "God is always on our side."  I think he really is and hope I can remember that next time everything seems to be a disaster.  I'm still saddened though at how many women are living these tragic lives with no options.  Ten women is such a drop in the bucket and so many could be spared the daily horrors if more jobs could be created.  Please pray that these women will quickly become employable (they are admittedly crude when they start the program), and that jobs will open up for them so we can take in more women as soon as possibe.  

Back in the desh

As many of you know, I was able to go home this Christmas thanks to collected and donated frequent flier miles. As my sister had a new daughter in October, and her elder 3 are growing like weeds, it means a lot to see them as much as I can. This trip home was different than any other Christmas in Oregon as we were blanketed in snow, then ice, then more snow. It meant that instead of Christmas programs, shopping trips and seeing the Nutcracker, we pretty much snuggled up on the couch and watched movies as the snow fell... and fell… and fell… and fell. And even when it started to get old, I found myself thinking, really, can you ever get tired of curling up on the couch with a niece in each arm watching Enchanted? (The correct answer is no, by the way!) 

But now I’m back in Bangladesh, busy trying to figure out a new position while winding up last years programs and getting prepared for next year. I wasn’t able to visit the Alternative Employment project until today. I arrived carrying some large bags, but instead of helping me, the woman who met me at the door went racing back inside to excitedly tell everyone that I had arrived. They flocked to me, hugged me, asked me if I missed them, told me they thought of me on Christmas, held my hands, told me I looked beautiful (due to my Oregon pallor!), told me I looked thinner (come on, I just spent 3 weeks in the US eating every thing in sight!), gave me some gifts, and just showered me with love. They had made posters welcoming me "from your 26 daughters.”  

I often feel sad thinking about how much I’m missing at home, how much my nieces and nephews grow up while I’m gone, how I miss their performances and their milestones… But I’d sure hate to miss this too… getting a chance to see people given opportunities to improve their lives, feed their families, and to be empowered. It’s a special gift.