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.