International

(introductory aside: the title of this entry comes from a Facebook group  for foreigners living in Dhaka, and is not really representative of the entry. I just find it really funny).

Oh, Dhaka. What is there to write about you that hasn’t been said countless times before? Any phrase I formulate in an attempt to sum up this city sounds trite and cliched. Dhaka cannot be summed up in a single phrase; a full page couldn’t cover it, and anything I write sounds like a cheesy Lonely Planet introduction (“We can’t guarantee you’ll fall for Dhaka’s many charms, but sooner or later you will start to move to its beat, and when that happens Dhaka stops being a terrifying ride and starts becoming a cauldron of art and intellect, passion and poverty, love and hate. Whatever happens, this is one fairground ride you’ll never forget”). Dhaka is a hard city to like, and an even harder city to live in. Dhaka is noisy –the sound of horns permeate the air constantly, especially on major roads. Cars do not signal, rickshaws cannot signal, buses with people spilling out of windows and doors swerve terrifyingly down the road, and 2-lane traffic easily becomes 4 or 5. And so the horns and bells ring constantly. Dhaka is dirty – litter lines the sides of the roads, fills the lakes, and hides in every corner. The air is heavy with dirt and dust, and sometimes I feel like I’m walking in a dreamy haze as I explore the city, albeit one in which I could be hit by a speeding car, rickshaw, or CNG at any moment. Other times, my throat aches after a late-night CNG ride, most of which is spent in an unmoving traffic jam, and I imagine it lined with dust and dirt.
Though CNG’s (which stand for the compressed natural gas that they run on) feel somewhat safer than rickshaws, my usual means of transportation, they also involve sitting in a loud, locked, rattling cage on wheels, and leave me at mouth-level with any exhaust pipes I happen to be fortunate enough to pull up beside and sit next to for 2-20 minutes. Dhaka is confusing, and sometimes scary; I don’t feel safe here, but whenever I tell that to a local person, they reply “YOU SHOULD.”

Dhaka is fascinating. It is colourful, and boisterous. Curious, and friendly. It is never boring, never quiet, and never dull, and I have never been so warmly welcomed to a place before in my life. On a visit to a nearby village, nearly everyone we met invited us into their homes, offered us food, handed us their babies, and cared for us as though we were family. I have  run out of money while grocery shopping in one of the city’s main markets, and had the vendor tell me “pay next time, I trust you.” My co-workers have quickly made me feel welcome, inviting me over for dinner and on trips to show me the rest of the country. People are so encouraging and proud of my elementary knowledge of the Bangla language that I feel like a child learning their first words whenever I speak it. My co-workers boast about my Bangla skills to people we meet, and have me say a few words to show me off, like a proud parent. I usually go with “Ami Bangla jani na” (I don’t know Bangla), which is always met with even MORE undeserved praise. It’s also a helpful line to use when men leer at me in the streets and markets, and use the bits of English they know to try to
start a conversation, or ask for my phone number or ‘Facebook ID’ - except I go with “Ami English jani na.”

My internship is with ICDDR,B (the International Centre for Diarrhoeal Disease Research, Bangladesh), and I love it. I am working on a small part of a big project that is seeking to examine health-seeking habits of the urban poor and health care facilities available to them, in 7 slums across the city. Every day I learn
something new, as I participate in stakeholder analysis, literature reviews, focus groups and field visits. I’m lucky that I enjoy my work; being in an office for 40 hours a week while my friends are out exploring the city and travelling the country would otherwise be a discouraging experience, and though I do enjoy it, it’s been a hard adjustment (oh student/ barista life, how I miss your flexibility and lazy days!).

With each passing day, life in Dhaka gets a little bit easier. I am renting an apartment with two friends, and we are slowly learning how to live here (this includes being bed-ridden with illness my second weekend here, moving into a filthy apartment, but feeling mostly gratitude that we finally found one landlord in a city of 150 million who was willing to rent to 3 foreign women, as well as boiling every bit of water that runs from the taps before using it, dealing with a creepy caretaker who rings our doorbell incessantly
despite our pointed avoidance of him, and navigating the bustling nearby market every day to buy our groceries, where we playfully bargain with vendors, who in turn playfully rip us off). This is a city you have to work to like. Some days, I am so pleased to be here I can’t imagine being anywhere else, and make grand life plans that have me living here in a few years time and somehow suddenly being incredibly qualified, experienced and useful to an organization like ICDDR,B, (to which I will realistically never be able to offer any skills more valuable than someone here already can). Other days, I indulge myself with daydreams of being on the next flight back to Ottawa, where the streets are clean, the sidewalks aren’t ridden with
potholes, and I can take a leisurely stroll with almost no fear of being run over by a speeding car, blaring it’s horn at me and driving down the wrong side of the road, leaving me to jump back into a family of 5 on the back of a 3 wheel rickshaw, or a pile of cow crap, or a person begging for money, laying next to the street and looking at my imploringly.

My experience in Dhaka is, of course, in no way representative of what life is like for the majority of the population here. I live in a position of incredible privilege in the city, while more than half of the population lives on less than $2 a day. Navigating this city while steeped in such privilege comes with many dilemmas, and much discomfort and guilt, and I am often at a loss as to how to deal with it properly. Maybe there really isn’t a proper way. I am trying to be kind and generous, but nothing I can offer is enough, and it’s hard not to get discouraged. This is especially difficult for me when it comes to street children; refusing money to a child living in poverty is a horrible, horrible feeling, however I am constantly warned never to give money, as many people believe that the children work for brokers of some type who make a business of sending children out to collect money, and treat the kids horribly. Most often, I hand out food I’m carrying in my bag, or take them to the nearest shop and let them pick a treat. Sometimes, though, I’m exhausted, uncomfortable, hot and dehydrated (probably exactly how they are feeling too), and I walk right past them. It’s disheartening to realize how quickly something – or someone – no matter how upsetting, can become more part of the scenery with every passing day. Despite all of this, things are going
rather well, and I generally enjoy the challenges and adventures I face most days. And if I do have a bad day, I am fortunate enough to come home to a bottle of clean water to quench my thirst, a fridge full of food (ok, mostly mango juice and chocolate) to fill my stomach, 4 locks on my door to keep out my creepy caretaker, and HBO on my TV to numb my brain. Oh, Dhaka. You’re not so bad after all.

Here I am, ready for takeoff, leaving the beautiful desh (eng: land) behind. The strange thing is that I sit here writing this, looking out my window and glaring into the one of the two jet engine’s of my aircraft, B.o.B’s song Airplanes pops into my mind, so let’s see how this song moves me:

Well, if “airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars” who in Bangladesh would see my airplane in the sky at 9:30 at night? My mind automatically thinks about the young women I had the chance to work with during my time at CODEC. I was fortunate enough to get the chance to do some field research in the fishing villages of Bangladesh, some of the most poverty stricken in the country. I conducted several interviews with girls my age, a main focus of my research; so what if one of these young women saw my plane in sky, confused it with a shooting star, and decided to make a wish? I wonder what she would wish for: money, a full stomach, security, or equal rights as any man? She might even wish for a ticket out of her village; a new beginning; an opportunity to improve her situation. And here I sit on this airplane, on my way home to reunite with my loving family and friends, selfishly awaiting to once again enjoy all the little comforts of Canada.

Wait…take off! And what a rough one indeed, we’ve already hit some rather panic inducing turbulence. But see, I’m lucky in the sense that I just so happen to have one of my closest friends sitting right next to me, who put their hand in mine as we both let our nerves get the best of us. Regardless of the fact that they were just as scared as I was, their hand was still comforting and I knew that they were there for me. But who is there for the young woman wishing on my airplane? It might be her family, who in this society, tends to place greater value on the life of her brothers than her own. It might also be her friends, who have limitations placed on them with regards to where and when they can go and see each other, under male supervision in some cases. And the likelihood of her wishes actually coming true is narrow since her gender confines her in countless ways.

Hold on again, this television screen in front of me is much too distracting to get some serious work done, OFF. But now this blank black screen staring back at me reflects a hazy image of myself, which ironically contradicts my every experiences here in Bangladesh these last three months. My time here has been unbelievably colourful with the language, culture, food, and of course, work experience at the grassroots NGO level. Travelling throughout this country has also permitted in much personal growth and I now, I think, have a better understanding of who I am and what direction I see my life heading in. It’s funny because as I look back at my previous posts on this blog, I can see how my writing style has changed as I not only became more comfortable in Bangladesh, but my own skin as well.

So I can sit here on my shooting star, filling you in on all the wonders my eyes have seen during my stay in Bangladesh, or dear future interns, I can cut to the chase and let you know one of my conclusions for this trip: as much as I cherish my home life, we can’t just keep enjoying on our Canadian comforts and wait around for the world to change on its own. This is particularly true when you keep in mind the all the young women and men in the world, who wish on our airplanes to have the same opportunities as we do in Canada.

I think it is rather unfortunate that due to our snow filled weather in Canada, instead of having beautiful terraces to look out on to the cityscape, we have slanted little shingles to prevent our homes from caving in when the snow gets heavy. Ya sure, some buildings do have flat roofs in Canada, but they are definitely not as much of a social scene as it is here in Bangladesh. Bangladesh, one of the most densely populated countries in the world, has little space for anything mildly remote to a playground or park for kids to play or just hang out. As a result, the few uninhabited areas available, such as the vacant pavement on top of a building, transforms into this place for kids to just be kids.

It is from the terrace of my apartment building in downtown Chittagong that I write to you all today and the sight in front of me is so lively. I am sitting on top of a 19 storey building and when I lean over the edge and look down, my heart races uncontrollably, but I can’t seem to part with the thrill. Thankfully there is a five feet wall that prevents people from falling down (or jumping off, take your pick), and my extra three inches plus the tip of my toes allows me to look down and see the busy streets of a city that always seems to be in a hustle and bustle. But this is just the sight of what lays below me. In front of me when I look out on to the skyline of the city, because my apartment building is much taller than most, I am able to see the terraces’ of other buildings, many of which have run down sofa sets on them that seem to resemble much more comfortable park benches.

Today this terrace seems to be a little more quite than usual. Young boys usually storm up here after school to practice their cricket skills and the girls use the terrace as a spot to catch up on gossip. But areas of this terrace, similar to others in this city, have been closed off for people to hang dry their laundry on clothes lines. I have run into one young girl in particular, no older than 7, on several different occasions. She hangs out around these clothes lines, as if she were waiting for the clothes to dry and take them back inside. When approached, she said she was visiting her sister and likes to come up to the terrace to play. However her attire and the rather shy demeanour led me to assume that she was a child domestic worker. As much as it broke my heart, I found comfort in the fact that the Bangladeshi government recently passed a law prohibiting anyone younger than 12 to work as domestic servants. Yes, I know that 12 is still a rather young age, but it is better than nothing.

The NGO that I work with, CODEC, is primarily education based and aims at ensuring that children like her, specifically those who belong to the lowest economic class of fishermen, have access to education. Education is just one of the areas that CODEC works in. I have had the opportunity to get involved in the Socio-Political Empowerment Program, which reaches more than 400 000 fisherfolk families. I was fortunate enough to land a research position and have been conducting field research on one fisherfolk village in particular, evaluating how this empowerment program has contributed to upholding the rights of women and children in this area. Although my day to day work does help many children, ensuring they are in school, have prospects of employment in the future, and are empowered in their communities, I can’t help but feel bad that the work CODEC does is unable to help the girl on the terrace directly. One of the harsh realities that I always new but never faced first hand until now is that development work, in order to have any impact, must be direct and focused. I just have to come to terms with the fact that limitations always exist and I myself can’t help everyone on their terraces.

As the downtown of Chittagong city comes to life at night, I feel now, just over a month after my first round of bumper cars at Dhaka’s overly crowded Zia International Airport, that I have somewhat of a grasp on my experiences over these past few weeks. I have always found that to be one of the most challenging things to do when travelling and gaining exposure to new things. It is one thing to live in the moment and simply go though the actions, but it is another to actually reflect and learn from these experiences. It is these thoughts that I would like to share tonight, as the traffic outside my window begins to oddly synchronize to the beat of the night-time Azan prayers, blasted in loud speakers throughout the city.

To begin, I would like to state that Bangladesh is a country like no other, largely influenced by India, which it shares the majority of its border with, Pakistan, with which it has its historical ties and Myanmar, its other not-so friendly neighbour. The culture, people, language, and, not to forget, the delicious food draws from these influences, while mixing the harsh realities of any underdeveloped country. However, the destitute of poverty experienced in the daily lives of people is not without hope; drawing from their nationalistic desire, the people here are adamant to move forward. The sense of being unable to let go of certain traditions in order to develop and yet the considerable ambitions to progress is evident in the diverse cultures and people I encounter as I travel with work from the downtown core of Chittagong city, where the head office of my NGO is located, to the countryside villages I visit to conduct my field research. The various forms of Bengali dialects when travelling between the two are also an eye-opener considering that very little of this exists in the English language.

When I described the uniqueness of Bangladesh in the previous paragraph, I mentioned food, partially due to the fact that it is so exquisite here that it must be acknowledged. Moreover, I would have never thought that my diet could exclude meat. As a result of the extremely fertile land and people’s poor economic situation, fruits and vegetables are part of the main course of all three meals here, even making up snack time. Chittagong also happens to be a port city, situated along the mouth of the Bay of Bengal and consequently, the amount of fish I consume and all its variations are not only reflected in my daily meals but have definitely impacted the image I construct in my mind when I think of this city as well.

Now I stated that Bangladesh is a country like no other, but I would also like to touch upon how my experience here is probably also a unique case compared to the other OttawaU students who have travelled to Bangladesh. I am first generation Canadian and my parents are originally from India. Due to this, strictly based off of appearances, I have more often than not been confused as a Bangladeshi. So looks wise, especially since I wear traditional Bangladesh clothes on a day to day basis, I fit right in. However, as soon as I open my mouth, it is interesting to see how people’s behaviour changes towards me, going from someone who belonged to an outsider. Whenever I get the chance to, in group settings, I like to stay silent and see how people interact with one another. But once I am addressed, the behaviour changes. I always get asked where I am from, but replying that I was born and raised in Canada is never sufficient. This question that always follows is “where are your parents from,” and depending on whether the individual thinks highly or poorly of South India, the conversation goes down one road or another. Hopefully over the next few weeks, I will have more experiences to reflect upon, seeing as the country will be filled with foreigners as Bangladesh gets ready to host the Cricket World Cup.

As the noise level outside my bedroom door escalates with guests who came over due to the long weekend, I realize that little has been touched on with regards to the actual events that have taken place since my time here. But for my first entry, I feel that I am content seeing as this more reflective entry shows that I have gained much insight since I first arrived in Bangladesh.

I am currently living-out the last week of my 12-week stay in Dhaka. Overall this has been a very rewarding experience for me – and not simply through my learning opportunities at work. It has been living in Dhaka and making friends with local Bangladeshi that has turned out to be the most invaluable learning tool for me, challenging my perceptions and preconceived notions.

An example of such an experience was with my friend Javed – whom I met while at the local cha stop (tea shack) I frequent. Through our conversations, some about life in general and some about Bangladeshi culture, I came to know that his nephew - who is close in age with him - owns a garment and press factory. As I have learned a lot about such factories during development courses at university, as well as more particular knowledge on the garment industry in Bangladesh during my time here, I asked Javed if it was possible for me to visit his cousins’ factory.

My previous knowledge, though perhaps limited, about this type of factory included the well-known situation of developed countries purchasing goods from developing countries due to the lower costs of production. The lower cost of production often comes with social and environmental consequences, such as low wages and poor working conditions for the workers in the developing world and negative impacts of shipping goods across the globe, resulting in pollution and mass energy consumption.

The garment industry in Bangladesh has boomed in the past years, significantly contributing to Bangladesh’s GDP. Most of the employees of these factories are younger women (and some children) who usually come from the village to find work to support their families. I have heard that garment factory owners usually recruit younger women as they produce the greatest output and because they are the most complacent with strict rules. There is also child labour at the factories, though child labour is certainly not limited to such factories – it is found everywhere in Dhaka – from housemaids to cha-runners (boys who bring you your tea).

Javed brought me to his nephew’s factory on a Friday. Because it was a Friday, the religious holiday, there were not many people working - only a few adolescent boys and girls. When the car pulled up behind a rugged building I almost thought to question my friendship with Javed - wondering what I had gotten myself into. I followed him up the garbage-strewn, crumbling steps. Many of the walls were missing; I wondered about the structural strength of the building and what would happen during the rainy season. We continued up about 3 levels and passed a few rooms that contained rows upon rows of sewing machines. Making it to the fourth level we were warmly welcomed by Javed’s nephew and the manager. They were very excited to show me around, proud of their accomplishment of owning and managing a factory, and greeted me with a cold sprite – a sign of respect here. They were eager to show me the process of how shirts are made, constantly asking me if I would like a custom-made shirt or dress.

Walking through the facility, learning the process of how shirts are made and then sent to the press, I began to pay closer attention to the actual shirts being produced. To my surprise, I noticed that one pile of shirts was being pressed with “ROOTS athletics” and another with a large moose on the front and a small Canadian flag – the kind you buy at tourist shops in Ottawa. It was at this point when I started to make a real connection between the negative social impacts that such a factory has, the positive economic impacts that the industry has in Bangladesh, and the costs of what makes our lifestyle in the West possible. I don’t know how I felt about it exactly, and honestly I still don’t, but being able to see it unfold first hand allowed for a unique understanding that I had not before been privy to.

A more acute understanding of this connection can be understood through the story of Minu.

Minu is our cook at the office. She works from around 10am until 1pm, Saturday through Thursday. She comes in and cleans a little, then prepares our meals. She earns 1,500 taka a month ($22 CAD). It is a flexible job. With her four young children at home it allows her to spend more time with them and care for them. When they are sick she is able to stay home, as the NGO I work for is generally willing to understand this – something rare in Bangladesh. My work colleagues give her children clothes and small gifts. She sometimes speaks with my female colleagues about what is troubling her, allowing her to build-up a relationship.

Everyday Minu goes home to an angry husband. He is a driver. He doesn’t like that she works as a cook at the NGO and wants her to work at a garment factory. At the garment factory she would make 3,000 taka ($45 CAD) a month. Her hours at the garment factory would be from 9am until 5pm, though 70% of the time her hours are longer, from 8am until 9pm or later - without getting compensated for overtime. Along with the longer hours there is also the transportation time of getting to a factory. Travel in Dhaka can take hours for short distances because of the massive traffic jams due to poor city planning and lack of infrastructure - a result of mass urbanization in such a short time along with a corrupt, disorganized government.

This would take her away from her young children and add to the burden of responsibilities at home, as she would still be responsible for shopping, cooking, and cleaning. At the garment factory she would sit for hours and hours doing repetitive motions in what are usually bad conditions. Music could be blaring loudly in order to prevent her from speaking with her fellow co-workers. If she is sick, she must go into work or she will be fired. There is no flexibility because of the slew of women who would be willing to take her place and because her livelihood and rights are not protected.

But she would make double her salary and her husband would stop verbally abusing her.

Now, I don’t mean to come-off melodramatic, but it is we, from the West, who promote this lifestyle dilemma for Minu. It is an effect of our urge to buy new clothes every other week and purchase the latest fashions. It is in part because we pay so much money for a garment with a specific label sewed on that women like Minu, have to sacrifice their livelihood to sit for hours on end in a workshop with no light, in decrepit buildings, where they cannot talk to anyone.

I am not so naïve to think that if we just stopped our consumerism habits things would be better. In fact, if we stopped our consumption pattern now, who knows what the consequences would be? The global economy is indeed dependent on this movement of goods and capital.

From what I understand – and again, my knowledge is somewhat limited in this regard – I feel there are two ways to look at the garment industry in Bangladesh (with many grey areas, of course). On the one side the garment industry has no doubt boomed Bangladesh’s economy and provided a viable employment opportunity for the many unemployed women. In booming the economy it has allowed for further development of the country, even though the few factory owners amass most of the profit, and also has helped to give women more independence. On the other hand the working conditions can be horrid – with women working 12 hour days, forced to work with out conversing, and being fired for calling in sick one afternoon. The negative environmental issues are also something that should be paid attention to, as Bangladesh is extremely vulnerable to climate change, and the transport of such goods is no doubt contributing to the problem.

I don’t know what side I fall on - probably a mix of both. When learning about these issues in the classroom, I tended to fall on the side of “corporations are bad,” but can something that provides work for women and growth for the economy be inherently bad? Can Western expectations for worker’s rights meld with the expectations for ease of access to manufactured goods? How can the situation be improved? Though having no answers to these questions, I have realized that it is important to reflect on how our consumption habits impact lives across the globe. It is important we not live in ignorance; we should pay attention to the social and environmental costs that our unsustainable consumption patterns create. I think it is imperative that we not allow our feeling of entitlement for such goods overpower the need to analyze the impacts that our actions have.

This experience, among the many I have had in Bangladesh, has brought me more questions than answers – but I think that is usually what happens when you are learning. It has allowed me to draw connections, such as the one I just wrote about; realize similarities and differences between people and cultures, for example my colleague and I have uncannily alike personality traits, yet we have had completely different upbringings; taught me a great deal about patience through coping with numerous language barriers and adjusting to a much different style of life; and shown me how to navigate inter-cultural dialogue - as the working style with VOICE has been much less “systematic” than that at home. Although there have certainly been some challenges and hardships – becoming quite sick, misunderstandings in the work culture, adjusting to the climate and food, just to name a few – this is one experience that I will be able to continually reflect back on and will no doubt influence what comes next. Thinking back on my time here, I realize that the decision to participate in the internship program was no doubt the right one for me.

It is hard to believe that it has already been over a month since I arrived in Dhaka! Time has gone by very quickly and I have not kept still since the moment I got off the plane. From marriage ceremonies and poetry gatherings to 12 hour working days and walking through the neighborhood slums, my time here so far has been full of extremities.

For my first blog entry I will share with you some of my first impressions, what life at work is like, and a little about some of my observations on the culture in Bangladesh.

First Impressions

On my first day I don’t know if I said one word to my just-met work colleagues during the drive from the Airport to my guesthouse. I simply stared out the window - jaw dropped in awe at the sights around me. There were more people than I had ever seen! There were goats, chickens, cows, and beggars. Everywhere there was shops and businesses set-up in huts (from auto-shops to bakeries, corner stores to doctors offices). There were people doing all of their daily activities on the side of the street - cooking full meals, bathing, even using the washroom. The traffic was insane – hundreds of rickshaws, buses, auto-taxis, and scooters roaring past. All of this action was going on amidst a dusty, garbage-strewn backdrop.

Looking back on this first day I realize that these sights were just my first impressions of a city, which I now understand to be one of an organized chaos - filled with determined, fascinating individuals. There are many problems that Dhaka faces – corruption, terrible infrastructure, and limited capacity to name just a few – but the resourcefulness, togetherness and ability of the people here to live in such a condensed area with such minimal resources is something that I find inspiring.

I am living in a guesthouse in Shyamoli – which is an area of Dhaka where the “average” Dhaka person would live. Outside my door there are slums, decrepit buildings, and then a few massive apartment complexes (one of them is called “Garden City” and I have never seen so many apartments in one area). There isn’t really a “middle class” in Bangladesh – so the vast majority of people here generally live quite simply, with the few elite living in excess. At first I found it a little awkward living right in the “midst” of things, but now it all seems quite normal and I am really beginning to feel like it is my home.

Work Life

The people I work with are so helpful and caring. They have warmly welcomed me to life in Dhaka. It is a small organization with only 3 or 4 people working with me, so it can get quiet at times. However, even though there are so few people, there is much work to do and they keep very busy!

Along with editing, running workshops, and helping with project proposals, I have been working on a report about the state of internet surveillance and censorship in Bangladesh. As soon as this report is finished I will be concentrating on researching climate change adaptation projects run by the Asian Development Bank and the World Bank. My main goal with this project is to research the effectiveness of these grants through interviewing key people in Dhaka and then doing field research in the areas that the project money was focused on. Basically I will be analyzing the effectiveness of a few key grant/loans through case studies, and this research, in turn, will help to give civil society organizations an influence in the aid agenda.

VOICE (the NGO I am working for) also has held a few press conferences, consultations, and dialogues with very interesting and some high-profile panelists. At the English events I sometimes participate, and have been charged with writing one of the press releases.

Culture

The first things I noticed is (1) everyone eats with their hands and (2) everyone drinks LOTS of tea. As for the hand-eating - you mush the vegetables, meat, fish – whatever – into rice and grab it with your hands and then push it into your mouth. Basically I have had to take all of the table manors that I learned from home and reverse them. Though finding it uncomfortable at first, I now find it strange to use a fork or spoon! It is such a different relationship to have with your food when you feel the texture first – I quite enjoy it! It now seems silly to add the complications of a knife!

As for the tea or “cha”, there are tea stands EVERYWHERE. If you are out for more then 30 minutes you, guaranteed you will be asked to come have some cha. The tea is a bit different then home – it is usually mixed with a bunch of sugar and half milk. The milk is either condensed milk from a can, or boiled cows milk. I really like this social aspect of Dhaka - there are not too many activities for one to do here so many people often meet just to have tea. I have met many interesting people while I was sipping on tea, people watching.

Some other notable differences…

There are so many colours! The city seems to pulse with energy - the unique artwork of the many rickshaws, the paintings on all of the large trucks and buses, the women’s bright, flowing clothing, the murals on the buildings – everywhere you look the surface seems to be bursting with colour. It makes the polluted, dusty, over-crowded city a quite striking scene.

As most people in Bangladesh are Muslim, there are many mosques here – with a call to prayer playing 5 times a day. Though the country is quite conservative –alcohol is banned for Bangladeshi citizens, women wear modest clothing, affection in public is rare, and so on – I have found that, in Dhaka anyway, not all that many people are overly pious. It is common to see women without a head scarf, young women are beginning to dress in more western clothing, many times I have been out where men sip alcohol in their private homes. The young people here are dating and arranged marriages are becoming less common. Having said this, there is still quite a gender divide and there it is by far a more reserved society than Canada.

Family in Bangladesh is very important. The women, when married, go to live with their husbands and husband’s family (i.e. mother and father in-law, and any of her husbands siblings). Literally everyone lives with their parents – it is a family home. It is extremely rare for anyone, no matter their age or stage of life, to be living on their own. When I explain that it is quite common for children to leave their homes around 18 years of age, they find it very different. They often ask me if it is lonely or if the reason we leave our homes is because of our need for independence. Having not really thought of the reasons before, I usually respond that it is because we either leave for school or leave for work.

I find the importance that family has – the intimacy in which they live – to be really interesting. It often makes me think of how much security and warmth that could bring, though I don’t mean to romanticize it – I have heard of many grievances. The living space is something that is also different. Having up to 8 people living in a 3-bedroom apartment is normal – the art of sharing and patience is well practiced. In the slum areas, there are families of 8 or more that can live in a one-room shack or makeshift hut. I haven’t spent too much time in these areas yet, but from what I gather the communal systems of support here go beyond just family ties.

Final Thoughts

It has been a great experience so far and I am looking forward to seeing what the next weeks will bring. I am just starting to get comfortable in my surroundings and it feel that I have been making somewhat of a temporary home here. Everyone that I have met has been supportive and kind, which really helps me to adjust to such an unfamiliar place. I am interested to see how I reflect back on my experience once I get home!

I am now well into my 2^nd month and things have been just as busy. Now that I have settled in I am starting to notice subtleties in both the culture and environment that surround me. Though I am sometimes restless staying in such a crowded city, settling in one area has allowed me to become aware of nuances that would have otherwise been left unnoticed. For my 2^nd blog entry I will share some of the experiences and activities that have kept me busy over the weeks.

Marriage Ceremony

I was invited to a 2-day marriage ceremony around my 6^th week. It was for a writer-friend that I had met just the week before. He insisted that I come and I was more than happy to take-up his invitation. I had heard before that Bangladeshi weddings were supposed to be quite an event! The marriage ceremony was indeed beautiful – full of bright, vibrant colours, creating an atmosphere of such energy. The first night we gathered, I followed colourful paintings which had been drawn along the floors and stairs leading up to the ceremony. The path lead me to a make-shift canopy on the roof of a mid-sized apartment building – showing a beautiful view of the city.

Inside the canopy the groom was sitting cross-legged on a table at the front, surrounded in various fruits, spices, and flowers. The guests gathered around the table, sitting in the provided chairs or getting comfortable on the floor. After saying a few words, each of the guests went up to the groom, spreading turmeric (a yellow spice) across his face and then, wishing him well, fed him sweets or fruits. This turned out to be quite fun, as soon spices, fruits, and sweets were everywhere! After the ceremony the music started, where many guests took their turn on the microphone. It was certainly entertaining! The second day was a more formal event. The bride and groom looked like royalty in their red and gold robes. The bride looked especially wonderful, with large golden jewelry and a beautiful red sharri. Many people were there, sharing gifts, eating great food, and enjoying music.

Poets & Aadas

Over my time here I have come to know numerous poets or “cobi”. I have noticed that many people in Bangladesh seem to be a poet of sorts. They often ask me about Canadian poetry and I find that I don’t have much to say – I end up telling them that poetry in Canada is not nearly as popular as it is in Dhaka. I find this aspect of Bangladesh quite special as the poems they have shared with me hit at deep-rooted human emotion. I enjoy listening to the poets discuss issues that go beyond politics, it sometimes opens up different perceptions for me grapple with.

I have attended a few “aada’s” (gathering of friends). Though these evenings are mostly in Bangali, they are quite fun and I have been able to meet many interesting people - some of whom have now become my friends. Sometimes aadas are just gossip, but many times social and political issues are often debated. The last aada I was at there was a great debate about the role of marriage in society. Many were arguing that marriage takes away ones freedom and were opposed to the institution of marriage. The lone woman who was there spoke of the dependency one has on family. It was really interesting to hear alternate perspectives on marriage, from a society where family often encompasses ones life.

Dhaka City Excursions

Over the weeks I have become good friends with a women who is completing her masters of fine arts at Dhaka University. We get a long really well despite our different backgrounds and have spent many days together exploring Dhaka city. She has shown me many art galleries and brought me to a few art exhibits, exposing me to the “art scene” in Bangladesh. Formally it is just beginning, so there are only about 7 galleries in the country, but these galleries are bursting with talent and life. It was really neat to be exposed to this sub-culture in the city. I have been going to her house most Fridays, where her mom makes delicious food and we have really interesting discussions about cultural differences between Bangladesh and Canada. Recently we went on an adventure to a village just outside of Dhaka – it was my first time being outside of the city. The village was the “old city” - it was gorgeous! Looking at 14^th century buildings that have been somewhat kept up was fascinating. There are some issues here though, as many Bangladeshi feel the government should be doing more to protect the buildings. I could see their complaints first hand, as some Bangladeshi have took up residence in these ruins, wearing down the buildings.

This excursion reminds me of another trip that I took through Old Dhaka. While here, I visited Lalburg Fort, a beautifully kept Moghul fort. There was a large water-fountain in the middle of the closed off grounds. In the water fountain there were two men bathing and a women washing her clothes. My friend who accompanied me pointed it out and said, “this is one type of freedom – people can do anything in Bangladesh, no respect – can you imagine someone bathing at your national heritage sites?”

Old Dhaka is something that is quite different than the rest of Dhaka. There is much history filled in the winding small streets. Along with Lalburg Fort, we wandered by Hindu temples, Old Castles, mosques, and beautiful gardens. There is a large river that runs through Old Dhaka – and though it is completely polluted, brown and smells horrid - this is where many people bathe and wash their clothes. We took a boat ride down the river and it really showed all walks of life, putting many things into a different perspective.

Rickshaw

The first time I rode a Rickshaw by myself was an activity in-and-of-itself! I remember waiting on the side the street, timid and reluctant, and then waving down a Rickshaw wheller, yelling “heyyy Rickshaw”. I had practiced what I would say, in Bengali, over and over before this. I confidently stated my intended destination, “Dhanmondi, at nung bridgze jan pleez” and then asked how much, “Koto dam?” The rickshaw wheller looked at me blankly. I repeated. He continued to look at me blankly. Then, as usually happens when I stand still for more than 1 minute, about 13 Bangladeshis gathered in a circle around me offering to help. With my Bengali limited to about 8 words, and a mass of people discussing to the rickshaw wheller what they believed my intended destination to be, I was whisked into the bicycle-pulled cart, holding on tightly.

Bumping down unfamiliar streets I thought, “Well, that wasn’t so bad”. Sitting up straighter and starting to smile brightly, I was confident that I had just successfully managed to find my own method of transportation. (This was a huge relief as I had been very dependent on others up until this point). Unfortunately this moment of triumph didn’t last long. Soon the rickshaw wheller was speaking Bengali to me, and it was now my turn to give the blank expression. Not long after, we were pulling over to anyone on the side of the street who looked like they might speak English. After about 15 minutes we found someone who helped us out and set us in the right direction. Overall my one-and-a-half-hour journey (which was supposed to take 12 minutes) was quite the adventure. Having said this, I am now quite the pro at the rickshaws and am starting to know my way around the winding crowded streets of Dhaka city.

Commercial

I could go on and on about all of the activities I have done here. But to end off, I was recently asked to be in an advertisement for a mobile telephone company. The advertisement would be for a TV commercial and appear in the newsprint. I thought “well, why not?” and went for it. I was dressed in a full sharri and we started filming at 5am for two days. This advertisement was about National Language Day and aired on all of the Bengali National television stations – it was so bizarre to turn on the TV and see me! The advertisement also appeared in all the National Daily papers – so half page adds of me, standing in a line with 4 other appeared for over a week. It was super fun and many of my friends have posted the newspaper in their homes. I am not sure if I would do it again, but it helped pay for my guest-house though!

National Language Day

As I mentioned National Language Day, I think it is important to explain a little about what this day means for Bangladesh. February 21 is National Language Day, and it has great importance for Bangladeshi’s. In the early 1950’s, when Bangladesh was part of Pakistan (as Britain divided India and Pakistan up before leaving – most of the Muslims went to live in East and West Pakistan), there was a concern over what Pakistan’s language would be. West Pakistan declared it to be Urdu but no one in East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) spoke this language. If the state language were to become Urdu, not only would it not allow Bangladeshis to be a part of parliament (as they could not converse in this language), it would also threaten the culture of the millions and millions of people who live here.

There were large riots and fights to keep their language and eventually, after a brutal fight, West Pakistan succeeded and Bengali was recognized as an official language. February 21 marks the anniversary of when many Bangladeshi students were murdered by the Pakistani army in the name of Bengali (their language). Many people gather at a monument (which marks the place where this atrocity occurred) to remember their lives and to give thanks. This day is also important because the fight for the Bengali language also added to the momentum of their gaining independence from Pakistan in 1971. It was really neat to be at the National Language Day ceremonies. There were so many people there and there was such a unique energy to the people.

Final Thoughts

The many activities here have kept me quite busy during my days off and in the evenings – but for 6 days a week I am busy with work. Working with VOICE has provided me many new opportunities and experiences. For example, I was able to meet with the Country Director of the World Bank to Bangladesh at one of our workshops – it was on the World Bank and how civil society can better play a role in influencing WB projects. Having a discussion with her allowed me to understand the World Bank perspective on development, which has added value to my understanding of aid issues.

Along with workshops and interesting meetings, I have kept busy doing much research on Asian Development Bank projects concerning climate change adaptation and mitigation. The working culture here is quite different than the structured work environment in Canada. These differences have proven frustrating at times, but I am starting to get used to the vague directions and subtle suggestions of my colleagues. All this is to say that I have found the activities that I have done outside my work place to be beneficial to the work that I do. These experiences allow me to understand more about Bangladeshi life and perspectives, providing me with a lens in which to frame the work that I produce.

In recent days I have felt a mounting sense of frustrating and sadness while watching the ongoing American health care debate from time to time when I leave the office. Angry mobs have hijacked the dialogue by attending town hall meetings held by congressional representatives and shouting down their opponents with accusations that are so divorced from reality that it’s difficult to imagine how any functioning human being could believe them. Though Barack Obama’s proposals to reform a system that leaves nearly 50 million citizens uninsured are modest by any measure, this hasn’t stopped the flagrant fabrications of Republicans, pundits, the insurance industry, and right-wing activists from permeating the American psyche.

While observing this bizarre charade from half a world away I can’t help but wonder what the people of Bangladesh must think of us when they turn on CNN or read the international section of their newspaper. My final assignment working here at Voice (a Bangladeshi NGO and think-tank) has been to research and write a report on access to information and freedom of speech. The fight for the basic right to obtain and disseminate vital information has been a long and arduous one for the people of Bangladesh. In recent years there have been some significant steps forward, including this year’s adoption of the ‘Right to Information Act’, however, the road ahead is still and long and perilous one. Journalism is still a very dangerous profession, internet users are still closely monitored, and the right to dissent is far from absolute. In fact, just the other the day the executive director of my organization was invited onto a talk show to discuss access to information and was told that his segment would be edited to comply with a memo that would not permit criticism of the army to air.

In North America we talk a lot about our rights, but we seldom acknowledge the responsibilities that accompany them. We engage our politicians with a sense of self-righteous entitlement to spew whatever opinions we so desire, without regard for how ill-informed or derogatory they are. In contrast

I have seen nothing but reverence for intellectualism and activism in Bangladesh. It is a nation that has a long and proud history of informed resistance to arbitrary and autocratic power. The people I have met are conscious, not only of the issues facing their country, but also the world around them.

It is easy to become complacent when your rights are guaranteed, but it doesn’t mean that we should. Rather, we should embrace the opportunities that others must fight to realize. We should engage our governments and our fellow citizens in a thoughtful and meaningful discussion, not endless partisan bickering and relentless diatribes. Our rights and freedoms are what we make of them and when they aren’t exercised responsibly notions of government transparency and accountability become mere talking points delivered to a loud but unwitting audience.

After marital status and educational background, one of the first questions I’ve been asked when meeting new people during my internship here in Bangladesh has been on faith. About eighty percent of Bangladesh is Muslim, making it one of the world’s largest Muslim countries. Despite this homogeneity, Bangladesh is also known as being very accommodating to other religions and faiths, with very little communal strife. I see this religious tolerance when new friends ask me about my Catholic background. With genuine interest, I’m asked not just about by religious membership but also about the fundamental foundations of the faith and my own personal beliefs about life’s ineffable questions.

These have been difficult questions for me to answer because I no longer identify with the Catholic church. I come from an Irish Catholic family and so the Catholicism will always be an important part of my cultural background, but the church itself lost relevance to me years ago with an unapologetically homophobic campaign against same sex marriage in Canada. However, I still believe that the church had a profound impact on my development and I am convinced that it helped me to build the same strong moral foundations that would eventually force me to abandon it.

After leaving the church and embracing a sort of humanist agnosticism I buried the idea of religion away, I tucked it safely up on the highest shelf of some old bookcase in the corner of my mind. But being in Bangladesh has forced me to take it back down, dust it off, and revisit those once familiar pages. It’s not to say that I have had some sort of religious renaissance, but I do believe that experience has given me a more nuanced view of my own beliefs and of religion more generally. I realize now that it wasn’t that I begun to loath the faith itself, but rather the present state of the church. I was disgusted by the encroachment of rigidity, fundamentalism, and righteous intolerance over the celebration of our common humanity. In short, it was what I believe to be a systemic misunderstanding of the message of Catholicism that drove me away.

One example of such misunderstanding has particular relevance to the work of development and the politics of poverty elimination. The story of the good Samaritan is a popular parable told to Christian children throughout the world. The story centers on a man who is beaten, robbed, and left to die on the side of a road. A priest walks by but chooses to cross to the other side of street, rather than helping the man. It is only a Samaritan (an enemy of the Jewish people at the time) who stops, cleans the man’s wounds and takes him to an inn to recover. This story is often explained as if the priest has committed a sin and ignored the laws and teachings of his religion by passing the man. However, when this story is taken in historical context, the priest is simply adhering to the cleanliness laws of his religion, it is the Samaritan who is deviating from institutional traditions. The point of this story is not that we should always strive to do good and never ignore those who would need our help. The point is that the rules which govern the institutions we live by are not absolute. They have a limit and that limit is human compassion.

When faced with the overwhelming problem of international poverty it is easy to get caught in a game of demonetization. The typical villains are the leaders of multinational corporations, international financial institutions, and hegemonic capitalist powers. Some even go as far as suggesting that there are conspiracy organizations bent on world control like the Bilderberg Group. The truth, however, is far more complex. There are no powerful demons pulling the strings of world power from behind the curtains. It’s not about plots for world domination, its about making money. The problem is not that people are rotten to the core, but rather that the system is.

Everywhere there are good people working in bad institutions. I believe that there are many well intentioned people working in big business, development banks, finance ministries, and so on. These people are not embracing evil, but they are embracing the rules of a game fixed against the poorest and most vulnerable. They do not allow their compassion to override their allegiance to their national interests, their employer, their ideology, or the almighty dollar.

By perpetuating a system by which wealth increasingly flows to the richest countries and people, do elites behave unscrupulously? Absolutely. Is the current economic paradigm morally justifiable? I do not believe so. But I am equally convinced that change will only be possible when we let go of our rigid adherence to the rules and hold onto our fellow human beings. There are no monsters in the fight for global justice, only people on the wrong side of the street.

Taking a stroll through the endless clothes racks of a Canadian mall is generally not a terribly enlightening experience. For some, it’s a chance to pass a carefree day with their friends, for others its an opportunity to to update their wardrobe with the hottest brands and styles, and yet for for others its merely a necessary evil- a trip to buy new clothes for their children or for work. Whatever it is that draws us to go clothes shopping, it is a fairly repetitive ritual based on labels. We scan the racks to find something appealing, first we check the brand label, then we check the size label, then the price label, and finally we might even check the washing instructions label.

These labels tell us a lot about how the article of clothing will affect our lives. The brand tells us what other people will think of us, the size tells us how it will hang from our body, and the washing instructions tell us if our day to day routine will now require regular visits to the dry cleaner. But of all the labels that we might find on their clothes, we are unlikely to find one that tells us how the garment has affected the lives of others. Country of origin labeling may indicate the point of production for any particular pair of pants or t shirt, but it says precious little about the true origins of a garment. This truth is hidden behind the vague understanding that labour rights are far from universal in much of the world, but that country of origin alone is not enough to decipher the conditions under which our clothes are made. Ultimately, the truth is tucked away as if behind the curtain of a change room down some dark corridor where no one dares to venture.

Bangladesh is a country without such curtains to hide behind. It is among the world’s leading garment exporters, with many of their manufactured goods eventually arriving on Canadian and American shores. By taking just quick look through the clothing bins of Dhaka’s New Market, you will find many of the brands that Canadians wear day to day. Even expensive labels like H&M or Tommy Hilfiger can be bought at a pittance of their North American shelf price.

The free market fantasy that the benefits of unfettered economic globalization will inevitably trickle down to vulnerable groups has failed spectacularly. In its current inception, globalization in many respects represents a race to the bottom for the world’s poorest and most exploited. Intense global competition in the manufacturing sector pits workforce against workforce, pressing suppliers to reduce costs and putting constant downward pressure on wages and working conditions. This reality is ever present in Bangladesh.

A recent study conducted by the office of the Chief Inspector of Factories found a massive deficit between the law and actual practice in many cases. The study found that one in seven factories do not pay their employees regularly and that one in three factories can’t be considered a good employer when measured against the nation’s basic labour laws.

As I write this, Ashulia (an outskirt of Dhaka) has seen three days of clashes between police and garment workers which have left at least two dead and hundreds injured. The unrest began when knitting operator, Al-Amin was killed while demonstrating against the summary dismissal of three of colleagues. Tensions intensified over the weekend as tens of thousands of workers took to the streets in protest. Yesterday, as tires, cars, and factories were set ablaze, security was increased in other areas of the country for fear that these tensions could lead to further unrest in the garment industry as a whole.

The clear anger and frustration that these tensions have brought to light seem stem from the larger structural economic problems that leave millions in Dhaka alone to toil in poverty and servitude, without access to basic labour rights and protections. Generations of Canadians before ours were forced to endure similar bloody struggles to win the right to bargain collectively, in order to bring about the workplace standards which we now take for granted. The right to collective bargaining is fundamental to combating worker exploitation and increasing standards of living, however, the current global economic order impedes the realization of this right, rather than furthering it.

In this struggle we, as Canadians, must ask ourselves who we stand with. Is it the biggest and most profitable multinationals like Walmart- a company that continues to squeeze suppliers despite ever increasing profits through the current global economic crisis- or do we stand with the workers who want nothing more than the same fair wages and working conditions that we won through the toil of generations past? We can no longer afford to justify our apathy and complacency by closing the curtain once more. In the end, wilful ignorance will simply stitch us another label: blind exploiter of the world’s most vulnerable.