TGIT
Thank God It’s Thursday. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? I’m not sure I’ll ever quite get used to these ‘backwards’ weeks where Friday is Saturday and I have to go to work on Sunday, but for the moment, since today is Thursday and the weekend is just a few short hours away, I guess it’s a good thing.
Here are some somewhat convoluted commentaries from the past week or so.
~
Life in Dhaka
Living in a South Asian Muslim city of 15 million is not exactly what I would call 'easy'. But it is exciting, and my last eight days here in Dhaka have been pretty good. Last Thursday I was invited to a dinner party with a number of staff from the Canadian High Commission, which, despite my concerns that it might be a stuffy, diplomatic affair, was a lot of fun! The next day I spent the morning organizing things around the apartment and adding items to my never ending list of things I need to buy or do in order to get the place in order. David and I went out to a Vietnamese buffet before doing some shopping at BRAC’s craft and clothing store and going for coffee on Road 11, the trendy strip in our neighbourhood complete with the 31 flavours of an honest-to-goodness Baskin Robbins! That night I tagged along to a Swedish Moustache party (apparently theme parties are big here, although I don’t quite know what moustaches have to do with Sweden) and met some other young people working at embassies, NGOs and H&M! On Saturday I treated myself to a well-deserved lie-in and then ventured out into the streets on my own for the first time. It felt good to be on my feet, which doesn’t happen often in this sticky, tropical climate where the abundance and price of rickshaws make it difficult to rationalize walking anywhere. I finished off the weekend having a nice seafood dinner with the two Aga Khan Foundation Canada interns. It would have gone down nicely with a glass of white wine, but lamentably alcohol is only served in dodgy Chinese restaurants in this here Muslim metropolis (and apparently it appears on the bill as ‘Coconut Juice’!).
This week was fairly uneventful. I did get to go to a dinner for CIDA interns at the Canadian Club (embassy clubs are the way of life here), where I will soon have a membership thanks to my contact at the High Commission. Hopefully tearing up the tennis court and splashing around in the pool will make me feel somewhat less guilty about the pathetic amount of exercise I get here. Not that climbing in and out of a rickshaw isn’t exercise.
Today is the eve of Dhaka’s social event of the year: The Glitter Ball. I was offered a ticket by someone who backed out and somehow got roped into going. I later found out that getting a ticket to the Glitter Ball was like getting a ticket to see Pink Floyd: they both sell out in under 2 hours. I also found out that it was a costume party - a very serious costume party where I would be the laughed all the way back to Canada (if not arrested, according to a member of the costume police) if I showed up in only party attire I had brought with me: a demure black dress . So, to avoid a premature return to the Great White North, I rushed off to the tailor and had a bright pink kameez (tunic) and some sparkly pink hot pants whipped up to fit in with my table’s “Bangladesh goes 70s” theme. If sparkly hot pants don’t help a girl blend in, nothing will.
~
Problematic Politics
Unfortunately, my sparkly hot pants may not be enough to prevent a premature departure. The political situation is still up in the air and, while everything is still more or less under control, I have received a few friendly reminders that the possibility of being evacuated still exists. I am banking on the fact that everyone is being duly over-dramatic and shall continue to refuse the consideration of such an ill fate until such time as I am forced onto a plane.
I don’t yet fully understand all the dimensions of the situation and its many players, but I do know that there have been a lot of unreasonable demands made with unrealistic deadlines and that no matter what happens someone will always be unhappy, which in Bangladesh seems to mean that someone will always be protesting. In some ways it’s exciting to see democracy taken to such a degree, but it would be nice if there were a tad less violence.
Fortunately (or unfortunately for the thrill seeker in me), most if not all of the action takes place in central Dhaka, which is quite far away. Protests are also announced well in advance, so you would have to try pretty hard to unknowingly end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Monday will be a decisive day as it is the day that the alliance of opposition parties plans to resume demonstrations and shut down roads, railways and ports if their demands are not met by the party currently in power. It’s hard to say what will come of all of this, so for the time being we are left to run through worst case scenarios and contribute to parental heart failure (eh Mom?).
~
Oh right, I’m here to work
My job is slowly taking shape. Or, should I say I am slowly giving my job its shape. It’s definitely a figure-things-out-on-your-own kind of position, but so far I seem to be managing to do just that. In addition to writing reports and trying to keep donors happy, I am exploring the possibility of simplifying some research publications and looking to involve myself (translation: meddle) as much as possible in the implementation of the poverty reduction program we are supporting in the hopes that this will get me out of Dhaka and into the lush green fields where there is fresh air and quiet to be found. I am also exploring possibilities for more hands-on volunteer work, since I feel myself drifting further away from the reality of the situation I came here to try and improve. It’s amazing what a little air conditioning can do to a development worker's soul.
~
The real Sudoku
I know it may come as a surprise to many of you, but it is my duty to inform you that the real Sudoku was invented in Bangladesh. It is a game that involves going out into the streets of Dhaka without a map and attempting to find some sort of logic to its maze of numbered streets. The person who can explain why in three blocks you can pass Road 1, Road 16 and Road 23, wins! When you have finished with the ‘beginner’ neighbourhoods you can go into Old Dhaka where the streets have 2 different sets of numbers, old and new. It’s a lot more fun than those little numeric puzzles the Japanese came up with, that’s for sure.
There is another fun game I like to play in my apartment. I call it “The Power Outlet of Fortune”. Basically, when you want to plug something into the wall, you get to spin a wheel with 4 different types of power outlets on it and, if the one on the wheel matches the one on the wall, you win! I don’t win very often. In my bedroom alone there is a South African outlet beside my bed, a British outlet at the end of my bed, a European outlet by my desk, and a European/North American outlet in my closet.
~
Rickshaw 101
The magic of riding around in a rickshawand listening to the symphony of bells still hasn’t worn off. Nor has the fear, but I try to concentrate on the magic. Over the weekend there were a few days of blue sky and sunshine (as opposed to smog) which made riding around in an open rickshaw and taking in all the sunlit views even more incredible.
All notions of responsible blogging require me to dispel the myth I created with my previous posts that rickshaws never collide with other earthly objects. They do. Quite often, in fact. But, since they usually occur in traffic jams that squeeze twenty rickshaws into a few square feet of road, they are hardly anything to write home about. Unless you are me, I guess.
I learn more about the art of rickshaw travel every day. Here are some of the more recent lessons:
1. A rickshaw driver’s brakes are his most valuable asset. They should be used as little as possible. When given the choice to swerve violently or brake to avoid a fatal crash, a rickshaw driver should always swerve violently.
2. To be a rickshaw driver, one must be fluent in ‘Bell’. It is crucial to know the difference between “Ding! Ding!” and “Ding! Ding! Ding!” in order to avoid superfluous collisions. When in doubt say “Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!” and peddle fast.
3. Whenever possible, a rickshaw driver should not come to a complete standstill, a) because it’s tough work to get going again, and b) because it simply is not done. Keep moving at all costs, even if it means taking a long detour.
4. A rickshaw driver need not look before entering an intersection. He should just figure things out once he is in the middle of it.
5. Lanes are for cars. And sissies. Rickshaw drivers should use the whole of the road and should not refrain from heading into oncoming traffic moving at high speeds.
6. If a crazy bideshi woman approaches a rickshaw driver and jabbers at him in English, the rickshaw driver should not ask her for clarification; he should simply nod like he understands what she is saying and, once she gets in, take a guess at which direction she wants to go in trusting that if he goes the wrong way she will let him know.
~
Excuse the length. And the spelling errors. I am writing on the go and don’t have time for editing at the moment.
I hope my ramblings find you all well. I’m off to haggle the afternoon away at the nearest sweaty market. TGIT…
Here are some somewhat convoluted commentaries from the past week or so.
~
Life in Dhaka
Living in a South Asian Muslim city of 15 million is not exactly what I would call 'easy'. But it is exciting, and my last eight days here in Dhaka have been pretty good. Last Thursday I was invited to a dinner party with a number of staff from the Canadian High Commission, which, despite my concerns that it might be a stuffy, diplomatic affair, was a lot of fun! The next day I spent the morning organizing things around the apartment and adding items to my never ending list of things I need to buy or do in order to get the place in order. David and I went out to a Vietnamese buffet before doing some shopping at BRAC’s craft and clothing store and going for coffee on Road 11, the trendy strip in our neighbourhood complete with the 31 flavours of an honest-to-goodness Baskin Robbins! That night I tagged along to a Swedish Moustache party (apparently theme parties are big here, although I don’t quite know what moustaches have to do with Sweden) and met some other young people working at embassies, NGOs and H&M! On Saturday I treated myself to a well-deserved lie-in and then ventured out into the streets on my own for the first time. It felt good to be on my feet, which doesn’t happen often in this sticky, tropical climate where the abundance and price of rickshaws make it difficult to rationalize walking anywhere. I finished off the weekend having a nice seafood dinner with the two Aga Khan Foundation Canada interns. It would have gone down nicely with a glass of white wine, but lamentably alcohol is only served in dodgy Chinese restaurants in this here Muslim metropolis (and apparently it appears on the bill as ‘Coconut Juice’!).
This week was fairly uneventful. I did get to go to a dinner for CIDA interns at the Canadian Club (embassy clubs are the way of life here), where I will soon have a membership thanks to my contact at the High Commission. Hopefully tearing up the tennis court and splashing around in the pool will make me feel somewhat less guilty about the pathetic amount of exercise I get here. Not that climbing in and out of a rickshaw isn’t exercise.
Today is the eve of Dhaka’s social event of the year: The Glitter Ball. I was offered a ticket by someone who backed out and somehow got roped into going. I later found out that getting a ticket to the Glitter Ball was like getting a ticket to see Pink Floyd: they both sell out in under 2 hours. I also found out that it was a costume party - a very serious costume party where I would be the laughed all the way back to Canada (if not arrested, according to a member of the costume police) if I showed up in only party attire I had brought with me: a demure black dress . So, to avoid a premature return to the Great White North, I rushed off to the tailor and had a bright pink kameez (tunic) and some sparkly pink hot pants whipped up to fit in with my table’s “Bangladesh goes 70s” theme. If sparkly hot pants don’t help a girl blend in, nothing will.
~
Problematic Politics
Unfortunately, my sparkly hot pants may not be enough to prevent a premature departure. The political situation is still up in the air and, while everything is still more or less under control, I have received a few friendly reminders that the possibility of being evacuated still exists. I am banking on the fact that everyone is being duly over-dramatic and shall continue to refuse the consideration of such an ill fate until such time as I am forced onto a plane.
I don’t yet fully understand all the dimensions of the situation and its many players, but I do know that there have been a lot of unreasonable demands made with unrealistic deadlines and that no matter what happens someone will always be unhappy, which in Bangladesh seems to mean that someone will always be protesting. In some ways it’s exciting to see democracy taken to such a degree, but it would be nice if there were a tad less violence.
Fortunately (or unfortunately for the thrill seeker in me), most if not all of the action takes place in central Dhaka, which is quite far away. Protests are also announced well in advance, so you would have to try pretty hard to unknowingly end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Monday will be a decisive day as it is the day that the alliance of opposition parties plans to resume demonstrations and shut down roads, railways and ports if their demands are not met by the party currently in power. It’s hard to say what will come of all of this, so for the time being we are left to run through worst case scenarios and contribute to parental heart failure (eh Mom?).
~
Oh right, I’m here to work
My job is slowly taking shape. Or, should I say I am slowly giving my job its shape. It’s definitely a figure-things-out-on-your-own kind of position, but so far I seem to be managing to do just that. In addition to writing reports and trying to keep donors happy, I am exploring the possibility of simplifying some research publications and looking to involve myself (translation: meddle) as much as possible in the implementation of the poverty reduction program we are supporting in the hopes that this will get me out of Dhaka and into the lush green fields where there is fresh air and quiet to be found. I am also exploring possibilities for more hands-on volunteer work, since I feel myself drifting further away from the reality of the situation I came here to try and improve. It’s amazing what a little air conditioning can do to a development worker's soul.
~
The real Sudoku
I know it may come as a surprise to many of you, but it is my duty to inform you that the real Sudoku was invented in Bangladesh. It is a game that involves going out into the streets of Dhaka without a map and attempting to find some sort of logic to its maze of numbered streets. The person who can explain why in three blocks you can pass Road 1, Road 16 and Road 23, wins! When you have finished with the ‘beginner’ neighbourhoods you can go into Old Dhaka where the streets have 2 different sets of numbers, old and new. It’s a lot more fun than those little numeric puzzles the Japanese came up with, that’s for sure.
There is another fun game I like to play in my apartment. I call it “The Power Outlet of Fortune”. Basically, when you want to plug something into the wall, you get to spin a wheel with 4 different types of power outlets on it and, if the one on the wheel matches the one on the wall, you win! I don’t win very often. In my bedroom alone there is a South African outlet beside my bed, a British outlet at the end of my bed, a European outlet by my desk, and a European/North American outlet in my closet.
~
Rickshaw 101
The magic of riding around in a rickshawand listening to the symphony of bells still hasn’t worn off. Nor has the fear, but I try to concentrate on the magic. Over the weekend there were a few days of blue sky and sunshine (as opposed to smog) which made riding around in an open rickshaw and taking in all the sunlit views even more incredible.
All notions of responsible blogging require me to dispel the myth I created with my previous posts that rickshaws never collide with other earthly objects. They do. Quite often, in fact. But, since they usually occur in traffic jams that squeeze twenty rickshaws into a few square feet of road, they are hardly anything to write home about. Unless you are me, I guess.
I learn more about the art of rickshaw travel every day. Here are some of the more recent lessons:
1. A rickshaw driver’s brakes are his most valuable asset. They should be used as little as possible. When given the choice to swerve violently or brake to avoid a fatal crash, a rickshaw driver should always swerve violently.
2. To be a rickshaw driver, one must be fluent in ‘Bell’. It is crucial to know the difference between “Ding! Ding!” and “Ding! Ding! Ding!” in order to avoid superfluous collisions. When in doubt say “Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!” and peddle fast.
3. Whenever possible, a rickshaw driver should not come to a complete standstill, a) because it’s tough work to get going again, and b) because it simply is not done. Keep moving at all costs, even if it means taking a long detour.
4. A rickshaw driver need not look before entering an intersection. He should just figure things out once he is in the middle of it.
5. Lanes are for cars. And sissies. Rickshaw drivers should use the whole of the road and should not refrain from heading into oncoming traffic moving at high speeds.
6. If a crazy bideshi woman approaches a rickshaw driver and jabbers at him in English, the rickshaw driver should not ask her for clarification; he should simply nod like he understands what she is saying and, once she gets in, take a guess at which direction she wants to go in trusting that if he goes the wrong way she will let him know.
~
Excuse the length. And the spelling errors. I am writing on the go and don’t have time for editing at the moment.
I hope my ramblings find you all well. I’m off to haggle the afternoon away at the nearest sweaty market. TGIT…
posted by ash at 12:22 AM
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