The Destitute in Dhaka

Bangladesh is now known, thanks to a recent study published by the Economist, as the least livable place in the world.  That's right, and we just moved here.  For us, however, it is very livable.  We are expats and have all the amenities we need.  It may be difficult to attain them at times, but they are there for us.  Most of us have help in the house; many households have three or four people working for them: housekeeper, nanny, driver, cook, and/or gardener are the five types of household help that most people employ (though it is rare to find all five in one home).  In fact, we have hired a lady, Nazma, who cleans and cooks for us.  As expats, it's totally affordable and absolutely not something anyone could ever afford back home in the States, or most other countries, for that matter.

We foreigners are very lucky, and very stinking rich, in the eyes of the average Bangladeshi.  The other day, I learned that even in the upper quintile of the socioeconomic scale, 25% of children have stunted growth!  That's phenomenal.  Around the country, 1 in 10 people are disabled.  Since we do not have a car yet, we walk a LOT to get to the club (a very treasured amenity), market, embassy, restaurants, stores, etc.  We may live in the diplomatic enclave, but there are still plenty of beggars and homeless people right by us.  Less than a mile away is a slum.  Why wouldn't you come to beg in the rich people's neighborhood if you could see the wealth so blatantly in your face?

(still looking for the pictures I took of the slums on the water near our house)

Bangladesh the country, receives billions of dollars in foreign aid each year, but is still in middle school on how to properly handle it and use it - corruption plays a huge role in that.  I read somewhere recently that there are 44,000 NGOs in Bangladesh!  Of course, anyone can form an NGO and many of these are probably not working out well.  There are plenty of Bangladeshis who want to help their fellow countrymen and work tirelessly, and without pay in a lot of cases, to help out.  In recent weeks, thanks to the motivation of some awesome folks who have done all the arranging, I've visited an orphanage and a school run almost entirely by volunteers and donations, and heard talks from two other similar programs/schools.

If I had to choose one thing about my children that I love, it is their empathy with those less fortunate.  For all the ranting I do about how spoiled they are and how much they don't appreciate what they've got, both of them are very sobered by poverty and needy children and animals.  So it is that Asa is completely chagrined that I am not handing out money to beggars here.  "Mom, we always gave something to the beggars in Mexico.  Why aren't you doing it here?"  I have to tell him that there are so many, we will be mobbed.  One day, I bought a small bread at the store to give to an old woman.  By the time I turned around, there were two old women.  When I handed the bread to one, the other snatched it - I snatched it back and made it clear they were to share.  Luckily, the transaction was quick or there would have been a crowd in seconds.  Still, I think we will carry baggies of rice and hand them out when we see lone beggars.

Just as the streets are teeming with the poor and homeless, so they are teeming with packs of Deshi Dogs.  These dogs go back generations and generations (in one year, you could have 3-4 generations) of living on the streets, running in territorial packs, fighting over scraps, etc.  Many Muslims think of dogs as dirty and do not want them as pets, at least in the house.  Furthermore, here, in a country where a majority of people are undernourished, having a pet is a burden.  In the States, we would be aghast at the amount of street dogs and the lack of programs to spay and neuter them, but in Bangladesh that would be a luxury, and would take away needed volunteer resources for the people.  There are organizations that rescue dogs, but it is even hard to find a vet who can "fix" a dog because so few people own pets (other than the expats and the wealthy Bangladeshis).

Frequently, expat families who move here for work want to get a dog and think that adopting one from a rescue is a great idea, that they are helping a creature less fortunate.  As the dog grows up, the family realizes that the street roots run deep, and it is hard to domesticate them - it requires dedication to the training.  Sometimes, these families will put the dog back on the street.  And sometimes, in the Foreign Service lifestyle, a family finds that it is easier to release the dog than take it with them to their next post.  So it is that we now have Lucy the Deshi Dog in our home.

The vet put the t-shirt on her and bound it with a
cloth to keep her from licking the incision.

Lucy was adopted at 7 weeks of age a year ago by the family that lived in our apartment before us.  Although she definitely has the street dog aggressiveness and territorial nature, Lucy also spent the first year of her life in a home.  She was trained and can sit, lie down, shake, and come - when she wants to.  When the family left this past June, they put her out.  Rumor has it, Lucy attacked their other dog once she was big enough, so the family decided to leave her with someone else, who put her out.  When we arrived in August, we quickly noted that this one dog followed us around everywhere we walked.  Our neighbor, who also adopted a street dog as a puppy, told us Lucy's story.  She had tried to bring Lucy into her house, but Lucy and Ruby did not get along in the house when it came time to eat.  The neighbor, who is a James Herriot incarnate, began feeding Lucy because she couldn't stand to see her struggle.  The boys kept asking me if Lucy was going to be our dog.  I bought her some food and was going to start feeding her outside and give her baths.  Asa asked me every day why I hadn't started feeding her yet.  "Mom, you said you were going to feed Lucy, but you haven't."  Not sure what was holding me back, maybe commitment?

Jeff has warmed to her :).

This dog follows us everywhere.  If we walk the two miles to the club, she comes.  If we walk the three miles to Gulshan 1, she comes.  She will cross major roadways with lots of crazy traffic to follow us to the commissary.  And all because we smell like her house.  At first, I was gung-ho about bringing Lucy in, but then began to have doubts because of her nature.  She is a pack dog and I just don't know how she will do in the house.  But...now she is in.  Our lovely neighbor was having her dog spayed and was going to spay Lucy, too, just out of kindness.  We decided to go in on it and, a week and a half ago, Lucy and Ruby had their surgery ON THE KITCHEN ISLAND of my friend's house. The vet came to the house to perform the surgery.  Of course, Lucy cannot be outside roaming the streets now and, in just over a week, has happily adjusted to being in the house.  She is still recovering from surgery, so I don't know if she will be as happy once she feels better, but, for now, she is our dog.


While we are in the country, we all want to do something that we hope will be meaningful and make a difference in at least one individual's life.  We have helped a dog, but we also want to help humans.  The day we went to the orphanage, Sage and Asa went, too.  Even though it required getting up early on their weekend, neither one complained once I told them where we were going.  The Marines who are posted at the embassy here have taken on this orphanage as a kind of service project. We visited it a couple of weeks ago and hope to make many more trips with the Marines as they go every two weeks.

There are over TWELVE HUNDRED children in this place!  I think it is kind of like a madrasa, or is a madrasa, because they have to wear "religious" clothing and study the Koran.  I tried to give the office a pair of shorts, pants, and a shirt that Asa had outgrown and they said they couldn't take it because of that.  Maybe they just meant the lungi, or long wrap/skirt that men wear, because the boys certainly have on Western-style shirts. 

Dorm rooms for boys.

The boys are kept separate from the girls.  When we arrived at the orphanage, many of the younger boys were out in the courtyard having a game of cricket.  None of our group (7 adults and 3 children) really knew what we were going to do, or what our purpose was in going.  One of the women decided to jump in on the cricket game and that broke the ice.  I looked at Sage and said, "Go play cricket with them."  Despite being uncomfortable and uncertain in the presence of all of these parentless children, he walked over and took the bat and soundly played badly.  They laughed and crowded around him, and one guy around his age immediately became his buddy and broker.  This orphan stuck by Sage the whole time we were on the boys' side.









Soon after, Asa came out of his hiding place and he, too, was immediately claimed by a boy of about his age who took Asa on a tour of the orphanage, into the bedrooms, etc., where the rest of us did not get to go.  As we were boarding the bus to leave, Sage's friend went and bought him a drink with his own money! By the time we left, both boys said they were glad we came and want to go back.

This is one of the most endearing pictures!

We are supposed to go every two weeks, but the trip this past weekend was cancelled because of all the protests.  Asa actually remembered about it and asked if we were going and was totally let down when he found out we weren't.  "But I was supposed to see my friend again," he said.

Carrying the big cooking pot.  Wonder if this guy knows who Nirvana is?

The leader who was showing us around said the boys get formal schooling at the orphanage.  They learn science (he named physics and chemistry), math, and English, but most of their study is of the Koran.  I'm not sure what the girls learn, but will ask when we go back.  After we saw the boys, we went to visit the girls.  It is my hope that the girls get the use of the courtyard and are not confined to their side of the building all the time.  We went into their classrooms (the younger ones are on one floor and the older ones on another) where we sat at the front like teachers, or dignitaries, and they sat before us.

Inside of the classroom.  These older girls are waiting for us to come in.

Hallway in the girls dorm.

There is definitely a difference in treatment that you have to swallow with an understanding that this is not our culture.  Whereas we did not observe the boys being handled roughly in front of us, the girls' legs were whacked with a stick to get them to back up and sit down.  Also, the boys did not appear to be separated by age.  I wonder if the separation of the girls has to do with the onset of menses, or just marriageable age, or something else.  In Bangladesh, it is quite an accomplishment and source of pride if a family can afford to send a girl to school past the age of 10 or so.  On a different day than this one, a group of us met with some ladies who make blankets to sell.  One of their goals is to be able to afford to educate their girls so they do not have to marry early.  One of the women told us she married at age NINE.  Marrying the girls off early provides economic relief for a family that is hard-up.

Younger girls watching "us."

Anyway, at the orphanage, the girls were just charming.  The younger ones sang a few songs for us and we sang for them, mostly nursery rhymes.  That is how they learn some English.  Upstairs, one of the older girls sang a song for us.  She had a beautiful voice, perfect for the Hindustani style of singing they do here (at least, that's what I think it is).  Hopefully, the video at the top loaded correctly and you can hear her singing.  If not, I'll try to put it on FB. We all definitely want to go back on a regular basis, if nothing else, just to give the kids a chance to break the monotony of living in an orphanage.

Younger girls doing head, shoulders, knees, and toes song.

Asa chatting with the younger girls.  He claims they tried to
kidnap him and take him upstairs.

Looking in from the hallway.

Artwork hanging up at ABC school.  Entrance to
the school is in the background.

In the last few weeks, I also went to a place called the ABC school.  This school began with an expat woman (American) feeding lunch to a street kid in her home.  Soon it grew into dozens of kids eating lunch and she began seeking donations of rice and other foodstuffs.  By the time they left post, teachers and board members at the American school wanted to continue helping the kids and providing them schooling.  They  now have a school where they admit 12 new kindergarten students a year.  These students all come from the slums and are hand-picked by the teaching staff.  The kids will stay together as a group all the way through 10th grade and are guaranteed work once they complete the program (boys and girls).

Younger students at ABC getting their midday
meal before heading home.

Volunteers sponsor children, provide immunizations, socks, uniforms, food, etc.  The program is absolutely free for families and they even receive 10 kg of rice a month in return for keeping their kids in and off the streets.  In the morning, when the children arrive, they get a shower and breakfast before starting their day of school.  At lunch, they receive another meal, then the younger children leave to go home.  These kids have to walk back by themselves all the way home!  Oh, and the woman who is now in charge of it is an absolute saint!

Courtyard at ABC school.

Two other similar stories are Streetwise and Jaago.  Streetwise was started by a Bangladeshi woman who, one day, got fed up with seeing all of the small children panhandling in Gulshan 1 (or 2? both major roundabouts near our house) and asked a group of them to come play at a school in the afternoon.  Pretty soon, the children started asking for learning and now the program has grown into a boarding school for 22 children.  At first, the parents were resistant because it meant a loss of income for the family, so Streetwise now produces and sells greeting cards from the children's artwork.  All proceeds go back to the school and the children take home a set amount each month to their parents.

Jaago was started by a rich, young Bangladeshi guy whose career was pre-ordained by his family, as he was to take over the family business.  As he was driving around in his BMW one day, something inside him snapped and he decided to start helping poor kids.  He began by teaching on a blanket in the streets of slums, and now has schools with over 2000 kids around the country.  These kids also have sponsors who pay for their schooling and supplies and is run mostly by volunteers.  A local designer also dedicates some of her proceeds to Jaago and makes clothes and sells them at charity events, in addition to online for charity and business.  As of yet, I have not visited Streetwise or Jaago, but plan to do so soon.

If anyone wants more information, or to know how to get involved, or would like to sponsor a child with any of these organizations, here are the links:

www.jaago.com.bd/
http://bachhara.com/  (this is the clothing designer)
http://www.streetwise.com.bd/
http://www.batabd.com/bata-(bd)-childrens-program.html (an organization that helps loads of charities for kids in Bangladesh, if you scroll down on this link, there is a blurb about donating shoes to ABC school)
ABC school does not have a website, but does have a FB page

A Walk on Hindu Street, Shankharia Bazar

Not long after we touched down in Dhaka, about two weeks after we got here, we went on a tour organized by the wonderful CLO office at the Embassy (Community Liaison Office).  They are the people who can tell you everything you need to know about anything you want to know, and they also organize awesome trips and events.

On the bus waiting to explore Dhaka.  Sage is an ostrich.

Instead of hitting the whole tour in one sitting, I think I'll start with the first stop we made: Shankharia Bazaar, more commonly referred to by foreigners as Hindu Street.  We knew it was gonna be fun when we saw the festive pink tent entrance.  It looks like an entrance leading to a market or something, and the name Bazar would make you think that, but it's not.  It's just a street with a lot of Hindu artisans, or shankaris, stores, homes, food stalls, etc.  But it's all Hindu with even a shrine or two thrown in.

Entrance to Shankharia Bazar, or Hindu Street.  

Bangladesh is primarily a Muslim country with around 90% of the population practicing Islam.  However, both Buddhism and Hinduism played an integral role in the the country's past, and maintain an underlying presence.  According to Lonely Planet, Buddhism was the number one religion in Bengal from at least 304 BC to the 12th century AD, when Hindu armies squashed the Buddhists and came into reign.  The Buddhists retreated to the Chittagong Hills, where there are still a number of distinct ethnic groups practicing the religion.  In fact, if you are up on your current events, you'll know that the current violence in Myanmar (Burma) is, in a nutshell, Buddhists killing Muslims.  That violence has spilled into the Chittagong Hill Tracts of Bangladesh, where the two countries share a border.  Unfortunately for us, that means we are not allowed to travel there (sniff, sniff).  It's supposed to be an anthropologist's dream with all the groups and religions and cultural practices, etc.  Perhaps we'll get there before four years are out.

Drop-in anytime Hindu shrine on Hindu Street

So that brings me back to Hinduism and the Shankharia Bazar.  The little neighborhood is located in Old Dhaka, where (as you may have guessed) the old part of town is.  Hinduism only had a glory in Bengal (of which Bangladesh used to be a part) for about a century, but it is the country's second largest religion, with around 9% of the population practicing it.  The other 1% or so are mostly Christians and Buddhists.  If you are wondering, I got these "verified" statistics off Wikipedia :).  Interestingly, as a total rambling aside, when you are looking for household help, you'll be sort of surprised to find that a large number of people working in expat households are actually Christians.  They are from the Garo ethnic group.  When Jeff and I visited the National Museum, we learned that the Garo used to have their own religion, but got missionized by Christians (Catholic, I think) and now practice their own form of Christianity.  Apparently, it may be preferable to have a Christian housekeeper, cook, gardener, or driver because they "work harder."  Really?  Wonder how that stereotype got started.  Sounds an awful lot like other stereotypes I've heard in the past.

The micro bus with all of us packed in like sardines.
JUST KIDDING!  This is a taxi (no, we are not allowed to take one). Notice how many times it has been beaten and repainted and bondo-ed :):):).

THIS is the micro bus.  Embassy-approved for travel, unlike the ramshackle taxi.

So that brings me back to Shankharia Bazar AGAIN.  We were two micro-buses of Americans (U.S., that is, not Canadians or South Americans or Central Americans - making sure I acknowledge that the U.S. are not the only Americans), complete with rainbow colored children of all ages.  It probably goes without saying that we were a spectacle as the buses honked and pushed their way through the hordes to deposit us in a choice beginning spot.  Most of us were fresh of the plane, too, and this was our first real experience of just getting out and about.  Although we did venture to the market our first weekend with our friends, Mark and Kathrin and their three tow-headed little girls.  Post on that later.

The guide books bill Shankharia as one of the most photogenic streets in Dhaka.  My pictures do not really do it justice.  A new camera is at the top of our list of near-future purchases.  The streets are super narrow with tall buildings packed with apartments on the top floors, and shops on the bottom level.

Sage walking down Hindu Street.  Hard to snap a photo of him because he's always hiding from the camera.  The other picture is decoration strung between the buildings, cloth with strings of marigolds hanging down. To the right is another picture of Sage, walking away.  

View of apartments from the street. Below is inside view.

When you go into the houses, it's extremely humbling to realize how many people are living in one building.  Most of them have a long, dark, narrow hallway that you walk into from the street.  Off of that hallway as you walk toward the central courtyard, there may be one or two rooms, each inhabited by an entire family.  Inside, you see about 3-4 levels, each with several rooms and several families.  The tour company arranged for us to see the inside of one.

Small doorway off street, leading down narrow
hallway to courtyard of a house.  Above is the interior of
one room with a little girl

The courtyard is where the well is for bathing water, and the communal bathing area.  For drinking water, the women or older children have to take their metal jugs to the pump in the street.  Made us wonder about cholera.....

On the left is the communal bathing room in the house of apartments.  On the right, the woman is filling her jug from the well.  She was bathing by pouring the water over while she is fully-clothed.

This woman posed for the cameras.  The tour
company probably had a deal worked
out with her, but it made for a nice photo op.

As she walks away from her bathing, you can see
the red streak in the part of her hair.
That denotes a married Hindu woman.

This is the communal water faucet where you come for drinking water.  They were located about one every block or two.

Paper crowns

There are lots of things you can buy on Hindu Street, including paper crowns for celebrations, handmade musical instruments like harmoniums and drums, perota (flat bread), lunch, and even red dots for your forehead!  One thing I did not get a picture of, but you can see on the wrists of the women in the pictures, is the white bracelet.  These are only worn by the Hindus.  They are one of the crafts sold by the shankari artisans and are made from shell.  The whole scene in Shankharia Bazar is very chaotic, festive, and delicious, and dirty.  We will definitely be going back on our own to explore a little further.

These are actually eggs to go with the perota; we didn't go there.

Beautiful drums of different shapes and sizes - a bit dusty.

It's like buying hair barrettes,
but it's red dots for the forehead!

Making delicious perota (like naan).

Still not sure why, but there were strings of
marigolds and other flowers for sale all over.

Lunch.  We really didn't eat here, but I liked their presentation.  Notice all of the sweets to the left.

A Month of Reflection in Dhaka

We are a newly arrived expat family in Dhaka, Bangladesh.  I would say we are straight off the farm from small town America, but we actually moved here from Mexico City.  And even though we are from the Deep South in the U.S., we didn't grow up on farms.  That doesn't stop people from always asking us where we are from because they "detect an accent."  Our family is anything but conventional, but really, whose family is normal?  Maybe normal and conventional aren't synonymous.  And, besides, we are certainly not unique.  There are tons of other expat families from every country in the world living in every country in the world.

Arriving at Hazat Shahjalal International Airport in Dhaka.  Here we go!

The family unit is nothing more than two parents and two kids - two rambunctious boys, that is.  Sadly, no pets, save for a street dog named Lucy that we have inherited as a walking companion.  That story will come later.  The male parental unit is from Alabama (Roll Tide!) and the female parental unit is from Georgia (Go Dawgs!).  The boys, 13 and 10, are split as well, one claiming Alabama and one claiming Georgia.  My husband works with USAID, so we plan to be moving around the world, but we hope to have a long stint here, in Dhaka, after our two years in Mexico City.  Both of us love to travel and have a somewhat competitive edge to it: he's been to almost 40 countries and I'm only pushing 30 (he's older, though!!).

This blog is really for our family and friends, as a way for them to experience our lives with us, since we are so far away.  Mexico City was just a short 3 1/2 hour plane ride from Atlanta, but, due to the sensationalism of the violence in Mexico by the American media, no one apart from my parents and one friend already in Mexico came to visit us.  It's regrettable, really, what the media does for Mexico.  As I told people before when they said it was too dangerous to travel to Mexico City: it's like saying you aren't coming to Atlanta because Compton is infested with thugs.

We said goodbye to DF (like saying DC for Washington, DC) in June and headed to the States for six weeks of rest and relaxation visiting with family and friends (read: not a lot of relaxing, my head rested in 16 different places over the summer) before wheels up to Dhaka.  Along the way, we stopped for two days in Rome, Italy.  That was Asa's "lifelong dream" to go to Rome and see the Coliseum.  Asa is my 10-year-old.  I'll post later on Rome, but to sum, it was "awesome."

The plane touched down at Hazat Shajalal International Airport (formerly Zia International) in Dhaka at 5:30 in the morning on August 2;  eight days before my oldest baby turned 13!!!  Even when we flew out of DC (a night there visiting friends), I was struck by something strange.  It was the first time I've ever NOT been excited to travel overseas.  Not that I was dreading it, or not looking forward to it, on the contrary I thrive on new experiences.  But this time, there was no fluttering in the stomach, no giddy anticipation, just a feeling like, "Alright, let's see what this is all about."  Maybe it was all of the planning and anticipation that comes with moving to a new place and not just traveling there.

View of rice paddies, the river, and flooded fields just outside of Dhaka.

Coming in to Dhaka, the city

Asa in the airport - tired and in the jet lag zone

Our worldly possessions packed out of Mexico City about a month before we did and we've known we were moving to Dhaka since November/December 2011.  By the time we touched down on August 2, I'd seen loads of You Tube videos on street food, driving, and just life in Dhaka and Bangladesh.  Being so linked in to everything through the internet can really give you a feeling for the place.  Still, I have never been to the Arab world (except Egypt) and have never been to Asia at all.  We had a layover in Doha, Qatar between Rome and Dhaka.  The kids were almost silent as we moved through that airport with women covered head-to-toe and men all in white.  Sage was like, "Welcome to Bangladesh, Asa."  I had to reassure them that not everyone dresses that way and they wouldn't stand out quite so much.  The first part is correct.

We stand out like a flock of flamingos among the crowd.  It doesn't matter what your hair, skin, or eye coloring is, if you are a foreigner, you will be unabashedly stared at, at all times, in all places.

Squat and go, then use the water to wash.  Use your left hand NOT your right.

I had forgotten what it was like to go to the restroom and find a hole with porcelain feet fixtures :).  That was my first bathroom experience in Dhaka, at the airport.  Luckily, the foreigner's homes, are outfitted with toilets like we know them.  Our sponsors met us at the airport and took us to our new house.  We were so jet-lagged at this point, that driving to the new digs was seriously like being in a dreamworld.  All the new sights and sounds, the traffic, the rickshaws, the crazy crowded buses, and all the while you are staring and looking and thinking, wow.  We're home.

Now, five weeks later, we have really settled in.  School is going well for the boys, at least socially.  The American International School of Dhaka is a fabulous, wonderful school.  They have incredible support for the students and are well set up to handle issues that arise from moving place to place.  Our house is right across the street, making it easy for the kids to go back and forth and giving us a place to play after school.  It opens up as a community center after 5:00 pm and during the weekends, so I can go over and swim laps at the pool!

The American Recreation Association (ARA, also known as the American Club) has been invaluable for the kids in adjusting.  Our first full day, our sponsors took us there for breakfast and helped with our memberships.  The kids spent almost every day at the pool there for the 10 days before school started.  By the time they walked into school that first day, they both already had a couple of good buddies.

  

Facillities at the ARA

My husband likes his work, the kids like their school, we've had wonderful trips organized by the CLO (Community Liaison Office at the Embassy), have made lots of friends, and can say we are content with our lives in Dhaka.