Departures

Two nights from now at this time, I won’t be in Dhaka anymore. I know time flies but it’s still hard to get my head around Wednesday’s departure, maybe because time and space here have qualities here unlike those I’ve ever known.  Both real, my friend Ann tells me, and unreal. In ways it has been profoundly unsettling and awesomely settling.  There’s been so much to see, and so much more I know I’ve missed.  And will miss.  So I’m wandering through into my last day here with an unexpected feeling of loss, for a distinct place that has captivated me and for the strangers who have quickly become friends, will quickly become strangers again. The natives and the other VSO volunteers that have both broken and filled my heart in ways I never could have imagined.  And indeed, some of it may be imaginary, but I’ve been to the most beautiful place. Thank you Dhaka, all of you.

And to Alta, who runs the kitchen at the office, a shout out for feeding me so well almost every day for lunch, for bringing me coffee when she knew I needed it most.  When I first arrived I thought I would have to live on rice and dal here with varying degrees of enthusiasm.  But I like rice and I like dal , which are definitely staples, and I like spicy and I eat little meat and generally find compatibility with different foods.  It’s one my favorite things about experiencing different places. Probably at one point, I made the transition from reveling in the new cuisine to looking around for something more than a rice-dal based lunch combination.  But I must have made it right back again, because I’ve quite happily settled into my daily rice-dal-vegetable  lunch the way I settled into my dutch lunch of broodje kaas almost each day for a decade during my 10+ years of life in Amsterdam, feeling a safety in the familiarity of the routine and in the comfort of being at home in culture.  And of understanding it through its flavors as they suffuse the lunch table and beyond, the fragrant lime, chili liberalized, late breakfast samosa and shingara from the food stall on the corner, paratha and nan like I only suspected they might taste at home in their world.  The best chicken, ever.  Duck steeped in hill tract chili. Coconut.  Endlessly lovely, little feasts.

So the night before my last night winds down, on a badminton-with-two-of-my-favorite-new-stranger-friends note in a night garden driveway.  With the last of departure things to take care of tomorrow, I may not get a chance to update again before I head out.  But as I make my way back, and in the coming weeks ahead, I’m sure there will be some final posts to come.

Outside Education

A few Sundays ago, I had the chance to teach, for the first time in a long time.  Once a week, on Sundays in the park across from the back entrance of Parliament and Crescent Lake, red and white tape gets looped around a cropping  of trees and class is in session for a group Dhaka’s younger residents.  The student body  is comprised of “street children”, as they are called here- kids who live on the street or in the park or the slums and work for living, spending most of their time on the street, selling flowers, candy or popcorn along the road side and weaving through Dhaka traffic to catch CNG passengers and cars as the traffic stops its way through the city.  There are purported to be about 300,000 street children in Dhaka, although census data is not reliable. Regardless, the children are everywhere.  Some have families, some do not.  Most of them have no access to traditional classroom education or basic health services.

This particular group is led by Kokon, a local legal professional and social advocate who has started the teaching activities with the help of a few volunteers from his personal network.   The average attendence for Sunday classes is 20 students, ranging in age from about 3-10. In addition to reading, writing, math, counting and coloring exercises, first aid care is provided.  These children generally don’t have regular access to clean water or sanitiation services and, like all kids, they are also prone to the usual cuts and bruises.  Many of them also suffer from malnutrition and untreated illnesses. Kokon patches them up where he can with bandaids and medication and vitamins, which are supplied through a local clinic that also accepts Kokon’s referrals free of charge when care beyond first aid is warranted.

I stopped by as part of becoming familiar with the different layers of volunteer-led initiatives for youth in the community, the impact the different initiatives might be having, and to assess where strategic thinking with more social partners might mean a chance to have larger impact in the future and for grassroots activities.  The session runs for two hours, and I didn’t have too much time during to talk with Kokon about what he hopes to mobilize going forward, but he’s promised we’ll talk more this coming Sunday- he was busy arranging a referral for an adolescent who had stopped by with a very sick infant, while another volunteer quickly explained that english and counting would be good subjects to cover and could we work on the alphabet.

I had the best students in all of Dhaka, I’m pretty sure.

Khagrachari

The center of my universe for the last month has been Dhaka. I was aware of life outside of Dhaka and had been hoping to see some of it during my time here, but the opportunities for me to travel are a bit limited given the length of my stay, workload and the logistics (or hassles) of the transport infrastructure. However, my placement includes strategic planning around youth development through community-based organizations, and the rural and more marginalized communities are a part of the focus of VSO’s strategy. So at the end of December I headed out of Dhaka for the first time since arriving here, to the Chittagong Hill Tracts (CHT), in the southwest of the country, where there is growing engagement with youth leadership around basic education, IT skills, knowledge-sharing and social awareness.

Reaching the CHT by road means a jolting 12 hour ride along the two (sometime one and half) lane road south.  The stillness of the hill tracks is doubly gratifying after the drive, and the quiet that filters through in the less crowded and rural locales has a special significance.  And the change of scenery is amazing, after Dhaka’s congested sprawl.  And the change of culture. Outside of the city the population thins out, as does the noise and pollution of the city, and as the landscape rises and diversifies, it also divides the greater Bangladeshi population somewhat from some of the indigenous cultures and farming communities that also make up the fabric of the nation, communities facing some of the larger challenges around poverty, land rights, security, access to education, health and hygiene, sustainable development and unemployment.

Meeting with the youth club members and local farmers in Khagrachari contextualized some of the conversations I’ve been having back in Dhaka, with organizations like Grameenphone and PRAN, around cooperative partnerships and how business can add value in society; where local communities can provide insights for sustainable enterprise development.

And what it means to offer support to the local youth community as they work through a network of volunteers to disseminate information and build resources toward the creation of secure livelihoods, for themselves and for the next generation, through basic education, pathways to employability, skills building and expertise around innovations in- for this community especially-  the farming industry.  Some of it is about knowledge-sharing and skills building, and formalizing these practices; about using these to drive confidence and empower the voice of the people, allowing them to speak and to define their own mission and vision for their future. For me, it was also about just listening and learning more about this really special country, its people and the layers (and foods) that contribute to its identity.

Climate Change Adaptation

This week has had climate change on the agenda.  With the post-wrap from Cancun being digested and debated, VSO hosted a round table discussion on climate change adaption and sustainability for key stakeholders, community and public sector leaders and local experts to discuss impact, implications and some of the most prevalent issues Bangladesh faces as one of the countries in world most vulnerable to the impact of climate change.

As a low-lying country prone to flooding and with huge lack of infrastructure due to knowledge-gaps, non-existent implementation, inadequate allocation or use of funds, the country remains not only at risk from the direct effects of climate change, but the indirect and longer term effects, which severely threaten (already precarious) livelihoods, particularly in the agricultural industries and in terms of health and sanitation and poverty elevation across especially the coastal and more rural regions of the nation.  In highlighting the instability which climate change instigates as a cross cutting social issue here, one of delegates from the public sector underscored climate change “[as] the mother of all equity issues.” The big one.

Questions of adaption vs mitigation vs coping were raised and strong sentiments around the misalignment of international aid were expressed. Tapping the skills and resources needed to bridge the gaps, from both the global community and the local population, and ensuring that knowledge and skills are transferred and used to build sustainable approach to climate change here, are increasingly being strategized.

With 1/3 of Bangladesh’s total population considered youth (18-35), it seems to me that part of this strategy also needs to focus on youth development, on equipping these younger people with relevant knowledge and expertise through education, as well as on primary education so that the next generation has access to knowledge systems and can use and build on the available tools, resources and technology for effective solutions.  A focus, of course, might also be on how to translate strategy into action….

Tomorrow, the Bangladesh Enterprise Institute will extend the climate change agenda, with members of the private sector as well, in co-sponsored session with the UN Global Compact network and an open floor discussion on the Global Compact’s principles which specifically address the environment and (anti-)corruption.   The program is geared toward increasing private sector knowledge on the principles, as well as how to effectively implement them within organizations.  So an early start tomorrow, too.

I’m also experiencing a climate change phenomena of sorts in my personal experience of the week,  being the first holiday season I’ve ever spent anywhere besides the northeastern United States or northern Europe. Even in years when temperatures and precipitation didn’t quite deliver for a white christmas, poolside dining and mosquito repellent were certainly foreign concepts to me as part of the holiday deal.  Or felt foreign anyway.  And it is a little strange to be so far away from my family, friends and the familiar traditions (the good, the bad and the indifferent) that give the holiday season its own special place in the year and the heart, and in a place that doesn’t observe the tradition.

But outside seating at the BAGHA Club and listening to carols as being sung by the international community school kids from the tennis court-turned-caroling-venue during our office Christmas party and turkey dinner Sunday felt appropriately Dhaka-in-translation. And so began the week, which for a change will not be filled with last minute errands, scrambling for flights, relentless jingle bells, warm fires, holiday madness or morning gifts. Somehow, though, Santa still knew where to find us.  Merry, merry.

If Not by Rickshaw, then by CNG. Or Not…

Three-wheeled CNG (Compressed Natural Gas) vehicles are the de facto mode of transport around Dhaka for most travel that requires a distance range outside that of a rickshaw ride.  They’re like tuk tuks, and are also referred to as baby taxi’s.  Grabbing one is pretty run of the mill, although late this afternoon, I might as well as have been trying to hail a New York City cab in the rain on a Friday. Not a lot of joy finding an available CNG, having hit rush hour, no less on the eve of a three-day weekend: tomorrow (16 December) Bangladesh celebrates its Victory Day, marking the end of the Bangladesh Liberation War in 1971.

Eventually I gave up on making it across town in time for my errand and headed back to the office for a last round up of the week.  But not without stopping to sample some little street cakes.  Since the vendor and I quickly gave up on me trying to comprehend what they were by way of explanation (I think steamed -rice?- flour, and definitely with a touch of caramel nut topping and shaved coconut), we decidedly gestured that it was best for me just to eat one and see.  Good stuff.

Badminton Derivative

It’s funny the kind of memories that sometimes surface along between-world trajectories and when context is being continually rearranged.  Back, what seems like a long time ago, in high school, my physical education class included a few weeks at the badminton net, a game I continued “playing” in college to meet the 2 credits of physical activity Hamilton College required as core curriculum. By playing I mean dragging myself to the field house for an 8:00am session twice a week, with instruction by the school’s hockey coach and attended soley by myself and some hockey players that the coach had mandated would take his badminton course.  Most of the hockey players showed up only intermittently but I kind of liked it, the swatting away sleepy mornings, picking up speed and air over the course of the hour.  In his introduction to the game in high school, when Coach Moros had noted for us that that badminton was derived from a version of the game called poona, first played by the Indians, I stupidly (oh-dumb-american) took that to mean Native Americans. Afterall lacrosse, as we learned it, had been brought to us by (check that) the Ojibway, and we had covered that in the previous unit so I never actually questioned a foregone conclusion that badminton followed.

But of course, poona (-to-badminton) has its modern day origins as an Indian game and it is indeed part of the native lineage here, where it’s played by boys and men (save gender roles for another post) in yards across town, where makeshift nets and poles (or more often just the racquets and shuttlecocks) provide court terrain.

And in droves on Fridays, a day of prayer and to some extent leisure, after the working week is done. Our offices are situated across from one of the neighborhood mosques, and the courtyard there, staid during the rest of the week with mostly only the shuffling of men to and from hours of daily worship, takes on an entirely different afternoon tone; it’s clearly time for some youth recreation, and fun.

And although there are posts, and a net that surreptitiously comes and goes tied between them, behind our office gates in the driveway in front of our building, I have yet to see anyone actually play. Or get ready to play. Or mention a game.  But I’m hoping one of these Fridays, or in some later afternoon hours, a set racquets will materialize and someone from the office might humor the bideshi lady and want to play.

Sundays and Star Fruit

Yesterday, I hit the ground running.  Friday and Saturday are the weekend here, equivocating Sunday with other world Mondays, and spent the morning with local colleagues reviewing VSO’s strategy for CSR development and getting familiar with the vision for corporate partners and the youth volunteering approach which VSO is working to enhance through community-based and public and private networks across the region, and with a particular focus on engaging the telecom, pharma and agro-business sectors to enhance progress in the areas of health and hygiene, education, gender parity and advocacy.

Diving into my work included reviewing some of the evolving partnerships, so part in parcel familiarizing myself further with both current trends generally, and the Bengali telecom company Grameenphone, specifically, as we look to align cooperative initiatives around digital technologies to enable access to information and knowledge-sharing  for inclusive development.

[It seems that the name Grameen is on *everyone*’s lips here, with this weekend's allegations against Professor Muhammad Yunus driving opinions on microfinance, along with the crucial need and struggle for sustainable solutions, further front and center into the collective consciousness, if not consciences....].

During our visit today to the University of Dhaka and participation in a rally with students for International Volunteering Day, commitment to sustainability, through the tradition of education, community awareness and campus involvement in volunteer efforts, was praised and called for by the institute’s leadership; and underscored by the importance of continuity in providing instruments of change in a country where the prevalence and persistence of poverty is in the global extreme.

And it is extreme.  I won’t pretend to understand the extent of it. Nor can I suggest that being here on such a short turnaround will permit me to understand in anything but partial measure.  What I can say is that what coexists here is compelling.  Arriving in Bangladesh has carried an onslaught of impressions and the worlds within worlds that comprise Dhaka are extremes unto themselves, ad infinitum: exhilarating, awful, ordinary, noxious, sublime.

Last week during my first hours here, one of my new local colleagues gestured toward the yard adjacent to the office and indicated a star fuit tree. I noticed palms, something citrus akin to a grapefruit and foliage.  No star fruit. But she was excited about the ripening fruit and I decided to imagine I had seen it. And I really liked the image of the dangling star fruits, reassuring betwixt the chaos and between the chasm of differences. There was something that, in being both familiar and exotic at once, felt like a compass point.  And resonated with what one of other volunteers here had confirmed to me over dinner the other night: life is intense in this city, you will be overwhelmed, at times you might hate what you see. But there is heaven too, if you look for it, you can find it.

And Sunday afternoon, as eye strain and a browser hijack on my laptop frustrated and co-mingled with the fumes from garbage burning in the street below, and along with concern over a hot light switch in the flat and the general (-oh-generic) malaise that comes with being a stranger in a strange land starting to take hold, I wandered up to the top floor of the office and out onto the roof deck.  Or, rather, agitated.  Then right below me I saw them, the starry fruit.  I stopped. I thought of the first taste of jeelapi; of the places where the city extends into market stretches piled with fabric and the promise of new kameezes; the way the light here dissolves on cue when the day is over; about a gecko who is hanging out with me in kitchen at night, keeping cheerful and quiet company. The month ahead. Sometimes, it’s just about looking little higher or lower.

That, about Dhaka, seems pretty easy to understand.