Greetings everyone,

I hope this message finds you all well! As promised, here is the second in my series of monthly updates.

In a nutshell, I’ve been battered by Bengali language, perturbed by poverty, rabbled-roused by Ramadan and pissed off by political protests—and yes, in that order. Nonetheless, I’m feeling more settled than when I first got here and I can safely say that it is going well, although the need to stay aware of the dangers of political instability is omnipresent and will be for the next few months. Why? See below.

For those of you who are more photography-minded and less interested in my reams of text, head to my site at http://www.mikeyleung.ca and you’ll see the link to my photo albums on the right. Hope you enjoy the pictures–they are meant especially for all of you who have decided to keep in touch with me. Thank you all again for your support—it means the world to me and it will mean more to all the people whose lives I will touch in Bangladesh.

I have also replaced my fundraising site with a WordPress blogging engine that I will now use to post updates (hopefully once every two weeks or more as time allows).

TV Toting, October 2006.

Safe travels for now,
-Mikey

CONTENTS

1. History before my eyes
2. Arrival and First Days
3. A Taste of Ramadan
4. Poverty: Change, not charity
5. On Love: Bel

1. History written before my eyes

By now you have all likely seen that Bangladesh is again in the world headlines but this time for a very different reason. Instead of attracting the admiration and respect of the world’s development community (a Bangladeshi professor won the nobel prize a few weeks back for his world-changing work in microfinancing—I described the theory briefly in my first e-mail), Bangladesh is now mired in political conflict. Although cross-country strikes are a fact of life here, the debate is now coming to a head and many Bangladeshis see this as the time to create political change—I am here to experience it. (SARS and the Asian tsunami of 2004 rank among my previous “I was there” stories!)

We are in a midst of election season here in Bangladesh, and the first step was for the nation’s current government to step aside for installation the nation’s caretaker government (whose responsibility is to preside over the upcoming 90-day election period). The opposition had noisily protested government’s choice of caretaker chief and promised some severe reprisals in the form of country-choking protests and as a result, the atmosphere leading up the handover was extraordinarily tense. When the transition finally came, the opposition and the ruling party took their respective gloves off and faced off on the streets of Bangladesh for three straight days. They first threatened each other with words. Then they beat each other with sticks, cricket bats and oars. And finally, the fight escalated into shootings on the streets of Dhaka. Thousands participated, a few dozen died, and several hundred more were injured, meanwhile the police mostly stood aside. For three straight days, the country came to a spectacular standstill that grabbed the attention of world’s media.

Amidst all this drama I was perfectly safe taking a peaceful nature cruise on a boat in the Sunderbans of Southeastern Bangladesh—far, far, far away from the protests. I heard only the natural sounds of the world’s largest littoral mangrove forest, and saw the footprints of the ever elusive Bengal Tiger (virtually impossible to see in the wild!). Now that I’m back in Dhaka, my safety is well taken care of by VSO, so you need not worry about me (Yes, this is especially for you, Mom). More to come on my Sunderbans trip at my Web site in the coming week.

2. Arrival – September 28, 2006

At first I was struck blind.

Stepping from the airport doors, 94 per cent humidity made my glasses fog over immediately, while 35C temperatures made every single pore on my body open and empty its contents onto my now 36-hour old clothing. It was like being reborn: British Airways had delivered me onto Dhaka’s doorstep in a sticky, stinky and sweaty slop, and the sensory assault that is the experience of the South Asian subcontinent began. I was back in the colour, the chaos and the calamity that is human existence in Bangladesh.

Eventually my perceptions came into clearer focus over the next few days as each day brought improving ability to sort out how my life is supposed to work in the bedlam that is the Bangladeshi capital. As I described in my first message to you all, I anticipated—and experienced—some of the most epic traffic congestion conceivable. The population of Bangladeshi is over 144 million people, and at rush hour in the capital, it feels like all 13 million of its inhabitants are trying to get somewhere all at the same time.

Now, I do concede that transport is a major concern in most world metropolises, but the rigours of an ordinary commute in Dhaka are more like a pitched battle for survival: green baby taxis and motorcycles weave their way between black-fume belching busses, most of whom have side-swipe scratches running the entire length of their vehicles. Meanwhile, a continuous sea of humanity composed of pedestrians, beggars and rickshaw drivers claim every inch of pavement they can on nearly every roadway of Dhaka during peak hours.

On the larger roads, baton-wielding traffic police officers literally beat flow from the chaos by banging on the backs of vehicles to move them along. On smaller roads—most of which are often pockmarked with potholes beyond recognition and suffering from a severe lack of traffic signals—the incredible volume of traffic simply means that conditions often descend into a horn-bleating cacophony of a whole lot of people going nowhere. To commute here is to bathe in that sea of fumes and humanity. Fortunately I did not have to endure that commute for too long—my VSO-sponsored Bangla lessons ended just after Eid and my flat is within walking distance of work. My head swoons with nausea just imagining I endured that.

3. A Taste of Ramadan

Or more correctly, the lack of it.

Ramadan is the annual Islamic month of fasting in which the most devout take not a drop of water nor a nibble of food from sunrise to sunset. The cleansing began shortly before my arrival here (September 24), but I have since learned that the practice is not followed strictly by all people, and also not at all times, at least not in the environment of the international non-government organization where I am employed. Some of the employees fast on alternate days, where as some do not even follow the practice at all. Also, it’s hard to imagine a ricksha-walla (cyclo driver) pedaling all day long without taking a single bit of refreshment. Instead, most street food stalls cover their locations with banners, making all the tea-drinking and bhat (rice) eating a more discreet.

Ramadan also proceeds the major Muslim holiday, which in these parts of the world is called “Eid ul-Fitr.” Not unlike Christmas in terms of stature and importance, Eid is the time for Muslim families to gather and celebrate the end of the fast, and also to trade presents as well. Shops were absolutely packed in the run up to the last days of Ramadan. Those who follow the fast more strictly rise before sunset to take their first meal of the day, and this time is announced on loudspeakers at mosques around the city—the mosque located just across the street from my flat is no exception. This is in addition to the daily five calls to prayer.

When I first arrived in Dhaka in late September, just after Ramadan began, the mosque’s pre-sunrise prayer call was loud but it was easy enough to get back to sleep. However, in the days leading to Eid, the religious calls rose in intensity and in frequency across the city, culminating in what I swear was a 3:45 a.m. karaoke competition. At the nearby mosque, it began with an air-raid sirens, followed by announcements and prayer hymns, all offered as a sleepy testament to the glory of Allah. I must admit, at most times and at most mosques the singing is absolutely stirring, rich with the emotion and passion that only faith can provide. Nonetheless, after dealing with a succession of nights of sleep interrupted, all I have to say is: Eid Mubarak (Happy Eid), and I’m glad Ramadan is over until next year.

4. Poverty: Working for change, not charity

Finally, I want to share some thoughts regarding the poverty I have seen here, with respect to fact that Bangladesh is a developing nation, and create a sense of what my experiences with poverty mean to me.

I have to admit that at first, even my well-travelled soul found the amount of poverty in Bangladesh incredibly hard to deal and come to terms with. Furthermore, from what I understand, things have both improved and worsened in Bangladesh in recent years. The rich have become richer, but the poor have become even worse off. But some initial impressions first:

Within Islam there is a tradition and culture of giving to those less fortunate and it is wholly incorrect to associate the religion with poverty. This tradition of giving is prevalent, such that many that poor people often come from the villages to the cities during Ramadan in order to collect “baksheesh”—an all-encompassing word used to describe alms for the poor, tips for the workers and bribes for the officials. Hence, for the last month the streets of Dhaka have been extraordinarily full of mostly women and children burdened with an incredible range of disabilities, illnesses and/or ailments. What I found most shocking was the fact that for every kind of disability I saw, be it blindness or extreme malnutrition, there would always be two or three more people with the same kind of disability—there were literally groups of beggars with the same ills working the same streets during the days of Ramadan. Why?

They are here because the people do give in a big way. Many wealthy Bangladeshis (and make no mistake, there are many) open their hearts and their wallets at this time. At first, I incorrectly assumed that Dhaka was always like this—bursting at the seams with beggars and vagabonds, but in fact it is a special time here during Ramadan. The real problem here is not the giving, but the system itself. What Bangladesh needs is change, not charity. Giving like this does not fix the deeper problem. Fortunately, I feel like I am an agent of this change, and that my work here will make a difference—in only small ways, but my life here is what is in my power to change, right here, right now.

Secondly, to have seen the poverty here is also to have experienced that rough transition from idealism towards wisdom and from innocence to knowledge. In one of my journal books, I wrote: “If I had any notions of fairness and universal dignity among human beings, the conditions of this country make a mockery of that. If I believed I had already experienced the fringes of human existence, I have only realized there is still so much to learn. If I did not believe the human spirit could endure such destitution on a daily basis and still carry on, I was wrong.”

In a sense, I feel like I have really experienced the daily grind of poverty but I still see this that flame of the human spirit carrying onwards: it is in the faces of mothers who love and sacrifice for their children as I have learned, from our introduction sessions at VSO, that the main victims of poverty are in fact women and children. The human spirit is present in the form of playing kids who, in my photographs, still demonstrate a universal innocence that belies the conditions of their upbringing. Moreover, to witness, to see, smell and breathe the same air is to put faces and experiences to the idea of poverty, to know its reality, and most importantly—to fuel my desire to be an agent of this change.

Nonetheless I was still shocked by it all. I will try and remember: change, not charity. More to come in my future updates—this theme doesn’t quite end here.

5. On Love: Bel

On a personal note, not all of you know that part of my journey here was for love. Last year, I met an Australian on a China Intrepid trip who opened a door that for me has long remained closed out of necessity–perpetual life on the road means that you are committed to no one and remain totally rootless, but meeting Bel changed all of that. Last year I went to Australia during Christmas to see her, and oddly enough the same day I arrived was the same day she received her letter informing her she was heading to Bangladesh.

Now, nearly one year later, as my foggy blindness at the airport lifted she was there waiting for me. The music went up, the audience cheered and we were reunited once again, after four months apart. We spent a week together catching up, going out for photographs and just being in each other’s presence once again.

It has been absolutely glorious to be reunited with her, and her work in Bangladesh began in March of last year. This reunion was long awaited, as the last time we had seen each other was in early June when she came to Thailand for a little bit of R ‘n’ R and some chill out time from Bangladesh. Thus it was with great happiness we came back together and she was waiting for me at the airport when I arrived–her and that wall of humidity that greeted me as we stepped out the airport doors into my new life.

On that note, I will end this update here and you will hear from me again next month where I will delve into the daily topics of living and working in a developing country. I invite you to offer me questions about the experience and I will gladly incorporate such questions into my future writings. I will be updating my new site with pictures as time allows. As always, it’s great to hear from you and you’ve read down this far in the e-mail you obviously have a bit of time to kill Write me. I miss home and I miss familiar people in my life, like always.

Sincerely yours,
-Mikey