Mon Karap Lagthe seh

A'Salaam walaikum, I'm back from a week in the the field, and feeling a bit down. The title of this post means " I feel sad" in Bangla (literally- "the heart feels bad").

I spent six days in Jessore district, 40 kilometers from the Indian border. I had an interesting week in the field. Here are some thoughts I've been sitting on all week.

1. Before I left for the field last week, I saw an ELEPHANT walking down the street dead in front of the BRAC center. People just ignored the incongrous creature and began staring at me as I stood slack-jawed and in complete disbelief on the street. I had to confirm with three people that they witnessed said paciderm before I could accept its presence. I didn't have a camera with me (why?!) so I couldn't prove it to anyone. My roomie Yacine laughed when he heard the story, but he saw the same elephant walking down OUR street in Banani later this week. He took a picture on his mobile and showed me.

2. I miss my parents so much. I was listening to Elvis on my headphones when I was bored in the village, and the song "You Were Always on My Mind" made me sob like a paste-eatin' kindergartner on the first day of school.

3. My roomate Karishma left last week for L.A., and Manisha leaves for NY tomorrow. I feel so alone. So alone. At least I have the elephant.

4. My mobile phone was stolen when I was in the BRAC Training Centre (TARC) in Jessore. When I casually asked the deputy accountant to let me know if he saw my phone lying around, an all-out panic ensued. Literally within minutes, a search party entered my room and sifted through my belongings and bedsheets (my undies were in a pile on the floor--I was totally mortified). The regional health director offered me his phone should my Dad call. I mistakenly told him that I missed my parents, and he actually got choked up at the thought that a "small girl" like me could survive so far away from my family. The head accountant was so upset at the thought of someone nabbing my phone that he couldn't eat breakfast. What is this, cellular Ramadan? Anyway, I am touched that people care so much in this country...sometimes a bit too much. I think that my mishap caused all the BRAC offices in Jessore district to shut down for half an hour that morning.


5. I interviewed about 45 people during my field visit. It was really productive research-wise, and I picked up a lot of Bangla words. I also got to see a "popular theater" drama in the village. BRAC puts on small plays featuring local actors to spread information on topics such as social justice, disaster preparedness, etc. It was cool. I won't complain if I don't see another grain of rice for a while though. Three times a day is too much for this jolly Bengali. The fact that I got to ride a motorcycle every day somewhat compensates for the carbohydrate overload.

6. I saw a dead body. I visited a local police station on a BRAC Legal Program trip and one police officer told us to look in the back of the RAB van. I was horrified at what I saw. The man lying inside was shirtless, shoeless, and shot directly in the heart. There was no crossfire. It was clearly a murder. The infamous Bangladeshi 'RAB' (Rapid Action Battallion)--deployed almost a year ago--claims the man was killed in "the crossfire" during an "encounter." The RAB is like a super-armed Bangladeshi police force on steroids. The wear all black, can be found all over the country, and kill at least one person a week in "crossfire" or "encounters with miscreants." We see it in the headlines of the local English papers every day. The claimed this man was a 'terrorist' since he was the leader of an underground communist group. Let the police state begin.

7. I went out dancing last night with the girls and Dhaka's infamous party boy, Shari. He insisted that we 'hang by the pool' of his Gulshan mansion and have some wine before we headed out. Shari (who doesn't drink himself) refilled my glass so many times that Yacine and I ended up bellydancing by the pool until 2:30am (he is Moroccan, so he means bellydancin' business). Then we went out.

8. Even though dancing at Dhaka's only nightclub was fun, spending time in the rural areas allowed me to find joy in much simpler things this week. I felt so genuinely happy when the cooling rains came and made the whole village smell sweet like cut grass. It was a real treat. I was so happy to eat fresh mangoes from the trees every day, and we stayed up three nights in a row singing Bengali songs under the stars. I spent one Saturday night hanging out in a refrigerator show room in the Jessore town. One of the TARC guys took me to visit his friend who worked there so we could sit in the air-conditioning.

Well, this post is ridiculously long, so I'll end it there. Hope I caught you up. Pictures coming soon. Must run to Manisha's going away party (sniffle).

Much love,

Tan-i-ya Begum