Most of the posts in this blog have been focused on the "fun" or "interesting" things I've been able to be a part of so far, but I thought I would write this post in an effort to display some of the more difficult things we have witnessed. These happenings will be written without the conventional "I heard" or "she said" in order to more vividly portray the events as I have heard them described.
Two days ago a school bus full of our students aged 9-16 pulled up to an intersection at the corner of Kamal Ataturk and Airport roads. The teeming intersection was packed as usual that morning, and police officers were on hand to help conduct traffic. The bus received a "go ahead" from one of the officers and pulled around the corner onto Kamal Ataturk. As the bus lurched forward, an "infirm" older man stepped out into the street and was struck by the bus. The driver reported that he never saw the man, and he only knew something had happened by the sound of the collision. The man was killed by the impact, at first none of the students even understood what had happened.
This type of incident has the potential to form violent and emotional mob scenes that can lead to the murder of the vehicle's driver and the torching of the vehicle itself. Luckily, especially considering the presence of the students, police were on hand immediately to secure the scene. If not for the drivers own honor, the police would have "waved him on" his route without any consideration. However, as the driver could not tell whether the man had struck the bus or visa versa, he decided to give his information to the police. He is currently on paid leave, and the school is currently in the process of either going to court or settling privately.
It is hard to distinguish which element of this story is more upsetting, the fact that 10 students were a part of this, or that such deaths are relatively common in a society that has many people who never look before walking out into correspondingly irresponsible traffic.
The same day the daughter of one of the local workers at the school was severly burned while preparing Iftar, a large meal that breaks the fasting during Ramadan. Part of her clothing caught fire and 25% of her body was burned. She was rushed to the hospital where she underwent surgery to relieve the excruciating pain associated with the water that can form under burns. Many people at the school are trying to send money to help cover the cost of her health care, which is assumedly too much for her family to absorb.
In both of these instance it seems to me that the severity of the calamity would have been mitigated by everyday social infrastructure present in the United States and other more developed nations. That is not to say that there is NO social infrastructure or NOT a complex culture, but that cultural knowledge has not extended to crucial personal decisions. For instance, I can't imagine that more than 3% of the Bangladeshi population has ever heard that they should "look both ways" before crossing the street, because they seem to have very little fear of fatal automobile accidents... yet they occur with a disturbing frequency here. Also, and I should emphasize that I know few details of the burn scene, there is no "stop drop and roll" training here. Such knowledge we take for granted as "part of our cultural consciousness," without understanding the tremendous luxury it is to live in a place where our cultural energies can be directed to such unlikely circumstances.
This last vignette I recieved second hand from my house mate Sara. However, having been to the story's scene on a couple occasions, I will describe it as though I had witnessed it myself in order to more smoothly insert descriptive details of the setting.
Sara was out on a walk at dusk, strolling through the neighborhood directly behind our secluded Diplomat zone. As darkness dropped over Baridhara D.O.H.S., she crossed the "Rickshaw Bridge" into a street of tightly packed shops that open out onto the narrow road. At 7PM the traffic is omnipresent, one cannot stray from the crumbling, dirt-covered sidewalk without bumping elbows with a side view mirror. Rickshaws and baby taxis push their way between large trucks and compact cars on tight, laneless avenues. The scene creates a fog of smell that colors one's whole perception of the place. Seemingly in leauge with the hot darkness decending on the lampless streets, the smell drapes itself about the shoulders and thighs.
A few feet from the brown foot path on the side of the road, a man lay on his back in a patch of home made gravel. His eyes lolled back in his hot brain as his mouth fell open, his chin occasionally shivering. The beat of determined feet fell around him as his last sensations on earth presented themselves, perhaps unacknowledged. He was clearly dieing, with no family at his side, his body a mere and minor impediment to the pedestrians passing by, not looking.
Sara is someone who has, I believe, learned the best messages of the Bible and views its stories as examples of how to live a good life. When recounting this image to me, her eyes slightly glassy, she said she felt like she was "on the wrong side of a Bible story" when she observes the many personal catastrophies of the Bangladeshi people. We all wonder "what can I do right now, at this moment?" and it seems like "nothing" is the stony answer. But upon consideration we cannot help but realize that WE are the one's with the resources, so does that make it OUR responsibility to step in and help a dieing stranger? This man seems, in a way, to be a symbol of many of Bangladesh's grave problems. Never has one nation had so much conspiring against the success of its people (EG- if global water levels keep rising the country will be completely submerged; India has built dams that give them the power to cut off Bangladesh's already meager supply of potable fresh water; there is no effective sewer system, all waste is dumped in water that many people drink; the government is one of the most unapologetically corrupt in the world; even with all these problems, it remains the country with the world's highest population density; there is little or no insurance or affordable preventative medicine, so few people receive care before they have become seriously ill, at which point prospects for recovery are increasingly slim).
There is an inescapable irony to my life here, I hope this post provides some subtext to the other things I write.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Some Pictures from the Shishu Polli
A look at one of the courtyards of the school, where some of the mothers are hanging clothes out to dry.
The entry court of the school.
The Big Bangs group getting some instruction from Pierre
A funky slide.
One of the kids at the school in his uniform. He is holding a card, for whom I do not know.
The dormitory quad
You may not be able to say, this basket says "American Basket" and is a picture of a green pepper enthusiastically skiing down sandy desert slopes in a cowboy hat, as his yellow pepper friend looks on in amazement.
The new baskets on the court and on the fence.
The kids and the Lucy taking pictures of us before we goA Trip with "Big Bangs" to Shishu Polli
This weekend I traveled two hours outside of Dhaka to the Shishu Polli women's and children's center in the Sreepur Village. I went by bus with about 20 other people including some high school students, some other young adults. The trip was put together by an organization called "Big Bangs," a charity organization that raises money through basketball tournaments and also brings basketball to impoverished communities.
The organization is run by two ex-patriots, Pierre and Rod (Aussie and French, respectively) who fund much of the organization out of their own pocket. It is not a particularly large operation, but they effectively use basketball as a means of exciting the more affluent Dhaka community of teenagers and translating the passion for hoops into charitable action. I received wind of Big Bangs by way of a couple students who, hearing I had a history of playing ball in the states, wanted me to get in touch with Pierre and Rod, two players well regarded in the intimate Bangladesh basketball scene. I then received and e-mail at school about the trip out to Shishu Polli, and decided it would be a great way to spend a Saturday. In typical fashion I did not read the entirety of the e-mail, which contained information about the 5AM departure.
Shishu Polli Plus provides housing, clothing, food, and vocational training to help make its residents independent later in life. About 3/5ths of the children are orphans, and many of them have some kind of physical or mental disability. This was not obvious to me while I was playing with them however, possibly because of the language barrier, possibly because kids that age are so goofy anyways. Many of them seemed quite clever and all were very kind and well behaved. "Orphans" in Bangladesh are not the same as their counterparts in America, as many of the children maintain some kind of contact with their parents. However if they have special needs, and/or the parents are exceptionally poor, they cannot be cared for outside of Shishu Polli.
Saturday morning I pulled myself from my covers after wasted attempts at sleep, threw on my pre-packed backpack and walked the 300meters to AIS/D to be picked up. The ride itself was suboptimal... although air conditioned (thank Allah for that!) because the Bangladeshi road system is maintained irregularly and most likely in accordance with needs other than small villages'. For instance, I noted that in front of large textile factories, the roads were well kept, but in more isolated hamlets the potholes were feet deep. We arrived after a two hour ride that took us just 40 miles.
The school itself is on a large, gated piece of land that is fenced on all sides. Shishu Polli includes class rooms, dormitories and other facilities for the "580 babies and children and 100 destitute women" who live there (qtd. from Shishu Polli Plus's website). We unloaded the two buses and took the shirts and unpumped basketballs to the court. The surface, a smooth concrete worn from thousands of children's feet, was covered the day before with spray painted basketball lines and designs by a small group from Big Bangs that went out the day before. On the metal poles at each end we affixed new backboards to the old rings (the new rings were faulty) and we put up a couple of small hoops in the fence around the court. We then blew up about 25 balls that we would leave there.
The camp was designed to see all 480 kids who were old enough to play (they have infants as well) in shifts. We probably saw three or four groups (they were hard to tell apart, so many kids on the court!) over a six hour period. There were probably close to 100 kids running around the court or just outside of it at any one time, and an additional 30 huddled around the face painting area. We played a few fun games: the defense dance, some relays, some attempts at dribbling, but the main goal was simply to play with the kids. I ended up just walking around the court as the children swarmed from one end to the other, stealing balls, dribbling with them, showing them how to spin a ball on their fingers. All the kids were from age 5-11, and that is a LOT of kids to keep track of at once.
The reaction of the children was phenomenal, almost all of them seemed to be having a blast unlike any other time in their life. The enthusiasm and excitement was so fun to be a part of, and we even saw some tears as we were leaving. It made me wonder what they will take from those six hours over the course of their life. Will they become bitter as they grow older and learn more about wealth and wonder what we were doing with the other 162 hours of our week? Will they cherish the day as a moment when some people from other corners of the world came out to play with them? Will they recall the day at all? I certainly will not soon forget the sheer emotional impact of the day, what an overwhelming six hours, ten with travel.
Something should be said of the staff who live and work there. We were hosted by the one non-local person who works there, an Australian named Lucy. What a tremendous task! What determination and self-sacrifice! What organizational skills, to keep almost 700 people of varying needs and abilities in line and happy!! It seems so simple when you think of the concept of sacrifice, that you will give up one thing for another. It is one decision. And yet when confronted with the reality of sacrifice of this magnitude, it truly seems superhuman.
The organization is run by two ex-patriots, Pierre and Rod (Aussie and French, respectively) who fund much of the organization out of their own pocket. It is not a particularly large operation, but they effectively use basketball as a means of exciting the more affluent Dhaka community of teenagers and translating the passion for hoops into charitable action. I received wind of Big Bangs by way of a couple students who, hearing I had a history of playing ball in the states, wanted me to get in touch with Pierre and Rod, two players well regarded in the intimate Bangladesh basketball scene. I then received and e-mail at school about the trip out to Shishu Polli, and decided it would be a great way to spend a Saturday. In typical fashion I did not read the entirety of the e-mail, which contained information about the 5AM departure.
Shishu Polli Plus provides housing, clothing, food, and vocational training to help make its residents independent later in life. About 3/5ths of the children are orphans, and many of them have some kind of physical or mental disability. This was not obvious to me while I was playing with them however, possibly because of the language barrier, possibly because kids that age are so goofy anyways. Many of them seemed quite clever and all were very kind and well behaved. "Orphans" in Bangladesh are not the same as their counterparts in America, as many of the children maintain some kind of contact with their parents. However if they have special needs, and/or the parents are exceptionally poor, they cannot be cared for outside of Shishu Polli.
Saturday morning I pulled myself from my covers after wasted attempts at sleep, threw on my pre-packed backpack and walked the 300meters to AIS/D to be picked up. The ride itself was suboptimal... although air conditioned (thank Allah for that!) because the Bangladeshi road system is maintained irregularly and most likely in accordance with needs other than small villages'. For instance, I noted that in front of large textile factories, the roads were well kept, but in more isolated hamlets the potholes were feet deep. We arrived after a two hour ride that took us just 40 miles.
The school itself is on a large, gated piece of land that is fenced on all sides. Shishu Polli includes class rooms, dormitories and other facilities for the "580 babies and children and 100 destitute women" who live there (qtd. from Shishu Polli Plus's website). We unloaded the two buses and took the shirts and unpumped basketballs to the court. The surface, a smooth concrete worn from thousands of children's feet, was covered the day before with spray painted basketball lines and designs by a small group from Big Bangs that went out the day before. On the metal poles at each end we affixed new backboards to the old rings (the new rings were faulty) and we put up a couple of small hoops in the fence around the court. We then blew up about 25 balls that we would leave there.
The camp was designed to see all 480 kids who were old enough to play (they have infants as well) in shifts. We probably saw three or four groups (they were hard to tell apart, so many kids on the court!) over a six hour period. There were probably close to 100 kids running around the court or just outside of it at any one time, and an additional 30 huddled around the face painting area. We played a few fun games: the defense dance, some relays, some attempts at dribbling, but the main goal was simply to play with the kids. I ended up just walking around the court as the children swarmed from one end to the other, stealing balls, dribbling with them, showing them how to spin a ball on their fingers. All the kids were from age 5-11, and that is a LOT of kids to keep track of at once.
The reaction of the children was phenomenal, almost all of them seemed to be having a blast unlike any other time in their life. The enthusiasm and excitement was so fun to be a part of, and we even saw some tears as we were leaving. It made me wonder what they will take from those six hours over the course of their life. Will they become bitter as they grow older and learn more about wealth and wonder what we were doing with the other 162 hours of our week? Will they cherish the day as a moment when some people from other corners of the world came out to play with them? Will they recall the day at all? I certainly will not soon forget the sheer emotional impact of the day, what an overwhelming six hours, ten with travel.
Something should be said of the staff who live and work there. We were hosted by the one non-local person who works there, an Australian named Lucy. What a tremendous task! What determination and self-sacrifice! What organizational skills, to keep almost 700 people of varying needs and abilities in line and happy!! It seems so simple when you think of the concept of sacrifice, that you will give up one thing for another. It is one decision. And yet when confronted with the reality of sacrifice of this magnitude, it truly seems superhuman.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Another Village Trip: Ashulia
Sara and I, along with a few other teachers, went out to a village with a bunch of ex-patriots on Saturday for a "Hash"... I don't really want to explain it, but here's a link that describes it pretty well: HASH. I don't know how much I am going to do this, it's basically a running club. But on Saturdays it's something to do and it's a good way to get outside of Dhaka.
This week we went to a village North of Dhaka called Ashulia. We got there a little late because of some INSANE traffic, there is basically only one road out of that part of the city, and it was packed. We had to take a road that is basically a two lane bridge across the flood plain. People were not really adhering to anything you could describe as a lane, it was more a loose area in which you were expected to be, but there were no visible restrictions from passing one bumper to bumper car via the lane going the other direction.... or even more wildly, on the water side (I couldn't believe a couple of the auto-rickshaws that cruised by us on the left didn't tip in).
When we got out to the village I didn't feel like running around, and I had a camera so I thought I would just walk through and take pictures... we ended up with about 20 kids following us around squeeling and jumping around, they were so excited. The next post will contain the pics!
This week we went to a village North of Dhaka called Ashulia. We got there a little late because of some INSANE traffic, there is basically only one road out of that part of the city, and it was packed. We had to take a road that is basically a two lane bridge across the flood plain. People were not really adhering to anything you could describe as a lane, it was more a loose area in which you were expected to be, but there were no visible restrictions from passing one bumper to bumper car via the lane going the other direction.... or even more wildly, on the water side (I couldn't believe a couple of the auto-rickshaws that cruised by us on the left didn't tip in).
When we got out to the village I didn't feel like running around, and I had a camera so I thought I would just walk through and take pictures... we ended up with about 20 kids following us around squeeling and jumping around, they were so excited. The next post will contain the pics!
The Trip to and Walk though Ashulia
People waiting along the road to Ashulia... possibly for a bus. The road across the flood plained was lined with them.
A random little snack stop along the road.
A man hanging out in front of a house/business and some of the bricks made in the area.
There is an odd double standard here that men are not supposed to show too much affection for their wives in public, but it is common for two men to be walking down the street or hanging out while holding hands. This is a more extreme example.
In a month the water will be gone from under this power line.
The countryside is luscious and green, here is some kind of cultivation, not sure what the crop is.
These kids followed us for a pretty long time, trying to get us to take pictures of them!
Hanging out at a village food store
Bulls on Parade! These fellows walked right past me without blinking.
There were a few of these tied up or in fields throughout the village.
These people are mixing some cement, notice that the women are doing the hard labor. A couple more men who seemed to be in charge were standing to the left of the picture.
Rolling an old bike tire with a stick.
A smoke stack captured from a village road. These are where they bake the bricks that make up many of the buildings in Dhaka.The Acid Survivors Foundation Ball
No, this was not some 60s throwback event. Rather it was far more serious. Every year in Bangladesh people, primarily women, are victims of attacks with caustic acid. While the attacks can occur for a variety of reasons, generally it is for revenge for spurned sexual/marital advances, an insufficient dowry or even to get revenge against a woman's husband. Sometimes small children can be the victims of these barbaric assaults, especially when there are land or business interests at stake.
The ball was held to raise money for the medical and legal care of the survivors. The Acid Survivors Foundation (ASF) also funds lobbying efforts to get laws changed to better protect the victims, and to raise awareness of prevention techniques (often limited to washing off the acid with running water). I have made some friends with young people who have been working with the ASF, and I have been entirely overwhelmed by the existence of such a viscous and vindictive act of violence. It really is almost impossible to comprehend how something so cowardly and vile could become a cultural practice. For instance, the severity of the burn determines the extent of the punishment; intent makes no difference. If you would like to learn more about the organization, the phenomenon of acid attacks and how you can help please visit this link.
The ball itself was pretty fun as it was BYOB and we certainly took advantage. The turn out, I heard, was a bit disappointing, but we (Sara, Jimmy and I) all had a great time. The ball was of the masquerade variety, which felt a bit strange considering the fact that many of the acid attack victims have burned faces. In addition to dinner, there was a fashion show (which was also a bit odd considering the event) and a really fun/funny all Bangladeshi cover band. They were surprisingly good and played hits from disco and some other party songs. Many of the teachers were there and in full force. Teachers, diplomats, foreign service workers really can't dance... lesson learned. It was a formal ball, here are a couple picture of the three interns (and Walter).
The ball was held to raise money for the medical and legal care of the survivors. The Acid Survivors Foundation (ASF) also funds lobbying efforts to get laws changed to better protect the victims, and to raise awareness of prevention techniques (often limited to washing off the acid with running water). I have made some friends with young people who have been working with the ASF, and I have been entirely overwhelmed by the existence of such a viscous and vindictive act of violence. It really is almost impossible to comprehend how something so cowardly and vile could become a cultural practice. For instance, the severity of the burn determines the extent of the punishment; intent makes no difference. If you would like to learn more about the organization, the phenomenon of acid attacks and how you can help please visit this link.
The ball itself was pretty fun as it was BYOB and we certainly took advantage. The turn out, I heard, was a bit disappointing, but we (Sara, Jimmy and I) all had a great time. The ball was of the masquerade variety, which felt a bit strange considering the fact that many of the acid attack victims have burned faces. In addition to dinner, there was a fashion show (which was also a bit odd considering the event) and a really fun/funny all Bangladeshi cover band. They were surprisingly good and played hits from disco and some other party songs. Many of the teachers were there and in full force. Teachers, diplomats, foreign service workers really can't dance... lesson learned. It was a formal ball, here are a couple picture of the three interns (and Walter).
Life is becoming busier...
I haven't been blogging as much recently because I am becoming more and more consumed by what is happening here. I have been making some friends with interns from other organizations, and there seems to be hope of a social life outside of school here. Last week we went to a 24 hour lounge in a hotel North of where I live. It had a far overpriced bar and hookahs, and it was fun to hang out with the interns from Grameen Bank. One was a young Moroccan who told off-color (to say the least) jokes all night. It was a fun night but I was out later than I planned and the next morning at school was a bit rough.
My speech class is picking up a little bit, we had a first formal presentation, and for the most part it was pretty successful. Some kids are so nervous you almost feel for them, but I have to keep my "teacher mindset" intact when I am grading. It looks like I might be picking up more responsibility in the freshman class as well soon, but not for sure. That would probably be pretty easy because unlike Speech, which I have been planning as we go, the 9th grade class is pretty well choreographed already.
Also, I may get a chance to write for a Dhaka newspaper, The Daily Star. It is not a great publication in English, but it is printed in both Bangla and English and I would have a pretty wide readership if it actually comes through. No guarantees, but my contact will help me make it happen.
I also had my first "Poetry Club" after school on Sunday. It went well, there are a couple kids who seem to have thought about writing before and everyone seems pretty enthusiastic. I was really happy to get five boys in the club out of twelve, it's not usually something that is popular in high school. I put the kabash on the emotional expressions of high school girls early in the hour we have together, saying that poetry was different than simple self expression because this wasn't therapy, and poetry takes some kind of form and discipline.... hopefully it will sink in, I don't want to be reading about high school woes for a year. There first assignment is a classic-- haiku! I want to get them thinking about working within and struggling with constraints to help focus their energies.
It is amazing how fast my first month in Dhaka flew by, only nine more to go. I have the feeling that I will look up in June and it will be over. Paradoxically, the more I do every day the quicker it will fly by. I think I will have plenty to do, especially if I get involved with the newspaper... right now outside of school I am doing the poetry club and basketball club which take up a few hours a week. I am also doing some really interesting reading about literature, I have been enthused by how much I feel like I am learning in an academic sense while I'm here. Books I've been reading include:
Ciardi Himself by John Ciardi
Sound and Sense by Thomas R. Arp and Greg Johnson.
They are both concerned with how we write and read language, and it has really been interesting to apply to the teaching and reading I do for school daily.
My speech class is picking up a little bit, we had a first formal presentation, and for the most part it was pretty successful. Some kids are so nervous you almost feel for them, but I have to keep my "teacher mindset" intact when I am grading. It looks like I might be picking up more responsibility in the freshman class as well soon, but not for sure. That would probably be pretty easy because unlike Speech, which I have been planning as we go, the 9th grade class is pretty well choreographed already.
Also, I may get a chance to write for a Dhaka newspaper, The Daily Star. It is not a great publication in English, but it is printed in both Bangla and English and I would have a pretty wide readership if it actually comes through. No guarantees, but my contact will help me make it happen.
I also had my first "Poetry Club" after school on Sunday. It went well, there are a couple kids who seem to have thought about writing before and everyone seems pretty enthusiastic. I was really happy to get five boys in the club out of twelve, it's not usually something that is popular in high school. I put the kabash on the emotional expressions of high school girls early in the hour we have together, saying that poetry was different than simple self expression because this wasn't therapy, and poetry takes some kind of form and discipline.... hopefully it will sink in, I don't want to be reading about high school woes for a year. There first assignment is a classic-- haiku! I want to get them thinking about working within and struggling with constraints to help focus their energies.
It is amazing how fast my first month in Dhaka flew by, only nine more to go. I have the feeling that I will look up in June and it will be over. Paradoxically, the more I do every day the quicker it will fly by. I think I will have plenty to do, especially if I get involved with the newspaper... right now outside of school I am doing the poetry club and basketball club which take up a few hours a week. I am also doing some really interesting reading about literature, I have been enthused by how much I feel like I am learning in an academic sense while I'm here. Books I've been reading include:
Ciardi Himself by John Ciardi
Sound and Sense by Thomas R. Arp and Greg Johnson.
They are both concerned with how we write and read language, and it has really been interesting to apply to the teaching and reading I do for school daily.
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