The photos below are from Bangladesh. And believe me there`s plenty more where they came from. I took almost four hundred photos, and yet, feel like I could have taken more. There was so much to take in. So much.
I still haven`t decided what I think of the place. It wasn`t a holiday, by any means. I will say though that it was a tremenduous experience, a kind I don`t know if I`ll see again such was it`s purity. I think for those in the group whose first trip it was to Asia it was shocking. I was shocked and I felt that I was somewhat prepared having frollicked a bit through Asia already. The capital of Bangladesh, Dhaka, made Bangkok seem western, developed and almost Singaporian. We stayed in the wealthy area. Apparently. The area where all the embassies are (by the way, what is it about embassies always being in the nice areas? must think some more about that). It was stark to say the least.
The peering of the muslim men at our bare forearms and nude ankles was disconcerting. Us ladies decided to keep count of the number of women we saw during our day there-we counted ten. Ten.
If you consider Dhaka to have a population of over 12 million people, and everywhere we went there were faces, that`s a poor ratio. I think it was a shock to me because I hadn`t been to a muslim country before. I like my liberties. I dislike the idea that a man in bygone times decided that women were lesser. That`s true not just for Islam but good old Catholicism too, albeit to a lesser extent. Naturally the men in the group didn`t have this to think about. I was followed by someone on my way to a restaurant to meet the others. I arrived frazzled, and frightened. It was the men of the group I met. Their reaction made me realise that men will never know the extent of fear a woman knows. The threat of violation, the perpetual idea that physically we aren`t designed to equal men. They will never know the shivvers a certain look from a stranger can send through your being, the look which funnels thoughts that you don`t want to acknowledge. You feel like meat, a slap of bacon. Eyes roave and size. No matter how much you try to, you can`t stop it. It`s only a look after all. But it`s too much. That shook me.
I imagine that Bangleadesh is how many of the now-popular South-east asian hotspots were twenty years ago. It was raw. It was undiluated with tour companies, western bars, and overly-tanned Swedes in bikini tops. There was no denying the desperation of this place as it struggled to stand. I almost had to argue with a clerk in the dutyfree to have my change returned to me.
I had a conversaiotn with one of the ladies who works for Habitat, which is the NGO through which we volunteered. Being from Ireland usually renders two reactions, “OH! Irish drink a lot and My Granny once owned an Irish Greyhound” or, as was the case in the Bang ” huh? Where`s that?” followed by a lenthy pause as they attempt to decipher if it`s a wealthy country or not. To this lady I explained Ireland. She deducted that I was rich. Because you`re either poor and can barely afford a home or you have cash to burn, no inbetweens. I am so very lucky compared to a most of the people who live in developing countries. However, as I explained to this lady, it`s not a case that I can buy everything I see. She was startled when she heard that we each saved for a certain number of months before we embarked on this trip, that each month you have to make choices, and sacrifices. We have money but it`s not without limits. I have little to complain about, but the idea that I`m a king, with a bucket of gold at his disposal, makes me uncomfortable. There were hard times in the Flynn household, many of them.
Having no money in a country where few have money is gruelling. I wonder though for those who live in wealthier nations and who struggle, is it harder, to have constant reminders of all that you don`t have?
Got sick too. For about three days. It took a chunk out of me. I wanted to go back to Japan and lie in my apartment far from it all. I felt frayed afterwards and not at my best. It`s hard when you feel underpar around people who don`t know you all that well. You`re trying to fit in, but the fatigue, the discomfort, and a certain lonliness of being surrounded by people but by no one who truely knows you, drag you down a little. People walk away. “She`s alright” they say to themselves… “just not my kind of person. ” Although, having taken the time to flick through a few olde diaries, I see that I often convince myself of this feeling. The power of the mind dum-dum-dum!
I would do it all over again. It was a fine team. The place where we worked was far and beyond the somewhat griping paws of internationalisation. It was five miles from the Indian border. The people we built the house for were of a hilltribe called Garo from which Japanese descended apparently. Their warmth was astounding. A Japanese friend was confused when I showed her the pictures. “But they look so happy?”
It was true. The children milling around, children with empty bellies and raggedy shorts, were bundles of energy. They were the kick in the arse that jumpstarts the notion there`s good to be found in all situations. You just have to look. And in the hills deep in the North of Bangladesh, they smiled.
Go on the Bang!
