Week 3 in Bangladesh

Ok, so I've been here three weeks and I'm only now creating a blog. Those who know me understand already. Those who don't probably aren't reading this anyways.

I'm going to quote my email to my parents to describe Bangladesh. This place is so impossible to describe and I think I kind of got it right before so I'm sticking with it.

Dhaka is the capital and where I am staying (I'm actually in Savar, but it's all one continuous dirty city). Dhaka is impossibly dirty and noisy. Everyone uses their horns here. Sometime the honking is a dire warning, "Hey, I'm here and you might kill me if you keep going in that odd direction." Other times the horn appears to a chance to show the world that you are going slightly faster. Regardless, the honking is incessant.

There are more people here than is possible. The congestion manifests itself in the most unusual of traffic jams. I've been in vehicle jams, rickshaw jams and even people jams. Yes, I did say rickshaw jams. We got out, paid the rickshaw wallah and walked on.

The people are desperately poor. The "middle class" live in decrepit buildings that most certainly would not be allowed to stand in Canada. they appear to be made with a soft brick that crumbles easily and is often scavenged from other work sites. And, like I said, these are the middle class. The poor are shirtless and shoeless, and about five years old hanging onto my salvar kameez begging for money.

The rickshaw wallahs are a study in anatomy. Every sinewy line of muscle straining across rough roads. They are so skinny and so strong. Bangladesh should recruit these men and form a cycling team. The power to weight ratio would be phenomenal.

Tourists are few and far between here, so we're a really big hit. Crowds form around us every time we leave CRP. Also, I've been asked to bless children.

Everyone here wants to know where I am from and what my husband's occupation is. They are shocked (and some are appalled ) when I say I am here by myself without my husband. They're not sure what to make of this. One man was outwardly offended. But most people hide their shock and carry on trying to ask me questions.

CRP is the most amazing hospital. It's a NGO that started as a couple of tinshade buildings. It's now an organization with a college, special needs school, paedatrics ward, neurology ward, community development schemes and over 1000 employees. Please, please look it up online. Just google CRP Bangladesh. And consider donating or volunteering here.

That's already a lot, and I want to save something to write in the next posts.

The best way to get a hold of me while I'm here is through email.
L