Village Visit, near Faridpur District (October 21, 2008)

The next day, Mizan takes me to his grandfather's village because we have been invited to an important meeting of the local cooperative society. We get there by taking a bus, a ferry and another bus.

The cooperative society is a group of men from the village who pool funds and ideas to improve village life. Mizan's older brother, a physician's assistant, is active in the cooperative society. Their biggest outcome has been a fishery. The day of our visit is the inauguration of a new structure to be used as a meeting place and office. They have also invited a political representative of the district.

When we arrive, Mizan and I are instructed to sit at the front of the new structure, in front of growing crowd of what comes to be about 50 men--or 100 eager eyes. I sit between Mizan and the politician who has been invited, and in front of a sign upon which our names have been printed. We are all asked to speak--again, an impromptu speech! This one is, however, less intimidating than yesterday's, as I'm sure the standard of English is lower among this audience of village men, and no one has been given the impression that I am any sort of expert on development. My speech was short but sincere: I congratulated the men on their new structure, told them how welcomed I felt in Bangladesh and how happy I was to experience beautiful village life as an escape from Dhaka. Mizan and the politician also speak, but I cannot recall the content. Something was said about not letting divisions destroy the productivity of the cooperative society.

After the ceremony, we have a locally-cooked lunch (again, only bhat and subji for me). We then visit the fishery. I am offered a local sweet, which tastes like a mixture of milk, butter and sugar. We also visit Mizan's family, including his uncle who is very sick and confined to bed.

Mizan and I take another boat ride. He says he feels different in the village than he does in the city. The air is clean and quiet, and the pace is slower. Nonetheless, this is only the second or third time he has been to his grandfather's village. He works six days a week, long hours. And getting to the village requires two bus rides with a ferry ride in between.

On the way back to Dhaka, we stop at Mizan's aunt's house in Faridpur. It was she who nursed him when he was young, as his mother was preoccupied with his sick brother. She is very emotional and scolds Mizan for not having visited earlier. They haven't seen each other in years. She serves us dinner, filling our plates to make sure we have enough to eat. After we leave, we receive a call from her. She is upset because she forgot to offer Mizan a sweet (which he was too full to eat anyway). This is Bangladeshi family life; this is Bangladeshi love.