Dhaka, one last time (October 27-31, 2008)

Mizan takes me to his parents' house in Khulna to spend the night. The next day we take a bus to Jhalakathi to pick up Shobnam and catch the launch back to Dhaka. It is nice to see Shobnam again, and she seems happy that she was able to spend so much time with her family. We catch the launch that night and arrive early morning.

I spend the next week resting at Mizan and Shobnam's apartment. Mizan is at work all day and Shobnam tends to cooking and cleaning for about half the day, so I entertain myself.

I am sick once again. I finish reading my book, The Three Mistakes of My Life by Chetan Bhagat, which was at the time a best-selling novel in India. It is about three young Gujarati men--one who is passionate about cricket, one who is passionate about religion, and one who is passionate about business--who open a cricket supply store together. The cricket aficionado starts coaching a young Muslim boy who shows much potential. When there is a train bombing and Hindus die, a conflict develops between the religious boy, who shows loyalty to his uncle's Hindu nationalist political organization, and the other boys. The business-oriented boy's devotion to business rather than people only increases the schism. What ensues is a showdown between the uncle and the boys as he tries to kill the young Muslim cricket prodigy...

I also indulge in lots of television viewing. I catch up on the election by watching the BBC or CNN. I also watch English movies and TV shows. Sometimes I switch to Hindi or Bangla music videos or programs. At these times, Shobnam takes a break from cooking and cleaning and sits by me, translating and explaining. I gather that Bangladeshis are extremely romantic people, for their singers' songs are always gushing with expressions of love. There is a show in which Tagore's rabindrasangit (Tagore song) are performed. I watch the Bangladesh national television channel and see commercials urging people to vote the Sundarbans and Cox's Bazaar as the new seven wonders of the world.

Shobnam cooks me wonderful food. In addition to the bhat (rice) and subji (vegetables), she often makes me a sweet--either Shemai or Payish. Shemai uses vermicelli, while Payish uses rice. Both involve boiled milk and sugar, sometimes infused with cardamom. Payish might have a few added raisins or cashews. It's my favorite, but both are great. It seems I have lost weight over the course of my month in Bangladesh, and Mizan and Shobnam have made it their goal to fatten me up again before I go. So Shobnam is always trying to get me to eat more.

At night when Mizan comes home, we have dinner and I watch Mizan and Shobnam feed each other with their hands, all the while arguing about how much Shobnam eats. They indulge in meat and fish, and don't understand why I only eat subji. After, we watch more television or talk about Bangladesh and America. Mizan is struggling to decide if he should work abroad again and support his parents, or stay in Bangladesh with Shobnam. Clearly, it's a hard decision between two different duties he has. It seems people criticized him the first time he came back to be with his wife. This is something most Americans don't have to think about because their family structure is different, as is their financial status.

On Mizan's day off, we venture across town to Gulshan and see his new office. He is working to establish a call center. His boss insists we celebrate the new office and takes us out to Pizza Hut. I am hesitant, but actually it turns out to be great. The ingredients and taste are just like in the US. The only difference is that in Bangladesh, Pizza Hut is marketed as a high-class restaurant rather than a dirty fast-food joint as in the states.

I finally feel better just as my visa is about to expire. It is time for me to go back to India. Mizan buys me a bus ticket across the border. Shobnam says, "If there is anything we did wrong, anything to upset you, please forgive us." This is Bangladeshi hospitality. I tell her, "no, everything was perfect. I did not get sick because of you. I am a farm chicken." She begs, "Please remember us." It's something I've heard Bangladeshis ask over and over again. I tell her, "of course. How could I forget?"

From Dhaka to Khulna by Rocket (October 22-26, 2008)

The next day, Christiaan, Magda, Raphaella and I meet at Christiaan's hotel in the Old City. We take a "van" (a bicycle pulling a flat wooden surface used for transporting goods or people) to Shadarghat port and find the Rocket that will take us to Khulna. We share two second-class cabins, I with Magda and Christiaan with Raphaella. It is a restful trip, and I go to sleep early. We are still on the boat for most of the next day and I simply sit, gazing out at the calm water, watching green leaves and twigs float by and photographing the occasional fishing boat. At one point, a man from deck class comes into the second-class area to talk with us. He is so excited to be talking with us. He is the man who presents us with the acronym for BANGLADESH I mentioned in my introduction. He shows us his wife and Raphaella plays with his baby. The staff try to tell him to go back to his class, but we insist that it is okay. At night, a little girl from a lower class seat comes and tries to teach me some Bangla words. "Brishty," she keeps saying. I later realize this means rain. At other times I wander around the boat aimlessly, seeing what I can find. I spend a short time at the front answering questions of Bangladeshis: "My name is Jenni. As in Jennifer. Yes, like Jennifer Lopez. I am from America. My job is in the NGO sector. Well, really non-profit. But that's like NGO." Magda can't handle all the questions, but I am more patient and show no signs of perturbation. But I can't take it for long and return to my cabin area.

We arrive in Khulna the next night and find a hotel listed in our guidebook, Society Hotel. It is cheap: about 70 taka per night. Magda is impressed with the cleanliness and the mosquito nets. I'm a little bit harder to please. Magda points out a cockroach and I get scared. But she likes the little creatures. She tells me that as a kid, she had a pet cockroach ordered from Madagascar, and when it died she preserved it in picture frame like a biologist's specimen. From this point on, whenever I see a cockroach this is what I recall: the pleasure such a horrid creature was able to bring my friend Magda.

We realize quickly that a day trip to the Sundarbans is not possible. Raphaella's Bangladeshi visa is already expired so she needs to cross into India the next day, paying a bribe to get past immigration. The Sundarbans tour is, furthermore, not in our price range. Christiaan decides to go with Raphaella back to Kolkata. I am once again not feeling well, so I decide to take rest for the day. Magda heads out on a day trip to Bagerhat to see Shait Gumbad Mosque.

The next day, Magda leaves, determined to see other parts of Bangladesh, and heads east, back to Dhaka and then to Chittagong Division. As with most destinations in Bangladesh, it is necessary to first go through hectic Dhaka rather than directly to the destination, because of the obstacles of waterways and lack of transportation routes. She wants to go to Chittagong to see the ship-breaking yards along its north shore. A controversial industry, ship-breaking threatens public health, the environment and the rights and lives of workers. Earlier, I had met a Belgian photojournalist at the Indian Embassy in Dhaka documenting this human rights issue. His other assignment was acid-burning, in which women are usually the victims and men the perpetrators, attacking because of the woman's refusal of an affair or sexual advance.

The day Magda leaves, I am feeling a little better and decide to see the Shait Gumbad Mosque in nearby Bagerhat. According to my Lonely Planet guidebook, the mosque was built in 1459, the same year Khan Jahan died. It is "the largest and most magnificent traditional mosque in the country. Shait Gumbad means 'the Temple with 60 Domes'-a misnomer given that there are actually 77." Based on the description, I am eager to visit. But upon arriving, I am disappointed, and my impression of Bangladesh as a country devoid of spectacular architecture and artifacts is again confirmed. The mosque is nice, but after having traveled in the Middle East and India, it simply doesn't compare to other sites. Still, I am glad I came. I take a picture of the photogenic old man who runs the toilets and washing area. He is overjoyed to see his photo on my digital camera.

Mizan calls my mobile and suggests I come back to Dhaka. This way I will be able to take rest and feel better before heading to India. Also, I will be able to see his wife Shobnam again and wish her a proper goodbye, as she has been at her parents' in Jhalakathi. Initially I do not want to take the boat all the way back to Dhaka when I am so close to crossing back into Kolkata. But he insists and picks me up the next night.

Family life, Bangladeshi style: Khulna and Jhalakathi (October 3-7, 2008)

I began my bus ride into Bangladesh from Kolkata and crossed at the Petrapole/Benapole border. I was whisked away by helpful men who took me from customs counter to immigration counter and then requested a hearty "bakshish" (bribe/tip) for their aid. Not knowing the process or the language, I had no choice but to use their service.

Some Bangladeshis helped me find my next bus--a local one--and I continued on to Jessore. My first impression of Bangladesh was of how surprisingly green it is--the rice paddies are an almost neon green! Waiting for the bus to stop at Jessore, I became suddenly aware of my inability to speak Bangla and the inability of everyone on the bus to speak English. Somehow, I managed to get off at Jessore, find a phone and call Mizan, my uncle Mike's friend and my host in Bangladesh. Mike had sent him my picture so he would know what I looked like, but as the photograph also had my uncle's ex-girlfriend in it, Mizan was somewhat confused as to who I would be. I laughed at this though, because obviously I would be the only white face, and so the photograph was entirely unnecessary.

Khulna and Mizan's Family (October 3-4)

Mizan and I take another local bus to his mother and father's home in Khulna (Khulna Division). It is night, and we are greeted by his little nephew, who presents me with a card he has made. On the front it reads: "Happy Welcome!" and inside, "bengal tigers." There is the the top of a rose taped on for decoration. He has a torch and lights our way to the house, where I am shown the room in which I am to stay.

Mizan's entire family is here because the previous day was Eid, the Muslim holiday which celebrates the breaking of the Ramadan fast. Bangladeshis throughout the country return to their family homes to celebrate, making transportation arrangements quite precarious for a week or so. I meet his mother, older brother and his wife and daughter, older sister and her husband, and Mizan's wife Shobnam. "Take rest," they all tell me. I am exhausted and glad their limited English means I won't have to talk too much. I lie down on my bed, and notice that Shobnam remains on the chair opposite the bed. I tell her she can leave, but she insists on waiting until I fall asleep. When the power goes out, she fans me with her own arms. I wake up in the middle of the night and find food they have left me.

The next day I wake up and can't eat much. I am sick all day, probably from the hotel food I ate when I first arrived in Jessore. I rest all day and Mizan and Shobnam take me to a doctor that night. The Sunderbans tour Mizan had planned for that day is canceled. This turns out to be only the first in a series of illnesses that plague my Bangladesh journey. Luckily, I have contacts here and people who can care for me.

In addition to allopathic medication, I am encouraged to drink coconut water to help regain my strength and avoid dehydration. This is my introduction to the coconut, which the Indians refer to as "food of the gods," and whose sweet, energizing water and fruit I am thankful for each sweltering day. There are "many ways to cure and many foods to eat" here in Bangladesh, Shobnam says, on showing me mango chutney, which helps with dizziness. One day, when Mizan and I are in the National Museum looking at specimens of Bengali flora, he tells me, a little embarrassed, that when a British leader first came here, he complained he couldn't take a piss anywhere outside, lest he dirty some medicinal plant. A very practical people, Bengalis have traditionally relied on the healing properties of the many plants naturally available to them.

The Sunderbans, Mizan tells me, are winning in an online poll of the "new 7 wonders of the world." The other Bangladeshi attraction in the race for this title is Cox's Bazaar, the world's longest beach. The Sunderbans, translated as "beautiful jungle/forest," is the world's largest block of "tidal halophytic mangrove," according to Wikipedia. The forest lies at the mouth of the Ganges River and is spread through both Bangladesh and West Bengal, India, forming the seaward fringe of the delta. The forest in each country is considered a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The topography of the Sunderbans is a combination of tidal waterways, mudflats and small islands of salt-tolerant mangrove forests. It provides critical protection to life and property of the coastal populations in cyclone-prone Bangladesh. Among its animals are crocodiles, spotted deer and the Royal Bengal Tiger, of which there are about 500. These are a threat to the bee farmers who collect honey in the forest.

Jhalakathi and Shobnam's Family (October 5-7)

Mizan, Shobnam and I take a local bus, then ferry, and then bus to her family's home in Jhalakathi (Barisal Division). I meet Shobnam's mother, father and two younger sisters, Ripa and Suha, who is the youngest. Again, I am thankful that they encourage me, "take rest." Over the course of my stay here I also meet Shobnam's mother's mother and her father's mother and father. Here is a picture of Shobnam's family. (Back row, left-right: mother, father, Suha, me, father's mother and father's father. Front row, left-right: Shobnam and Ripa.)

The next day is rainy. I have never appreciated rain so much. With rain comes about a day of cool air, a break from the usual sweltering heat of Bangladesh. At night we go to Shobnam's uncle's home, as he has requested us to do so because Mizan has never been able to visit. For the first three years of their marriage, Mizan was working abroad in Dubai. Now, although they have been married about 4 years, it seems Mizan and Shobnam are finally living together for the first time. Mizan's title to all of Shobnam's family is "new older brother," and he will keep this title for the rest of his life, as per tradition.

The uncle serves a lavish dinner with at least 5 courses. I don't eat much as most of the courses involve meat or fish, but I am amazed at how much Mizan and Shobnam are able to eat. They do so out of duty to her uncle. I learn later that Mizan wasn't actually eating so much, but secretly shoveling off food to Shobnam. As a guest in Bangladesh, you have to know how to eat just enough so that when your host offers you more, you are able to stuff more food in your belly until you absolutely cannot. Then you must refuse, with assertion, and perhaps a defensive gesture of the hand, covering your plate. Mizan, Shobnam, Shobnam's cousins and I go on a short boat ride as the sun is setting. Despite growing up in a country saturated with ponds and rivers, most of the girls don't know how to swim and are a bit scared. I, however, stand at the front of the boat. "You are so brave," Shobnam says. After the boat ride we return for even more food (fried noodle and egg). We return by cycle rickshaw to Shobnam's family home. I read and write in my bedroom and try to learn a little Bangla from Suha, but the only word I am able to absorb is "bujina" ("I don't understand"). Here is a picture of little Suha, my teacher:

Here is Ripa (left) and her cousin:

The next day, Mizan and I take the launch to Dhaka. I thought Shobnam would be coming with us, but at the last minute discover she will be staying about 10 more days with her family. As it is the Eid holiday, bus and launch tickets are very hard to reserve, and anyway, she wants to stay longer with her family, whom she hasn't seen in awhile.

Here is a picture of me on the launch:

Indeed, the launch is packed with people heading from their family homes back to Dhaka. People are laying out squares of cloth to sleep on the deck. One man has a chicken and ties him up at the front of the boat. Mizan could only get a ticket for one cabin, and so I sleep on the bed and he sleeps on the hard floor. The night is beautiful, the sky clear, the stars peeking through the darkness that surrounds us on all sides. Occasionally we see the lamp of a fishing boat or the green leaves of trees floating by. Mizan sings a song about water and I try to learn.

Here is a picture of a launch at Shadarghat port, Dhaka: