Anniversaries and adversaries

While I’m on the topic of elections I notice it has been twelve months since I cast my vote, along with millions of other Australians, to bring the Howard years to an end. I’d like to take this moment to say thanks Kev for saying sorry, and cheers Julia for the hard slog that has been (and will continue to be) the burying of the ironically termed Work Choices.

As an aside, it is a welcome breathe of fresh air to note a significant different in the way Australians are both viewed and received abroad. Having been overseas (in Russia) for the shameful Tampa incident, I was granted a front row seat to the international criticism of our government’s behaviour. It wasn’t pretty.

While that incident was a while ago, I have been overseas often enough between now and then (before you think I’m bragging, you should see my bank balance) to know that international attitudes to our government were wary. Not so anymore! It seems people (well, the ones who know where we are) are impressed with our ratification of the Kyoto protocol, supportive of our increased involvement in the international community, and interested to see how we harness the opportunity for an improved relationship with China, and that’s just to start with.

So, happy 1st birthday Kevin07 and Cabinet. Happy birthday.

The Times, They Are A-Changin'

Can anyone else feel the winds of change whipping through their hair (or over their shiny head, or through their flourishing mo’vember mo as the case may be)?

With Little Johnny not only ousted from the top job, but ceremoniously dumped from his own electorate too; with Helen Clarke waving goodbye from the back of her horse and carriage folding up “if it’s not broke…” placards to be trotted out at the next “I told you so” opportunity; and of course with a half-Kenyan, half-American dude with an African name - from which phonetic parallels can be drawn to the Number One Enemy Of The Free World - elected as President of the United States of America (no less), it seems the times, they are a changin’. [insert appropriate reference].

And the times may be changing here in Bangladesh also, as the country prepares to vote in the first democratic elections since the caretaker Government stepped in a few years ago. Preparing the foundations for one of the most populous (and most corrupt) countries in the world to go to a popular vote is no easy task, and Bangladeshis take their politics very seriously. This is to be expected in a relatively new nation (1972) that fought hard for their independence. But, as is also to be expected in a relatively new nation (especially in this part of the world with India, Pakistan and Burma as neighbours) there is an air of… nervousness surrounding what will happen on and post poll day.

In the mean time I watch (from a safe distance just in case anyone important is reading this… including my parents) ‘electoral exuberance’ with interest, as groups of men walk through the streets chanting/cheering/ranting/waving banners etc. So far it has all been very low key in both Chittagong and Dhaka, much to everyone’s relief, but the build up is set to continue.

The election date itself is set for December 18 (with a possible change to December 28) and I, along with everyone else, am keeping my fingers crossed (and my toes, and I’m prepared to approach random people in the street to cross their fingers too if it comes to it) for a smooth, fair and violence-free election period.

Fascination Street – or how transport can remind you that these boots were indeed made for walkin'

Being South Asia, which is very close to South East Asia, which is renowned for what could be considered questionable respect for traffic rules, it comes as no surprise that getting around provides opportunities on a daily basis for the religious to say their prayers.

And because I’m the sharing kind (especially if it’s from your plate) I’ve provided some visual aids to help convey at least in part what it’s like to get around town in ‘the dish’.

1. The Rickshaw

Yep, it’s the traditional variety where a man who weighs significantly less than me (and you too, before you judge, unless by some freak occurrence Amy Winehouse is reading this blog) pedals madly on a bike with no gears while simultaneously hauling your arse all over the place for about, oh, 20 cents a ride.

Now because nothing is as simple at it seems here, this does not mean you, as the well-cushioned passenger get to just sit back and enjoy the ride – oh no. While you sit back and watch the absurdly tight buns of the rickshaw wallah working away madly in front of you, you also get to have a mini-pilates class as you engage your core with all your strength so you don’t topple out onto the bitumen/rubble/rubbish heap/dirt. Rickshaws come with the brilliant feature of being just a little off balance, and tilt forward slightly. Admittedly this makes it much easier to get out at the end, but also makes it exceptionally easy to alight from the vehicle while it is very much in motion.

For the record, being a rickshaw wallah is pretty high on the list of Positions I Never Want To Apply For. Not even being able to decorate my very own rickshaw with spectacularly coloured rickshaw art would tempt me.

2. The CNG or Baby Taxi

First things first, CNG stands for Compressed Natural Gas, which is what these little babies are powered by. Quite an exceptional effort by a third world country to combat air pollution has been made here, and this should be noted. Now, a more appropriate acronym would be PDT or ‘Potential Death Trap’, as the natural gas bottle sits in the back of the baby taxi, ready to explode upon impact. Handy!

A few things to note about CNGs. There are no doors. The driver rides in a cage. There are no seatbelts. They make Smart Cars look like Hummers. All CNG drivers are secretly hoping to become part of the next Star Wars sequel and practice their best ‘I can dodge em better than you can’ techinques with every trip. Oh, and in Dhaka they’re probably working for a local gang too, just to spice things up.

Here is a view from the back of a CNG, note the cage around the driver, and the following pic is a view out the side of a CNG. Note the buses next to me. And panel beaters, you can stop licking your lips, you’re not Bangladeshi if you repair your dings.

above: the view from the back - yes, you can see an arm hanging on for dear life

below: out the side - CNGs are so small

my eye line is almost on par with a public bus wheel.

3. Public bus

I don't always think pictures speak louder than words (if that were the case I'd be out of a job since I'm not about to challenge Annie Liebowitz for the next Rolling Stone cover shot) I do think, in this case, they help. What they don't show, however, is how you actually catch one...

Pick which bus you need, adopt a running stance, start moving to match your pace to that of the (hopefully) slowing bus, close your eyes (optional) and jump on!

Now don't worry, this is perfectly safe as there is usually a man hanging onto the outside of the bus to help haul you in. Usually.

4. Private car

Take a look – what does it remind you of? I’m trying to decide between bumper bowling and dodgem cars, though I think I’m erring a little closer to dodgem cars if I take into account the rickshaw and CNG rides I’ve had so far where the most popular game in school seems to be ‘How Many Other Things Can I Hit Before I Tip Over’. I now think it's actually a handy thing my dirver's license was stolen in my first week or who knows what crazy ideas I would have had about hiring a car with my very own metal bumper bars attached!

5. The Best Kind

And last but not least, my preferred means of getting around town. A little too traditional perhaps, and not overly safe when all of the above are thrown in, but it does come with it's own special smellofactor that helps you feel such an intimate part of the city. Especially in the morning... (I'll leave you to ponder that one over yourselves...).

Everything in its right place

Me: I want to go to Dhaka this weekend, how should I get there?

Local friend: By overnight train or bus, whatever you prefer

Me: Oh, I prefer trains. Is it safe?

Local friend: Safe on train, yes. I think it is no problem.

Me: Ok great, I love sleeper trains! I’ll get a sleeper berth

Local friend: What? No, you can’t, you are travelling alone?

Me: Of course I am. Why can’t I get a sleeper ticket?

Local friend: because you’re a female travelling alone. Better to get a seat

Me:………a seat

Local friend: Yes, a seat. An overnight seat.

Me: ……. A seat

Local friend (big smile): Yes, a seat. It is comfortable, I think for you it is ok. A seat.

Me: And if I was a man?

Local friend: of course you would go sleeper, it is more comfortable. But for you, a seat is best

Me: ……… right. A seat it is then.

Just me and my monkey

I am back in the Gong after a couple of very long days ‘out in the field’, which is the endearing term used for visiting our projects ‘at the implementation level’, to use some jargon. As expected, ‘field work’ is loads of things. Exciting, challenging, confronting, dirty, funny, outstanding for my Bangla, and a bit like being in a zoo.

What I must say though is how damn cute kids are when they are half terrified, half consumed by curiosity for you, and you can't understand anything they say. I became great mates with these guys over the day I was at their (extremely poor) village, and much fun was had taking pics and showing them what they looked like on the digital camera screen. This is, hands down, the most fun I have had in Bangladesh so far.

As an aside - wow, I blend in well, don't I?

‘The fun in every start’ or learning the hard way that youth has not made me invincible

Almost famous!

Having been in Dhaka for all of three days, I was introduced to the local Aussie Club (yes, we’re everywhere, kind of like cockroaches but with beer bellies). I know, not even a week in a dry country and I manage to find a bar. So, after enjoying a few drinks (two actually) I notice it is nearing midnight and we’ve been told we turn into pumpkins very soon. Or actually, after dark if truth be told, but in my western way of thinking after dark translated to after midnight.

Being the Good Girl that I am, I made sure I had people to go home with, one of whom was even male (which is tricker than you realise when you’ve never had to think that way before). Feeling like confident, successful integrating ‘peeps’, Matt (the toothbrush guy), Natalie (who embodies Zen like no one I have ever met before) and I hail a rickshaw wallah, practice our broken Bangla, and bargain until we get a great deal (40 takka, or about one Aussie dollar). On we hop, and away we go…until…

Bangla Bandits in a car ever so kindly relieved me of the bag on my lap (which was not over my shoulder since I did heed at least some warnings), and possessions including every lip balm I brought with me (!!!), sunscreen, nurofen, a hair brush, and, of course, my wallet, about $30 AUD, my phone, and most annoyingly of all, my beloved camera.

Midnight soon turned into 3am as we spent over an hour in the police station (such fun! Though I did strike it lucky as the officer in charge happened to have been to Darwin and seen crocodiles being fed. Steve Irwin, mate, I owe you one). After typing up my own statement with an audience of men doing who-knows-what we made it back to the hotel where I spent the next hour or so trying to cancel my cards etc. And having another vodka. Old habits, it seems, die hard.

Fast forward another week and I make it back to the Aussie Club for a security briefing by the High Commissioner who, upon meeting me, says “Oh, so you’re Lyrian! I’ve written a report about you to Canberra”.

It hasn’t even been two weeks and I’m on first name basis with the High Commissioner. Beat that!

What goes in, must come out

And quickly sometimes! I won’t dwell too much on this point as imagination is surely much more fun. Let’s just say not even a lifetime of lactose intolerance could prepare me for this. And if you glance down to my previous post you’ll see a section called “that’s not a bean,…”. I guarantee it still ain’t a bean at the other end, either. Bangla Belly, I bow to your supremacy, and give thanks for returning control over my bodily functions once again.

Bend down, lift the lungi a little to the left and...

Since we’re on the topic, I thought I’d share a little insight into sanitation. This section is interactive, so get yourself ready.

Before coming here I read an article which said Bangladesh has the 4^th worst toilets in the world. Now, having been to China and experienced the pleasure of communal squatting over a trench with no water in sight while trying to break the Guinness Book of Records Longest Breathe Ever Held competition, I suspected I knew something about bad toilets. What I didn’t realise, however, is that the reason Bangladesh makes this list is because there aren’t really any toilets in the first place. Or at least what I now define as a toilet has broadened somewhat.

To be more explicit – men pee  (and probably poo too, judging by the smell, but this bit is sheer speculation at this stage as I’ve never let my eyes linger long enough to be certain) everywhere. And I mean everywhere. On the side of the road. On the footpath. Against a wall. Into a rubbish pile. Into the lake. On a tree. In the median strip separating one side of a busy road from the other (one of my personal favourites). Everywhere.

Take the time to think about that for a minute.

You there?

Ok, now picture what three days of rain and no drainage systems does to a city like Dhaka.

Still with me??? One more step and we’re almost there.

Now put your thongs on and walk to the office.

Welcome to Bangladesh!

Wonderful things that have happened to me

I’ve made it to The Gong (Chittagong), surviving a local flight even though I forgot to turn off my mobile phone since the flight preparation instructions are all in Bangla. [Oddly enough, once I realised this I became paranoid that something disastrous was going to happen as my old little flip top Nokia sat in my bag breaking international aeronautical protocols yet not wanting to take it out of my bag and turn it off in case everyone could see the reason they were five seconds away from plunging out of the sky before they even got their in-flight meal was because of me]. 

And I’ve seen my house, and my room, and they’re both lovely and my flat mates (Tania and Bri) are lovely and The Gong is lovely compared to Dhaka, and I think it’s no mean feat to be able to say lovely three times in a sentence let alone three times in a sentence about the same day.

Not so wonderful things that have happened to me

Bag-snatch. Bangla Belly. Enough said.

Most useful phrase I have learnt today

“Eksho takka na!” or “100 takka, no!” to the rickshaw wallah’s when they try to extort ‘bideshi’ prices, I may not be the savviest girl around, but I’m on to you!  

Chittagong one day, Paris the next!

A brief glimpse of the fashion statement I am making as I duck and weave through the streets of Chittagong. I feel just like a character from "A Passage to India", only not so colonial, and not so Indian...

Please be patient while we consider your technical difficulty. The wait should not be long

...or so says 'Grameen Phone' who are supposed to be providing me with internet access. Admittedly, my technial know how is limited at the best of times, and I am trying to set up internet access using my mobile phone as a modem, and connecting via bluetooth (cue jargon metre), so this was never going to be a smooth process but!!!

Good to know though that phone companies the world over are terrible at customer service!