This is love

You will have to please excuse me for ten days while I continue falling in love with this glorious country. Nepal, let me be yours?

Subbacultcha

To continue on with the cool things theme, I went to this on Wednesday:



And now I’m the proud owner of this:



So now I know what it feels like to be one of those people who goes to an art exhibition and can then actually afford to buy something they see. This scroll set me back a worthwhile AUD$18.60, and included a personal explanation by the artist herself (it’s a depiction of an indigenous dance). Monimala also gave my friend and I a performance of one of her more elaborate paintings which involves singing the story frame by frame. It was fantastic to be able to get this personal. Of particular interest where her paintings telling the story of the tsunami, full of chaos an, err, death – really, it was better than I’m making it sound. See, developing country living is worth it – Monimala Chitrakar one day, Marc Chagall* the next?

While I'm on the topic of culture, I'm fresh from my first 'guitar group' for kids which meets every Friday morning at the local cultural centre. It was quite an experience, where the first half was spent with the teacher, Shahin, playing me snippets of songs by The Beatles, The Eagles, Bruce Springteen and John Denver earnestly asking "Do you know this tune?" Each time I would nod, and start singing along with the chorus. After this happened over ten times he said "wow, we have the same taste in music!" Hmm... How to explain that everyone knows these songs in Australia?

After the group finished I was packing away my trusty guitar when Shahin asked me whether I was nihilistic. Huh!? I thought. How did we go from 'My guitar gently weeps' to this!? And on it went:

Shahin: Sometimes I feel like the world is so heavy, and I can't carry it and I feel a great weight and everything feels dark
Me: Um, right. That's, um, sad
Shahin: How do you feel about the world?
Me: Err, how do you mean?
Shahin: I mean you have read the great philosophers. I can see you understand much about the world. I want to hear what drives you, how you get out of bed everyday
Me: Oh. Well, wow, that's ...
Shahin: Tell me!
Me: Oh, well, if you really want to know ...

And so began an hour discussion of why Nietzsche went mad after watching a horse get flogged in the street and whether Kafka was on to something when he became a beetle and whether Like a Rolling Stone by Bob Dylan is actually as good as everyone says.

Not quite what I expected when rocking up to guitar for kids on a Friday morning in Bangladesh, but there you go.


*shhh, I know he’s dead, but a girl can always dream

How to disappear completely

As I mentioned last post, this weekend Tania and I played hosts and had a slumber party in the gong for all our Dhaka buddies who are normally lost in the concrete jungle that is Bangladesh's capital city. One of the main attractions of Chittagong is the Ship Wrecking Yards, and as such, we went in a big bideshi (foreigner) bunch drawing about as much attention to ourselves as is possible, and talked our way into one of the yards themselves to have a stroll around the toxic wasteland.

Because I don't claim to be an expert on everything, I will defer to the bible (aka lonely planet) to give you a bit of background info:

"Along the shore north of Chittagong, every type of ocean-going vessel from super tankers to tug boats is dismantled - all with manual labour... Armies of workers use blowtorches, sledgehammers and plain brute force to tear them apart...Ship-breaking is a controversial industry. It threatens public health, the environment and the rights and lives of workers. Greenpeace and other organisations have taken issue with the industry"

And after visiting it is not hard to see why environmental and humanitarian groups might be a little alarmed at the practice.



The ships are pulled apart, piece by piece, while still in the water, and all without power tools



I had a chat to these guys who work in the yards seven days a week. All reports say workers earn from 150-200 taka per day, which is currently equivalent to AUD$4.65. That's not even $5 a day, and the work is amongst the hardest jobs I have ever witnessed, which is saying something in Bangladesh where I've seen many labour intensive jobs I am keen to avoid for the rest of my working life.

And then there's the child labour:



These lads are barely in their teens, using blowtorches on rusted metal with no supervision to speak of. An alarming sight considering the average ship wrecking yard worker can expect a working lifespan of about ten years from when they start. Statistically there is apparently one death a week, and one serious injury per day.



And it's not hard to see why.



Some argue however that the ship wrecking yards are a necessary evil for Bangladesh. There are not many countries left in the world who will accept the ships being sent to their graves, and they provide Bangladesh with over 90% of the steel used in the country. Chittagong has the only steel-mill in Bangladesh which processes all the steel salvaged from the ships so it can be sent across the country to be used, in building and construction for example. Without this industry, Bangladesh would have to rely on expensive imports for steel. Considering the risk to lives and the enormous environmental hazard the breaking down of the ships causes, however, it's very hard to think it's worth it. Asbestos is one particular nasty that hangs out on old ships. It's not really what you want those young lads breathing in every day.



All of this combines to make the yards a fascinating, if slightly unsafe, place to visit.



And yes, the ships are really, really big. Especially for someone who comes from Sydney, complete with a harbour entirely incapable of accommodating huge monstrosities such as these.


I don't know about you, but I'm not about to trade professions any time soon. These hands just ain't cut out for that kind of work. Now, where is my pen...?

Weekend(s) without makeup

Some days end more excitingly than others. I was reminded of that yesterday as my day in the field ended with this:



Nothing too dramatic, just a smashed windshield and cracked rear passenger window (my window) after a wayward truck driver decided 80km/hr was the right speed for driving on the wrong side of the road through a crowded town centre. Luckily the truck sailed on past us. Unfortunately the metal pole sticking off the back of the truck didn’t. It wasn’t a big deal though, no one was injured, and the damage to the car was fairly minor as far as these things go.

I do admit, however, to becoming incredibly frustrated at having to hang around the scene (read side of the highway) for FOUR HOURS after the event while the two drivers involved debated the issue, with the help of over fifty onlookers. This meant I didn’t get home until almost 10pm after a day with no water, no toilets, and no food that involved traipsing around vegetable patches in 36 degree heat in 75% humidity. Not that I’m bitter. This incident did make me appreciate in a whole new way the much complained about car insurance industry at home at least. NRMA et al, I admit you’re a necessary evil. Ever considered Bangaldesh as a business expansion opportunity? Just an idea…

Now, I’m aware this blog has been a little less than rosy lately, so I thought it was time to share some of the truly cool and wonderful and fun and exciting things I’ve been up to in an effort to boost the mood in a totally legal, clean living kind of way.



And what better place to start than at Adventure Land and Paradise Valley! Yes, Chittagong has its very own Disneyland, complete with Alice in Wonderland spinning tea cups (without the acid).

And here I am emerging from the ‘Mysterious Cave’ in Khagrachari in the Chittagong Hill Tracts.


This particular adventure was part of a weekend spent exploring the most culturally diverse corner of Bangladesh that is suffering from political unrest, isolation, a rat plague, discrimination against the indigenous hill tribes, environmental degradation and a whole host of other nasties. To get there as a foreigner I needed to seek a permit from the local District Commissioner's Office, but it was worth it. Admittedly, my original post on the weekend in the hills began something like this:

The bus is sending us, horns blaring, into what can only be our impending doom. The cramps in my stomach meant this doom wasn’t altogether unwelcome; surely they would forgive my soiled underwear as they pulled me out from underneath the piles of bodies?

At least the driver was now too focused on his new role as Michael Schumacher (albeit with an impressive tan and rotting teeth) to continue his lengthy mobile phone conversations which immediately doubled our chances of survival right there just by increasing the number of hands on the steering wheel. With every sudden brake I spared a thought for the foolish souls riding on the roof top (and bless my grubby Birkenstocks that I was not up their, Priscilla style, with them).

Putting three white chicks at the front of the bus was a stroke of benevolence on behalf of whoever it is in charge of deciding who gets to knee-knock with who. Over four hours of rubber-knecking could have proved quite uncomfortable after a while. What did prove uncomfortable after only a short while, however, was the intimate relationship I found myself thrust into with an adolescent male who, thankfully, was equally as uncomfortable at the reality of his knees entwined with mine. The look on his face after about an hour assured me I’m about the closest he’s been to an eligible woman. Bless his cotton socks, err, rubber thongs though, the lovely lad did his best to feign ignorance at the bruises in the shape of his knee caps that were forming on my calves, and adopt the very casual response to the situation of ‘we two shall never make eye contact’. This in itself was quite a feat given our knees weren’t the only parts of us holding their own conversations. The general chit chat went as far as knocking shoulders and elbows and that awkward thigh moment as he surreptitiously snuck seeds out from his pocket to munch on.

But then I thought it wasn't quite fair to start out all predictably with the crap bits when there were so many varied highlights only a place like Bangladesh could offer that left me either laughing, smiling, shaking my head in disbelief, outright confused, or in awe, and maybe, just maybe, it'd be worth sharing some of these. Plus, with order restored to my digestive tract lately, it's much easier to look back on these things through rosier glasses. So, on with more highlights:



Buddha locked away inside a temple. Even in a predominantly Muslim country I can still hunt down a statue of Buddha. He's just so ... photogenic (while it may seem like I'm reducing religion to mere aesthetics, I know that's not a bad thing - I've been friends with Penny long enough to appreciate that aesthetically pleasing things are culturally significant indicators of change, and, um, stuff - like when Yves Saint Laurent made it ok for women other than Ellen Degeneres to wear suits, but before Ellen became famous).


One of my favourite past times - getting excited over signs. This one is tops! An undisclosed prize will be awarded to anyone who can guess what this one means.

It should be illegal to be as happy as this guy. On second thoughts, a bit of inebriation could be just what this society needs (if for no other reason than to liven up my depressingly sober Friday nights in the gong. Yep, it's All About Me)



Oh god, sorry, here I am in orange again. I swear I do own other colours. Anyway, this is one of the best statues I've ever seen. It's apparently of the former President of Bangladesh General Zia, who was assassinated in the early 80's (I could get specific but will assume you're not interested and if you are you can use your own internet time to google the literally bloody details yourself). Note the attention to detail, the creases in his pants, and is that a slight bell bottom effect I detect?

I must admit to becoming recently suspicious as to whether this brilliant statue is really of Zia though, since I went to the Zia Memorial Museum last weekend and in 99% of the photos he's wearing a pair of Ray Ban Aviators. Whether he was indoors, outdoors, addressing the nation, chatting with his wife, in a painting of the army (yes, he was even painted with the glasses on), on a plane, in a stadium, whatever, it seems Zia beat the leaders of cool (ha, Bono, you thought you were so original) with this ridiculous fashion trend by about 10 years. As for the museum itself - fascinating. They've even protected the bloodstains on the wall and bullet holes in the floor with perspex - truly exciting stuff for someone who has the aim of visiting all the embalmed leaders in the world (Lenin and Ho Chi Minh down, Mao to go). While Zia wasn't embalmed, looking at the bloodstains felt almost as creepy as contemplating why Lenin's fingernails are a bit green.



The market in town was full of just as many memorable sights including the local knife maker (would use appropriate term but don't know it and won't pretend I do by cheating via google) which was just so picturesque I forgot for a moment the very purpose of those knives even though the stall with agitated goats was nearby.

And while the fun stuff doesn't end here, I'm getting the feeling this blog post should. Hopefully this should work to balance out my more self indulgently negative rambles and will help to prove that despite (or even because of) all the frustrating stuff, I really am rather enjoying myself. In fact, I'm enjoying it so much I'm throwing a party in the gong this weekend to celebrate. Now, off to find some liqour...

Another Girl's Paradise

While International Women’s Day isn’t huge in Australia, it’s a pretty big deal in Bangladesh, at least among the Government and army of Non Government Organisations here. I celebrated this morning with my colleagues by singing a song, forming a ‘human chain’, strolling down the street behind a special-purpose banner, and having a workshop where we each reflected on why International Women’s Day is important.

Having just finished reading Sex Slaves: the trafficking of women in Asia by Louise Brown, I hardly needed any reminding, not to mention the massive discrepancies between the sexes I both witness and experience every day. It’s truly hard to grasp at times.

I won’t dwell myself on all the ways and means of global gender discrimination (oh, how I spare you all), but highly recommend taking the time out to look at these two sites which do a much better job than me at telling stories of women around the globe:

Women and War: International Committee of the Red Cross
Reuters: Focus on International Women’s Day

Happy International Women’s Day to you all.

Disclaimer: I promise to return to my non-earnest self soon, and post much more appropriately about my ever increasing culinary skills which led to me eating a whole meal olive and sundried tomato bread scroll thingy for lunch today. Talk about a treat!

Tightrope

So the 'gun battle' turned into a bloody mutiny of Bangladesh's border troops in Dhaka, complete with horrendous mass graves, mutilated bodies, and nation-wide condemnation. It looks as if things are settling down now, but this is a scary and sad reminder that democracy and law and order in Bangladesh remain fragile.

Fingers crossed the new Government can respond to the crisis in a way which satisfies the public, and strengthens rather than depletes faith in her party's leadership. I'm not quite ready to come home yet.