Little earthquakes

Shunajur Village is sixteen kilometres from anything resembling a town centre. To get there you have to follow a small dirt road for fourteen kilometres, then continue on foot up and over the river. At the small shack on the left after the bridge, turn left and follow the dirt path into the trees. You know you’re in the right place when you get to the thatched huts. If you’ve got access to a four wheel drive, the journey takes about an hour in good weather; much longer by any other means.

As far as villages go, this one is pretty lucky. It has a tube well providing safe access to drinking water, and sanitary latrines. The odd cow, a handful of goats and ducks add their animal sounds and smells into the village mix which remind me of the hobby farm I used to spend summer holidays in. Not that I eat cows or goats or ducks, or even eggs. Trying to explain that to the villagers is like trying to explain that where I’m from falling pregnant isn’t dangerous. The very idea is hard to grasp for women who give birth on dirt floors with the help of traditional midwives, of whom 79% are illiterate and untrained. I use the term ‘women’ loosely, since 60% of women have already given birth by the age of 20. I’m 28 years old. These statistics scare me.

At least I don’t have to be scared for the girls in this village. Through women’s empowerment support early marriage is widely understood as being dangerous. Considering the average age of marriage for girls is 14 years old, this is something to be excited about. Here girls are lucky, they can carry on being girls and go to school until they’re 18; they don’t have to worry about giving birth on dirt floors just yet, let alone dealing with a husband or a family in law.

In fact, the future is as bright as it has ever been for the girls in this village. With any luck, they may not have to give birth on dirt floors with the assistance of the local midwife who was trained by her mother, grandmother, or neighbour. The name and number of the local government health visitor is well known here, so the possibility of delivering little Jasmin or Faisal with the help of a trained midwife is a little bit closer to becoming a reality. These girls may also have some say in deciding the size of their family, as the welcoming of contraception use by the older, respected women is becoming more widespread. Since all of this healthcare costs money, though, nothing is guaranteed.

When I say this healthcare costs money, it’s important you know what I mean. I’m not just talking about the actual care itself. Of course these women will probably have to pay for the doctor and/or nurse, and any follow up medication or bandages etc. But they also need to pay to actually get there. Those sixteen kilometres on foot when you’re pregnant, sick, or injured must feel like six hundred. The alternatives are paying a rickshaw puller (man on a bike) or CNG driver (motorised baby-taxi) to take you there, and then bring you home. This is expensive stuff though, if you’re from this village. It’s a long way, and they don’t earn very much.

When I say they don’t earn very much, it’s important here too that you know what I mean. In this village, women earn money through selling vegetables they grow in their front yards, or by hand sewing detail onto salwar kameezes. If you do a combination of these, you can expect to earn between 100-200 taka, or AUD$1.85 - $3.75 per day. This doesn’t leave enough to buy luxuries like apples, let alone pay for rickshaws or CNGs. Considering that most women aren’t involved in paid work, this again puts these women in the lucky column. With only 4% of women earning a cash wage, earning anything at all is a huge step in the right direction. We all know what money buys.

Which brings me to how optimistic I am for this village, or more correctly, the people who live in it. From the outside, it looks like they’re getting a lot of the important things right. They’re becoming healthier, educating their children, and earning money. On the governance side, they’re forming committees enhancing women’s empowerment, and solving village problems collectively, then marching up to the local government to demand the services the law says they should be receiving. Their girls will be women before they become wives and mothers, and their boys better equipped to be good husbands and fathers.

Yes, as far as villages go, this one is pretty lucky. Or not, really, since luck had nothing to do with it.