Who let the dogs out?!

I participated today in a rally against dog culling.  What is dog culling, you might ask?  Naturally, I was interviewed by the press on the subject and my opinions, so I'm clearly now qualified as an expert.

In Dhaka, for fear of rabies and general nuisance, dogs are often rounded up and killed (according to the city corporation, when someone files a complaint, they then go to that neighborhood to "take care of it").  The rally today, organized by the American School and a group called "hands and paws' (awwww), was to raise awareness and to advocate for more humane solutions, such as vaccination, spaying, and neutering.   Things that don't result in a family losing Fido because he wasn't wearing a collar today.  There are other solutions to pet peeves!  Also in the works are surveys on citizens' thoughts on dog culling and the demography of dogs in the city.  I'll keep you posted as these results become publicly available.

Since there were lots of people taking photos, I used the opportunity to take photos FROM the rally of everyone else (felt less weird to whip out my camera when everyone's doing it).  A few for your enjoyment below.

Signs created by the second graders at the American School! 

We begin with a photo shoot in front of the Press Court. 

And then march along the streets to Dhaka City Corporation headquarters chanting something in Bangla (I assume it was "don't kill dogs", but it really could have been anything for all I know)

My favorite sign--"Never everer (sic) use tongs".  You can't see the picture of the tongs crossed out, but it's pretty priceless.  Dhaka City Corporation was tong-tied in astonishment at our numbers.

I don't think that they realized that at least half the people there were just watching.

I take the opportunity to clandestinely capture the rickshaw drivers in their lungis.  We have a love-hate relationship when I'm trying to get around by foot. 

 So that's it, just a typical Saturday afternoon here in Dhaka.  Cambridge better watch out: 02138 might be the most opinionated zip code for the time being, but 1212 is up and coming!

Magnetic conversation

So I've finally figured out an apt way to describe the majority of my conversations here.  You know how you can buy magnets with words on them? And then rearrange them to make different permutations and interesting phrases?  Imagine you have about 50-100 words, including some where you recognize the word but not exactly how it's being used.  Case in point:

Person at office: I would like to know your personal life   Is it ok?
Me: Uh, sure.  It's pretty boring.
Person: Ok, when?
Me: When what?
Person: when will I know your personal life?
Me: Now? Tomorrow?
Person: Tomorrow will be fine.  Thank you.

Also realized that the word "okay" is deceptively complex in our everyday usage.  I use it a lot to say "no,"  as in, "would you like more fish curry?" "I'm ok, thanks."  In Bengali English, "ok" means "yes."  I am a slow learner on this and as a result, am eating a little more fish curry than I anticipated, among other things!

I'm working on my Bangla but I"m not at 50 words yet by any stretch, and my vocabulary at this point many consists of foods, things that two-year-olds say (Pen! Earrings! Where's mommy?), and different nicknames/terms of endearment (Uncle, tea please!), so it's not a very coherent set of words to translate into phrases.  But I have met some fun people who are generously starting to show me the ropes, so I'm hoping for some exponential growth.

Last night, for example, I went to a party at the Radisson.  It was an exclusive event--I'd had to provide my name, contact info, and a picture earlier in the week--and I was NOT on the list (I hope I wasn't rejected on the basis of my picture), but since when they asked for a photo id, I pulled out my Harvard id, that was sufficient.  I'm not going to lie, it felt kind of good to drop the H-bomb; it's been a while since I've gotten that kind of response.  The party was like another world--we left the conservative street culture and stepped into glitz; women in heels and short dresses, bars with some top shelf liquor, and bumping techno music picked by a Malaysian DJ.  I was happy to be there at all; the event didn't start until midnight, and I'd had to wrangle a key to the front door, unlock it from the inside in the dark to get out, convince the guards to wait up for me . . .I don't know how teenagers would ever manage to sneak out here (although my host family's grandson shared that he was successfully managed; maybe Bengali teenagers are just smarter than American teens). It felt good to get down on the dance floor, although the way folks dance here is a change from Colombia, to say the least (a lot more up and down movement and fun hand gestures, and virtually no use of the hips--Shakira would be disappointed).  Hoping that next time I make it onto the list!

Best compliment that I've received so far (and back to magnetic words with fuzzy meanings): "It's clear that you walk a lot because your physical construction is on the mark."  Woot.

Ok, the mosquitoes are getting a little wild.  Here they have this tennis rackets you can buy that have a current running through them, so essentially you wave it around and electrocute the suckers.  They snap, crackle, and pop when you hit them.  It is SUPER fulfilling!

Waka waka for Dhaka

A brief timeline of my introduction on Friday to the wild world of (Jimeny) Cricket. 

2PM: The opening match of the 2012 world cup, which we are hosting, opens with the India-Bangladesh match.  I am still in my office industriously working away.

2:20PM: I get kicked out of the office because the support staff that can’t leave until I leave want to watch the game.

5PM: I get myself to a coffee shop to watch my first ever cricket game.  I can’t even figure out what the score is!  Or how one scores. . . .

5:15: I determine that we are down by 250 (it says: India 250, 2).  That seems bad.  People keep yelling “this game is fixed!!!  I can’t believe it!!”  I’m still not sure how one scores, except that  “home run” seems to result in 6 points.

6:00: My friend arrives and gives me the 2-minute explanation of cricket.  I’m relieved to learn that we haven’t had our turn at bat yet.  Turns out that “2” in the score is actually the number of wickets (which I think is a funny word.  And never really understand what it means or why one would say “sticky wicket”.  But I do anyway).

7:40: Half-time!  We are now down by something like 367 (hard to keep track).  I learn that the Netherlands are in the Cricket World Cup, which seems pretty random given that the rest of the countries seem to have a British flavor.  Maybe South Africa is the connection?

8:20: My stomach is grumbling and despite the fact that the crowd now seems happier (we’re on offense for the next 3 hours, I can see why!), 200 more points seems like a lot to wait.  I head home and get a cup of tea on the way.

10:10: I eat dinner.  The game has not ended.

8AM:  I see the morning news and learn that we lost by 87.  In the history of the game, we are 21-2 with India.    Indian papers are full of glory today.  People here are sticking to the green and red jerseys.  I’m in my red pants for solidarity (the red/green on my feels very Christmas-y, although others pull it off quite well).

I think I’m going to stick to basketball.  I don’t have the endurance to be a cricket fan.  But I think I get a point on the acuity scale for trying.

Tonight: decided to take a break from Bengali food and have. . . .Indian food.  Hoping for dosa!  And maybe gelato if I play my cards right!

Also--article in the NYT mentioned BRAC's TB program.  Raising the bar for what I have to write. . . .

On a scale of 1-10.. . .

or some time, often while trying to make browsing the human development index reports and similar composites slightly less painful, I’ve been thinking about what one would include in a travel acuity index. So sure, you’ve been to a country, but did you truly experience that country with all your senses? It’s not just about the number; there’s a need for a more multidimensional measure that can lead to greater bragging rights, I mean, a fairer basis for comparison.
So here’s a first shot—feel free to add or reject these (clearly they favor how I travel; I've added examples for most categories in parentheses):
Point for physically being in a country: 1.

Add one point for each of the activities that you attempted or completed during your stay:

Entered the house of a local: (Living with a family, check)

Ate a food you’d never tried before: (these new green fruits, boli(??), are one of my new go-to snacks.  I've yet to try dipping my sandwich at the 10AM tea break in ketchup.  I just can't do it)
Spoke in the local language: (I figured out using WORDS that the other woman in the elevator was going to the second fl and pushed the button for her)
OR
Began to speak English in a very “standard” way: (Me: “Will you be having any celebrations for Valentine’s Day?” hmmm)

Participated in an athletic competition: (I hear that there are pick-up basketball games, but I’ve yet to find them. And I’ll a little scared that my skillz are rusty)

Used health services: (does homeopathic count? My nasty cough was “cured” (or more precisely disappeared after I took) tea made with fresh tulsi leaves from my host mother’s tree with ginger and honey)

(Intentionally) when on a date with a local: (The key word is always intentionally)

Got something repaired: (My french press works! And I have coffee from the Tolima region of Colombia (yeah Ibague!) to brew each morning)

Wore local clothing: ( I am starting to feel less like Ronald McDonald when I wear red pants, but still am a little skeptical when someone says they like my outfit)

Had a local phone number: (note to self, you don’t have to give the number to everyone who asks for it!)

Broke a law: (like I would write that on my blog! No of course I haven’t. . .)

Took transportation that you couldn’t take at home: (CNGs, also called baby taxis, autorickshaws, and tuk-tuks, can weave through traffic, but they kind of feel like a cage and I have to turn the public health part of my brain off)

Interacted with the passport office: (You probably deserve a medal for patience. Whew!  Cross your fingers on my visa extension so that I don't end up spending a month homeless in India.)

Had an experience that made you feel humble: (walking through the slums every morning reminds me that my work is just a drop in the bucket)

Laughed at yourself: (trying to do yoga with mosquitos never fails to reduce me to a heap of sweat and giggles when I fall from trying to swat at them mid-pose)

Performed: (sang Taylor Swift at full volume while walking home, check. Have also reconnected with someone I KNOW to be an awesome guitar player because we performed together the last time I was here)

Worked: (two weeks and they haven’t fired me yet! And no one even told me that Saturday was a workday. Too bad I came into the office on the sly to use the internet and found it. . . full of all my co-workers.)

Felt uncomfortable: (hmmm, so many to choose from. . . probably having a power failure in a full elevator--twice now--is the experience that I'd give up most quickly).

Watched a local sport: (Cricket world cup is this weekend; working on finding a Bangladesh jersey!)

Were surprised by people: (after spending 15 minutes finding the right washer for my French press, the guy at the store refused any payment. Or finding a high school battle of the bands, including covers of Lady Gaga, Coldplay, Eric Clapton, and Red Hot Chili Peppers. Biggest surprise—that they rocked them!)

Got really frustrated: (my tolerance for rickshaw drivers trying to run into me so that I’ll get in a rickshaw is starting to disappear. Yesterday one of them backed into me)

That's what I've got for now.  It's definitely a transition, but there certainly hasn't been a dull moment and I'm still smiling (maybe because I keep making up bilingual jokes that no one gets but me).  And. . . tomorrow is a holiday!  Something about the moon and the authorities reaching an agreement? Sweet!

Would you like a masala chai latte with your wifi?

Exploring paid off! I'm reading the nyt on my gadget! Checking out the local coffee shop scene on my day off. Minus the power outage in the elevator, it's been a relaxing afternoon. And tonight, were having a special treat at dinner: French fries! But will they have special curry sauce.....?

Strike One

Dhaka is very quiet today. There’s an occasional honk in the distance, but compared to the normal cacophony of cars, rickshaw drivers, hammering and construction, guys carrying weird looking machines over their shoulder and broadcasting their services in that weird monotone yell (chaiiiiii, chaiiiiii), and all else that takes place in the streets here, it’s silent.

We have a hartal (strike) today. I’m still trying to understand the specifics of it all, but essentially the Bangladesh National Party (arch nemesis of the Awami League, who is currently in power) called a dawn-to-dusk strike to call attention to a list of complaints, including everything from plans to try the party leader, to the initiative to build a new airport, to the exploding costs of food staples. When a hartal is called, all businesses are forced to close. Often there are riots, although I’m told that in my neighborhood, Banani, that is uncommon. So far, there are no reports of violence.

I figured that I would work from home today to avoid any issue. My boss said that was fine. Then I realized that most people treated today as a holiday, and I realized that unlike with my work cohort at Harvard, it was a faulty assumption to assume that everyone here had a computer and internet access at home, so closing the office inherently meant a day off. Even with my grameen phone usb modem that connects me to the internet over the phone lines, I’m struggling to have a consistent and speedy signal. So find myself drifting towards other activities, such as digging deeper into Fatima Bhutto’s gripping narrative in Songs of Blood and Sword, where she collects the stories of her grandfather, Pakistan’s first prime minister, who was ultimately assassinated in 1979 by General Zia, who took over in a coup, her father, a political advocate and former guerilla who was murdered by the police in 1996, and to a lesser degree her aunt, Bezanir Bhutto, also a Prime Minister of Pakistan and assassinated in 2007. Few people could combine Pakistani history and a personal memoir more naturally. I highly recommend it; she’s an amazing writer and it’s quite a story. Right now I’m following a Greek woman posing as a journalist to try to gain passage into Afghanistan in the days after it’s invaded by the Russians, to make sure that her lover/fiancée (it’s complicated) is alive and well. Now that's the kind of history that keeps me on the edge of my seat!
I’m settling into life here. Starting to appreciate the subtle differences in the various types of curry, now that my mouth has ceased to feel like it’s on fire every time I eat it. Even warming to the “sweets” (mishti), including the vermicelli with condensed milk, sugar, cardamom, and pistachios, though I definitely have a stash of chocolate in my room just in case. I’ve learned how to ask for my tea (or in some cases, coffee!) specifying whether I want milk and/or sugar (quantity I’m still working on). It sounds minor, but given that I’m served tea on average 4-5 times a day and never given the chance to make it myself, it’s kind of important. My delightful host family thoughtfully bought me peanut putter to have at breakfast, so I’ve been happily spreading that on the alternating toast, chipati, and paratha, which is a pretty awesome way to start the day.

One thing I’ve always liked about Dhaka is the relative freedom (compared to other large cities in the developing world) that I have on foot. If I’m willing to brave the ridiculousness of the traffic (two days ago I had to step into a store for a few seconds since motorcycles had claimed the sidewalk in a particularly heinous traffic jam), it’s relatively safe to roam. The rickshaw drivers have this misguided idea that trying to run you over head on will convince you to let them drive you around, but if you ignore that and keep your eyes open, it’s actually fairly pleasant. I’ve been walking to/from work every day, which takes about 30 minutes each way. Assuming the sidewalk is reserved, for the most part, for pedestrians. Walking also allows me to see things and map out the neighborhood in a way that’s tough from a moving vehicle. There is in fact a grid system of street numbers (odds run North-South, evens East-West, with letters corresponding to blocks, vs. intersections being the point of the reference; ok I double checked this in my walks today, and it's actually nowhere near that systmatic). There are, as always, names that totally crack me up (we’ll soon have a “Kenny Rogers Roaster” in the neighborhood, specializing in lower sodium, lower fat fast food; for Valentine's day I might check out a "live BBQ with spot soft music), and commercial diversity that I either missed last time (likely) or is new (also possible), like a high end sports equipment store, coffee shops with wifi, and other things I didn’t anticipate. I’m creating a mental map of guilty pleasures for when I eventually have a rough day and need something familiar to comfort me.

Speaking of which, I’ve been on a mission to check out the athletics scene here in Dhaka. Supposedly there is a basketball league at the American School (which I still need to find). There is a gym around the corner from me (tagline: oldest gym with newest equipment) that has ladies hours from 8:30-2 every day when men are not allowed (luckily for me, women are allowed at other hours, so I could come after work). More excitingly I found (found is totally the right word because I had the address and without asking for directions once I got there! Though I did take the "scenic" route) a place called Dazzle Yoga yesterday. Not only does Dazzle Yoga have yoga, it also has Bollywood dance aerobics, which oddly, the woman at reception did not think would appeal to me (there’s also salsa, which would be fascinating both on a cultural level and gender dynamics level, I bet it’s ladies only, but alas, it occurs in the middle of the workday so I'll likely never know). So, I think I’m set for participatory entertainment for at least the next week. I’m prepared to be dazzled. OM-G.

Left is right, Thursday is the new friday, and red is the new black

Asalam aleikum!

I made it!  I saw the dawn and sunset from the plane, watched the Town, Secretariat, Eat. Prayer. Love, and How I met your mother on the plane rides (one made me cry, another put me to sleep--you have to guess!), had some tarte tatine and a cappucino in the Dubai airport while surfing free wireless (that is one awesome airport), and slept a little bit in transit.

Dhaka is all I remembered and so much more.  Time had dulled my recollection of the smells that confront you often.  Traffic remains completely out of control and it's a full time job to stay out of the way of the speeding rickshaws, bikes, cars, buses, etc., which is why I realized that I never have a clue what's in various buildings.  Reading the sign could be just the distraction necessary for traffic to win.  But it kills me when I miss out on things like "Dominous pizza" that really crack mem.

I WALKED to the office this morning, which felt pretty awesome.  It was about 4km-ish (since km is not my native distance guage) and I didn't stop to ask for directions once.  I did stop a few times at small convenience stands and shops to get change for tk500 (about USD 8), and no one had it. Figuring that the rickshaw drivers would claim the same, I decided to save bargaining with them for another day.

The director here remembers me going solo to the Chittagong Hill Tracts last time I was here, so has no problem throwing me into the mix of things right away.  I got to eat lunch in the staff canteen (which never happened when I visited!).  I have the corner office at the moment becuase they've ordered desks that have yet to arrive, and I learned this afternoon that it often doubles as a prayer room.  A new and unexpected twist to a work environment.  The list of theoorganiztion's holidays has asterisks by many, with a note below that reads: "subject to the appearance of the moon and the deicsion of the authorities concerned."  Imagine if you were having a party and the moon said, I'll make an appearance, but the existence of your party was contingent on it!

The second time we lost power, the internet failed to come back on.  I was being hit hard with the mid-afternoon jet lag, so I headed out to get a local phone number (happy to share it), a usb modem (which appears to work much better than the ones in Kenya did for me), and then, some new clothes.  If you think I hate shopping in the U.S., you ain't see nothing.  I have no gauge of whether things look normal or not--I asked the sales person if I looked like, she said "nice."  But not convincingly.  I tried on a few very ugly ones to get a comparison point, but they were also "nice" and maybe they actually were (over the ones i myself liked).  I knew that my wardrobe at home was pretty basic, had a lot of black and muted tons, etc. but here there is no option but a lot of color.  My red and black kameez comes with bright red baggy pants (watch out 2011 red pants dance!), the green one comes with, wait for it, YELLOW pants.  Yellow.  I feel like a crazy parrot and baboon (something about baggy pants makes me think of baboons--I can't explain). 

While the decision about which of the new outfits to try out tomorrow for my LAST work day of the week (we take Friday as the Muslim day of rest and then Saturday because other countries take two) is quite, quite pressing, so is sleep.  Going to crawl bad into my "princess bed" (i.e. I have a malaria bed net) and curl up under the blankets; it's a chilly 60 degrees here.