All ball

All last week, I attended the Annual Scientific Conference of the International Center for Diarrheal Disease, Bangladesh (usually just called ICDDRB). It was hosted at the Sonargaon Hotel, one of the nicest places to stay in Dhaka (where the world cup cricket teams would stay, for example). There's a cappuccino place right across the street that serves Lavazza (but don't forget, "right across the street" still requires you to traverse the ~10 lanes of chaotic traffic and not get jostled by the people carrying big containers of vegetables and fish to the nearby market).

I brave the streets. It's a latte trouble for a coffee, but it's worth it.

The conference culminates with a black and white charity ball and auction at yet another high-end hotel, the Radisson). While I'm more inclined just to participate in the brains part of the week and leave the dancing to the beautiful among us, I was invited and then, during one of my protests, instructed by my boss to attend. I would excuse myself on the basis of not having owned a remotely formal dress for several years, but my dad bought me a beautiful sari in India which is perfect for this occasion, so I glumly accept my fate.

When I got up yesterday I was still pouting--mainly because, let's be honest, you all know why: I am too lazy to get dolled up. And I don't like heels. I'd rather be in jeans and flip flops. Or in boxing gloves beating up on people. Opportunities for that have so far been hard to come by here, so to get out my pre-dance angst, I settled instead of joining the pick-up basketball game that the U.S. ambassador "hosts" at the American Recreation Club every Friday afternoon. It was a lot of fun, although between the speedy Bengali high school guys and the super tall American dudes, my skillz need some work. Luckily it's a fun crowd, so I think I'll become more of a regular participant, which should help me reclaim my days of Cary Academy shooting guard prowess. I also think it's pretty cool that I've played basketball on two continents already this year!

Tahiba had not idea what to make of "Aunty" (or "Mia" as she's started to call me; R is not a sound she can manage yet) in this blue shiny outfit. So she hands me her trash. Nice.

I got back to my home at 7PM, just 45 minutes before my ride to the ball was scheduled to come. I hopped in the shower (my definition of making an effort to look nice pretty much extends to washing my hair), and then recruit my host mother and one of the maids to help me with my sari. I get spun around, held in place with safety pins are set, ordered to breath in while the petticoat gets tied tighter---how one woman can possibly remember all this and put a sari on herself is beyond me. I must admit, the lazy girl in me sort of enjoyed being dressed by others--that I could get used to! My host father takes one looks at me and says, "I hope you're not going to ruin that by wearing flipflops." I had already dusted off my lone set of heels for the occasion. I put them on, grab my purse, and look at the clock: 7:43. Right on time. I decide to jam to Beyonce, Taylor, and the Rent musical soundtrack while I wait, using my hair brush as a mike. I get a little carried away, and suddenly realize it's 8:30 and there's no sign of my ride. And the grumbling from my stomach is starting to interfere with my tunes. So I call my friend, he doesn't answer. I call his wife, he answers and is. . . .at the ball. I'd been forgotten! All that hard work for nothing! Luckily, he sends his driver and 10 minutes later I'm in the car en route, arriving just as we're seated for dinner. I capitalize on his guilt to get a seat at his table, with some really fun people who also happen to be global health rock stars. I have to keep myself calm at times--I don't think that "I have a huge academic crush on your mom" is really something you're allowed to say at a black/white ball. Or ever, really.

The legend proceeds him.

I sit next to Richard, who I already knew is one of the public health greats and I'm honored to be working with on this project. I was less aware of his dance moves (no photos, sorry), but got to experience his swing dancing first hand. He can hold his own!

Some friends of mine were sitting at the dinner table where the band was seated. When I learned this, I asked them to use their feminine wiles for my standard requests--Lady Gaga and/or Taylor Swift. These friends, who are slightly older than me, evidently both dislike Lady Gaga and, like most people not in their Tweens, have not really heard of Taylor. So they veto both requests. I offer to SING these songs with the bands, but they are unmoved. I retreat to my own table.

I think my friendship with Heather will survive even if we differ in our musical preferences. She does let me choose the playlist for our weight lifting sessions.

After a ridiculous menu of sashimi, multi flavors of sorbet, steak/fish, chocolate cake, and lots of wine, the music finally starts. The band is good! They do a lot of standard numbers--one of the early songs that gets me out there is "Brown eyed girl." When they announce, "This one's for the Americans out there" and start to play "Taking it easy" by the Eagles, I motion to the singer to see if he's cool with me joining him on stage. He nods, and I carefully gather up my sari to climb the steps (in heels!!!), and get up there, grab a mike, and do the number with him. Good thing I had gotten in that extra practice in my bedroom while waiting for transportation. It's not Taylor, but it was a lot of fun.

A tough task master! I'm being forced to work and play hard!

I catch a ride home with my boss and his family at the end of the night. We get to my place around 1AM, and he reminds me that I have a meeting in the office is at 9AM. I hurry upstairs to try to catch a decent night sleep to be alert for my interview, but I had not considered that I would have to get OUT of my sari on my own. I should have paid more attention to where the safety pins were hidden......