The making and breaking of rule #1

When someone asks me, "kemon acchen?" (how are you), the most honest answer is usually, "motamoti" (so-so), except that I feel like it would be more accurate to be SO-SO because normally the variance is extreme both ways.  But yelling probably wouldn't go over so well, or communicate the basic point I was trying to make.

But, sometimes, I have a day where I'm just truly appreciate of being here and everything it enables.  Including the many, many inside jokes that I've had the chance to develop with myself, that just get funnier over time.  

And the jokes that Bangladesh plays on me.  

Rule of thumb number one, which I know WAY too well to ignore:

1.  Do NOT try to get to a specific destination unless you have an address and/or really good directions and/or someone else with you and/or someone to call who will answer the phone and speaks bangla.

Rule number one is like gravity: it's absolute and non-negotiable.  Nonetheless, when Tawsif called on Friday to tell me where the field that the soccer tournament was being held was, he said, "you know where rex's is in Banani?" (No).  "How about ecstasy?" (Potentially).  "On the main road?" (which main road.....?) My thoughts in parenthesis, but of course what I said, still a little high on those endorphins that a good session of bikram yoga releases and the deliciousness of the parata that Rashida makes for special Friday morning breakfast, "Yeah, I'll find it!"  And was out the door moments later.

Check the tag on your shirt: made in Bangladesh?

Sneak preview on the book: check out my post on the BRAC blog, describing some of my activities and observations on programs in Dhaka to control tuberculosis.  I had a chance to visit a health program for garment factory workers last week, which unfortunately did not include a tour of the factory itself (next time!).  Hoping to get a few more posts in as we inch towards October to raise awareness about the launch.

Like it?  Stay tuned for the extended version this fall--there's a good 20 pages written right now on urban TB control, all the nitty gritty details. Kind of stuff that keeps you at the edge of your seat, for sure.  And jump back when someone near you starts coughing.

There are down moments, but all in all my job is pretty cool.

Look who's coming for jonmo din-ner

Tahiba is sweet enough to give me a birthday girl smile
everyday!  It's fun to come home to.

Jonmodin is birthday in Bangla.  I'm thrilled that learning a new language has opened up the door for bilingual puns that I never imagined before!
As many of you know, yesterday marked my transition from "mid 20s" to "late 20s".  I complained to my advisor, who is turning 70 on June 9 (in Paris!), and he had no sympathy for the burden of age that I was feeling.
I learned that my friends here tend to stay up later than I do--promptly at 12:03AM I got a text from one of my soccer buddies, and several more followed shortly.  Am I expected to reciprocate?  Because that's a late night for me these days.  I'm an old lady, after all, I need my sleep.  And now that it's getting nice and hot, I'm enjoying the convenience of turning my bedroom into a bikram yoga studio simply by turning off the fan.  If Baron Baptiste could see the sweat I work up to his podcasts, I think he'd be pretty impressed.  I'm still not crazy about the lack of hot water in the shower, but I'm certainly not shivering when I get out.
I tried to sneak the day by without letting too many people know about my birthday (I'm trying to write a book here, I don't have time for these frivolous celebrations).  I video skyped with my parents in the morning and they threatened to send someone to come sing, since I was predictably camped out at my second home/office at North End cafe (I'm kind of a fixture these days, at least until we get this first draft done). Little did I expect Richard Cash to show up, candle and matches in hand, order me a brownie, and sing full tilt to me.  That was a pretty awesome moment.

TGI"F" (Thank goodness it's "Friday")

It's always the 4 day work weeks that seem the longest, right?  We had Tuesday off for Buddha's birthday (based on the full moon, which was exceptionally clear and lovely).

My editors and I are meeting on Saturday, so it's been a crazy rush to bring several chapters to a point where they can be reviewed and discussed.  We owe the book to the press on July 1 and a lot of reviewing has to happen before then.  I can't believe how quickly June is sneaking up on us.

Some of the work has been a lot of fun. On Sunday, accompanied by a trusty translator that I picked up on the soccer field, I went to a refresher training for BRAC's community health volunteers.  We interviewed a few individually to get a sense of how much time they spend working, who their customers are, what they think of BRAC's incentive based payment system (they do not get salary, just a mark up on their drugs and fee-for-service on some activities), and how advertise their services to their community.   We learned a lot!

The shashtya shebikas of Badda, a neighborhood in Dhaka

But that's the glamorous part.  Most of the time, I'm camped out with my netbook and several forms of caffeine, trying to get the words on the page.

Pretty sure that they switch me to decaf without asking at some point.
Probably good for all of us.

North End Cafe humors me, bringing me the occasional Americano or, as the sun rises and my sweet tooth wakes up, a mocha, a piece or two of short bread, and this last week, some of the first lychee of the season!  I hear that they only get better as they get bigger!

Sometimes the table at North End is insufficiently for the paper required to fuel my mad writing (got asked yesterday is I'm writing madly or madly writing--it is usually unclear until the end).  This is my desk, covered in reports, proposals, presentations, and other resources where I'm trying to track down the precise numbers of HIV testing centers created, responsibilities of coordinating bodies, and other scintillating details that I'll spare you.  And just for the record, that is WATER in the Smirnoff bottle.  This is non-fiction that I'm writing guys, not Hemingway.

Life before google?

Today I have an appointment to interview BRAC's chairperson and founder, Sir Fazle Abed (that's right, he's been knighted by the Queen of England).    Pretty cool that in one week I've been able to span the whole of BRAC--the frontline workers all the way up to the man at the top.  But that's the easy part!  The devil's in the details of getting in on the page!

Finding the "me" in meaning: reflections on first 100 days in Bangladesh

Whether I love it or hate it at that given moment,
Dhaka strikes me as a city that inspires--the
contrasts of beauty, brutal harshness,
old, new, struggle, and triumph are everywhere, if you
stop to look (safely out of the reach of traffic, and
preferably somewhere quiet)

So I was reading an article the other day (HT Melih) that had the following quote from Scott Fitzgerald:

The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function.

Intelligence aside (substitute “requirement for living abroad” ), that quote to me summed up exactly what I was experiencing.  Someone that morning had asked me if I was having fun, and I said, “I’ve never been more miserable or happier than I am right now.”  And while that’s true, it sounds pretty weird when I say it out loud.

I hit 100 days in Bangladesh this week!  It marks my longest continuous stint in another country (and probably a since that I should stop counting in days…).   In some ways, life here has gained a certain rhythm, but some days it feels like I hit the scan button on the car radio and there’s a rhythm, it switches to a new song every 5 seconds or so, so I never quite get the beat.  But that’s part of the fun.

I sent this quote to my friend Blair who before selling out and going MBA corporate on the world spent two years in the Peace Corps to ask him what he thought about it.  His answer has been playing in my mind for several days.

I strongly believe that being thrown into an entirely new pond, so to speak, has the potential to make anyone into a better person. Or at least a more interesting, mature and subtle one. We all get a little of this when traveling, of course, but traveling fosters a different kind of growth - it prompts you to make more immediate comparisons between what you're seeing/experiencing and what you know "back home," because you're literally seeing it all through your America Eyes. Living abroad is different. You're developing Bangladesh Eyes, and evaluating everything you encounter through those lenses. After a year or two or five, you'll look back on your first impressions, interactions and whatnot and laugh and think, "geez, I was so green!

You have more "yous" lurking around in your personality too! Can you be authentically "you" in such a non-Western context? Tricky question... it's different for everyone.

Chobi-licious!

BFF!!!!! 

Ruthie has posted her pictures (chobi) from our trip!  So you should check them out.  Apologies in advance for the ridiculous number of sunset pictures that worked there way into the album!  It was a pretty magical night though. And trust me, for every one she posted, there are like 5 more.  Trigger happy!

The whole album kind of looks like this (jk, kind of).

Other highlights that the album offers (other than running commentary from both of us--feel free to contribute!):
-- Some of the pictures that you may have already seen from our adventures in Dhaka
-- The beautiful views of Cox's Bazar and the absolutely ridiculous names of the rooms at Mermaid's Ecolodge (we tried to get the back story on them, but we were told that there wasn't one.  Riiiiiiiight.  You decide)
-- Soccer on the beach! We turned the hotel into a Club Med of sorts.  The guys might have called me "m'am" throughout the game but that didn't stop them from knocking me over!
-- The epic saga of how one prepares to ATTEND a wedding (I shudder to think about how much prepping the bride had to go through)--some pretty racy pictures of us in the various stages of saree application that you don't want to miss.  There might be a little midrift.

Couldn't resist.

-- And of course, the wedding.  Little different flavor from the royal wedding, which took place the same day, but we were both happy to be where we were.

Friendship, defined

A good friend (my definition, not a "friend") is one who uses 

his camera to pose as a photographer and sneak into the 

women's section of a wedding to make sure you're not 

awkwardly standing in the corner by yourself.  No comment on

whether I was......I swear I was there by choice.......

All sociologists know that when you venture into another country, you're apt to find differences in the language, even in the way that locals use English.  Bangladesh, as formerly under British rule, is no exception.  I've been learning to use words like "biscuit" (and not the buttermilk kind), "lift," "flat," and "football" much to the dismay of my yankee pride.  I also realize how much of communication goes beyond the precise meaning of words--I can say "I see London, I see France....." to Ruthie, and she gets the message without me notifying the entire bus that she needs to adjust her shirt/pants.

I'm happy to be friendly if it helps me steal the ball :)

One word that I didn't anticipate having quite as much trouble with was "friendship."  That one seems pretty straightforwardly platonic.  And yet, this word has been a serious troublemaker for me.  For example, the way I increase the balance on my cell phone is I head to one of the myriad stands on the street and ask the guy there to transfer 100 taka or so (USD 1.50) to my phone number.  Often when I do this, I get a call within 10 minutes from an unknown number with someone in broken English who wants to offer me "Bangladeshi friendship."  Usually I tell the person that I "HATE friendship", promptly store the number to my phone as "NO FRIENDSHIP" (1, 2, 3.....etc.) and make a mental note not to top up at that specific location again (I **think** I've found one on my street that's safe; we're 3-3 visits with no follow up sketchy calls.

Harvard girls gone wild: you'll be saree if you miss this video

Between the beauty parlor and the wedding, Ruthie and I had a little time to kill on Friday in our SUPER RIDICULOUSLY AWESOME hotel room (thanks Haider!!) in Chittagong.  All dressed up with nothing to do, with Ruthie looking amazing and me feeling like a mermaid with my blue saree, new glittery gold jewelry, and aquamarine nails (I didn't know adults were allowed to wear this color!), we did what anyone would do: make a music video.  I call this one, "Part of your bollyworld."

Apologies in advance for my camera abilities (at least I'm not giggling while I hold the camera).  No substances were used in the making of this video (although we had been in that parlor with lots of nail polish and hairspray for several hours).  We are just HAVING FUN.  Does it make you want to come visit me?!  

I think I might make it a tradition to make a music video every time I wear a saree, so suggestions for songs (particularly those involving puns on "saree") are much appreciated.

Additional pictures with witty captions and stories coming soon!