Think fast

When you're hungry, you find new meanings
in everything.  Thanks for sharing
this picture, Dad.

Back in high school, one of my best friends was a guy named Melih.  His family was from Turkey, and they were Muslim.  I didn't know much about Islam, but one day, he mentioned he was fasting.  At our high school, everyone ate lunch at the same time, in the cafeteria.  It seemed lonely to skip lunch every day.  I offered to fast with him.  Mainly because I was a teenager and liked to surprise people.  But also because we were close, and it seemed to easier to fast when you had others around you doing the same thing.

My version of fasting was not by the "book," so to speak.  I was on a 5AM-5PM fasting schedule--no food or drinks during daylight.  I'd wake up at 4:55AM, gulp down some gatorade, maybe a few bites of dry cereal if I was really ambitious, and then wait until 5PM to have anything else.  Ramadan fell during basketball season, which was tough.  But I had the superhuman energy of a 15-year-old, so I managed.

Blackout

I think I know why it's hard to find peace in the modern world.  Reliable electricity.  I find that I do my best thinking when our power cuts and the tv, or radio, whatever device I've been using to drown out my inner voice, goes black, and I find myself in a pitch black room, with nothing to do but listen to the noisy generator across the street and just wait.  It might be a minute, or ten, or more.  I find that it's meditative, forced reflection, which is healthy once in a while.
Life in Dhaka is comfortable, maybe even too comfortable, these days.  I've got an air conditioner in my room now.  Of course we've had a lovely cool, rainy spell since it's been installed, so I haven't had to turn it on yet.  Shazzad has a car now, so getting around is now a minor issue.  Finding a place to park, on the other hand, that's a bigger problem.

29 reasons why srimongal is awesome, or reliving my tea-nage years

Is my life on track?
So it seems.

  It's official!  I'm an old lady!  At 29, I can't even claim mid-20s anymore.  How did time go so fast?  I keep having those moments of panic like, "Am I that weird old person at the bar/party/cub that I used to think was so sketchy and weird for being here?!" or thinking that perhaps it's finally time to get rid of all clothes that I bought in high school. Otherwise I should probably stop making fun of Mike Pareles (who coincidentally, turned the ripe old age of 28 on Thursday!!) for wearing ratty old t-shirts.  And I just can't give that up.  Just like I am totally NOT giving up Taylor Swift music (never ever ever....).
I found out earlier this month that we had Thursday off from work--evidently it was also Buddha's birthday.  Once I realized we had a three day weekend, planning kicked in.  Another trip to Srimongal, my favorite getaway in Bangladesh, was long overdue.  Naveed and Shazzad immediately agreed to go with me, and then we coerced Boshir bhai into coming with us.   This was critical--Naveed is my bff(n) (Either best friend forever, or best friend for now, depending on the situation) and we have a tendency to gang up on Shazzad.  Boshir bhai always takes Shazzad's side, so it a.) means that we can engage in trivial debates for longer, and b.) meant that Naveed wouldn't feel like a third wheel (he might even have someone to hold hands with, but more on that later).  Boshir bhai has this last second wave of doubt and indecision, at which point Naveed and I really strong armed him with as much guilt, excitement, and intimidation as we could muster between the two of us.
On Thursday morning, I wake up to the sweet music of rain.  I go out on my balcony and watch the people on the street.  I admire that so many pedestrians are totally unfazed by the rain.  They don't run, they don't walk fast, they just walk while getting soaking wet.  Rickshaw drivers have pulled out their plastic Peter Pan hands, and plastic sheets for those driving in the rickshaws to cover themselves with.  I'm so caught up in the romance of the scene, it doesn't really dawn on me that this is probably not great roadtrip weather.  Luckily it's slowed by the time we take off, and we've rented a sturdy van with a surprisingly reliable driver for the journey.  The journey still takes longer than it had the times I'd gone before (about 7 hours, including all of our stops for food, fuel, and tea), but there's no comparison between the comfort of traveling in a van and the non-AC bus.  I'm just glad I've taken the non-AC bus enough to have a sense of how truly luxurious this type of travel is!

Better lucky than smart

Lucky people get to eat cake for breakfast.
With their dad at Queen City Bakery in Sioux Falls, South Dakooooota!
(and Mom, brother, and SISTER-IN-LAW, not pictured)

My dad and I have a running joke (you know, the kind you tell when jogging) that when I was a kid, he tried to make me feel like everything good that happened to me was a result a good luck, not talent.  It’s healthy for kids to have a strong sense of luckiness, rather than self-achievement.  And maybe luck really is something that you can cultivate!  Easier than learning to be smarter, right?

These last few weeks in particular, I have been super lucky!  Flying west from Dubai to New York, my Emirates flight had a wonderful crew.  I know because I couldn’t sleep and got up to stretch my legs, only to find that the guy on the aisle was in deep REM when I came back and I ddin’t have the heart to wake it (that is, after I nudged him hard a few times to no avail).  Instead I struck up a conversation with the flight crew—they were as international as you’d expect—one was from Lebanon, another from Argentina, another from the Ukraine—and really kind.  When they found out that I was a chocolate fiend, they were happy to hook me up with a nice stash that would hold me over the whole trip (there is nothing like being cranky on the bus and finding chocolate in your purse—instant good day!).

I had a great trip around the United States—New York, Boston, and even South Dakota—full of nice runs, delicious food, youtube videos (multiple viewings of the Taylor Swift "I knew you were trouble" video with goats spliced in--is this really a thing?!  Holly cried from laughing so hard!!), plus awesome company and thought-provoking conversations.  Despite the fact that it snowed a lot in Sioux Falls, South Dakota over the past two weeks, for the 4 days that I was there, we managed to have sunshine and 70 degree weather.  Good thing, since I was traveling with a pair of flip flops and no jacket.  In New York and Boston, I didn’t quite so lucky with the weather the whole time, but managed to borrow a few layers to tie me over.

The island with no limes

This is what vacation looks like!

I’ve had a serious case of cabin fever this past month.  I’m all for the right to demonstration (peacefully), but the endless hartals (general strikes) we’re experiencing is cramping my field visits.  2+ days a week we’re advised not to travel more than we have to, so leaving Dhaka is completely out of the question.  After weeks on end of this reality, I’m starting to get a little stir crazy.

So I decided to take advantage of the three day weekend of get out of town, and picked about the remote place in Bangladesh as the destination:  St. Martin, a little island in the ocean, right off the border with Myanmar.  Bangladesh is a small country, but what in lacks in size it makes up for in weak infrastructure—the roughly 600 km drive takes on average 12 hours, plus a 2.5 hour ride on a steamboat (like think Mark Twain on the Mississippi) to ferry you from the mainland (a dodgy city called Teknaf) to the island.  If Adventure is your cup of tea, or you are looking for a trip that will make you come crawling back to Dhaka, begging not to have to leave again anytime soon, this is for you.  Otherwise, might as well stay home watching cricket and stuffing yourself with biriyani.

The adventure actually begins before the trip.  The bus station is pretty sketchy—not to mention dark, crowded, smelly, and gross.  We get to spend an extra hour there because our bus is already stuck in traffic.  On the bright side, we didn’t sit in traffic on the bus for an hour.  Oh wait, that’s exactly what we did for the next few hours.  Bus companies without fail tell you that the ride is some number of hours, predictably, but I’m convinced that on Thursday nights, regardless of which way you are going, it will take 2-3 hours to truly get outside of the city.  There are just too many people leaving and a few choices of highways.  So it’s always clogged, as far as I can tell.  But that doesn’t mean that the bus drivers and staff act any less surprised each time.

We didn't start the fire

In the last few weeks, I have felt like someone watching history in the (re)making in Dhaka, rather than someone participating in life in Dhaka.  It’s been a reminder of how much collective memory and experience matters in the present; there are things you can’t learn and pick up just by being here for a few years.  Lived history is one of them.

Recently, there have been several individuals on trial for their actions during the bloody war for independence in 1971.  Many have been given the death sentence.  When one of the notorious leaders (known as the “butcher of Mirpur”) was given a life sentence instead of the death penalty, Dhaka exploded into a full-fledged demonstration, symbolically centered in Shahbag, near Dhaka University, the birthplace of most movements in Bangladesh.  Since February 4^th, there have been people gathered there at night and many days to demand “justice,” which in their eyes means the death penalty.  I can’t speak for the motivations of all the protesters, but it does seem pertinent to mention is that many fear that if he just gets a life sentence, when the opposition party comes into power (which could occur in 2014 during the next elections), he’ll be pardoned and released.  Death is a more secure and permanent form of punishment.