Yowsa!

I should have been posting to the blog for the last three weeks, but sometimes one gets so into doing things that they forget to document exactly what they did (hence the entire purpose of my job--to make up for undone documentation!).
I'm in Durban, South Africa. I arrived here last Sundy for a conference on health informatics and an open-source medical record system, on which I'm currently developing a case. The conference was really interesting, but what was really awesome was my trip to Hluhluwe Park this past week.
Myself and four others from the conference rented a car and drove north about three miles to a beautiful park. We drove around in the afternoon, and spotted a variety of wildlife--small groups of zebra, that alternated between turning their butts towards us or posing for the camera, giraffes that looked at us quizzically but never stopped munching, and grazing buffalo, which while they sound like peaceful animals, are one of the most aggressive and dangerous animals in the park. They were one of the "big five", the animals that South Africa strove to exterminate in earlier years (along with rhino, elephant, leopard, and lion). The animals, while clearly wild, had no qualms about letting the car drive up right beside them. I've never gotten so close to animals in the wild, much less, huge, exotic animals in the wild! Impala and Nyala, both deer-like creatures, were also visible grazing in various parts of the park.
We checked into the hotel and ate a quick lunch on the top of this mountain, looking out across a valley. Just before sunset, we hopped back in the car and drove to a water hole, where we found a dozen white rhinos. This was doubly lucky--they are a very endangered species but thriving at Hluhluwe, but much less aggressive than their black counterparts. Nonetheless, I stayed in the car. On the way back, we stopped for a look at a hyena napping in the distance (one of the few times in my life I've really wished that I had binoculars), and then, we had to stop because an elephant was crossing the road, and decided to stand in it while he was eating! Hardly surprising--evidently they spend about 20 hours eating A DAY. Man, I envy that schedule (though not the diet, they seem to really like tree bark!).
Off to enjoy the city--more soon.

GROWLENTINE'S DAY

How do you feel about Valentine's Day? Do the looks of disgust and disdain on these animals' faces express your opinion?

You're not alone. There are a lot of V-day haters out there. And why not? It's a holiday that seems to be created to make some people spend

lots of money and other people to feel bad about themselves. It's pretentious and exclusionary. Anti-American, even!
So, I think it's time we take back February 14th from the lovers. Enough of the lovey-dovey, sickeningly sweet "You is my pookey bear" Hallmark cards. No more overpriced roses and sweeethearts with cool new messages like "text me! 143!". Honestly folks, we're better than that.
So here's my proposal. This February 14th marks the inauguration of a new age. This year, we celebrate GROWLENTINE'S DAY.

The rules are simple:
1. You must dress like a predator
2. You must growl at people (intensity of growling should be proportional to the strength of your feelings towards them--i.e. you growl loudest at those you love and hate, and more amiably at strangers and cute babies).

Beyond that, it's up to your discretion. There's no gendered expectations or norms, no need to find that special someone to spend the day with. Just an excuse to growl (which you know you secretly wish was more socially acceptable), dress up (Halloween in the spring. . .score!), and be silly. And hey, if you want to eat some chocolate and drink some wine with a saucy minx or a big, bad wolf, no one's saying that's against the rules. Bear in mind, you never know where a growl might lead you.

It takes a lot to laugh

I have to say, I have been frequently impressed with the innovativeness with which people here take on the challenges of a weak public infrastructure, little capital, and poverty. The buses for example are extremely overcrowded--you get the sense that they could run many more and they'd all be full--but they've built benches up on top as a first step to alleviating the crowdedness.
There are no pay phones, but instead there are many booths where you can buy more cell phone minutes (many people have pre-pay plans), and at those booths, you can use a phone that the owner has there, and then pay him for your call afterwards. So, functionally a pay phone, but without the same physical investment.
I went to the post office today and realized while in line that my envelopes did not have the sticky stuff that seals when you lick it. Luckily, the post officer had a gluestick--it is possible that you could not mail things that were already sealed, I am not sure--that he quickly used to close my letters. An old fashion glue stick as a tool for the official post office. A gluestick! I'm not even sure that the post office uses electricity, frankly. I am absolutely amazed at what people here accomplish with the tools they have.
Things here are coming to a close--tomorrow is the official day off and Sunday is Victory Day. I have a few things left to take care of, including figuring out what the departure tax is from here (that would be a rude awakening to learn at 3AM at the airport with no working ATMs), and trying to make it to a beautfy parlor (I know, what a tough life). And tonight, pizza and margaritas with the ex-pats. Alas, still no chocolate. It's painful to think about JP Licks' brownie sundae (JP licks is Boston ice cream chain which has a location across from my office), but I'm pretty sure it's going to be one of the first things I eat upon arrival!

This may be it for the blog. Thanks for reading it, and thanks even more for the e-mails. Makes it harder to be away when you have great people to miss, but the e-mails help me feel connected. Donyobad and asalam aleikum!

Fields of gold

Check out my post on the GHD website with pictures and information about my field visits at http://ghd-blog.blogspot.com/2007/12/snapshots-of-bracs-health-program.html. It includes a link to some of the pictures I took in the field as well: http://picasaweb.google.com/SilverBullet523/BRAC. BRAC recently began a collaboration with Scojos Foundation, a group that has worked primarily in Latin America and aims to provide low-cost eye glasses in resource poor settings. It is pretty amazing to watch care get delivered in such a different setting than the sterile and rather alienating context that prevails in the U.S. These women work with the same confidence and expertise without many of the technologies and luxuries that we assume are necessary for high quality care.

I also had a chance to go to the Liberty Monument on my way back to Dhaka last night. The six pillars on each side represent East Pakistan's rebellions against West Pakistan, beginning in the 1950s, and culminating, as represented by the culmination of all the pillars in an apex on the middle pillar, in liberation in Dec. 16, 1971. It's located in a beautiful park as well--a welcome relief from the sometimes claustrophobic density of crowds in Dhaka. It creates the same sense of solemnity and admiration that the best monuments in DC, for me, the most recent WWII fountain and the Vietnam War wall.

Sunday will be a big holiday here!

Blowing in the wind

So I've realized that there's no way to explain Dhaka to someone who isn't here--it's like trying to explain colors to a blind person. It's simultaneously huge, as in, you can walk for half an hour and not be sure you've gotten anywhere (How many roads. . . ?), and really small--the roads are barely wide enough for a rickshaw, and you can't see anything besides the buildings on each side, so you have no sense of the scope of the city. The vast majority of the time, I am the only white person visible (I think yesterday in my day's wanderings in Old Dhaka I saw two other whites, and probably over 1000 Bangladeshis), but more than that, I am one of the few, if not only, women out. This was particularly true yesterday when all the men were out to go to mosque, but I think I'm now much more acutely aware of the gender ratio than the attention I get for being light-skinned. In some areas, this is changing, the BRAC headquarters has a fair number of women, but it's definitely extremely different from anywhere I've ever been.
I was trying to find an art store yesterday and after searching for over an hour (so I can't read street signs here and usually can't figure out where I'm starting, which makes using a map, especially a bad one, hard), including a foray down Hindu street, which was pretty interesting, and bicycle road, where one can buy anything from tricycles to rickshaws, I was pretty much ready to give up, and so happily accepted an invitation to have tea on the street with a pair of brothers coming out of mosque. We enjoyed our tea as the crowd grew around us, with people asking excitedly, "What is your country?" and all sorts of other things. One guy carrying a cage of canaries came up and laughingly asked me if I wanted one to take home. I declined. After two cups of tea, I was invited to a family's nearby apartment for lunch. I went and ate, cross-legged on a rug, using my right hand to eat rice, lentils and chicken curry. On my way down the stairs, the neighbors came out to see what was going on, and promptly invited me in for dessert. I have no idea what it was, but it sure was tasty! We then headed over to a pool hall where one of the guys worked, and in the rickshaw ride over, they requested that I sing, "Careless Whisper" by Michael Bolton. How could I say no?
After playing pool for a while (just to note, I was wearing a scarve for these games and may well have been the only woman to ever play pool at this place), I decided that I should probably head home if I wanted to get there by dark. Buses in Dhaka leave something to be desired--they are overflowingly (literally, people are coming out the doorway and hanging off the roof), not numbered, and have no designated stop. Also, their idea of a stop is to slow down enough for you to hop on or off. So when I say that I took the bus home, I want you to understand what an accomplishment/experience this was. My friends helped me find one going to Gulshan, and as an unaccompanied woman, I sat up in front by the driver. After the first 20 minutes, I had no idea where we were, and after 40 minutes, I decided that I really had never been anywhere near where we were. But, when the ticket guy told me that we'd arrived at "Gulshan" (the neighborhood where I'm staying) and pointed me to the left of the bus, helping me get situated to jump off, I just did what he said. 10 minutes later, the sign of the Westin hotel appeared and then I was totally oriented and managed to land a rickshaw that got me home just as dark was truly setting in.
Last night I went to the apartment of two world bank health economists for a tasting of wines available in Dhaka (evidently given that only foreigners can buy alcohol and there are few foreigners, it has not become a wide variety). It's interesting to see the ex-pat's lifestyles here and think about whether my life here would look similar and whether, based on their experiences, it's something that appeals to me. The jury is still out. Though, I plan to get on my plan on the 17th, either way. The people here are as friendly as they come and more curious than just about anyone I've ever met. That's probably the only thing that makes this trip possible and almost as importantly, a lot of fun. I've had a lot of "Hello. Your country please?" conversations, but if that's the debt I pay for being unable to say much in Bangla other than Hello/Goodbye; yes; no; no problem; okay; dog; eggplant; and water; I think that it's relatively small. It will be something I miss in the city of Boston, where there is not such as sense of collective energy and interaction.

Maybe, before my trip ends, I'll find that art shop. But I'm finding that Dhaka often has its own agenda that sweeps you along. That's what indhakactrination is all about.

OohlalaDhaka

After spending part of this morning reading about all the food being eaten in France (which, to be honest, sounds like an awful lot of food for two people--I hope you're walking A LOT in between!), I decided to go on a culinary adventure of my own: Dhaka street food. Now, I know what you're all thinking: what a bad idea for reasons from taste to sanitation to not wanting to spend the weekend (which starts on Fridays here) recovering. All good thoughts, I had them all week. But, my curiosity has been growing, and as I do brag about my iron stomach, it had to happen eventually.

We begin at a snack stand at the busy intersection about a half mile from here. A local favorite here seems to be what I can only call Bengali chex mix. I believe that it is rice that has been given a chance to dry out significant, so it's a little tougher to bite into, mixed up with onions, cilantro, chile, curry spices and a little bit of oil to make it stick together (you get to what all of this going on) and then is stuffed into a make shift bag, fashioned from freshly recycled paper; mine, for example, was someone's old recipt. And then you dig in with your hands, ensuring that your nails will be yellow for a while and smell like curry. The price for this deliciousness? a mere 5 taka (around 8 cents).

I continue on. I believe that people now stare at me a little less; my shalwar and now my snack make me look less exotic. Or, I've mastered the art of not noticing when people are staring at me. Either way, it's a lot easier to walk around now. A little harder while trying to eat rice with my (right) hand. I pass more snack stands, many with bread and short-bread like biscuit cookies (random side note: why has the sandwich not caught on everywhere in the world? How can people not see that as a truly genius food worth emulating!), but feel that after my main course of rice, what I'm really ready for is dessert. So, I deviate from my plan slightly by stopping in a dessert shop with a huge display of sweets. I walk in, find that they all look about the same, with slight variations of color and shape, and pick two of them. They are presented to me in a nice green box with a pink ribbon tied around it securely (for whatever reason, you rarely get any sort of plastic container or bag here). I pay the 40 taka it costs ($0.60, steep!) stick it in my purse for the moment.

I head back towards the BRAC office. This is the bit where there is the street food that I've been eyeing every day this week. I go for it. What I really want is something straight from the thick metal frying pan that's bubbling with oil and little dumpling-like balls of dough. Those are currently germ free. But, I point at something else on the table that resembles a samosa, and get two little ones for the road--this time in a small brown bag that looks manufactured--spending yet another 4 taka.

I proceed to eat these samosas, which turn out to still be quite warm and be filled with delicious potatoes, and walk around a little bit. My biggest issue with Dhaka is that things seem to be done in a hurry most of the time. There is no lingering over a cup of tea or a meal; people come in, eat and move on. There are no benches to sit and watch folks go by while enjoying your samosas and rather tasty desserts, whose main ingredient appears to be condensed milk (yum). But, I know that there are things to be done, so here I am, back in my office. Soon there will be someone circulating with hot cups of tea with milk and sugar for us to enjoy while we work.

Went out to a village yesterday to learn more about the TB program. Among other things, we met the health worker and talked with her patients as they took their daily medications under her supervisions (A pillar of DOTS treatment). Below are a picture of me with the Shastha Shebika, as the health worker is called and a shot of the landscape surrounding the village. This was only about a half out hour the city (considered periurban because it's outside of the "city corporation"), and next week it looks like I'm going to Manikgonj, which is a few hours by car and the birthplace of BRAC's TB program in, coincidently, 1984!