What's Next?

Education is the future. This mantra seems to have been adopted in this country where currently around 40% of the population is literate (50% literacy amongst men and 30% literacy amongst women). Many people bend over backwards to send their kids to school. Everyone is aware that education will determine your position in the Bangladeshi job market. During our stay in Kuakata (affected by supercyclone Sidr in 2007) we visited a small school built by the NGO Friendship. A beneficiary community of farmers had pulled together and asked Friendship to build a small school from their leftover building materials. This they gladly did and the result was a rather successful little school where we attended a morning session of class zero.


Upon entering we heard the kids chanting the days of the week in English, followed by the months, and the alphabet. Even twinkle twinkle little star was recited. The kids took pride in knowing these things by heart. Every successful recital ended with a round of applause. When we asked them to make drawings, however, they all seemed at a loss. Copying letters was something they could do. Learn to walk before you fly...



When we asked the kids to draw their dream house, a few stepped forward to the task. The class was divided into three groups of ten, which each had at least two 'very bright students' in them. The bright students were the first to take the challenge. An interesting thing we noticed, was that after these kids had made a drawing, the other students tended to follow their examples rather than go wildly creative on this open exercise. As a result, many images became copied alternatives of the previous drawing.


It made us think of all the moments where we asked people to tell us about their dreams and hopes for a better life. Many shyly answered that they had no financial capabilities to dream of beautiful futures. Others deterministically avoided the question by saying "Inshallah". It appears that dreaming or hoping for a better future in public is taboo. We're sure every child dreams, and we've had them tell us their ideal future jobs. And we're sure every adult likes to dream as well. It may, however, be possible that dreaming and hoping in such a religious and poor country, is simply bound to lead to disappointment. Or there is some other cultural reason why making these dreams public would only bring bad luck.


Could this reason have something to do with the transience of time when you cannot be sure wether the house you built yesterday will survive the storms of tomorrow? When nature's overwhelming forces have taught you just how vulnerable material property is? Will the more permanent NGO housing projects bring a change to this attitude? The main problem many of the projects we have seen faced was how to build a shelter which is wind proof for the stormy monsoon months while still providing a pleasant environment during the steamy summer months. This particular school managed to do both. However, the next day we found a school which made even more use of the local resources; a portable TV with generator on rickshaw planted under a tree. Kids came from all corners strapped in little blue UNICEF bags to watch school TV. And if a big cyclone would hit, you would just paddle that bicycle into the sunset.

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101 Bangla traffic for dummies

Bangladesh is the country of hierarchies, and this is no different in the traffic situation. In the cacophony of tooting, no one will hear your engine coming, so you must toot too, and preferably louder than the rest. A beautiful example of this was a very clever bicycle rickshaw wallah who had three bells in a serial connection. He only needed one ringing motion of his finger to trigger an immense amount of annoying noise. Other (lazier) wallahs chose to opt for complete electronic bells, with automatic ringers, on their three-wheelers for the extra oomph.


In fact, according to our own SPSS analysis, there is a 96.736 % correlation between tooting capacity (measured in deciBel) and traffic obedience (measured in time it takes for obstacles to remove themselves from your path) within the city of Chtitagong. There is, however, some variance in the data, which can be accounted for the policemen with large sticks (cm). These men position themselves amidst the congested traffic crossroads (red. not great for life expectancy) where they wave around their wooden objects that appear to have much more ruling power than the now redundant traffic lights. Variance within the variance is still being investigated but we predict that it may be accounted for by personal relationship to the man waving the stick, possibly measured in the amount of cups of tea drunk together.


To pave the way through the banani*) of bangla traffic, we have written down some insider tips for beginners. Please be intimidated by the current noise pollution coming out of your screen, it is the healthy fear one gets while taking a dodgy bus. We have yet to find a toot-free spot in Bangladesh.

*) pronounced boh-nah-nee means thick forest


PLANE
- to buy tickets, one has to go straight to the counter and pay with cash (officially paying with visa is a possibility, however in reality, power cuts prevent any such transaction)
- please get in contact with your life insurance to check whether flying with Biman in conflict with your policy
- inflight, you must make yourself at home: calling is no problem during take off and landing (if you get that far), smoking is allowed only in the toilet, and waiting for air hostesses is a waste of time when you can help yourself to entertainment at the kitchen

ROCKET
- don’t stand in front of the tooting device… EVER!
- the rocket’s obedience (on the water) is extremely high, little boats don’t wanna get in the way of this bad boy
- two person cabins can fit at least your family and extended family and maybe an extra grandma or two (make sure to pay deck price for all of these)
- don’t be tempted to order the full English lunch (this will be by far exceed the price of your entire journey, and that of your extended family)



TRAIN
- punctuality is not the train’s forte, be sure two show up at least two hours after expected departure to avoid being dumped at a landfill by the wrong train
- bring ear plugs as the toot replacement (loud bangla music that skips tracks as it is played from a pirate CD) will knock your socks off
- don’t be tempted to order mojo cola, it is a major mojo killer

BUS
- two seats per person is not a luxury, neufert standards have no place here
- there is a hierarchy (of course) of seating (the back is to be avoided at all costs unless rollercoasters are your cup of cha) in order from pretty uncomfortable to ridiculously uncomfortable: driver (private fan and fancy leather seat), two seats, one seat, front public bench next to driver, sitting on someone’s lap, having someone else sit on your lap, standing, hanging on to the bus, sitting on top of bus (now illegal in Bangladesh unless you work for the bus company)
- when you get out at the bus station don’t walk to close to the bus due to possible projectile vomiting
- don’t open your window if the person in front of you just projectile vomited at the bus station, they may do it again



CNG
- never pay more than half of the suggested price minus 5 TK (for a true local)
- if you need an extra seat you can always snuggle up next to the driver
- to get a CNG make loud caveman noises and gesture in an impatient and rude manner, perhaps accompanied by the words, “come, come”
- don’t expect the driver to know the address of your destination, get out at the largest intersection of that neighborhood and find a bicycle rickshaw

MOTORSAIKAL
- most comfortable mode of transport in all terrain
- female riders are expected to use the amazone seat

BICYCLE RICKSHAW
- try not to feel to guilty about the 60 year father of 10 who is sweating away in front of you to get you to the destination you could have probably walked
- an accepted gesture is to get out at steep inclines to lessen the load
- don’t ask for the price, just pay 20 TK
- if you want to culture shock, offer to ride the rickshaw yourself with him on it

VAN
- don’t be fooled by the pile of wood on that cart, you can easily jump on with at least four or five persons
- these bicycle carts are extremely suitable for transporting sowing machines

WALKING
- if you want to test your obedience level, stick out your hand, close your eyes, and just walk, inshallah!
- If you choose life, never cross without a buffer of three Bengalis in front of you
- forget sidewalks, you’re a part of the traffic flow now whether you like it or not
- because honking is not part of our natural vocabulary, bang on the hood of a car or CNG for extra recognition

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The rains have come...

Streets were already starting to fill with water. Everyone was carefully hiding under the street-side roofs while trying to get a CNG rickshaw. While a local musician was blowing his flute, one local was trying to be the first of twenty (including us) to get a CNG rickshaw, bolts of lightning were striking the heart of Chittagong, and we were getting a cold because temperatures suddenly dropped to 25 degrees, a very kind and soaked man with umbrella was throwing himself at the traffic to make a CNG rickshaw stop for us.



And off we went into the night in a rickshaw that was surprisingly dry, while streets were surprisingly wet. It is sheer impossible to get public transport when it's raining, unless you're willing to be soaked. Rain is not only good for the land, it is also good for the CNG rickshaw drivers. They take the risk of damaging their motors, while they can make twice the profit (no bargaining once you are safe and sound under the rickshaw's roof!).

Once at our guesthouse, we had to wade through the local sewer: our front gate appears to be the lowest land of the neighborhood. I think we mentioned something about sanitation issues in our latest blog. This time the fishes came for us, no need to go on field trips purposefully! Just on a side note, there is no sewer system in this city. People use sceptic tanks, if they can afford it. If not, then they either use latrine pits or the local gutter... which is the one that ends in our front gate...

...all our experiences here are intense. We live a hundred lives and there is something magical about this place that is hard to put in words. The feeling of relief that comes with the first rains is a real experience: even the rickshaw wallahs were laughing and having fun while getting soaked to the bone.

Inshallah!

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The (wrong) Bangladesh Express

This was a day to remember. Magnus was still feeling a bit bad in the morning, a combination of being ill and having to wake up early probably. After a phone call with Hubert Endtz, who gave us some helpful medical advice, we decided to go for the railway station as planned. We packed all our stuff in the car, and managed to squeeze ourselves in as well. All went well until the driver missed the final turn. We arrived five minutes before the train was scheduled to depart. The train was already there. While looking for the correct coach (extra 1), the train decided to start moving. What followed was a scene that resembled that of the opening of the Darjeeling Limited. Except that Bill Murray was lacking. With our flip-flops we ran to a door opening and jumped into sardine “7th” class…

…only to find out a few minutes later, that this wasn’t actually the train to Chittagong. A helpful man told us not to jump out of the train just yet (“accident!”). There was a lot of movement in the train, and a lot of yelling. We were hoping to be able to transfer on the next station. Wishful thinking. The train conductor wasn’t amused. He stopped the train, and kicked us out…

…at a waste area and in a slum. Interestingly, that confirmed the theories that slum areas tend to grow around railway tracks. People looked out of the train to see us. Some had never seen such tall and white people, certainly not when just kicked out of a Bengal train. After a little scenic sewage walk, we managed to find three bicycle rickshaws drivers who bolted off back to the railway station. While buses were crashing against the roadblocks, cars were honking constantly, us trying to hold on to backpacks and guitars on a shaky rickshaw, our wallahs deciding to take the quicker but chaotic highway, and Laura dropping her flute and pack on this highway, a local passenger of another rickshaw smiled to Diederik, and said:

“Welcome to Bangladesh!”

Not knowing what we were to do next, after getting on the wrong train and getting kicked out, we just enjoyed the ride and appreciated life in all its glory. We’ll see. Inshallah. We managed to get to the railway station alive. We didn’t have enough change, so we gladly overpaid the rickshaw drivers who risked their life for us. Laura decided to take a quick look at the platform: just to check when the next train would be leaving (scheduled half a day or a day later). But to her surprise, the Bangla station announcer casually slipped the word “Chittagong”. How could we have thought that our train would arrive on the official time. Of course it was an hour late, so we were now five minutes early to catch the train we were supposed to take in the first place.

The train was extremely comfortable. It had air conditioning, drinks, and a wonderful view to the countryside. It took us about seven hours to get to Chittagong. We were able to get some sleep, and had a good laugh about a day we’d probably remember for a long while. This is a strange country. Or, as Cecile Endtz put it:

“Never a dull moment in Bangladesh!”

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Dhaka on a CNG

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Ship Breaking in Bangladesh

An insight into the steel industry of Bangladesh and another take on "recycling".

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