A Full Report From Bangladesh
A few more words about the cyclone that hit Bangladesh this past November: I don’t recall hearing much about it in the news which surprises me given the magnitude and devastation of the storm. Perhaps that was when Brittany was having her troubles or something equally as newsworthy.
The storm itself was named Sidr which means "red eye." After the storm the trees showed significant signs of heat damage - almost as if they’d been burned. We could still see the evidence of this. No one could explain to us the phenomena but there was something in the storm that generated an unusual heat enough to dry out, curl and even burn the leaves. Very odd. Whatever it was that caused this, it has given the storm a mythologically malevolent personality.
One thing we did notice on our drive though southern Bangladesh was the lack of livestock. We saw few cattle or goats - but apparently the storm killed millions. In Canada we suffer so few, and comparably mild, climatic shocks it’s almost impossible to imagine an event that would rob us of our babies, fields and homes, but also leave millions of rotting carcasses on the ground to foul the air and poison the water. My brain simply cannot wrap around the misery and shock that would follow.
We left Loban Ghola (the name of the village we visited) and traveled north east about six hours drive to Khulna. The countryside is wonderful. Again, the population density here is mind boggling. During the whole week, over 40 hours of driving through rural Bangladesh, there was never a view or vista that didn’t include hundreds if not thousands of people. So when I say country, you mustn’t imagine miles of unpopulated space as we are accustomed. Someone trying to help us grasp the reality of the population density here said "imagine placing 140 million people in Manitoba and confining them to the area south of the Trans-Canada highway, and you can begin to imagine…"
Because the plains here flood every year, the roads, pathways, villages etc. are all raised. The major roadways are raised a good 10 - 15 feet above ground level, and most pathways and hamlets at least 3-5 feet. One tends to think of road level as ground level, so the effect is to remember the whole region as endless checkered plains of sunken fields and fish ponds decorated brilliantly by tropical groves and grasses . The roadways and paths are also planted with trees (fruit and other) on their slopes (to prevent erosion) giving a verdant canopy effect which is very picturesque. The colourful dress of the Bengalis, the cheerful ease in which they relate to each other seems a perfect compliment to the steamy, sunlit, tropical landscape. What ever might be said about the suffering of folks here, they seem to be a genuinely happy people.
Since this is a land of rivers, you cannot travel far without having to cross a river on a barge or ferry. This is quite the ordeal. And the presence of white folks is a source of rather intense interest. The boat/barges themselves are rather dilapidated and cause some alarm to those of us that are used to newer modes of transportation and some semblance or at least nod to safety concerns. But they seem to work and the rivers themselves languid and swimable 
if need be. Often there are large lineups to get on but we have a gov’t representative traveling with us who delights in wielding his powers to bring us to the front of the queue. His name is Rajwan and he surprised us at the airport when we arrived saying "I have been assigned to accompany and assist you throughout your journey here." And indeed he did. We’ve been suspicious about why the government would assign an official to travel with us, but he was very nice and quite helpful throughout. He was with us every moment until we passed through the scanners to board our plane out of the country. Hmm…
We traveled on to Gopalganj where we stayed two nights in some sort of some abandoned government compound. I never did really come to understand the purpose of the place - it was built by a previous gov’t and then abandoned for its original purposes. Now it’s some sort of guest housing. At one end of the compound there was a military barracks with a few hundred soldiers. Across the square from the guest house were several housing complexes but I don’t know who lives there or why. This was not a pleasant place. No screens on windows, no a/c, no electricity for much of the day and evening which means no ceiling fans. Mosquitoes were as relentless as the moist heat and bed bugs, making the stay even more memorable. The beds were rock hard, ancient smelly mattresses with a topography to rival the foothills of Alberta, with no sheets nor blanket, just a bedspread which we chose not to disturb. Bathrooms were filthy - no hot water, decaying, dank concrete and cheerless. We didn’t sleep much at all. We haven’t slept much during the whole trip actually. Nights are a waiting game for the most part with occasional naps to break the monotony. As much as I sometimes rant ineloquently about the excessive toys and gadgets North Americans gorge on, we in jet-lag land give thanks to God nightly for our Ipods.
During our stay there we ventured out to more remote rural regions through the maze of narrow unmaintained roads and pathways. We visited a village of Hindus belonging to the lowest class of society. Bangladesh is predominantly Muslim with about 10 percent Hindu, two percent Christian and two percent tribal religions. There doesn’t appear to be much animosity between religious groups here. I certainly did not feel any of the hostility we sometimes felt in Ethiopia or that I overtly felt in West Bank.
These Hindus however were of the Muchi caste which is the lowest Hindu class in Bangladesh. The village itself was very poor, mostly mud huts with thatched roofs and no modern facilities. But it was well kept - even beautiful as were the people themselves. They greeted us with carnation garlands, a shower of flower petals and several dances from the children and even an educational skit written to educate the people on the dangers of diarrhea as a result of unsafe drinking water. Dysentery is a major killer here.
Canadian Foodgrains Bank supports a feeding program here so that the children get at least one nutritional meal a day. Education, especially for girls and women, is probably the most important piece of any development program. So a feeding program at the school is so incredibly important not only for the health of the children, but as a way of keeping them returning to school. It takes pressure off of the mothers, who often give up their own rations of food for their husbands and children. This leads to all sorts of health problems including low birth weight of newborns, and physical deformities in these children which add significant pressure to the family and social cost to the community.
The kids adore Nanci - everywhere we go, within a few minutes there is a crowd of laughing, giggling women and children surrounding her. Often the women want to show her their homes and touch her earrings and skin. They love to see pictures of our kids. The camera crew is thankful for Nanci’s diversion creating capacity, so they can get the shots they want uninterrupted by the crowds.
At one point a woman gestured for Nanci to follow her to see her home. I began to follow but was quickly shooed away. I have observed a bond between women that is profoundly moving and mysterious to me. It’s not the same as male bonding - it is more connected to soul and suffering I think, as opposed to the bravado and belching bond between men - which has it’s own charm to be sure.
The next day we visited an excavation site where a thousand workers (paid in food from a program supported by CFGB) were digging out the silt from a massive canal/irrigation/fishery/water diversion ditch. The canal itself is 32 feet across at the top, 8 feet across at the bottom and fifteen feet deep. The flooding from Sidr Cyclone silted in many of the water ways which requires gargantuan efforts to remedy. These folks, using only mud cutting tools and baskets, had removed about 6 feet of silt from the bottom of 5 kms of irrigation ditch in only 15 days. The silt itself is left beside the ditch in a ten foot high mound that the women pound into a road after it has dried out some. The irrigation ditches here help divert water when there is too much and bring it in when there is not enough. They are stocked with fish so folks can feed themselves between growing and harvesting seasons and during the rainy season. They also serve as important transportation avenues. The roadway that is built beside is planted with trees and grasses that stabilize the roadways during flooding seasons as well as providing fruit and lumber for harvesting. Everything here is about managing the good and harmful potential of excess water.
We also visited a farmer who has recently completed a training session of farming techniques to help him increase the yield of his tiny plot of land. He was digging up his first crop of potatoes since the training which has already doubled his usual yield. The whole time we were talking and filming him, he seemed a bit anxious about me, several times trying to say something discreetly to me. It turns out my zipper was down and he was desperate about my potential humiliation. It ended up being a funny moment that brought a lot of laughter and warmth.
Later we visited a fish farmer who also had also recently attended a training program (similarly sponsored by CFGB) which has helped him to double the output of his wee pond. We were lucky to have come upon him right when he and several men were in the water wrestling with a mammoth net pulling in thousands of jumping fish. It was exhilarating, joyful and humorous to watch.
We returned to Dhaka for one more night before catching a flight to Calcutta. Actually, we still hadn’t gotten our visas to enter India while we were in Canada. So we reapplied at the Indian consulate in Dhaka when we arrived here and didn’t know if we would even be allowed access until a few days before we were to go.
We arrived in Kolkata Sunday morning on route to Patna, a city of about 2 million in the center of Bahir province which is the poorest province of India. 30 million people crammed onto this tiny plot of land. I don’t have the stats on the actual square kms of the province but it seems about as populated as Bangladesh.
When the customs officer in Calcutta saw where we were headed he shook his head and said, "Patna?! Not so nice." I’ve been to Calcutta (now called Kolkata) before and know what that means. The possibility of experiencing worse frightened me.
So right now I’m writing from my hotel in Patna. The hotel is meager by our standards but just fine. It’s clean and even has wi-fi!!! But Patna is easily the most destitute and ugly place I’ve seen in my life. The crowded streets, the crumbling unkempt structures, the smell of feces and urine mixed with rotting food, garbage and diesel, the insufferable heat and the throngs of people, cattle, swine and black smog-vomiting vehicles seem to suck the memory of beauty away.
We arrived here three days ago and had most of that day to sleep and recoup from the rigors of Bangladesh before our week in India. Then we traveled deep into the rural country side to visit two hamlets of the Masihari people. (Masihari means - the rat eaters). They don’t actually eat rats, but often survive by hunting for rat dens and robbing them of the grains the rats have stored there. These are the untouchables - the lowest and poorest cast of Indian society - among the poorest of the world. Life is so miserable here, so dirty and ugly. I had forgotten. I was here back in ‘94 but somehow had forgotten how devastating it is: elderly women living on a hundred dollars a year, whole families living on 70 cents a day. We sat in a circle out in the open sun with the whole village as they told us what life is like here. Those that have jobs work for absentee landowners for a few kilos of rice a day. Every year, during the rainy season (starting in a couple weeks) the plains flood, their whole village goes under water for two months and the villagers survive by huddling on top of an escarpment the government built for them back in the ’70s.
Only one in several hundred children of the first village was in school. They are badly malnourished; the babies dangerously under weight, the women are thin, worn and sad.
The government set up a food-for-work program to help them survive the rainy seasons, but the funding gets swallowed up by various levels of corrupt municipal officers who don’t care about them. The folks we’ve met here are trying to set up education programs to teach the Masihari about their rights and how to defend them. But it all seems pretty hopeless. I asked one of the workers what keeps him going - considering the magnitude of the problems and the unlikeliness anything will change. He just gently smiled and said he loved Christ, and that out of gratitude to God he would work 24/7 for the poor for the rest of his life even if nothing changes. That is something I remember about India, that it is full of Mother Theresas. It’s rather humbling.
Our accommodations in the country were dismal. I think we’re a bit over saturated from experience at this point which brings down one’s toleration level. More bed-bug bites. I hate the bed bugs.
As compared to Bangladesh, the people here don’t seem happy at all. They are friendly for sure and jump up to help at any sign of need. But life here is hot, hard and relatively devoid of the consolation of beauty. A depressed mood has settled over our traveling group and I think we’d all be relieved to be airlifted out of here. Tomorrow we fly to Kolkata and then on to a place by the sea where we’ll visit a few more sites before returning to Kolkata to catch our flight home.
I’m very glad to be here. I’ve learned a lot and met some wonderful folks but this is the definitely the hardest trip I’ve ever taken. Maybe I’m just getting older and less resilient. We’ll be glad to be on our way home.
