Just kidding.

I did go. Note: the "V" sign is actually "Y," for you-know-who. Note my Protest Face.

Afterwards, we wandered around Old Dhaka.

A Good Man

Everyone has faults, but some people shine brightly enough that we can forgive them for theirs. Personally, I'd say Prof Yunus is one of those people, and I'd say a metric ton of folk, ordinary and high-powered alike, would agree with me. Consider his story: an economics professor so moved by famine and the plight of the poor that he forged a banking institution for them basically from scratch. And he had help, as he freely admits in Banker to the Poor. Others were enthused by his ideas. And so we should be! He said, sure, charity is nice, but why don't we give the poor the tools they need to stand on their own two feet? Let's give them credit, and trust in their abilities and determination to pay back their loans. Let's give them dignity. For founding Grameen Bank, the Philippines honored him with the Ramon Magsaysay Award ("Magsaysay is my guy!"), a full 12 years before the Nobel Committee decided he was Super enough to get their Prize.

The common perception here is that the ousting of Prof Yunus as Managing Director of Grameen is a one-woman rampage of revenge. Apparently, the current Prime Minister is the one deserving of the Nobel Prize. At least, that's what her loyal followers are saying. How canny of her to go silent after she launched the first attack with her "sucking the blood from the poor" speech! She may not be a stateswoman, but she's a politician for sure. And, since she's let her people do all the attacking, in the future she can throw them under the bus and claim that she didn't know they'd go so far. Brava! Brava! World, beware a woman scorned.

Prof Yunus was kind and gracious when I said goodbye to him before leaving the office. Yesterday was my last day at the Centre. If you can judge people by their handshake, then Sir (we usually call him "sir," or DMY -- Dr. Muhammad Yunus) is an Awesome Human Being. I'd say it's the best goodbye handshake I've ever had. It's not the most memorable, though -- that distinction belongs to an Englishwoman who almost crushed my hand at our first meeting. Urgh...

Anyway, since my little blog is SIKROT -- you haven't told anyone, have you? -- I'm almost certain I won't be killed/tear gassed at the human chain tomorrow, at least not for what I've been writing. But if something happens, everything goes to Mark. Just kidding. Except not really. Ha ha ha... (trails off weakly)

Another Day, Another Human Chain

Today's human chain calls to mind the deep philosophical question: if people form a chain in a forest and no news media is there to cover it, should they have just stayed in front of their PCs?

No! A thousand times no!

As evidenced by this young woman from Grameen Caledonia College of Nursing (Exhibit A), the benefits of forming human chains outweigh the costs. For one, protesting injustice improves cardiovascular health and muscle strength. Note that Exhibit A is standing very upright (strong abdominal and back muscles) and holding her arms straight (ligaments in excellent condition). She is also smiling, clearly because she is out in the fresh air, thereby enhancing her lung capacity. Finally, her direct gaze into the camera indicates high self-esteem, which in turns points to a direct correlation between standing up for what is right and good physical and mental health.

You too can be an agent of justice and in tip-top condition! Being a single candle in the dark has never been more appealing! Come join the sane bits of Bangladesh society as they nimbly hop out of the way of government's crushing heel!

DO IT.

Human Chain for Prof Yunus

The skinny: everyone at Grameen headquarters went downstairs and formed a human chain along the road. Some folks distributed signs in Bangla that said we strongly protest the court ruling. News cameras tracked the people who held those signs. The police came. Then the riot police came. We stood for an hour and then went back inside peacefully, but not before the people with signs held them up for the cameras.

This is how we little people fight.

Justice?

Live in Dhaka. The High Court has rejected Prof Yunus' petition.

Funny stuff

Managed to wheedle my way into getting some beer, finally. Here is HUNTER, the "local" beer, but really it's based off Foster from Australia. I'm buzzed so I'm not sure if I'm making this up or not, but the facts are that this beer is mine and it is tasty.

Speaking of facts, the Nobel laureate hullabaloo is at a fever pitch, with yet another court delay adding some delicious uncertainty to the proceedings. Yes, it's not fun if you think your job's on the line (like most folks in the Y Centre), but I am conditioned to believe that I can be fired based on my boss' mood, and so have become very Zen about this whole "job" business.

This brings us to today's Lesson of the Day: the grass is seriously green on the other side of the fence. I fantasize about being jobless and just bumming around all day. But I am now old enough to know there is truth in the saying, "Be careful what you wish for (you just might get it)" -- the phrase in parenthesis comes from a Pussycat Dolls song. Anyway. Here, I go to meetings at embassies, which might sound Glamorous or A Heavy Responsibility, but really they could just send along a cardboard cutout of a penguin and it would achieve the same effect. Ho ho ho.

Still, there are perks, yesterday's being a certain top diplomatic official's random tangent. I was at [CENSORED] yesterday, and the guy was like, "Oh my assistant is alone here, he's looking for a girlfriend," which immediately made me think of that comedy sketch "Nail Salon," where the first question the customer gets asked is, "You have boyfriend?" Haha, what is this obsession with a significant other?

Still, I kind of get it. After being single for a year now, I'm starting to get really weirded out by the idea of intimacy. I'm like, what, we have to share bathrooms? Ewwww. Give me a fluffy kitty any day. Speaking of which, I miss my little girl. It's just not the same, sleeping all the way to 7 am without having whiskers shoved up my nostrils at 5 am.

ACK STUDENTS JUST CAME IN AND I HAVE ALCOHOL BREATH NOOOOOOO

Blog post done for now.

sigh

As the country recovers from the traumatizing defeat at the hands of the West Indies cricket team last Friday, citizens -- elite and commoners alike -- are in an uproar over Professor Yunus' court case. It was supposed to be decided today, but another petition has been submitted so the order will be passed tomorrow (Monday the 7th). Just type "Yunus" on any search engine to read the latest.

Meanwhile, I finally did what I really came all the way to Bangladesh to do: be Staples. Specifically, the Print & Copy Center of Staples. For you see, I have been promoted from minion to chicklet, meaning I have More Important Things to Do, such as stay up until 12 AM to print stuff and make sure they go in the right packets. (By contrast, minions stay up until 3 AM to print stuff and make sure they go in the right packets; notice the difference?) Then I deliver said packet to the actual Important Person, whom I then accompany to the embassies in case, y'know, someone needs a pen or something (I carry two!!!). Also, I nod and smile at the appropriate moments, which is something chicklets are expected to do very well. Minions are usually never seen or heard, being chained to desks.

The chandelier symbolizes the tears of blood that my heart cried after I discovered I was really a traveling Staples.

Moving on, I learned that it's always great to start the day off horribly, so everything else that happens is cool. Today, for example, the first embassy meeting was at 9, and the car picked me up at 9:04. Brilliant. Then, 20 minutes later, the driver stopped to ask directions because he had no idea where he was going. Well, gosh, neither did I.

It didn't help that I had a cold and I think half my brains dripped out of my nose at around 8:30 am. Also, since complaining is fun -- unless you're listening to someone else and then it's annoying -- let me add that I have woken up with a sore throat two days in a row. Now, this is what I usually look like. My lack of picture-taking skills using the front-facing camera on the iPhone also cleverly conceals the fact that I have gotten chubbier from all the greasy food here, especially since my helper revealed that she can make french fries. Also, ghee. I was at a friend's house staring at what I presumed to be a jar of lard when I was told about this magical dairy product, which Wikipedia says is butter. And yes, the lard was ghee. Everything I eat has ghee in it. EVERYTHING.

I digress. When I'm sick, this is what I look and feel like. It's really not fun being unwell. Thank the Lord every day for your health because health is seriously wealth! Feeling like someone punched you in the throat from inside your throat is not fun. However, I am happy to report that I am feeling better as of right now, because I just came back from shopping, and it's the weekend for Boston so I am being left alone! Ah, bliss!

This blog post makes no sense to me, either. I should go to bed, after eating more french fries.

Photos from Old Dhaka

Oh, royalty

Today a scanner gate greeted us as we tried to get into SIKROT office. Everyone had to line up and give up our bags for checking before stepping through the scanner. Being foreign and therefore upstanding global citizens, we got through without our bags being opened. We also passed a bunch of snazzily-dressed MIBs (Men In Black); see photo.

Turns out Princess Anne (UK) is here for her three-day visit. Here's the article in the local news. Now, based on personal observation, there are three VIP classes: VIP, VVIP, and YAP (You Are Pondscum). Since I wasn't actively harassed, nor did I get a feeling of impending doom, I'd say the Princess is VVIP, which is good, because the YAP classification should really be reserved for clubs in LA.

Oh, royalty...

Weekend Lite

I'd intended to rest up this weekend, but fate had other plans. Friday was pretty awesome, actually -- I went to Bittersweet cafe in Gulshan-2 and met a Parisian who railed against gender discrimination in this country when it comes to offering drugs, alcohol, and, er, escorts to foreigners. "Why don't I get those offers just because I'm a woman?" she demanded, as I happily slurped at actual coffee. Good times.

Friday night was another story. I had to revise a proposal and didn't get to bed until around 2 AM, which was when Boston office lunched and stopped calling and e-mailing me. So I woke up the next morning bleary-eyed for my 10 AM massage/general beauty appointment, which went okay (I am no longer a hairy monkey, but massage is better sa 'pinas). Then I tagged along to the home of a nice lady who was donating books to us, and she took us to the American Club.

Now, you might think that being at the American Club is the perfect time to order a nice, juicy burger. No. No. No. This is Bangladesh, which specializes in chicken. So I got me a chicken shawarma, which came with truly excellent yogurt and some garlic-heavy paste into which I dutifully dipped my very slender french fries. The photo will give you an idea of why burgers here aren't good--I believe the patties come frozen and the buns are not special at all. This picture is from Treat, an eatery in Mirpur that has a nice massive flat-screen HDTV. Nice, unless you're eating while watching Zombieland.

For the evening, me and my co-workers (real ones, not SIKROT ones) went to Mainland China, a restaurant where the floor rotates (!). At first, us non-Dhaka-ites were too busy eating and chatting to realize this, until we looked up and noticed the bathroom was in an entirely different location! ZOMG so high tech! Also, this place had a man whose only job as to switch on the lights to the bathroom whenever a guest approached. How boring. Anyway, the food was good.

Annnnd that was the weekend report!

Everything is Curry

One way to avoid curry here is to eat at a Chinese restaurant, which of course has its share of perils, including blistering green peppers masquerading as green beans for the unwary vegetable lover. But I must say I am a fan of the Szechuan beef, which is tender and tasty as beef should be.

This post is brought to you by sleepless nights courtesy of overseas office drama.

Look, Ma, I Have Friends!

In the US my motto is "arrive on time." In Bangladesh my motto is "arrive alive." Spent a fewhours in traffic today, first on my way to work, and then later back from a book launching event. The morning bit didn't faze me, though, even when my driver tried to sneak into a cantonment for a shortcut and the soldier at the entrance took one look at my clothes and banished us to an ignominious side street.

Here's what traffic is usually like. So I'd be in a little green cage with wheels on, which smooshes itself as close as possible to the vehicle in front of it. Meanwhile, the vehicle or rickshaw behind my CNG would be smooshed against us. And everyone is honking to let all pedestrians know that by God, they will get run over! Seriously, drivers don't slow down for crossing people, but I think there's a Bangladeshi gene that allows people on the street to scamper to safety in just the nick of time. It's all good.

I was gregarious today and cheerfully introduced myself to everyone in the office I hadn't met. Then a tall German came up to me and said she was a new intern and invited me to lunch with "the boys," who turned out to be a New Yorker and a Peruvian. We ate at a little Bengali food place -- yep, even "chicken grilled" is curried -- and afterwards rode in a minivan to get to aforementioned book launching event. It was like a Little United Nations Interns program in there, with Hungary, Brazil, Philippines, and L.A. and Ohio represented. Ohio was Bangladeshi by heredity but didn't speak or read the language, and L.A. was also an immigrant, but fluent in Bangla. Here are a couple of great conversations involving them:

~

Ohio: I should've just gone in my car.

L.A.: Don't you want to bond? When you sweat together, you bond. Clean friendship isn't true friendship.

~

Ohio: I don't know where we are. I can't read Bangla. I'll have to call my dad.

L.A.: So, like, can you not do anything yourself?

All: LOL

L.A.: I really didn't know how to phrase that diplomatically.

Me: She meant, "Are you helpless?"

Ohio: No, I have my cousins. But they don't want to hang out with me.

L.A.: Probably because you don't know where you are.

That particular ride through traffic went by fast. You know what didn't go fast? The damn event. It took three hours and was entirely in Bangla. I pretended to be alert by sitting up very straight, propping one leg up on the chair in front of me, and reading 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea on my iPhone. All I can say is, fish porn. It's great that I can skip six pages in one go because all Jules Verne does is list all the types of fish the Nautilus caught.

Anyway, after the event, by social instinct we little interns formed a big circle and discussed how to best get home. Four of us discovered that we lived close by-ish to each other, so we hopped into a CNG -- three in the back, one in front, which is illegal but okay if you're foreign -- and spent almost an hour in traffic. And now here I am, dusty and happy. I really think I'm achieving Zen, especially after reading the Buddha's biography, and especially with my current job, which constantly demands that I adjust my expectations, e.g. "Competence and loyalty will be rewarded," or "It all makes sense, really." Ha! Ha! Ha! No, and no. And the trick is to keep smiling until that smile becomes true for you. End post.

The Little Intern

My mornings usually start off with my mind screaming, "Wake up! You have terrible horrible emails in your inbox!" So then I roll out of bed, stretch, shower, and tell good ol' helper what I'd like for breakfast. It's usually a cheese sandwich and yogurt and banana with my staple milk tea, but yesterday I knew that lunch would be impossible so I told her I wanted my leftover beef from yesterday, and some rice and dahl. It was 8:45 am. When I told her I would need this food by 9:30, she was all, "OMG no can do!" (I'm paraphrasing here). But long story short, I got to gulp down my breakfast in plenty of time, because my Dhaka-boss was late.

Here's my lunch. Everyday at the office, a peon (hehe, makes me think of Warcraft II) comes 'round and delivers tea and some sort of baked good to everyone. So since my baked good was full of potatoes and onions, I figured I'd call it lunch instead of snack. I was glued to my screen all day, with only a minor break to report to Dhaka-boss about the progress of a tiny task. I met a couple of new people at the office -- one of them had just come back from East Timor and was off again soon to Thailand -- and wrangled my way into riding to a book launching ceremony with the head of admin, who had been regaling me with tales of how she never wears saris because she wore one once and it almost unraveled on her. I don't even own a sari, but I did bring my baro't saya in case I need it. Baro't saya: it's a travel must!

So Dhaka-boss was going to go home at 8 pm again, and I told her, gee, maybe I'll head on back by myself. So I did! I am very proud to say that I went home all by myself, like a big girl. Yes, yes, I know I'm almost thirty. Hush. My heart is very young. Anyway, I stood on the curbside for five minutes getting feasted upon by mosquitoes before I got a passing CNG. The picture here is what it looks like being in a speeding green cage with all the pretty light decorations for the cricket world cup. I admit I spent most of the ride fretting because I didn't recognize the roads the driver was taking, and there was a point when we got stuck in a traffic jam where I was pretty sure that I was a one-minute walk away from the entrance of my residential area, but not quite sure enough to get off the CNG. I turned out to be right, but my main concern was getting out before the meter hit Tk100 (Taka is the currency here), and I got out at Tk94 or something. I swear I'm not being cheap; it's just that I only had one Tk100 bill on me since I hadn't gotten my living allowance yet. (I did when I got home -- whew!)

Despite not having lunch, I was too exhausted to have dinner, so I just polished off a thing of yogurt and an orange. It might have been a clementine, I don't know. Now, I imagine normal people crawl into bed or the couch to watch TV, but I had to check my email again, and yep, there were "URGENT NEED THIS NOW!" emails in the inbox. Damn you, communications technology, damn youuuuuuuu

Laundry vs mosquitoes

I despise laundry. I hate lugging the basket all the way to the washing machine, then transferring to the dryer, then lugging it back, and then folding all my clothes. I am also against the act of ironing, unless the act is performed by someone else, on my clothes.

So imagine my utter delight when I saw this neat little pile of ironed and folded clothes! Even my polka dot pajamas got ironed! Ha ha ha!

The great thing about being here in the guest house is that I get someone who will cook, clean, and wash for me. She is also very alert (when she's not watching cricket on TV), and comes over every so often to check if I want milk tea. The answer is usually yes. My meals usually consist of the basics: rice, curried/spicy meat, dahl (lentil soup), and a random non-leafy vegetable, like eggplant. Or is eggplant a fruit? It has seeds, right? Fruits are not veggies because fruits have seeds, right? No se.

The non-great thing about being here is that I don't get a day off ever. Fridays and Saturdays are my nominal days off, but I have to work on Friday because Boston is awake, and the truly dedicated work Saturdays here...including, er, let's call her my local supervisor. I am beat. Also, the mosquitoes absolutely adore me here. They hide in my bed and happily suck my blood when I try to get some sleep.

Oh well, everything's got its good bits and bad bits. At least my bad bits aren't too bad. Yay other person who does my laundry for me!

OMG My Face Is So Round

The work week here goes from Sunday through Thursday, so I thought I'd get to relax on Friday and Saturday. No such luck. I spent most of Friday with my bum parked in my work chair, conscientiously typing up a talking points document (that was subsequently ignored, oh well) and trying to organize my inbox. It's quite something to wake up to 50 emails full of screaming instructions, but fortunately I have absorbed the "insha'Allah" attitude here, which is equivalent to our "bahala na ang Diyos" state of Zen (although of course we usually say "bahala na si Batman").

Fortunately, a dear former colleague texted me with an invite to dinner with his family, so I leapt at the chance. He works in government, so we got a government jeep, and on the ride over he told me all about his being "on duty" at the ICC Cricket World Cup opening, which I saw on TV. It featured live singing acts -- including Bryan Adams of all people -- and looked like a heckuva good time. Not, apparently, when you're in uniform and expected to protect the Prime Minister, but hey, he got two free tickets that he gave away to junior colleagues, so I expect his popularity is in the stratosphere.

Dinner was most excellent. We started out in a small sitting room and had mega-spicy soup ("I like it!" I gasped sincerely, eyes watering) and chatted away. His wife and daughter were there, too, and I know the daughter as she goes to the university. Apparently, she'd only ever heard of me from her dad, with whom I worked frenetically in summer of '09. Anyway, they're a super nice, warm Bengali family, and soon enough I was chowing down shrimp, fish, beef, fried chicken, and fried rice at their dinner table. Even grandma was there!

Here's a picture of me with the daughter, A., and mommy, whose name I didn't quite catch, so let's call her Auntie. Also, my roundness is an optical illusion -- A. is really just that thin. Hah! Just kidding, I'm totally fat.

After dinner they pointed out all their trees -- mango, guava, and date trees -- and I got a necklace that looks like a giant crystal rosary without the cross. The evening was full of laughter. Bhai (kuya) and Auntie were always cracking up at random comments, and A. regaled us with university gossip. Although I'd intended to be home by 10, I got a ride back at midnight. Yikes! And then of course I worked for the next three hours, but that's boring.

Now it's Sunday, I mean Saturday, and I hope I'm done with work...ohpleaseohpleaseohplease

Day 2: Derp?

Not much to report. I went to the SIKROT location and got to know some of the people who work there, and my fellow interns. Yes, it seems I am the Crisis Intern, which is either awesome if you think about it, or I swear it's not what you think.

Anyway, the office sports a sweet view of the stadium where some ICC cricket world cup matches will take place. I read in the local paper that lots of people were howling mad this past week because they got vouchers from banks, but then couldn't get their tickets at the stadium because the ticket booths closed abruptly and without explanation. So there was a big bunch of people who had vouchers for tickets but couldn't get into the stadium! Eek! Fortunately, I think those were only the practice matches, but sports fans are nuts, in my limited experience. I say limited because I usually avoid sports fans.

I got home via CNG today for Tk100, which is more than what I saw on the meter, but the office peon -- they literally call him "peon" -- who got the ride for me had negotiated the price before I got there. I got home pretty fast (17 minutes!), which is good despite the usual terrors of insane Bangladesh driving -- and seriously, I say this as a confident Manila driver. I also got the chance to practice all my Bangla directional vocabulary: "dani"means right, "bame" is left, "shoja" is go straight, and "thamo" means stop. BAM. Also, "shoma" is mosquito, the evil creatures that somehow get into my bed. Despite the mosquito net. Derp?

Day 1: Dhoooooom

The morning of my first full day began innocently enough, with doves cooing gently outside my window. I had slept soundly and with nary a mosquito bite (thank you, mosquito net inventor!). I took a cold shower, lounged in bed to finish a book (it was a national holiday so all offices were closed), then decided to venture outside to search for the legendary King's Cafe, a Malaysian coffee house franchise.

Since I am adventurous (and my place is tucked away where no rickshaw dare enter), I decided to walk. Basically, I have three bustling streets to deal with: Airport Road, Kamal Ataturk Road, and the glamorous Road 11--don't let the name fool you! Airport Road boasts a pedestrian overpass (Allah be praised!), and I present to you a view of Dhaka traffic on a good day.

I was also pleased to note that the capital offers equal opportunity employment when it comes to backbreaking labor. These ladies were delighted at my not-so-ninja picture taking, and posed smilingly long after I was done.

I was also happy that I didn't get as many stares as I did in Chittagong; Dhaka is so much more cosmopolitan! Also, there are tons of foreigners here for the cricket world cup, so I am one among many.

As I walked back, I saw some irresistible Engrish. Are YOU shooting like a blind?

So anyway, near as I can figure out, this map accurately describes my current environs (image not to scale, and I have no idea where north is):

Finally, I got home and had a bizness chat, and then a bizness dinner, which looked like this:

Then I had coffee, so now it's 2 am and I'm typing like a madwoman. Dhoom, dhoooooom.

Off Again!

Aalis na naman ako! Magsusulat ako in Tagalog kasi sabi ni bosing lihim na PANUKALA ang dahilan ng aking paglakbay. Sa Linggo ang lipad ko. Isang buwan ako sa Bangladesh. Nakakalokaaaaa!

Datapwat matatanggap naman ito ng puso ko sapagkat nakakapagod din naman maglakad araw-araw sa napakadulas na kalye! Masarap daw ngayon ang panahon sa Bangladesh -- hindi ganon kalamig, at hindi ganon kainit.

May gantimpala sa kung sinong hindi nalito sa post na 'to.

Last Post

At Dhaka airport, waiting to board.

My colleagues had a dinner party for me last night. Happily, I evaded all attempts at having me make a speech. (Whenever someone nodded to me and said, "Speech?", I replied, "Yes, please do.")

Before dinner, T, my closest Bengali co-worker, gave me something in a plastic bag. I pretended to pass the bag around to ask for more gifts from everyone, and to my delight, most people did add something. Hurray! Today, my workmates at the office were also very kind and gave me presents. For some reason, every piece of clothing or accessory I received was purple.

I was told I had gotten thinner after my trip to Manila, and they were speculating that it was because the food in Bangladesh was too oily. Funnily, one of my friends from back home, at the first sight of me, stared at my chest and said, "Nagpabawas ka?" I swear, you put on a sports bra and suddenly you're skinnier...

Alas, I forgot to get henna (mehendi) on my hands before I left, which would have been truly South Asian. I did, however, manage to squeeze in one last threading session. Also, T taught me how to do my own threading, using a spool of rope that we use to tie boxes at the office. The lesson began with this conversation:

T: I do my own threading.
Me: Really?
T: Yes, except my eyebrows.
Me: Why not?
T: Why? Is there something wrong with them?
Me: There should be two.

Anyway, I can't wait to do my own threading!!!

As a final note: on the ride back home last night, I was asked a cheesy question: "What was the most important thing you learned during your stay in Chittagong?" to which I replied: "The same thing I knew all along, but reinforced: you have to have a sense of humor." Because otherwise, you'd go psycho. It's also easier to be generous and forgiving when you're laughing. Plus, I'm sure laughing is slimming and ab-forming.

Thank you for reading "Amar Bangla Na," my blog about my Bangladesh experience.

Monday Madness

After a whole day of being crushed under the sandal heels of the bosses, I returned home to find all the furniture upside down and my roommate and her friend busily plugging all the carpenter ant holes in the wood with some cancer-inducing substance. After making sure the kitty was safely out of the way in a kind family's apartment, we finished killing ants and I went for a run, as a group trooped up the stairs to watch the "Batman fruit bats, they're THIS BIG!" I saw the flying rodents and I was not impressed by their size. Afterwards I had to reassemble my bed plus mosquito net stand, cleaned the whole apartment, had leftovers, had diarrhea, had tea, and grabbed kitty back. He's been playing with the stuffed cat, Jiji. Just watch the video below and imagine him doing it for a whole hour. I love this kitten.