A Local Shopping Experience

 Sometimes we get visitors who want a tour of the city.  It always helps me see things from the eyes of a newcomer.   I decided to take my camera along on this last trip so that you too can see a bit 'Shaheb Bazaar'.  Come, let me show you where I shop.  Too bad I can't give you the sounds and smells as well to give you the full affect.

                                        

    We pass lots of fruit stands. The selection may be limited but there are always neatly piled pyramids of apples and oranges.                                

    

And plenty of flowers.

A hardware/ cookware shop: pans, knives, buckets....

Toupees, combs, scissors, hair oil, socks...

And a girly store:  bangles galore,  hairclips,  nail polish...

There are lots of little-girl dresses to choose from, often with lots of frills and lace. 

As in any other country,  the women love to go shopping together.

. And where there is shopping,  there's always a place to stop for a quick bite to eat. Below are 'fushkas' -a favorite roadside snack here.

This was just the roadside shops.  There are mazes behing the streets filled with stall after stall selling cloth, saris, chadors (blankets), burkas...
And then of course there's the 'kacha bazaar' where we buy the meat and vegetables.  But that's for another day. 
Most certainly we're hot and tire by now   so we hail a rickshaw or 3-wheeled 'auto-rickshaw' and weave our way home through the crowded streets.  

Game Day at Morningstar School

February is the month for having picnics and special game days at the local schools,  so my Bengali co-teachers suggested we do one for our little Morningstar School as well, even though we've only been holding classes for just over two months.

I let them take the lead in the planning, while I kept wondering in my head---will this really work?  After all, our 'school' is an open air school.  We have no building,  no place of our own.  We are located right near the roadside slum.   Won't we attract an unmanageable crowd?

But we forged ahead and planned the games---

1. Pass the pillow (music plays as the pillow is passed. When it stop, whoever has the pillow is out).

2. ball toss 

3. race

4. chicken-fight (one legged,  try to knock each other off balance).

5. Hari banga (blindfolded, try to hit and break the clay water pot).

I tried my hand at 'Hari Bhanga' but ended up hitting the ground at least 3 ft away from the pot and gave everyone a good laugh.

My co-teacher Mira, on the other hand, went straight for the pot and broke it first try (I still think she was peeking--or maybe I'm just a sore loser?). 

 I also wanted to show appreciation to the parents for sending their children to the classes, so they each received a bar of soap.  Where I come from we can't imagine soap being such a treasure but when I pulled out my little bars of Lux soap I was mobbed ---hands coming at me from every direction.    My co-teachers chastised me later for not letting them do it by calling forth each student name by name.  One of many lessons learned that day!  (We've started our list of things we'll do differently next time).

 I fell into bed exhausted that night but it was all worth it.  Joy and laughter on these children's faces---priceless.

It's a Start

They live in little huts made of plastic, paper and tin covering a bamboo frame.  Next to a polluted pond, five feet from a road where busses and trucks speed by.  These are the beautiful children of the bosti.

One father has no legs. He begs for a living. Some fathers are hard-working rickshaw pullers or day laborers. Other children have no father at all. I'm told there are drug addicts and prostitutes there as well.
For all of them, life is hard.  They bathe and wash their clothes and dishes in the polluted pond.  There are no toilets.  They eat hand to mouth,  never making enough to escape the cycle of poverty.

In my last post I wrote about  Ajina who works in our home.  I wrote about how I got to know these people through her because this is where she had been living.  I told how they had been able to move out of the 'slum' and rent a simple little house.  Now their landlord tells them he wants them out. They have a week to relocate.  They are rebuilding their roadside shack in the bosti.

 The children of this bosti have been telling me for months that they want to  go to school.  A couple of university students helped me survey the bosti families to find out the children's ages and whether or not they're in school.    Most of them were not. Regular government schools don't work well for these children.  They seem to need a sort of 'head start' program...something to encourage them and their parents on to the road to learning.   We walked along one area of the bosti and registered 22 children for our class.  Many parents were thrilled,  others indifferent, but ALL of the children were VERY, very excited.

I figured that securing a location for our little school  to meet would be simple.  There was a park nearby with a pavillion. Surely we'd be able to get permission to use it, I thought (naively)!  After several hours of sitting in offices: the mayor, the commissioner, and several others---always receiving polite verbal consent but---we still have not been given a place to meet.   I'm learning that people rarely say 'no' here, even when they have no intention of actually doing it.   Still, we continue to hope and pray that we will find a place to use soon.  Tomorrow I will go to the Railway office to ask for the use of a plot of land behind the bosti.

Meanwhile,  we have started to meet in an open field, on the other side of the pond.  At least it's a start!   The children are in their places--nametags around their neck and slates in hand,  by 8am.  We bring the books, chalk, a whiteboard and  a snack.
We ended up with  some older kids who had never gone to school or dropped out, so there was a wide age span. We divided into a younger and older group and sit on separate mats.  It seems to be working.

A couple of too-young children tag along with the older sibling because there's no one else to watch them.  They've become some of my favorite 'students', like this sweet little girl.  She's actually older than she looks but has a growth defect.  She loves to learn.

The last half hour,  Jonathan shows up and we do some games and fun activities.

A number game with the younger class.

Trying to catch Jonathan

A wild race.  Everyone cheated to try to beat the other!

  Thanks for reading about our little school.  Please pray for a future and a hope for these beautiful children of the bosti.  

A Tribute

 

Her life hasn't been easy.  Ajina grew up in village in northwestern Bangladesh.  When her father died her mother couldn't support all the children so she sent Ajina to work as a domestic servant for a family in Dhaka.
                             She was barely 8 years old at the time. 
 Although she had to work hard, she was one of the fortunate ones -----this family did not abuse her as many of them do.  But Dhaka was several hours from her village home so she got to visit her family just once a year.   When she was 12 years old a marriage was arranged with a young man named Shajahan. There was no work for him in Dinajpur so, like many others, he moved with his new beau (bride) into the city of Rajshahi.

Like many other poor, landless people they squatted on government property on a narrow strip of land between the road and a rice field. They erected a simple dirt-floor home out of bamboo and plastic bags.  All three children were born there.

To eek out a living, Ajina's husband rented a van-gari (like a rickaw except with an open platform on the back) and used it to collect and sell paper, tin, glass, and plastic. He earned about 200 taka ($2:50) a day---barely enough to feed them and not enough to pay rent for a home.

Ajina has been resourceful and hard-working, determined that her children wouldn't learn the wild ways of many of the neighboring bosti (slum) kids.   She dreamed of a better future for her two sons and one daughter -especially that they would some day go to school.  

 I met Ajina one day as I was walking near her neighborhood. I had stopped to watch the slum-dwellers from across the pond, hesitant to go closer but curious about their lives. They have a reputation of being thieves and addicts,  lazy and dirty. But Ajina's warm friendly smile drew me closer.  That day was the first of many visits to that community.

  I was impressed with Ajina's ability to maintain cleanliness in such squalid conditions.  She needed a job and I needed a helper in my house so, against the advice of my neighbors, I hired her to work for 3-4 hours a day. She's been a faithful, trustworthy worker and has taught me so much about pressing on in difficult circumstances.

She fought for her firstborn son to be able to get an education, and now she proudly sends him off each morning, hair combed and uniform cleaned.

One day Ajina's family was told that the their house would be demolished in 48 hours..it was government railroad property and they needed that space for a warehouse.

She searched up and down the streets for a possible place to move to and eventually found a tiny brick structure in a walled plot of land not far from the bosti.  Finally the children would have a safe place to play, far from the wheels of speeding busses. They would even have a bit of  dirt to grow some vegetables in.

When Ajina's relatives came to visit over Eid holidays they admired her new home...it's nicer than any of them have in the village.  Now if you saw this place you,  like myself, would probably have a hard time even imagining living there.  But to them it is a castle.

I have so much to learn about gratitude and contentment.

So,  here's to all the Ajinas in this country---the child-servants and child-brides whose childhoods were cut short,

the mothers who work ceaselessly and sacrificially to care for their families,

                        

                        May your children rise up and call you    blessed.

Back to Bangladesh

We had a wonderful 10 week trip home to America, spent hours and hours visiting family and friends and eating way too much.  We enjoyed the quiet and beauty of Maine---lots of nature walks, ocean sails and campfires, s'mores and lobsters, salads and cheese and chocolate.    

 October 10th we board a plane in Portland, Maine and arrive 30 hours later in what feels like a different planet.   It sends me reeling every time and takes at least two weeks to regain my balance.   It's not just the jetlag.  It's the craziness of being in our rural home surrounded by pine forests one day and 48 hours later find ourselves in the craziness of Dhaka riding in a rickshaw, dodging people and goats and traffic. It's the strangeness of looking at our calendar and seeing that just a few days earlier we were having a quiet dinner out with our friends Ben and Laura.  And now here we are in our other world -
where many of the women wear veils and men wear lungis,  where cows and goats roam the streets and where the azan (call to prayer) wakes us before 5am and we buy our chickens live in the local bazar instead of in the poultry section of Hannaford.  

We feel rested and ready to get back to work, but we have arrived back just in time for two big religious holidays so every one is on 'chuti' (vacation)!  This week the country's 16 million Hindus celebrated Durga Puja.  The goddess Durga is believed to have divine power against all evils.  Puja ended last night with a jubilant procession (beginning at 10pm) with loud drums and dancing as they took her statue and set her free in the river.  To read more about it, go to:  http://durgapuja.getit.in/index.php/2012-09-17-11-46-55/the-story.

This Saturday, Oct.27,  over 140 million Muslims of Bangladesh will celebrate Korbani Eid where thousands of goats and cows will be sacrificed as an offering to Allah.  Those who can afford it have already purchased their animal as in the picture below. The following is a description from a website:

Qurban means sacrifice. The significance of this eid is from the offering of Prophet Abraham who prepeared to present his son Ismail(as) to Allah, upon having dream of such a command. He prepared to offer his son, but this was a test from Allah, so before he could slaughter his boy, the angels replaced him with a sacrificing animal. To remember this sacrifice of him we muslims who can afford to, make an offering to Allah of an animal. This is called Qurbani. It is not an obligation, but necessary for all who are earning and have enough money to do it. The meat of the animal should be divided into three portions, of which one third is distributed among the poor, another part among relatives and friends, and the third is consumed in the family. We are impressed that the Hindus and Muslims of Bangladesh, for the most part, live peaceably side by side. Hindus who venerate the cow have to watch them being slaughtered all over the city while Muslims, who abhor the worship of idols, have to watch Durga being paraded through the streets.   As for us, we will have to wait until the Eid holidays are over to get our classes going again but meanwhile we will be enjoying the hospitality of many friends as they invite us into their homes and celebrations.

From the Ganges to the Kennebec

We are back on the Maine Coast for a few weeks break. Sailing was at the top of the list of things to do.
When we were growing up, my father built a Friendship Sloop.

26 feet long, a classic Maine design, the Ellie T's  presence in Christmas Cove, Maine spoke heritage and history.

My parents sold the Ellie T when I was out of high school and Dad began plans for building a Cape Cod catboat in his retirement.
Again based on classic New England lines, this boat was 10 feet smaller than the Friendship but he took 11 more years than the Friendship to build it.









My mother, who was into painting in the style of Norwegian rosemaeling in those days, graced the cabin with her artwork.

So when we came home, getting the catboat- the Eleanore- into the water and out to sea, was a Maine priority.
 I've just come from two great days of sailing:

 My brother, who is captaining a 100 passenger cruise ship suggested that we meet for dinner in Boothbay one evening. As the day approached and it was clear that the weather was going to be great, so I opted to sail over to Boothbay from Christmas Cove with the plan to spend the night and then sail back the next day.

I headed out of the harbor under moderate winds, which meant it would be a several hours journey.

As I was getting out past Heron Island, the 'Independence' which my brother, Henry was skippering, rounded the end of Thrumcap Island.

 I stopped for lunch at Ram Island and ...











did a little snorkeling afterwards.

I got to Boothbay and found a mooring near the behemoth.
 Jan arrived by car and after we shopped a bit in Boothbay Harbor - a must for every tourist- Henry took us out for a great lobster dinner and for catching up on each other's lives.







 The next day, my good friend and doctor Mike joined me for the return trip to Christmas Cove.

If I don't manage another sail before returning to the Ganges, these two days filled my cup.