A Little History of Bangla

Intrigued by my language classes, I did a little research and asked around to find the history and importance of Bangla.

Bangla (sometimes refered to as Bengali) is a member of the Indic group of 

Indo Iranian or Aryan branch of the Indo–European family of languages. Oddly enough, the British Raj beginning in the mid-1800s stimulated the value of Bangla.  Authors became interested in Calcutta and Dhaka, with Calcutta being

 the capital of India at the time and Dhaka a large trading port.  English writers learned Bangla and translated literature.  The poet Rabindranath Tagore was the first Asian man to win a Nobel Prize in 1913; he was Bengali.  With the invasion and cultural control of the British, using Bangla was a way to assert their cultural heritage.

With the Indian Partition and religious diaspora (Hindus to India, Muslims to Pakistan), East Bengal (East Pakistan) was being forced by the Pakistani government to speak 'Urdu and Urdu only.'  This was the last straw: East Pakistan  created the Bangla Language Movement of 1952, the first move towards independence.  People, including students, held riots fighting for their national identity that was tied their language.  After West Pakistan did little after 500,000 people died in a cyclone, Bangladesh fought for its independence in the Liberation War in 1971.

The language is strongly tied to the culture and it's nationalism.  Upper class Bangladeshis know English pretty well, and it is a requirement for university.  Lower class Bangladeshis know a few words (prices, food).  But everyone speaks Bangla perfectly. An example of how language is tied to culture is saying, 'I go now.' In Bangla, they say, 'ami ekhon ashi' which literally means, 'now I come.'  My teacher explained that Bangladeshis do not like to end encounters.  If you say, "I go now" they will insist you stay. If you say 'I come now' it is like saying "I am moving locations away from you but I am not going anywhere."  Maybe odd to you, but there is such hospitality that 'going' implied that the friendship has ended.

While I'm still struggling with the sounds, my vocabulary is growing and I hope to be comfortable soon!

CRIBS: Banani, Dhaka, BD

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Upsetting Conundrums: First Day Part III

While we head back to the school for lunch, we ran into a student of Susan’s.  Susan stops her to ask if she is taking another class.  The girl responds, sure, then says, “Oh no, I’m heading back to the UK this Saturday.”  Susan responds, “Well, you must pay for your classes.”  The girl responds she did; Susan corrects her by saying that she only paid the registration fee.  The girl promises to come tomorrow.  As we walk away, Susan vents saying, “No offense, but this happens a lot with foreigners.  They leave without paying.  It is very hard to get a hold of you because your life here is temporary.”  That pissed me off, that foreigners are giving this reputation.

Back at the school, myself, the principal and the five English teachers ate lunch – a typical Bengali lunch: bhat, dal, aloo, dim (rice, dal – a lentil soup to pour over rice, potato, egg).  It was delicious and perfect.  I listened to them all talking in Bangla, excited for when I can understand and converse with them.  I think spending this extra time with Bangladeshis will be advantageous to my language skills.

After lunch, I left and bought three new salwar kameezes: bright purple and yellow (a mix of my mother and grandmother J ), a baby blue and white that needs tailoring, and a tourquiose and navy.  There are so many colors and styles to wear!  As I walk down the muddy streets (thank God for Tevas), each rickshaw driver stops to see if I need a ride.  After I’m done, I go to a stand to buy mangoes and oranges.  About 7 beggars approach me: women with disfigured faces and bodies carrying sleeping, naked babies, old Muslim men in wheelchairs, little children either half dressed or wearing grimy clothes too big for their underfed bodies.  I give the change of my fruit to the man in the wheelchair because he was the closest then I bolted into a nearby rickshaw.

First off, if you have seen Slumdog Millionaire, they did an accurate portrayl of begging cartels.  A handful of men will take children and the destitute from off the street and send them out to beg.  Whatever they make, they hand over to the men in power.  This was told to me in India and Bangladesh by locals.  But, how do you know? “You just ignore it.”   I ignore it.  Me, who was well fed during lunch, who heads back to her nice little apartment, arms full of shopping and grocery bags.  But, there’s a line from my favourite poem: “Never feeling more greedy than when handing dollars to the needy” (“Dive” by Andrea Gibson). Giving them 10tk (14 cents) feels more greedy because I just spent 3300tk ($50) on pretty little outfits.

It’s an upsetting conundrum, that’s all I can say.

"Biggest Development Site": First Day Part II

After class, I drop off some paperwork to the principal and ask her where I can go buy some new salwar kameezes. I only have three cotton ones, and my dry cleaning takes time.  She told me to wait.  I wound up reading a magazine that mentions a Fulbright Scholar from Bangladesh going to America for Human Rights laws – his speciality: working on the big Trafficking in Persons report.  What luck! I emailed my Fulbright advisor who gave me his email.  I'm waiting to hear back - cross your fingers! (BTW, read the proposal to my research here.  Soon I will write a shorten version.)

While waiting for Susan, I talk with Julian, a man from New Zealand.  He has been working in Bangladesh for seven years with a Baptist organization that promotes community building and development.  He said, “Dhaka is the biggest development site in the world.”  Perfect for my project: hopefully many groups to choose from.  I told him my project and we started talking about gender inequality.  Then he said something really interesting:

“Our goal was to get 50-70% to come to our different development workshops.   For our first workshop, there were 95% women.  I thought we exceeded expectations.  Then someone told me that 50-70% women was hard, because it is hard to get men involved.  Unfortunately, that is where the change is.  Because men are still dominant decision makers here, it is more important to have men present as well as women.  The more men involved, the more the group will be respected and have power to create legitimate change.”

He said that this wasn’t to say that women aren’t welcome, but for these development seminars and groups, increasing the percentage of men is essential to combating not only gender inequality, but in creating local change. According to UNICEF: State of the World's Children 2007, only 3% of property owners are women in Bangladesh, therefore men are still the decision makers of households and women have little power to step in with new knowledge and change things, like poverty or child mortality (watch this awesome video called The Girl Effect.) 

It is definitely something to think about for my project.

After a little bit, Susan came out and said ‘Challo’ (let’s go.) She decided to come with me and take me to her favourite shops around the area!  Ki mishti (how sweet), and she would grab my hand whenever we crossed the street.  I’m not sure if it’s a cultural thing or she thinks I’m dim.  But I was grateful.

We window shopped for about an hour chatting about family and our cultures.  These stores were of middle class price.  Not too expensive, she said, but good quality.  The most expensive one I bought was $21 – includes the dress, the pants and the scarf (I wondered to myself for such a hot country, there is an awful lot of material.)  One thing I noticed was the mannequins:  they were all white, most with blue eyes, and much taller than the average Bangladeshi woman.   Basically, I looked more like the mannequins than the locals did.  I asked Susan why, she said, “Light skin is beautiful.”  I’ve mentioned before in other blogs from different Asian countries (China, Thailand, India) that there is cream available to lighten your skin: a self-whitener (the opposite of a self-tanner.)  Watch the video below:

It's frustrating because my friends and I in America lay outside, risking to develop skin cancer, to appear darker; here they yearn for lighter.  Corny, but why can't we just be happy with the skin God/Allah/Ganesh/our mother gave us?  Grass is always greener, man, always greener.

One more installment tomorrow!

First Day of Bangla Class!

First day of class!  I woke up and Skyped with my love love: great way to start the day (girl, I can't get over how pretty your hair looks on Skype!!)  I took a rickshaw to school, it takes about 5 minutes.  My language school is called HEED,  the language centre is a small part of a larger NGO that works towards development.  It is the top two floors of a five story building.  There is a guard that unlocks the door for the students – quite secluded.

my mother requested a picture from my first day of class, like when I was in elementary school

I head upstairs and meet a man from Chicago who has been studying here for a few months.  One girl from Japan arrives, with her friend from Turkey.  Two students from Myammar arrive, then a Japanese boy arrives.  The principal, Shupti (or Susan) announces where each class will be held.  I am in the Phonetic A class with Baris from Turkey and Horoto from Japan (he is actually half Bengali, half Japanese but grew up in Japan and doesn’t know much Bangla.  Susan said there are normally more students but because it’s the summer, everyone is off on vacation traveling.  There is a wall of the passport photos of students from the past year.  I am the latest from America.  Most students seem to be from Australia or America, a lot from Korea and Scandinavia (Norway, Denmark, etc.)  About 40 countries altogether.

the HEED Language Centre building

The three of us head upstairs to this back room with AC (praise Allah!).  Our teacher is Pulak Chatterji (pronounced ‘pu-lock’).  First, as Pulak hands out our textbooks, he gives us some tips on Bangla culture.   Just as soon as I grabbed my book, he tells us that it is impolite to grab things with your left hand.  Guess which hand I grabbed my book with?  Then he says it’s impolite to cross one leg over the other.  Baris and I look down at our legs, and slowly uncross them, laughing at ourselves.  “Because you are foreigners, Bangladeshis will understand the mistake but it is still impolite,” says Pulak.  This might be the most difficult action of living here: I’m not sure I know how to sit without crossing my legs!

Our first month is dedicated solely to phonetics and learning structure.  For the first half, we practiced the sounds.  For phonetics, we are 8 of the 11 vowels and 28 of the 39 consonant sounds.  I remember most of the vowels from Kolkata but the consonants are a whole other ball game.There are essentially five sounds based on where your tongue goes: velar (tongue at back of throat), palatal (flat tongue on roof), retroflex (tip of tongue on roof), dental (tongue to teeth), labial (no tongue, all lips).

So there we were, three foreigners, shouting these new sounds, practicing the shapes of our mouth and placement of tongue.  The best way to learn a language is to never get embarrassed.  Never turn red for sounding silly – always try!

the Bangla alphabet

We take a cha (tea) break.  When I visited the school to register, Dipali must have asked the school to provide breakfast and lunch for me.  She must have been worried that I wouldn’t eat! So Susan told me that I should go eat my breakfast in the kitchen.  I'm super lucky,  I have no cook in my apartment and I don’t know how to cook anything here so it's nice to know where I'm getting food from everyday.  The cook is adorable.  I love the way older Bengali women are very affectionate.  I always outreach my arms to them and pat them on the shoulder, and they always take me by the arms, pinch my cheek.  I love old people, because I think society forgets them and they long for human touch. And as we know: “I have an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it” (Audrey Hepburn).

We return to class and practice sentence structure and begin with the root and present tense of verbs.  The little bit that I picked up in Kolkata has been helping me a lot, I’m grateful.  Hearing the sounds, more words and phrases are coming back to me so hopefully my vocab will grow quickly.

Instead of writing a novel like I normally do, I'll break up my first day into installments over the next week!!

The Arrival!!

I’ve had more soup here in Bangladesh than in the whole last year. And it’s a constant 34C (93F). I also have a better home situation here in Dhaka than Brooklyn (and I loved Bushwick).

I left Thailand (read my other blog for stories) and went back to KL, Malaysia for my final flight. In the last week, I spent 30.5 hours in the air on five planes and the biggest feat was that my big backpack wasn’t lost!

Flying on Air Asia to Dhaka, Asia’s best low cost airline (my flight was $58!), I was one of two white people and one of maybe eight women, and one in 180. This explains why everyone kept asking me if I was on the right plane: “Dhaka? No, Dhaka? Yeah? Oh!” It was certainly a ride: bags flying overhead, people switching seats like mad to sit next to wives or friends, little children running up and down the aisle, lots of yelling. Of course, Allah was playing a joke on me because the man next to me had a breathing problem, and if anyone knows me is that I am strongly impatient with random idiosyncrasies like loud breathing and chewing. I laughed to myself and said, “Get over it.” I napped most of the way. As we landed, sitting in the aisle I looked over the seat in front of me. 180 black-haired heads scrambling this way and that to look at their homeland. I thought to myself that many of them might not have taken planes often and maybe this was their first time seeing their home from the sky. For me, I have never seen Bangladesh, only from the sky on Google Satellite.

After the mad dash off the plane, I walk to immigration to find a kind man with my name on a sign. While I love seeing a familiar face off of a plane, Sajil’s tranquil face amongst the shouting was more than welcoming. He is from the Embassy and there to help me go through immigration. As I filled out my immigration form, he waited on the ‘Foreign Passports of Diplomat’s’ Line. He also answered the questions for me to the Bangla guard. I followed him outside a special exit to a private parking lot where we get into the Embassy’s hired van (sorry, Mommy, there were no flags on the front). It was especially crowded at the airport because the Ex-India Prime Minister was visiting.

And then, I saw the traffic of Dhaka. We must have traveled 10km in and hour and a half. Sajil was sweet as we compared Kolkata to Dhaka. They are similar, just Dhaka more extreme and intense in each way: traffic, noise, poverty, Bangla signs. I was wearing my green salwar kameez, traditional South Asia attire, and was comfortable in the air conditioned car sheltered from 30C. Once Sajil was dropped off at his office, the driver told me of his family as we tutted along the crowded streets, rickshaws and motorbikes zooming past our SUV in open spaces between cars. Reminder, Bangladesh drives on the left side of the road (as did the last three countries I was in: Japan, Malaysia, Thailand), and for a split second I jumped thinking we were turning into oncoming traffic. He told me the names of the area, the places to shop, descriptions of the foreign signs. Then we turned down off the paved road. It was getting dark, so all the food stands on the street were lit by candle light, highlighting the prominent Bangladeshi cheekbones.

After some turn around, we found my building: Mohnir Private Limited. There is a nine-foot blue iron gate we drove through. Assuming I am the white girl the family said is living here, the guards let me in and took me up the glass elevator to the 4^th floor (technically 5^th). Left off the elevator, there are three doors to apartments. One door was open and there stood my new family: Dipali, Barun, their 13 year old daughter, and Dulal. Dipali is Sunita’s aunt/Munju’s sister and Dulal is Munju’s brother/Sunita's Uncle. Needless to say, there is a language barrier so there are those peculiar silences that crop up once pleasantries are finished; a frequent event in Kolkata as well so I’m pro. Smiling at each other, they talk about what to do with me in Bangla (I can’t wait for my classes!).

They show me my room (Sunita’s room) and confirm that I will live here in Banani, 10 minute rickshaw ride from my language school, then move with them near the University once my research begins in September. Though they normally eat dinner around 10, they knew I was hungry. We head outside, walking in twilight in search for a taxi. We hope into a taxi and sift through the traffic to a, oddly enough, Chinese restaurant. I fell asleep squeezed in the back seat with Dipali and her daughter, happy that I have this little family to take care of me, and that the noise and heat of the city hasn’t effected nap time.

We eat dinner, which I am now eating fish and chicken to make meals easier (Bangladesh isn’t a big vegetarian nation like India). Praise Allah the restaurant was air conditioned because I was given soup. Cup goruum (very hot!). With Dhallywood music in the background, I try to share stories of funny incidents in India (i.e. the first time I wore a sari) as Barun gives a little history of Bangladesh (“5000 years ago, there are only farmers and fisherman – no one else!”). The most beautiful gesture was Barun and Dipali saying that when I am here, I am their child too. I smiled and told their daughter that means we are sisters! Quiet most the night, she opened her mouth into a smile and giggled. I am ready to explore my own, but to have this instant comfort and familiarity is not only appreciated, but already loved.

Promising my mother I’d call her, we head to Dipali’s home to use her phone. They showed me my room once September comes: I am so spoiled here. It’s a beautiful traditional home: open spaces, cool marble floors and best of all – no shower bucket! Sorry Mum Mum, but that was difficult. After letting my mother know I’m safe and content, we take the family private station wagon (I can’t escape it!) back to my place.

And the load shedding starts. ‘Load shedding’ is when there is too much electricity pumped into the system that it must shut down to catch itself up (I think, I don’t know if I explained it well…) So there are no lights in my place, therefore no fan except for one emergency light and one fan in the living room. I take out my torch after my family leaves and go to shower (also no bucket!) then the lights come on. The reason I was so happy was because no one has stayed here in months, I was told to look out for mice and roaches… If you know me at all, you know that it took the last bit of jet lagged energy to not jump on a chair at the thought.

I bathed off the salt from the full day of traveling and acquainting myself with the new suffocating city. As I laid in my new bed, fan fluttering overhead, I fell asleep so fast that I didn’t have the time to reflect on my gratitude of these circumstances.

This following week is dedicated to more apprising of the city: registering my language school, getting a cell phone and internet card, debriefing with the US Embassy, learning the directions to where I live (it’s, um, a bit roundabout) and practicing my Bengali (which is coming back quite nicely) by purchasing 23 rolls of toilet paper.

Coming soon: more updates and tune in again for a Cribs video of my flat!

A Stop in Tokyo

What I love most about traveling is the silly laughable moments over language barriers.  I was sitting in Tokyo’s airport waiting for a flight when a woman came up to me from the Japanese Tourism committee.  She spoke very little English but wanted my opinion on a survey to improve Japanese tourism.  She tried to read the survey to me, but instead we went through the English version of survey together.  As I circled my own answers, we arrived at one question that asked what was my best experiences in Japan.  One response was “Japanese Cuisine” – I circled it twice and drew a smiley face next to it.  The woman laughed out loud and we shared our favourite Japanese food.  Of the 6 words I know in Japanese, one is oyshi (delicious).  She squealed and we beamed together as we completed the survey.  I received a free pink pen.  Laughter and smiles go a long way despite the difference in tongue.

It’s nothing significant or prodigious, but it’s these little silly moments that keep me smiling and loving the human race.

Final Thoughts: Flight in the morning!

I am ready to go -- I am not ready to leave.  How stupid must you be to choose to leave these beautiful roots of family, friends and comfort behind?  Yesterday was a big family BBQ for my extraordinary sister with the loud, beautiful family who raised me, and the four most amazing friends a gal could keep in her life.  I quite literally have lost water weight from the innumerable tears.

"The only real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes" -Marcel Proust

... Already I have new eyes -- eyes of complete appreciation for my life here.  But I am not itching to cross another country off my list or leave to just torture my mother; I am seeking true growth and improve upon my role in this world and how to create change.

Let's see how it goes!  TTFN, ta-ta for now!

Behind the Paagli Didi

For those who are new to the World That Is Amanda – the title of this blog may seem strange. So let me put fingers to keys and share with you the meaning behind paagli didi.

I wrote this last year when I worked in a shelter in Kolkata; a shelter for young women and girls who have been abused.  Working with two other students, we became close to these girls simply by spending time with them as they got ready in the morning.  Click here for one story.

Without language comprehension, I learned more about the horrific power these young women were subject to.  I saw my own strength, then the need that surrounded me, the need for that strength. It was here where I learned my role: paagli didi. In Bangla, it translates to ‘crazy older sister,’ and was the nickname given to me by the women I loved. Originally meant as a tease for myself and my friend Emily, I did not comprehend the gravity of this phrase’s precision. Its meaning has left such an indelible impression on me that these words, in Bengali, are tattooed on my wrist. It was here, at the feet of my Bengali sisters, that I discovered my role as paagli didi. With the concern and wisdom of an older sister, I needed to share my instinctive energy and compassion, and in turn, learn from others. Big sisters learn from their siblings as much as she teaches them.  It’s the perfect role for me: I am not a saint, nor am I selfish, I am a sister and we exchange love for growth.

holding hands with one of my crazy little sisters

In short, I have so much love that I want to encompass anyone who needs it.  I don’t think of myself as particularly talented, but I give a lot of hugs, I know how to start a thrilling dance party, and I speak with a lot of conviction.  It’s a slow process, but it is not just a career goal, but a lifestyle.

Click here for additional stories of my little sisters.

God is Great

Finishing up my last few days of logistics, I decided to apply for my India visa here in the US (hoping for less hassle).  I am visiting some old classmates in Kolkata for some holidays, especially the Durga Puja in October :)

Waiting on line to apply for a visa, I wound up chatting with an interesting man from Hyderabad.  Talking about our families and careers, he shared that he is currently a financial adviser, teaching people to become financially independent.  I asked what his biggest piece of advice was and he said the first step to becoming financially independent is to know what you want.  Interesting, huh?

So standing on this visa line, there are twenty signs of Incredible !ndia.  We started discussing the different states we've visited in India.  He was describing Kerala then stopped, remembering the grandeur.  I agreed, that there were too many words to describe the beauty of India and he responded that the US is the same: "My wife and I are trying to go to Alaska, I hear it's...stunning."

There we were: two people of different birthplaces, loving the other's native country.  I wondered if our desire for the other country was heightened by being in the presence of a native.  But then he said it as perfect as possible, "God is great." It's not about nationality, it's being part of something greater and appreciating it. 

Monsoon Season

I don't think rain is a strong enough word.

The Art of Borrowing

Take a look at this interesting article about the paradoxes of tourism.  Of the nine, the most intriguing was:

"2. To capitalize on what you already have, you must borrow.

Tourism can provide the ideal export for developing countries, which avoid debt by capitalizing on what they already have: a unique culture, a singular natural environment, and a definite place in world history.

However, this means airports, major sanitation facilities, local transportation, hydroelectric plants, medical facilities, and hotels.

The government faces a choice: it could build them itself. The financing would come from foreign lenders, placing the country in debt, or come from local tax revenue, making local people pay for major infrastructure and services that will only be used by outsiders.

Or the government could allow others to build. With foreign investment, the country relieves itself of providing capital, but forgoes profits."

Photo credit: Carlton

When developing nations began to join global capitalism, they needed to borrow and invest in popular modes to stimulate the economy.  In Bangladesh: Reflections on the Water, Novak discusses the amount of aid given to Bangladesh each year to build hotels, roads, bridges or invest in commercial corporations.  Bangladesh has collected $16 billion in aid since 1972, but is still 147 out of 179 on Human Development Index.  Novak explains that this is only about $8 per capita per year (there are now almost 150 million people in BD) -- and this $16 billion is nothing compared to the $3 billion for Israel's 3 million people.  It is important to realize that each investor comes with rules, stating where the new bridge can be built, disregarding local complaints.  Novak explains that some imports, like American food, which is cheaper to buy, hurt local farmers.  A piece of this government that I am still learning about is the lack of taxes and it's huge effects on democracy and the economy, both national and local.

Thinking about the BNT article, Bangladesh does not have a lot of tourism (which will explain the abundance of surprised stares from locals).  Tourism is huge in India, especially with the Incredible India campaign, as well as the rest of Southeast Asia.  So while there is aid given to Bangladesh, there is little attention or support.

There is no way that little ole' me can break down the problems of this entire country, but I will certainly attempt to shed light on the complexity that is Bangladesh.