Holes Carved in my Soul: The Final Word

I am almost back in the United States. What a year it has been. To begin to describe the Fulbright journey is to begin a novel of my personal and professional growth. As I sit here in the Edinburgh airport waiting for my flight to New York, I leave Bangladesh free as bird. Not that Bangladesh ever caged me. It was my frightened, insecure ego that kept me confined. But Fulbright and Bangladesh gave enough space to spread my wings and discover a world of endless possibilities--a world available to me if I climbed out of that shell and believed.

My heart still aches for Bangladesh: for the work that finally came together, for the friends who stole my heart, for the passion of such a congested place. I passed through Kolkata on my home, stepping into memories where the paagli didi journey began--I know I'll be back in Bangladesh at some point. My first visit to India effected me enough that I went back. Then when Bengal touched my heart, I came back again. I've proven that when I care about a place, I manage to find a way back.

So here is the end of my Fulbright experience in Bangladesh. I recommend Fulbright (or any similar scholarship) to any young person wanting a challenge. It has been the most rewarding experience in my life (though young, I've had plenty of amazing experiences). As for Bangladesh: when people ask the trite question, "What is Bangladesh like?" My answer is always "intense and beautiful." South Asia is just raw and real, that's what's beautiful. To paraphrase a metaphor by poet Andrea Gibson, Bangladesh is a knife that carves holes in your soul so beauty can make its way inside.

Endless thanks to those who were a part of this odyssey, both in Bangladesh and abroad. The shape of the journey depends on the company, and your company enveloped me in love. So love is all I experienced.

If anyone is interested in learning more about women's empowerment, Bangladesh or the Fulbright scholarship, please email me at amanda dot ferrandino (at) gmail dot com.

Notes on being a Paagli Didi

It was a joke—this nickname. When studying and volunteering in Kolkata, I slowly picked up words in Bangla. Forever the entertainer, I was always trying to find words to bring comedy to the young women at the shelter where I volunteered. I learned that the word paagul meant ‘mad/crazy.’ One day at work, I called one of the girls paagul in jest. Everyone snickered as they said that paagli was the feminine of paagul. “Uhh…well then, tumi paagli!” Squealing at my new Bangla, they aptly rebutted with, ‘na—tumi paagli’ (no—you’re crazy!). After I said that we all are crazy, I became the leader, the didi—the big sister.

Working in that shelter inspired me enough to work on women’s empowerment as a career goal—and enough to tattoo this nickname on my wrist. The blue, soulful ink was aimed to be a reminder of my role as being the big sister to all I can: to help those in need, contribute positively to the world, love and support everyone in their challenges...even if I’m slightly silly and fun with it.

Trust me when I say that I forget more often than remember this to be my role. Especially in Bangladesh, various trials push me in a negative worldview causing selfish actions where I lose sight of being patient, charming and supportive. I’m still grappling with leaving school (one year graduation anniversary!) and facing the world on my own for the first time. I’m still forming opinions on all that surrounds me, tossing with truths and lies. And Lord, I chose to do it in a place outside all realms of normalcy!

So in this Fulbright experience, I wish I could have given more sisterly insanity. But the truth is that every didi has to take care of herself too. Often I found my spark submerged in the pollution of Dhaka, unable to find my heart’s compassion to be a paagli didi. There were a myriad of factors drowning me in self-pity and misdirected anger. While I came back to Bengal with the lofty expectations to deeply investigate women’s empowerment, it turned to be an extended (maybe endless) lesson of my personal and essential role in the world. I answered questions of who I am and who I want to be: what I love, what makes me feel good, what am I good at, what do I suck at, what can I improve, what can I accept?

I recognize the journey of self-discovery is crucial but a part of me wishes I could have incorporated my work more, helped a little more. But in the end, I think it’s best that I took the time to review my personality and morals—for what I believe is how I will act. Opinions can change from year to year as we mature with experiences, but the core of who you are shouldn’t. We should be eternally digging through the socially conditioned layers towards the heart, avoiding hypocrisy and superficial aesthetics. Self-awareness and self-love is the first step to being a true paagli didi.

I have a very special woman in my life. Enchanting, cheerful and forever radiating warmth, she is the most self-sacrificing woman I know. No, excuse me, than most people will ever know. She can remedy any problem of all who come to her with her networks, perseverance, compassion and intelligence. But in all that selfless beauty, she is drowning in others’ (and her own) constant and high demands—so much so that she isn’t taking care of herself. I admire and envy the truth of her but I am constantly reminding her how no one will receive help when she’s run into the ground.

Seeing her like this validates the importance of taking time for yourself, your body/mind/spirit before you can effectively give. Giving all the time will eventually leave you with nothing. I now have compassion for myself that I’ve been selfish in this journey—it’s needed. And I will compensate for it in due time.

I’ve accomplished a lot professionally and academically here: I’ve made contacts with several innovative (and no-so innovative) empowerment organizations and witnessed a range of progressive programs. Meeting these women firsthand and interviewing them in their village will remain the most crucial lessons of my professional career. Already I am shipping home reports, notes and books on my topic for future reference along with over 60 business cards of relevant employees in Bangladesh. But most importantly, I am dragging home a stronger Amanda: one who battled her own ill-temper, loneliness, doubt, and hatred—who came out still believing in the paagli didi inside her.

I am leaving Bangladesh taking more than I gave. But this relationship is far from over. I’ll make it up to her.

Empowering for you and me

“Anthropology was the science that gave her the platform from which she surveyed , scolded and beamed at the world.” Jane Howard on Margaret Mead

That's how I always felt about anthropology. I felt connected to the art by being about to learn about the world as wholly as possible. Feeling that we need to understand this world before we can help it, development research was a great way to do so. I imagined myself working for a research institute or the research department of an NGO, personally interviewing the people we want to help and finding out how we can help them. That was the drive behind this scholarship: to learn about programs that try to empower women and ask the women themselves how they want to be empowered.

Doing this work is another story. I enjoy interviewing survivors of sexual violence, because I learn about where they come from, what kind of programs they seek for empowerment and what they're dreams are for the future. With this information, I was hoping to publish a paper discussing their needs so better programs can be created. But during all the interviews, I felt I left them just as vulnerable as they were before. I began to feel that I was taking something from them, their story, a piece of them, to use for some high language, post modern academic paper that they will never see nor understand. To add insult to injury, most people who makes decisions on empowerment programs would never consider my findings because they are too wrapped up in what donors want anyway.

Where's the empowerment.. for anyone? I feel I left them not changing anything, leaving them as powerless and as scared of their future as were before I came. I can give them love, of course that helps, I'll always believe that. But that's not a tool they can hold onto, that's a feeling that will fade once I leave. I may have touched some lives, but my work is not sustainable. And in all honesty, where's the empowerment for me? I have felt powerless this entire trip, lost in the colossal mess of Bangladesh's corruption and violence. There were times I lost interest in my work completely because what was the point?

But this weekend, for the first time in the last 10 months, I finally felt I did something right.

My roommate Saba has self-defense training that she attended in India. Looking at the materials, I fell in love: physical and mental self-defense techniques and positive confidence building in a 2-3 day workshop with a group of women only. I begged Saba over a month to let me do a few workshops with her before I leave. While we're still in the process of planning with a few NGOs and universities, we held one 2-day workshop in our living room this past weekend with 8 of our girlfriends.

I never was so happy this entire trip. Combining my own personality traits with my knowledge on sexual assault, I was able to teach other women (our friends) why we face such tragedies as women in patriarchal societies. With Saba's help, we trained our friends how to escape from an attacker by hitting the the most vulnerable parts on a human body. We talked with them about how to define and assert their boundaries. We shared tips in positive personal decision-making and how women overcome the sexist barriers in front of them. It was only two days, it was just our friends (which, most of them are already quite aware of gender violence and are already pro-feminist).. but I felt so f-in good! What I loved was that personal feeling of empowerment being able to empower others. We ended the workshop not knowing how much they will remember, but at least we put these techniques out there and created a safe space for women to share all the awful experiences they keep to themselves. I really loved being a trainer.

So this is my career path: become a trainer on women's empowerment. Who knows where that exactly will lead, training companies on sexual harassment to sex education to confidence building techniques for young girls. I've found several promising organizations in the new city I'm moving to in September. Finally, I'm excited about my future, my empowering future, again.

Cool, Unlying Life

“When we get out of the glass bottle of our ego and when we escape like the squirrels in the cage of our personality and get into the forest again, we shall shiver with cold and fright. But things will happen to us so that we don’t know ourselves. Cool, unlying life will rush in.” - D. H. Lawrence

Journey by Emma Thompson

Way to go Emma Thompson!! If you are lucky enough to live in New York (i miss her), check out Thompson's anti-trafficking exhibit called "Journey".. and report back!

Update 11/16: My amazing friend Jika Gonzalez went to see Journey, here's her entry on it:

http://metrosection.wordpress.com/2009/11/12/journey/

A Start to My Project: My Talent As A Human

I haven’t written too much about my work because I don’t know where my field notes will end up so confidentiality must be practiced. I’ll share a smige:

Currently I am working with a center that provides skills training (with certificates) for women who are trying to leave prostitution. In an old part of the city, I spend a few mornings a week with about 20 young women who learn to sew and make crafts for a living. There is one shop here is Bangladesh that sells their work as well as one in Norway.

My goal is to learn about these women in all ways possible: their backgrounds, their stories, their dreams. How did they end up as prostitutes? Why did they come to this center? Is this center helping them the best they can? How do they feel working here? As my Bangla improves, I am being a good anthropologist and performing participant observation. As the women are getting to know and feel comfortable with me, I sit on the floor with them and help them do their crafts. My body is even learning to sit like them for long periods of time (feet flat, knees bent touching shoulders).

My project, like most of my life, is overambitious. It takes months to understand then break into the professional world of this country—proven after speaking with some British women who said it took one year to begin their project on anti-trafficking with a team of ten. I am alone fighting this fight and sometimes I can be my work enemy. So my final work will most likely drift a lot from what I aimed for, but I plan to absorb as much of my topic as possible in the meantime. Fulbright is an amazing opportunity in that I have this flexibility to explore everything I want.

So the women at this center is a great start to hopefully a solid project. But as we learn about each other, I am just enjoying their company and love. Today, I sat on the ground listening to the girls gossip around me, tearing the thick strings out of square piece of green cloth. It felt therapeutic—to work with my hands, creating something, surrounded by these beautiful women all struggling to better their lives. With my current knowledge of Bangla, I’m not good for much except a good laugh and taking photos. But it’s a start—because we can always offer affection. More often than not, it’s returned. My sisters here certainly give it back tenfold…

And it’s vital with this week being an emotional week as I think about this time last year, and a young, unfortunate death. Even more emotional when I think about all those who are affected, mainly my best friend. I urge you all to show affection to those you care about—no reason necessary other than you can.

Power of Listening

20.9.2009 -- Aseia

She chased me down the street. It was a lame day, the day before Eid. As much as I adore her, I was in no mood to talk

After school, I pass by the hotel next to my flat and practice speaking with the steps sweeper. Some days, I’m on point. Most days, I am still too slow to understand what she is saying, and she is not accustomed to simplifying her phrases for a bideshi. So most days, I pick up a few words to understand the topic, nod and smile a lot.

But every day, we walk together holding hands from her steps to my gate.

But the day before Ramadan, I was exhausted, I couldn’t put in the effort to listen and respond. As I walked past pretending not to hear her, she caught up with me, handed an envelope and ran away. “For Eid!” she said, smiling.

Inside was three pieces of jewelry. A gift from her. A gift of just spending time with her, for taking the time to listen to her. Words are powerful, so listening is just as powerful – even if you don’t understand.

Rolling Stone Gathers No Moss: Backpackers Vs. Expats

“Tell me more – I want your life!” I said to Kim, an Australian cyclist that travels the world on her mountain bike. She responded, “That’s funny, because I’m trying to find ways to have your life…”

I met this woman during tea break of our Bangla classes. There are many foreigners coming in and out of the centre: here for a few weeks or a few years. Kim only plans to stay in Dhaka until the end of the week, then is biking to eastern Bangladesh, Sylhet, then back west into and throughout India. Like the Brit, Marc, she had all these beautiful things to say about Bangladesh, being here once before for a few weeks. She described biking through the endlessly flat and green scenery; through tiny towns not knowing the name where men on their motorbikes will ride up beside her and offer to buy her some tea in the next town where she is surrounded by villagers all excited by her presence.

She described previous trips, through Southeast Asia into South Asia , flying over to Africa where she said it was too dangerous to bike. I asked her what she considered dangerous – “after all, you are a white woman on a bike.” She responded that her gender doesn’t have a negative effect on her experience, but that people are so surprised by her then feel a need to take care of her. She said, “the best thing here is that 99 out of 100 people smile back at you, so I smile at everyone. I don’t want to be one of those travelers that walks around sunglasses on ignoring the people.”

I told her how refreshing it was to hear her perspective, sharing how I’ve stop smiling my experience here is that it invites negative attention more often than not. And I think here’s the key: I’m living here. A different perspective exists between traveling abroad and living abroad, between backpackers and expats.

My experience as a woman has been more negative than hers because the reality is that it is not easy being a woman in Bangladesh. The root of the positivity and negativity is in the art of moving. My negative experiences occur on the buses and trains – while she is biking around. Sitting still on a bus makes you more vulnerable, while biking summons an image of strength, and you move too fast and often for reality to sink in.

I wish to see the world, and this country, the way I used to, the way she is now: with broad optimistic smiles. When everything is new and exciting, you’re open and no need for the armor myself and other expats wear. The armor worn from the monotony and reality may protect us but weighs us down. It’s easy to find the good where you are offered tea due to your constant newness as you ride by; rather than attempting to become a local, understanding real life and studying topics like violence against women.

But, while clichés like “rolling stone gathers no moss” hold true – as does, “the grass is always greener on the other side.” While I was envious of her ceaselessly stimulating travels and positive outlook, she was jealous of my life of puncturing a culture to fully understand as well as deeply exchange with its people. How could I understand the emotions of trafficked victims if I wasn’t consistently digging deep? As my friend Sayaka said about a slum she works at: “I’ll see other white people coming into the slum with NGOs, taking pictures, playing with kids – then never come back. And locals notice – they remember names and ask for people who visited once months ago, but are now back in their country. They leave an impact but it’s so superficial.”

So there’s the argument – what is more important to you: nonstop traveling with a big pack brightly viewing the beautiful new diversity, but maybe on a more superficial level? Or living in a local apartment drudging through the ups and downs of reality, but grasping a deep and well-rounded understanding?

Both are valuable and important, but maybe the best is to drudge through reality of the latter with the bright, open smile of the former. To add one more cliché: is the glass half empty, or half full?

For the sake of my sanity with 9 more months left in Dhaka, I will look at it in this light: the difference between eating the skin of an apple, or munching on through right down to the very core – what’s more nutritious? I just need to enjoy each bite, even if I find a worm..

Finding a Diamond in the Rough: The Case of 'Absolut' Beauty

Who would have thought that I found myself at the birthday of a woman who rented out a floor of the Regency Hotel for a party with 250 of her closest friends?

Well, I certainly didn’t expect it when I showed up in jeans and a T-shirt, and all the women were in beautiful cocktail dresses. It never occurred to me to bring a knee length dress to a country where there are still recent accounts of acid thrown on women who disobey husbands. But low and behold – there is some good fashion here! I also didn’t think that I would be handed a shot of tequila in Bangladesh – but what’dja know…

My good friend Sayaka invited me to her friend Nadia’s party. Everyone I met over the next few hours were from all over the world: Morocco, Turkey, Britain, India – and plenty of Bangladeshis who have lived abroad. And apparently there was a famous Bangladeshi singer there (forgetting her name) that I sat in the booth with as we drank champagne bought by the son of a Turkish ambassador.

Not to assume that any of these people were ignorant elites; but I will say that it is entirely possible to never see the torment and destitution of Bangladesh if you tint your BMW windows dark enough. If there is a middle class here, it is miniscule and hidden – but the upper class is too ostentatious to not be noticed. I’ve personally been struggling with the reality of this nation because I walk on the street, passing slow enough to see the desolation, the un-organization and the systematic corruption. Now I found myself screened from it all behind frosted bottles of Absolut and green strobe lights.

To a point, I can’t blame anyone for wanting to hide from it. I do myself when I wear my thick coat of armor on the street: chin up high, not glancing down at the deformed beggars or up at the pestering rickshaws. If I do, I’ll find myself buried under endless levels of misery. But, deep down, I know hiding is not what I value. This article by travel author Allison Cross aptly illustrates my view.

But there I was, 3am tipsy in a fancy hotel – and truthfully grateful for the escape: grateful to not be at home for another night reading about systematic violence against women and the brutal lives of trafficked victims. I’m drained, jaded, and numb, but I felt the beat of the woofer under my skin and that’s all I wanted right then. The people I was surrounded by felt the same: one friend just returned from vacation, wondering why she was back in this ‘hellhole,’ a man who hasn’t seen his three-year old daughter in 10 months, another man who couldn’t name one good thing about this country and an eclectic mix of people avoiding reality.

But, there was a diamond in the rough, and I received a beautiful dose of optimism..

After some crazy dancing, I sat next to a Brit named Marc. I knew he was visiting his sister, a friend of Sayaka’s. After revealing he had been in Dhaka for three days, I asked him what he thought of Bangladesh. His face lit up with excitement, “Oh it’s so wonderful! I was expecting insane poverty and devastation, I was expecting to cry. But instead, all I’ve seen is the amazing ability of people to adapt and smile through adversity. They live in squalor, everything’s a mess, but they live just like you and I do!” He was stumbling over his words – one could blame the potency of the alcohol, but I could feel it was the intensity of his feelings: “Maybe this is condescending, maybe I’m just naïve, but I’m just so surprised and happy at how beautiful everyone is, how strong they are, and how they just make their lives work. I love our species, we really are wonderful! I mean, if London or New York was destroyed right now, yeah it would be devastating, but we’d adapt, wouldn’t we?”

Immediately I thought: “I don’t know what frightens me more, the power that crushes us, or our endless ability to endure it.” (G.D. Roberts, Shantaram). But Marc wasn’t frightened, and neither was I. For once I’ve said, “Every day I saw the pain of these girls, struggling to overcome their violent past. And every day, I saw their endless ability to continue to dance, to smile, and to love.”

Amidst the superficiality, I found some grace. And that’s what it’s about: our view on the world is a choice, an active choice to nominate optimism as the winner. And where would any sports team or famous actress be without their fans? We need to be a fan of reality, of our race, of this world. This man reminded me of this in a place least expected. Beauty is everywhere but you can’t find it or believe in it if you hide – or even walk to fast with your chin up.

Am I an imperialist?

I have been asked some good questions my move to Bangladesh -- questions concerned about imposing Western values onto another culture.  That I, as a Western women human rights advocate, am forcing ideas and beliefs on another culture.

Exploring the evils of ethnocentrism is covered in Anthropology 101.  But it's one thing to discuss in a classroom, and then put into practice in a very foreign country.  

I consider myself very academically sensitive to modern imperialism (if you interested more, please email me and I will send you my thesis). My intent is to go to Bangladesh not as an imperialist but as an ally.  There are Bengali women on the ground fighting  to stop trafficking, the victims themselves wish for better options and lives for themselves, their families and their trafficked peers.  In the end, it comes down to voice and the ability to have it heard.  I go to Bangladesh on this project to support them, learn about them and exchange with them to find the best ways for them to achieve their goals.  I lend my voice and writing to their cause.

Of course, my intentions are not what always will happen: there will be people who will view me as an imperialist and find my presence unwanted.  I must respect it and be ready to step away, no matter how passionately I feel.

However, above my role as an anthropologist - I am a human, and a humanitarian. If atrocities continue, I won't go down without a fight.