so this is it

Considering that Matt and I are no longer in Bangladesh – and in fact no longer in Spanish Harlem either – this will be the final post on the “SpaHa to Bangla” blog.

Once Matt returned to work a few weeks after arriving back in the states, he was asked to do interviews for his company about his experience in Bangladesh. This prompted me to interview him, both as a practice round for him and a nice ending for the blog. What follows is the interview highlights (because those of us who know how Matt tells stories realize that no one has time to read the entire transcript straight through…)

Val: So how does it feel to be back in New York?
Matt: It’s surprising how little things have changed. I haven’t really had the reverse culture shock that I thought I would. I feel like you could put me right back in Bangladesh in what is a ridiculously different culture and lifestyle, or I can be here in New York, neither would feel too strange. I definitely feel I have changed. I can now call more places home.

Anything here in the states that you’re glad to have back in your life?
Chipotle, sushi, air conditioning, internet, clean toilets, safe drinking water in my office at work, credit and debit cards…

Do you miss anything from Bangladesh already?
Amdad-bhay [our driver]. He became a good friend, always having a huge smile each morning to greet me as I came down the stairs. I miss playing basketball at the American club. Going out into the rural areas and seeing all of the lush green. And I miss the look on rural villagers' faces just before they see me, before their day has been interrupted by the sighting of possibly the first white person they’ve ever met.

What Bangla words/phrases do you think will stick in your vocabulary?
SomoSa [problem], ektu bangla bolte pari [I speak a little Bangla], tikase [okay], and bhalo thaken, abar dekha hobe [take care, see you again]

Tell me some lessons you learned in Bangladesh.
That people are hungry for opportunities, they're not looking for a handout. They want a chance to work hard, do something meaningful, and be paid fairly for their work. And happiness is what you have divided by what you want.

Was anything about your experience just ridiculously beyond what you could have possibly imagined?
Human deformities: I’ve seen many poor desperate people in big cities in America, but I’ve never seen people as physically mutilated as the people I would see everyday right outside our house in Gulshan [our neighborhood].
The office hierarchy: even very senior people didn’t have the ability to directly communicate their ideas or perspectives, and the art of subtle non-spoken communication is much more important that spoken or written communication.

What impact did your work project have on your Bangladesh experience?
It’s made me more passionate about finding innovative ways of delivering healthcare. Yes, healthcare is extremely expensive in the US, but it doesn’t have to be. It’s much cheaper in other parts of the world, yet so many people lack access to even the most basic treatment, very cheap stuff that could save or improve lives. This has made me think about creative ways to provide more care, to refine health systems to reach more people. To be honest, this experience has given me more pride in my company, that they would be willing to invest in me and invest in this partnership to send me to Bangladesh.

What impact do you think you had on Bangladesh?
I think there are some straightforward work-related ideas that I developed to improve the health clinics, and I hope that many of these are implemented and prove to be successful. Beyond that, many of the Bangladeshis I worked with had little or no real life exposure to an American before, and some of these people became my really good friends. The word Shawoun [one coworker/friend] kept using was “gentle”, how he was surprised at my gentleness. I don’t really know what that means, but I think they have this perception of the overcharging, hard-bearing American. I know it’s a cliché, but really when it comes down to it, we are so much more similar than we are different.

What did you learn about yourself throughout this experience?
That I can live in one of the 10 most unlivable cities on the planet with a very challenging work project and sensitive cultural issues on top of it, and find a way to not only survive but actually enjoy it, I mean really really enjoy the process. That I’m adaptable. Our bodies have an amazing ability to adapt to a new environment. You can go on a rickety old bus through really rural foreign areas and stay in shady hotels and eat whatever the random local food is that they serve, and for the most part you’re gonna be okay.

Give me your number one piece of advice for someone considering moving to Bangladesh.
Take protein bars unless you want to lose twenty pounds in the first month. Until you find the good restaurants, that is.

When you’re 80 years old telling stories to your grandkids, what will your “Bangladesh Story” be?
I don’t want to tell them, I want to take them. In fifty years, Bangladesh will be so much more prosperous and developed that they wouldn’t believe my stories anyway.

Now that’s it’s over, summarize your experience in one word.
I knew you were going to say that . . . (laughs) . . . fascinating.


This is Val here again. I would agree that Bangladesh is a fascinating place, one that makes you grow and explore and question and re-prioritize and adapt. I loved my experience there and traveling through southeast Asia this summer, all of it, from the challenges to the adventures. I also have to say that writing a blog was a fascinating exercise in itself, one that was both frustrating and immensely satisfying. It's not always easy to distill your everyday experiences into readable bites for family and friends who are half a world away, especially not when your "everyday experiences" are completely foreign to you and them. All that said, I just wanted to thank everyone who has read this blog and somehow let us know of their enjoyment. We loved our experience and are happy that you became a part of it through these pages.

matt's goodbye "program"

Matt took me to his work today (they work on Saturdays), as he wanted to buy lunch for the office before his Pfizer NY team came into town and then we left. We thought we were going for lunch. Turns out we were going for a whole goodbye "program", involving speeches, paparazzi-style photography, and many lavish gifts. Matt got a fatua (business casual shirt) and punjabi (long dress shirt), I got a beautiful salwar kameez, we both got mugs with the Grameen Kalyan logo on them, and Matt got the clock that he's been eyeing for 6 months -- it has the GK logo, plus all the numbers are in Bangla. We also got huge bouquets of flowers.

They had a special cake made that totally typifies the Bangladeshi spirit. They mean so well and try so hard to be hospitable with their limited command of English and resources. In any case, the message is supposed to convey that when Matt says "goodbye", his office mates will only accept it as a temporary "adieu", because they expect him to come back and they will see us again soon. Basically, "you say goodbye, we say see you soon." Very sweet. (And I mean that literally too, the Bangladeshis like their "misti" super-sugary).

After spending a day conversing with everyone from the cleaning lady and "peons" (their actual job title, unbelievable) to the Managing Director of the whole health program, we had a surprise meeting with the head honcho himself, Professor Yunus. I now have the pleasure of being able to say that a Nobel Peace Prize recipient praises my work with special ed. students in Harlem as challenging and invaluable.

bideshi friendship guide (VAL)

Bideshis are foreigners, and although there aren't a lot of us here, we all populate the same neighborhood and frequent the same 4-5 restaurants. This has unfortunately made us the audience of some pretty atrocious behavior by people who either just arrived in Dhaka and don't know what to expect, or have lived here for so long that they've decided they just don't care about appropriate social norms and customs anymore. On the positive side, we have befriended the staff at all of these restaurants, and the American Club, and the grocery store, because (not to brag) but we look pretty fantastic next to these clowns. In hopes of educating even one shameful bideshi, I have composed the following guide:

How to Befriend a Bangladeshi in the Service Industry

1. Smile
2. Greet him/her in Bangla, even if you have to smile and nod at the response because the only thing you know how to say is the greeting which you have been practicing for the previous 5 minutes in the car until Matt says "shut up already, I think you got it"
3. Remember his/her name, even if you have to use mnemonics and translate it in your head to unpleasant English phrases like "Nosebleed" or "Noose-Rat" or "Ferret-Ass"
4. Try the local specialty in all cases: food, dress, transportation, manners
5. Try eating with your hands, even if you look like an uncoordinated infant doing so
6. Retrieve your own tennis balls because my god it is hot out and no one should have to be on that court unless they're silly enough to insist on playing through the heat of the afternoon which by the way corresponds to the tennis pro's lunch break
7. Carry your own groceries
8. Graciously allow someone else to carry your groceries if they insist and will be offended if you refuse their help
9. Recognize that you are being pampered because you're a Bideshi, and learn to be appreciative rather than resentful for the attention
10. Do not grow to expect this pampering, and when it ends, realize that it's because you've finally been accepted as a friend, a regular, and a local

How to Upset Bangladeshis and Embarrass Other Bideshis

1. Frown/Scowl
2. Say "eww", "gross", "dirty", "nasty", and/or "what the *#$% is that?!?"
3. Mumble quickly in your regional English slang...
4. ...then be annoyed when asked to repeat yourself
5. Treat a Bangladeshi like s/he's stupid for not speaking fluent English
6. Be the loudest and/or most demanding person in the room
7. Wear a tube top
8. Wear a mini skirt
9. Wear a dress that shows more skin than tube top & mini skirt combined
10. Drink yourself into a stupor, then stumble around in public in a country where drinking alcohol is illegal and immoral.

malaysia in photos

(in order to load the photos onto this blog, the quality was unfortunately cut. for higher resolution and larger photos, check out either one of our facebook pages)

things we did in malaysia

Landed in Kuala Lumpur at midnight.
Got upgraded to the "Chairman Suite" (2 stories, extra rooms/doors for security, a treadmill, full kitchen, 12-person dining table, etc.) because the rest of the hotel was booked and Matt has "special status."
Ran around the suite getting lost, taking photos, and screaming, "whoa, come check this out!"
Walked to a night market.
Ordered dinner by pointing at whatever looked good.
Ate in the rain on a patio.
Val commented on how dangerous the wet tiles looked.
Matt ignored her, then slipped, tried to brace himself with a plastic table, crashed down to the street with table and chair. (No blood, just blood blisters.)
Took a shower while gazing out the window at the Petronas Towers.
Strolled through city park in KL.
Toured Petronas Towers.
Ate soup dumplings and drank boba smoothies.
Paid to pee by squatting over a hole in the ground.
Took subway/skyrail to Chinatown.
Haggled with hawkers for high-quality fake watches.
Ran through sudden downpour, found shelter under tarp of street vendor.
Ate pork noodles, best meal of Malaysia, for $1.50.
Taxi to Lake Gardens.
Toured Bird Park, the largest free-flight aviary in the world.
2 hour taxi ride back to hotel and then to airport, in which the taxi driver interviewed Val about Barack Obama's life story and the allure of NYC.
Flew to Langkawi.
Laid on beach, read a book. Repeated this.
Matt worked on his computer way too much, unfortunately.
Went kayaking around the bay and through a fishing village.
Went swimming in the ocean.
Went swimming in the pool.
Enjoyed the swim-up pool bar.
Played ping-pong.
Val read, Matt worked, as we enjoyed the sunset on our veranda.
Heard, then saw, about 20 monkeys fighting in the trees.
Watched a baby monkey take a huge (literal) leap of faith as he tried to follow his mom from one tree to another.
Had a lovely dinner on the boardwalk overlooking a small beach, ate big fat Australian steaks and fresh salad -- not something we get in Dhaka!
Hiked up 720 steps into the jungle.
Climbed a big net leading up to a tightrope through the canopy.
Rock climbed & rappelled.
Flew through the jungle on a zip-line.
Hiked back down on a thin, minimally-marked path in the jungle.
Went into Chenang Beach, a small town consisting of one main drag.
Window shopped.
Bought and drank cans of a local soft-drink.
Stumbled upon a restaurant that I had researched as one of the best for Malay cuisine (they had flower petals in the toilet!).
Ate a delicious dinner of chicken & beef satay, local fish fillet, squid, shrimp, beef rendang, pumpkin in coconut milk, sauteed veggies & pineapple, yellow rice, spinach, and pickled watermelon.
Rented a motorbike and tested our driving skills in the dark.
Explored a bat cave.
Got pick-pocketed by some monkeys, who were mostly curious about Matt's watch (it's a fake, sillies!).
Went on a boat tour of the mangrove forests.
Saw 2 vipers curled up in the mangroves, plus tons of eagles, kingfishers, other birds, some monkeys, and even Bangladeshi fishermen.
Went swimming off of a hidden beach, where Matt plotted his survival plan should he ever find himself stranded in the mangrove forest (he better work on those fish-catching techniques, as he came up empty handed).
Ate at a floating restaurant on the docks.
Toured a fish farm, fed some grouper, and petted a manta ray.
Went go-kart racing.
Val mowed the track lawn with her go-kart, oops.
Tried to avoid for laps and laps the foot-long lizard that someone else hit.
Rode the motorbike along the coast across the island to the cruise docks and main town, about an hour away.
It started raining about halfway through the drive, but there's really nothing we could do being on the back of a motorbike.
Rode around town, found another of my researched restaurants, this time a local Chinese food stand (outdoors, mostly locals, no-frills, super cheap, but DELICIOUS!).
Checked out another resort on the tip of the peninsula; it was spectacular and made us wish we stayed there, but now we know where to go back.
Got back on the motorbike, stopping for ice cream at good ol' Baskin Robbins on the way.
Fell fast asleep on the plane back to Dhaka, while Matt worked more. We need to rest after this vacation!

home sweet stench (VAL)

Cognitive research indicates that our sense of smell is one of the strongest triggers for memory and recognition. To me, this seems to especially hold true for places. I can't necessarily describe the scents, but when I walk into a familiar place--like my aunt's or grandparents' house, the gym, even my favorite restaurant--I expect a certain smell that is always there. If you could somehow capture these scents, I bet I could identify them blindfolded, devoid of any other context.

Dhaka is ripe with intense smells. The heat and humidity generate a thick atmosphere that absorbs scent like a sponge. At places lush with plants--the American Club or the park--it smells fresh like a greenhouse at the botanical gardens. On the traffic-congested main avenues, it smells of smoke and chemicals generated from all of the exhaust. At places crowded with people, like little shops and take-away restaurants, the heavy stench of body odor can make you feel woozy in less than a minute.

And then there's the distinct smell of our little street. Whether walking or riding in a rickshaw, once I turn onto our block, the smell hits me and I know I'm home. "Earmuff" your little ones because I'm going to be blunt in my description here: it smells like shit. Human feces, to be exact. Fresh, ripe, putrid, and fermenting piles of poo.

There are three reasons for our street's identifying scent. One is Dhaka's sewage system, which is a foot underground at the deepest, and on smaller residential streets like ours, is actually not underground at all. Half-canal, half-gutter, it runs alongside our narrow street, openly displaying whatever our neighbors have flushed down their pipes in the past week. And "runs" is a bit of an exaggeration, because it doesn't actually flow anywhere, it just stagnates, growing a rainbow of algae and fungi and attracting an entomologist's fantasy collection of flies.

The second reason is monsoon season. If you're thinking, "well, I bet the heavy rains are productive at flushing out the sewers and draining streets of trash and human waste", then you'd be in good company (I thought the same thing), but you'd still be wrong. The effect of these heavy rainstorms is that they fill the sewers with water, allowing all of that wonderfully pungent sewage to float to the top, level with the street. This provides for heightened viewing and smelling abilities. *Yum*

And finally, the third reason for the stench is open defecation. As if it isn't enough that we get to enjoy the waste produced by our neighbors in their toilets, random strangers and passersby contribute their own little byproducts to the poo cocktail. If the timing is right, sometimes we even get to see this in action: a stranger, squatting over the open gutter, no glint of shame in his eye as he goes about his business. Open defecation is actually a serious problem here, for a variety of obvious reasons, the main one being disease. In attempts to combat it, they launched a delightful little ad campaign that Matt captured in a photo:

pets (VAL)

There are lizards crawling all over our apartment building. Nostalgic for the days spent as a kid on my grandparents' back patio in Arizona catching the lizards that ran up the walls, I mentioned once that I might try to catch one. Matt scoffed, doubting my abilities. Well, if you know me, then you know where this story is heading...

His challenge led to me crawling around on the floor chasing a little baby lizard (small but FAST) until I trapped him. He crawled around on my hands, then Matt's hands, for awhile to allow for this brief photo session. Then he crawled up my dress, I screamed, he went flying across the room, scurried under our couch, and our brief friendship ended. I still feel victorious.

foreign fruit

One perk of living in a tropical place like Bangladesh (and when it's monsoon season, ridiculously humid, and mosquitoes everywhere, you need a perk) is that we get a lot of interesting fruit to try. Besides the fresh whole pineapple (50 cents) we pick up every time we go to the grocery store, we have been experimenting with other random local and regional fruits. It's like a little mystery game of "what will the inside look like?"


We knew what to expect with this one -- dragon fruit -- because we enjoyed it in Thailand. I think it's probably the prettiest fruit, inside and out, that there is.


And it tastes good too (kind of like a cross between a bland kiwi flavor and melon-like texture).

hoop dreams (VAL)

Matt plays for the US Embassy basketball team, which is part of a charity league founded as a way to a) bring more basketball opportunities to Bangladeshi teens, and b) raise money for causes like shoes for children in the slums. Awesome program, awesome people involved, awesome awesome *awesome*, but alas, this post is not going in such a positive direction.

Through this league, Matt and I have had the chance to get to know many middle-class basketball-loving Bangladeshi teens. One night after a pickup game, Matt got to talking with them about future hopes and dreams and career goals (one of the boys was 18 and about to graduate from high school). The resounding answer was "I want to play for the NBA someday."

I've heard this sentiment far too often as a teacher in Harlem. It slips so easily off the tongues of my students who are 5'4", out of shape, klutzy, completely devoid of work ethic, and--perhaps most importantly--NOT ON ANY SORT OF BASKETBALL TEAM. There is such a disconnect between the steps they take in their daily lives and their goals for the future. Yes, it's considered cute and ambitious when a kindergartener says she wants to be an astronaut, and it would be ridiculous to either squash a 5 year old's dream by citing statistics on admittance to NASA, or enroll her immediately into a first-grade science magnet program with "Dick and Jane do astrophysics" books. But when students are 17 years old and still have starry-eyed dreams about their future without any sort of action plan for getting there, I feel extremely frustrated that no one has connected the dots of how such goals are accomplished: hard work, patience, persistence, and luck. Daily. For many many years.

At least I can say that these Bangladeshi teens are on a basketball team. Still, it hurts to realize that my students--the aforementioned 5'4" lazy klutzes--would still probably beat the Bangladeshis at least half of the time. Most of the kids here just picked up a basketball a couple years ago; they can only dribble with their dominant hand, they forget how to shoot with someone in their face, and they're quick to foul on even the slightest head fake. I admire their newfound passion for the sport, but I have to admit that I was extremely disappointed to learn that the “miracle” mentality extended beyond the U.S. I had figured this was a byproduct of the entitlement generation, my spoiled students with their $200 sneakers and fancy iPhones and daily doses of ESPN and MTV constantly shoving images of “heroes” in their faces. I know my students face many hardships growing up in Harlem and Washington Heights and the South Bronx, but somehow I thought the much starker realities of growing up in Bangladesh would infuse teens here with a sense of responsibility, of maturity, of what it really means to work for something.

After Matt told me about this conversation with the Bangladeshi basketball players, I replied that they were lucky I wasn’t around to give them an earful about their vague NBA dreams. But now, I hope I do get the chance to talk with them before I head back to the states to resume educating my own troupe of NBA hopefuls. Perhaps we can all lose a little of our innocence: theirs about the ease of making it into the NBA, and mine about the realistic goals and futures of teenagers around the world.

toilet tip of the day, revisited (VAL)

Some of you may remember my previous encounter with a fancy hotel toilet (if not, read here). Well, I recently revisited the same washroom, and am happy to report that after spending a good 5 minutes with my legs crossed, trying not to pee my pants while I studied the very detailed instructions (luckily in English and with accompanying visuals, airplane-manual style) on the back of the toilet lid, I successfully operated the bidet-flush-combo-thing without completely soaking myself. Of course I took so long in the bathroom that Matt wondered if I had fallen in, but at least this time it didn't look like I had fallen in.

bangkok in 2 scenes (VAL)

Matt and I went to Bangkok for the weekend and were struck by the many contradictions the city presents: the cleanest and most orderly subways and skytrains we've been in that deposited us onto crowded alleyway markets and trash-strewn streets of back-to-back strip clubs; the intricacies of an ornate gold-and-tile Hindu shrine built against a giant concrete-and-glass mall; the westernized, modern culture of chain restaurants and shops with very uncultured men hawking trinkets, taxi rides, sex shows, and prostitutes right outside.

Here's a taste of two sides of the city.

The upscale super-mall:


And the muay thai boxing arena:

fishing (VAL)

Matt & I are taking a Bangla script class every morning for 2 hours. I will post later about the struggle of walking into an advanced script class on my second day in a completely foreign country, and how it's shaping my perspective on learning/reading challenges and frustration in school and teaching my own students back in Harlem and educational philosophy blah blah blah . . . but for today, I have some lighter fare to share.

Our classmates are a Korean girl named Kyung-Ai whose husband is working 100+ hours a week to jump-start his garment business; an absolutely hilarious Tamil Sri Lankan refugee named Alegs who is working on his PhD in Philosophy; and two Burmese refugees whose names I cannot even attempt to pronounce or spell and who shall therefore be known as Smiley and Serious for the purpose of this story.

To start each class, our Teacher asks us basic questions, like "how are you?" or "where do you live?" or "what did you do yesterday?" Today he asked Smiley the third query and Smiley began a tale, in Bangla, of what I'm guessing was a fishing adventure. The teacher then flipped the conversation to English and asked Smiley how people fish in Myanmar. Matt was absent due to work so he missed this and can't help me recreate the exchange, but here is my best attempt to paraphrase the conversation that followed:

TEACHER: How do you catch a fish in Myanmar?
SMILEY: With my hands.
TEACHER: That is only possible in shallow water. What about in rainy season?
SMILEY (with lots of gesturing): Well, then we put on water glasses and go swimming into the water and dive down and take an arrow, an aluminum arrow, and shoot the fish.
KYUNG-AI (looking super confused): How do you breathe under water? That is not possible.
TEACHER: You only go under for half-minute. We do this too, but without the spear. We use our hands. And we do not have any eye protection.
SMILEY: Sometimes we also use a net. Then you get lots of fish at once.
TEACHER: We use a bamboo hut to trap the fish in, that’s how we catch many at once. (to me) How do you Americans fish?
ME (with more authority than I should have, given my nonexistent experience): With a stick and a string and a hook.
TEACHER: And us too, but with three hooks and a float.
KYUNG-AI: What do you use to bait the hook?
TEACHER: We use bees, the ones that do not produce honey. We also use those things you find in the dirt (draws a squiggle on the board)
ME: Worms! That’s what we use! (notice the liberal use of “we”)
SERIOUS: In my country, I mean I have never done this, but I have seen it done, we sometimes take bombs and use that to hunt the fish.
KYUNG-AI: (laughs, then realizes he was serious, and throws a quizzical look)
SERIOUS: You know, throw a bomb into a lake and then scoop out lots of fish.
ALEGS: In my country, we would never waste a bomb on some fish. We save our bombs for people.

real housewives of dhaka (VAL)

Sunday July 5th was my first real day in Dhaka because a) I was recovered from jet lag and on normal hours, b) it was a weekday, and so c) Matt went to work and left me on my own. So what did I do?

Well, after Bangla class our driver took Matt to work, and I went along for the ride. On the way back, Amdad (the driver) took me to an office supply store, where he helped me negotiate on the price of some notebooks. He then drove me back home for lunch. By this point, Suchona (our housekeeper) had finished cleaning our apartment and doing our laundry, so I came home to a spotless place. I hadn't fully unpacked yet, and was planning on doing that while Matt was at work, but since Suchona took it upon herself to organize our closets (we have 5 spread between the 3 bedrooms), I now had an afternoon to kill.

So I summoned Amdad, who was waiting downstairs for as long as I wanted to stay in the apartment, hanging out with our team of 4+ full-time security guards behind the gated entrance to our building of 10 apartments. I asked him to take me to the beauty salon for a manicure and massage. 3 hours later, I emerged with my nails painted and neck considerably looser. I was even somehow able to relax amidst the stares of the entire spa staff and wealthy Bangladeshis getting pedicures.

Then Amdad went to pick up Matt from work, and when he came home we decided to head over to the American Club for some exercise. And by exercise, I mean talentlessly whacking tennis balls at each other while two ball boys chase after our missed shots and offer technique instruction. We then enlisted our favorite tennis pro to play doubles with us when Matt's friend came along. By the time we finished I was practically swimming in sweat – the humidity here, especially in monsoon season, is unbearable – so we headed up to the American Club pub for dinner and drinks while we watched the Federer-Roddick showdown. Dinner & drinks doesn’t sound extravagant, except when you’re eating a bacon cheeseburger and drinking margaritas in a Muslim country where all pork products and alcohol are strictly forbidden.

In summary: private car & driver, personal shopper, maid, gated home, security staff, beauty salon & spa, members-only country club, tennis, private restaurant with contraband menu. I realize this makes me sound extremely spoiled and snobby, and just for the record, I’ll concur that I’m the former but trying not to become the latter.

Now for some perspective:

This was one of my cheapest days I’ve spent anywhere, ever. The total cost of spa treatments was 600 taka, less than $10. We generously overpay both driver and housekeeper to the point of being told we’re fools, and they earn $4.30 and $7 a day respectively. Tennis court time is $1/hour. Food costs are so minimal that it’s silly to even add up the cents.

And secondly, if all Westerners were placed in 5 tiers (tier one being the most elite, and five being the base), Matt and I might fit into tier 3 or 4. Yes, the 18 year old Grameen interns live in hostels and travel by rickshaw, but there are also sprawling mansions near the American school that rival anything I’ve seen in Cherry Hills (the wealthy enclave of Denver). Most expats over 30 have their own compounds with personal security details, multiple drivers and maids, a cook, and imported furniture/art. Matt’s friend is house-sitting a place while the family is back in the States, and as I toured past the kid’s guitar collection, the secret wine cellar of rare vintages, the hand-painted family portraits, and the elaborate air conditioning system, I kept thinking what your world must become for this to be “home”.

All of this is to say that Bravo should consider piloting a “Real Housewives of Dhaka”.

independence day (VAL)

The image above is from a sign at the American Club, which was all decked out for 4th of July festivities.

This one is for Mom & Dad. Since moving to Colorado when I was 5 years old, our family tradition has always been to go down to the local swimming pool wearing all red, white, and blue and eat a pancake breakfast hosted by the neighborhood association. Well, here's a photo to show how differently we celebrate on the other side of the world ;)

Update from the ‘Desh (MATT)

BAD NEWS: I’ve been terrible about updating the blog. Sorry.

GOOD NEWS: Val arrives in just four days and will surely jumpstart things. (It’s also just awesome that she’s coming to be with me for my final two months in Asia!!)

Okay, how about a few random stories?

1. Daylight Savings: Last weekend Bangladesh moved the clocks forward 1 hour for the first time ever ... with hilarious results. Bangladeshis simply do not understand the concept. People have “adjusted” by moving activities back by an hour, in effect “undoing” daylight savings. If people normally ate lunch at 1pm, they are now eating at 2pm. If shops used to stay open till 7pm, they now close at 8pm. On top of that, the newspaper guys have the nerve to write articles saying that “daylight savings isn’t working,” as they somehow expected this small change would alleviate all of the major power shortages. (I’m just glad the sun is no longer peaking in my window at 5am, instead waking me up at 6am!)

2. Point-and-Shoot: Digital cameras are available here, but they aren’t as common as in the US and many people in the villages have never seen a digital representation of themselves. (This can create hours of endless fun, as kids erupt in giddy laughter when they see themselves on the screen.) In the city, a $220 Canon PowerShot (like I have) isn’t some freak technology, but is still rare, as it costs a full month’s salary for a middle class worker. Anyway, I recently asked a lady to take a photo of me and some friends, first turning on the camera so that all she’d have to do was point-and-shoot. Once we were all set, we looked up to see her giant magnified eyeball bobbing around on the 3” screen on the backside of the camera, as she was trying to take a picture by looking through the lens the wrong way! This may be a you-had-to-be-there story, but it was pretty entertaining...

3. Bihari refugees: I didn’t plan this intentionally, but I toured the Bihari refugee camps on what happened to be UN World Refugee Day (June 20th). I met a guy that is here on a Fulbright Fellowship conducting public health research (specifically on the refugees) and he invited me to accompany him and some Bangladeshi master’s students on a field visit. During the liberation war in 1971, in which Bangladesh – known at the time as “East Pakistan” – fought for its freedom from “West Pakistan” (nowadays just Pakistan), this group of people backed the “wrong” side and refused to fight. After the war, neither country (Pakistan nor the newly established Bangladesh) would accept them as citizens. As generations have passed over almost 40 years, this group has expanded to ~300k people all contained within tiny “camps” spread across Dhaka. To give you some sense of living conditions, one camp had 5 toilets for 3,000 people, with lines over 20 minutes even in the middle of the night. Although these people have just started to get some rights (I met the 20-something year old that argued their case in front of the Supreme Court last year – inspiring dude), they can’t get passports, have trouble enrolling their kids in school, and are generally discriminated against on the streets.

4. Team USA: I met the US Ambassador to Bangladesh a few weeks back at the American Club. We’ve since had several nice chats; I’ve told him all about my work at Pfizer and our partnership with Grameen, and he’s described his amazing diplomatic career with postings in Nepal, China, Taiwan, Pakistan, Morocco, etc. (Talk about an interesting life.!.) At any rate, after he and I teamed up for some 2-on-2 pick-up basketball games, he invited me a couple weeks ago to join the official US Embassy team in a formal league. We play on an outdoor court against other embassy teams, as well as a few local teams, including the Bangladeshi National Team, which I’d equate to Class 3A Denver high school team. First thing I realized was that I’m out of shape – man, oh man!! Second thing I realized – wow, we’re playing basketball with six armed guards surrounding the court! Our next game is Friday – hopefully I’ll be able to help keep the winning streak alive! ;-)

5. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia: Amazing; just what the doctor ordered. After completing an especially hectic work phase, I went with a colleague/friend to Kuala Lumpur (KL) for four days to “recharge my battery,” as mom would say. With round trip flights for $160 and no visas needed, it was the perfect weekend escape. Relative to the massively congested, dirty, and polluted streets of Dhaka, the pristine KL avenues lined with luxury shops were a great change of pace. The buildings are amazing (including the Petronas Towers, which we toured), as are the shopping malls and movie theatres. Best yet though were probably the outdoor restaurants, where you could seemingly order one of everything and still walk away paying less than $5. The food was incredible – Malaysian, Indonesian, Chinese, Thai, and Indian – sometimes alone, other times fused together. Incredible. Another fusion I liked was that of diverse cultures and religions, as I often saw devout Muslim women with headscarves standing side-by-side with scantily clad non-Muslims, neither seeming to be in the majority nor overly judgmental of the other. Great city – great escape.

6. Work research: Some of you have pointed out that I haven’t talked much (if at all) about my work here in Bangladesh. Part of this is intentional, as I decided right off that bat that I’d focus my blog more on personal anecdotes. However, another part of this is that I just wanted to wait until I completed the first phase of research, which I recently have done. I’ve visited about 15 health clinics so far, leading a team of researchers that has conducted about 200 interviews with patients, healthcare providers, and community leaders - all with the goal of finding ways to improve healthcare in rural Bangladesh. I’ve traveled to five different regions of the country, getting to know the amazing people, hit-or-miss foods, (always unsafe) transportation options, and often sketchy “hotels.” As soon as I have some time to put together my pictures, I’ll dedicate a long blog posting to my work experiences thus far.

7. Social scene: In the last few weeks, I’ve made several new friends and realized that there is quite a social scene here in Dhaka – albeit a bit “underground.” There are some really fascinating ex-pats here, as you have to be a bit crazy or really devoted to your cause (or both) to willingly move to what is one of “The World’s 10 Most Unlivable Cities.” At any rate, in addition to basketball games on Friday, I’m playing volleyball on Saturdays and Tuesdays, and poker on Thursdays. I’ve had dinner invites every night for probably the last two weeks, with my new friends helping me realize that good sushi, Italian, steak, and even Mexican food can be found if you know where to look! There’s also an authentic homemade gelato shop, as well as a couple of “warehouses” that can legally sell alcohol to foreigners. This past weekend I was invited to a traffic light party (you wear GREEN if you're single, RED if you're in a committed relationship, and YELLOW if you're somewhere in between), a pool party, and a gay party. Go figure!!

This country never ceases to amaze me…

date night, Dhaka-style (VAL)

I've definitely been spoiled over the past few years. Maybe it's the never-ending offerings of things to do in "the city that never sleeps", maybe it's Matt's (how do I put this...) "champagne tastes", but one thing is for certain -- we've had some awesome NYC dates. We're no Barack and Michelle (private jet to NYC for dinner and a play!), but we have enjoyed dates from Broadway musicals and off-Broadway plays to concerts in the park and live bands in hip bars, and some incredible gastronomical experiences at restaurants all over the city.

All this is to explain why I started chuckling when I received the following email from Matt (notice the enthusiastic use of punctuation):


"Did I ever tell you there is an A&W (2 blocks away)?!?!?

Just ordered chicken sandwich, lg chili cheese fries, and a root beer float with extra ice cream. I'm pumped!

Anyway, I'll take you here on a date for a float..."

summer in Bangladesh (VAL)

I just booked my ticket! I'll be spending the last 2 months of Matt's adventure with him. One step down, about 1000 things left to do before I'm ready to go...

“Fair and Lovely” (MATT)

In the US, we have sunless tanning lotion and tanning salons. In Asia and the Middle East, companies sell skin-whitening creams instead. Similar to dental products, the ads promise to whiten your skin by several “shades” within a few weeks.

I guess this goes to show that marketers can prey on our insecurities in both directions. The company that really gets me though is Dove, with its “Fair and Lovely” product.

In the West, isn’t Dove the company that uses “regular sized” models and encourages women to be confident about who they really are?!

So much for inner beauty and global consistency in company values...

(The ads here are in Bengali, but I found one in English online.)

newsworthy, or not (VAL)

I've talked to Matt three times in the past 24 hours, and he has never once mentioned the weather. Which wouldn't be significant, if there hadn't been a major cyclone that killed hundreds of people and stranded thousands. (Here's a link to the NY Times article: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/27/world/asia/27bangla.html?ref=world)

I had no idea about the cyclone until a panicked friend asked me "is Matt surviving the storm?!?" She began to recount the facts she remembered reading about the deaths and damages, and seemed pretty alarmed by the news story. She remarked that it had been on the homepage of whatever American news source she had been checking.

So I called Matt to check in and ask why he hadn't mentioned anything about this crazy catastrophe, which I was sure must be the main national concern in Bangladesh at the moment. "Yeah, it's a pretty mild one," he replied, and went on to explain that he's sure the death toll will rise by 100s once they are able to assess damages in the slums and the more rural areas. For Bangladeshis, this is a seasonal occurrence, as predictable as springtime allergies in the US, so therefore it isn't really newsworthy or even something that's brought up in conversation.

Again, I'm reminded of the amazing contrast in perspectives we have from those on the opposite sides of the globe...

Bangla is tough, especially when you’re still learning English! (MATT)

I’ve realized that I never systematically learned how to speak proper English. I know when to use eat vs. ate vs. eaten, but I sure can’t name the dozen or so verb tenses we use in English, nor can I fully “diagram sentences.” While these deficiencies generally do not affect my ability to speak English, they (ironically) sure are making it tough for me to learn Bangla!

I’m on my second month of intensive language training, attending classes for two hours each morning before work. With classmates hailing from Pakistan, Rwanda, and South Korea, the teacher sees me as “Mr. All-American” and turns to me anytime a question comes up about the English language.

The PROBLEM is that I learned English naturally over the years, rarely thinking twice about the structure of the language.

Teacher: “It’s just like the PAP in English, right Matt?”
Matt: “Sorry, the what?”
Teacher: “The P.A.P. You know, the Past Active Participle.”
Matt: “Excuse me. THE WHAT?!”

On another day I was asked to describe the difference between “genitive and accusative” nouns, and then later “serial, alternate, and possessive” relationships. (The underlying concepts are simple enough, but I sure am not fluent in such terminology!)

Accordingly, as we’re learning Bangla by mapping the structure, rules, exceptions, etc. to those used in English, I find that I’m trying to learn two languages instead of just one!!


UPDATE: I just looked up the “PAP” in English and it doesn’t really exist. HA! While gullible, perhaps I’m not as ignorant as I thought…


In case you’re interested, above is the Sanskrit-based alphabet used in Bangla. My training has focused thus far on phonetics (using the English alphabet), but we’ll start using these characters next month.

Bangla and Bengali are the same language, only Bengali is spoken throughout the Bengal region of the sub-continent (i.e. parts of India), whereas Bangladeshis like to refer to “their” language as Bangla.

Did-you-know fact of the day: Bangla/Bengali is the 5th most spoken language in the world. However, since it’s not spoken in places tourists travel – and most Bengali speakers don’t travel outside of the region – you sure won’t find a Rosetta Stone course!

the real reason Matt calls (VAL)

I got a call from Matt tonight around 9pm in NYC. That's 7am his time (on Friday, the first day of his weekend) so I wonder what's going on.

"Hey, I love you," he begins.
"Well, thanks! Good morning!" I reply. I'm starting to feel special, like he really misses me.
"I just woke up. Set my alarm to call you," Matt continues.
"Just to call me? How sweet..." I swoon. I'm thinking he must have something really important to share.
"Um, well, yeah... and... I'm calling to make sure you're not watching TV so that I can watch the Nuggets game live on the slingbox*," he adds sheepishly.

Ah, there's the truth. At least I know things haven't changed too much in our relationship; Matt's still found a way to dominate the TV remote from the other side of the globe. :)

*[the slingbox is a device that hooks up to our DVR/DirecTV receiver that allows us to tap into our TV through the internet, thus allowing ESPN to remain the most-watched channel on our TV even while Matt is away]

Bangladeshi Logic (MATT)

The office "water cooler" here is a tea stall out on the street.

For 4 Tk. ($0.05), you get a PIPING HOT cup of cha.

As it's part of the office culture, I usually go down with the guys once or twice a day.

On an especially hot afternoon (110 plus Houston-like humidity), I finally asked about the logic behind our sweaty little breaks.

Faruk's response: "In math, a negative times a negative equals a positive. In Bangladesh, we believe that hot plus hot equals cold."

Right... So if I really want to stay cool, maybe I should take a hot shower then build a camp fire??

UPDATE: Thinking about it more, some of the hotter places on the planet (e.g., India, Mexico) are also countries famous for their spicy foods.

Is there actually something physiological behind the idea of "cutting the heat with something HOT"?

If you have any explanations or ideas, let me know...

Pictures (MATT)

Here is a link to 40 pictures:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/38605956@N04/sets/72157618532183560/show/

Matt joins Twitter (MATT)

Sorry all -- I've been bad about posting lately. I've been busy with work and sick for the past week or so.

I'll post an entry or two this weekend, but in the meantime, you can follow me on Twitter if you're so inclined. Using my phone, I find it's very easy to post short messages while I'm out and about. My new Twitter address is

http://www.twitter.com/Williams_Matt

Here are "tweets" from the past week:

- By paying taxes properly in Bangladesh, u can become a "CIP" - Commercially Important Person. Skip lines, special passport, other benefits 4:27 PM May 7th

- Per capita income in Bangladesh JUMPED 13 percent to $690 per year in '08. Given the extreme inequality, the majority still live on $1/day 4:31 PM May 7th

- To save electricity (acute shortage), the govt floated the idea of daylight savings. Concept is totally foreign and people cant fathom it.. 4:52 PM May 7th

- Cell phones here: Nokia, Samsung (i.e. IT good) but zero VM msgs or call wtg due to cultural norms. Idea of talking to machine "repulsive" 9:18 PM May 7th

- At outdoor market. Friend just asked me to walk away so he could get a fair price 9:19 PM May 7th

- Manny tests positive - what a surprise... Bring 'em all out into the open. Bud Selig is the real dope. 11:41 PM May 7th

- At Dhaka Westin, having a beer. As I've said before, T.A.I.T. - Thank Allah it's Thursday. Ahhh.. (Btw, Thurs is "brihOSpotibar" in Bangla) 11:53 PM May 7th

- My fake, oversized wedding ring keeps slipping off 1:47 PM May 8th

- Conf calls w/ colleagues in the US from 7:30-9pm on Fri night stink... Alas, on a rickshaw now heading to dinner with friends 9:00 PM May 8th

- 1:30am. Just chased a bat out of my bathroom. Caught it all on video. I screamed like a girl when it flew into me from behind. Back to bed.1:33 AM May 9th

- Almost just bought Coca-Cola bottled in 2002. MAYBE it'd still be good... 2:42 PM May 9th

- Just got a good haircut at a nice salon for $1 5:04 PM May 9th

- al-Qaeda threatened to blow up the US Embassy 1/2 mile from my apt. Told all diplomats to leave within 7 days. lovely... 10:54 PM May 9th

- mom/dad: ignore last tweet. not the first or last annoying threat 10:55 PM May 9th

- A/C has been cranking in bedroom. Step into room and it feels frigid. Check Brookstone alarm clock -- it's 81 degrees! How relative things r 11:18 PM May 9th

- just saw an 8 yr old running a cigarette stand 8:20 AM May 10th

- The common cold is all too common here. Ugh - it's tough to stay healthy 3:40 PM May 10th

- There are people riding on the roof of the run down old bus I'm traveling on 10:01 AM May 12th

- Wow, what a wonderful day in the field! Bangladeshis are amazing people 5:09 PM May 12th

- My driver just hit a guy (side mirror hit arm, but hard). My reaction: "ooh, not good." Driver's response: "idiot, sky looking" 5:36 PM May 12th

- procrastinating. doing anything and everything BUT finishing my NYU b-school app, which is what I should be doing. 8:30 PM May 13th

goodnight this morning (VAL)

Matt and I have found that a convenient time for us to talk is during our commutes: as I head to work around 7:30 each morning, he is driving home at 5:30pm his time. I tell him about what I am planning to teach that day, while he recounts whatever work drama occurred over the past 8 hours. Because his job has been quite drama-filled lately, these conversations have continued as I get off the bus, walk to school, enter the building, and start unpacking my things in my classroom. I love the quizzical looks from eavesdropping coworkers who think I'm crazy or just not lucid yet since I'm saying "have a good night!" at 8 in the morning. I certainly never imagined that wishing Matt goodnight would become part of my morning routine, but that's what happens when you have a SpaHa-to-Bangla relationship.

Fast asleep, dreaming of a better life (MATT)

While walking back from dinner tonight, I just narrowly missed – and I mean by no more than two inches – stepping on a curled up little boy who was sleeping in the dark street. The kid, who looked no older than 1 ½ (but is probably actually 2 or 3), was literally sleeping by himself in the gutter.

Seeing the poor kid at the last second, I luckily adjusted my body as my foot was on its way down, stumbling awkwardly into the street. While the kid didn’t stir from his sleep, I sure was shaken up by the whole thing…

It’s so sad to see all of these kids on the streets, knowing that formal education is out of the question and they have essentially no real chance in life. From ages 0-3, these kids will be used as props by their mothers as the moms beg car to car in dangerous interactions. (It goes like this: The kids, who are typically naked, are held in their mothers’ arms. When the mom approaches a car, she’ll often subtlety dig her nails into the young kid’s leg or pinch his skin, eliciting a wail that the mother hopes will result in more money. It’s horrible.)


From ages 4-6 these kids will start begging on their own. I’ve had kids run barefoot next my rickshaw in heavy traffic for half a mile yelling “boss, boss – 10 Taka boss.” Reminiscent of times spent hanging out with my niece and nephews – only nowhere near as fun – I once had a kid grab my leg, slide down it and sit on my foot, then wrap his arms and legs tightly around my leg. As the kid's brothers and sisters quickly surrounded me, it became a very difficult situation to get out of...

From age 7 or so on, the kids that have survived the harsh life on the streets will have graduated to trying to sell you something, often flower necklaces or bags of who-knows-how-old popcorn. The sophistication continues into the kids’ teens, as they’ll move on to selling street maps or photocopied books. (The books I usually get offered are: Lonely Planet Bangladesh, Barack Obama’s “Dreams from my Father”/ “The Audacity of Hope,” and Khaled Hosseini's “Kite Runner.”)

Realizing my donations can only go so far in a country of 160 million people, I often set a limit for what I’ll give each day and then split up my budget into small amounts. Occasionally I’ll give a mother 100 Taka or so, which is only $1.50 but is equivalent to what a brick worker might make in an entire day. The look that flashes on a person’s face when they realize their kids will have something to eat the following day is pretty amazing…

Man, oh man. How lucky I am to have grown up in a country where opportunities abound (even in a recession) and “sleeping in the gutter” is only a figure of speech…

Christmas in April (MATT)

The doctor who sits next door to me at work has “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” as the ring tone on his cell phone. As I sit in my office in the 100+ degree April heat (with LOTS of humidity and no A/C!), I can’t help but laugh every time his phone rings.

As a Muslim who speaks very little English, he has no idea what the song is about – but he sure must love the jingle!!

Marriage (MATT)

A couple of you perceptively noticed that I’m wearing a wedding band in pictures. While Valerie and I are in fact engaged, my colleagues and friends here in Dhaka believe that we’ve been married since summer 2008.

There are a couple of reasons why Valerie and I decided to buy cheap bands before I left NYC. Not only would it otherwise be completely unacceptable for the two of us to travel and stay together, but apparently – as a bachelor living alone – I’d be regularly propositioned by acquaintances looking to marry off relatives and pimps looking to hook me up for a night.

When talking about my “wife” Valerie, I often get asked the following interesting question: “Well, was it a love marriage?!” The alternative, of course, is an arranged marriage, which is still the norm in Bangladesh.

On Sunday evening I attended my first Bangladeshi wedding. Not only was it an arranged marriage, but the bride and groom never met face-to-face until AFTER the official ceremony was over and the papers were signed.

As a sign of the times though, the couple did become “friends” on Facebook shortly after becoming engaged!


In Bangladesh, there is a reverse dowry system whereby the groom has to pay the bride’s family a significant sum up front and then agree to pay even more if the couple gets a divorce. In many cases, I’ve heard that the woman’s family will demand a new refrigerator or a color tv – basic stuff for the house. (Hey, a wedding registry for parents!) Unfortunately, after the wedding has already been planned, the “negotiations” will often break down, sometimes at the last second during the ceremony itself. While this isn’t very common anymore, women in such circumstances have been known to commit suicide, knowing they’d have no hope of getting married again. As an outsider, this of course seems both silly and sad…

In the wedding I went to, the negotiations were taken care of well in advance and everything went smoothly. The groom studied at the Univ of Nebraska and has been living in Abu Dhabi for the past several years, while the bride has spent her entire life in a tiny village four hours from Dhaka. As soon as her visa is processed, she will say goodbye to her family and board a plane with this stranger (err … her husband) and head off to her new life in the Middle East. Talk about rolling the dice!!

Thinking about the matchmaking process, I’m so curious to know how many gossipy aunts were involved…

When I arrived at the ceremony, I thought (and hoped) I’d be the most random and least important person at the party. Upon arrival, however, the film crew (i.e. a guy with a fancy HD video camera and two lighting/sound technicians) spotted me coming in the door and raced across the room to film me as I entered the party. As I've experienced many times now, people often act quite strange when a (white) foreigner enters the room.

Within minutes, they had me posed up on stage (against my wishes) with the wedding party for formal pictures. That was nothing though compared to their intrigue when I sat down to have dinner. I haven’t written about this yet, but in Bangladesh you don’t use any cutlery to eat but rather use your right hand. (I specify right because the left hand is used for an entirely different purpose, but I’ll get to that at another time.) I’ve enjoyed adopting this local custom, but judging from the camera guy who hovered over my table while I ate, my technique of mashing meat and rice between my fingers must have been completely wrong!


As I walked out of the party with my half-Bangladeshi friend, I remarked at just how nervous the couple must be starting a new life together without going on a single date.

His reply, “Well, all marriages eventually result in bickering and zero sex, so who cares whether you pick the person or not!”

Cruising down the street… (MATT)

Although there are so many exciting things to see each day, I find that it’s very hard to stop and inconspicuously take a picture while walking around. (As a side story, however, people have no problem coming up to me, shoving their mobile phone in my face, and snapping a pic or two. Just this afternoon, two guys stopped me in a park so they could each have a posed picture standing next to me. What do they do with the pictures, I wonder? “Look mom, I saw a white guy today!!")

That said, I find that I can capture images without feeling strange while riding in the car. Here is a video I took a couple days ago on the way home from work. The quality is poor but the music is great! (My driver has a solid collection of CDs and I enjoy randomly picking one out each day as if I have any idea what I’m about to hear…)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6XRSqWHDVg

Free Water!! (aka “pani” in Bangla) (MATT)

I experience at least five power outages per day. Clean drinking water doesn’t just come out of the faucet. While we take commodities such as electricity and safe water for granted in the US, these are prized resources in Bangladesh.

While sitting at a traffic light behind a water truck, a great scene unfolded in front of me. It started with a single lady, who snuck up behind the truck and figured out how to get the H2O flowing. Within a matter of seconds, several others joined in behind the truck, filling up any type of container they could find – dirty cans, old bottles, even a cupped shirt.

As the light was about to change, the original lady respectfully stepped back in to close the tap. Unfortunately though, just as the truck started moving, some latecomer ran up to get his share. He didn’t get any water, but he managed to re-open the tap and thus water sprayed all over the street as the unknowing driver sped off. What a waste!


On a sadder note, this scene reminded me of a story I read a few months ago about an overturned fuel truck in Ghana. When villagers learned that gas was spraying out of the tank, they ran towards the scene – rather than away – hoping to fill their bottles with some free petrol. Over 70 people were killed/injured when a cigarette ignited a massive explosion.

Desperate people will do dangerous things without seemingly thinking twice…

shifted perspectives (VAL)

Although I know what we all really want to hear about is Matt's adventures in Bangladesh (ahem, reluctant blogger, hint hint...), someone mentioned wanting updates on my life in NYC as well, so I'll oblige.

I got back to the city a couple of days ago after a week in Dhaka. Went for a run in Central Park with my friend, and just could not get over how clean the sidewalks were on my way to the park, or how quiet the traffic noise was down 5th Ave, or how pleasant the weather was (sunny, slight breeze, zero humidity). I mentioned this to my friend, who laughed in reply, saying that quiet, clean, and arid aren't usually the top 3 adjectives that come to mind to describe Manhattan. Looking back, I remember moving to the city and finding the humidity unbearable, the constant train and traffic noise deafening, and the streets filthy with trash and dog poop. But after a week in Dhaka, NYC seems serene. How quickly our perspectives can change!

Brick worker video (MATT)

This isn't my video, but I see crazy stuff like this almost every day...

Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9AUUnalkU8

Grameen pictures (MATT)

The timing of Valerie’s spring break was perfect, as it coincided with my Grameen team’s trip to the US. While I stayed in Dhaka to keep the Pfizer-Grameen research project on track (and spend time with Valerie), the rest of my new colleagues went to Washington, DC to attend the World Health Care Congress, then made a trip to NYC to visit with Hillary Clinton, their Grameen America counterparts, and my Pfizer colleagues in Midtown Manhattan.

Just before the team departed, Professor Yunus left a nice souvenir for Valerie. (It’s not every day that you get a personally addressed signed book from a Nobel Peace Prize winner…)




Here are some pictures from the team’s visit with Secretary Clinton.




While I’m at it, here is a picture with Dr. Yunus and my Pfizer colleagues when they visited Dhaka in mid-March for the project kick-off meetings.



Me, Sebastian (Pfizer), Prof. Yunus, and Sonia (Pfizer)

patriotic arrowheads (VAL)

For his commute to work, Matt has to detour around the large Bangladesh Air Force (BAF) base that is in the middle of the city on the old airport grounds. I had to laugh every time we saw the entrance, which includes this big sign:


I don't know if this is a mistranslation, or if becoming a "PATRIOTIC ARROWHEAD" is really an aspiration of Bangladeshis. Either way, it adds some entertainment to the commute.

toilet tip of the day (VAL)

When in fancy hotels catering to Europeans (like Matt & I were when we went to the Westin for drinks), be careful not to confuse the bidet faucet with the flush of a toilet, especially if leaning over the toilet to flush. You will wind up soaking yourself and the stall in toilet water. The best thing to do at this point is walk past the giggling washroom attendant, use your scarf (that you had prevoiusly been cursing for it's uselessness) to cover your drenched fatua, and go sit in the scorching sun for approximately five minutes until you are dry. Allow another hour or so for the flush of mortification to drain completely from your face.

envy or pity? (VAL)

The rickshaw is the Bangladeshi version of a taxi. It consists of a rickety old bike with an even more rickety cart attached to the back, usually decorated in bright paints, metallic buttons, and tassles, with fancy designs and portraits of Bangladeshi women (or in one case, a little towheaded boy). Lots of locals use this form of transport to go short distances, but I've also seen construction workers on the highway sitting atop their pile of beams while the rickshawallah (driver) strains to turn the pedals.

Matt and I like to take rickshaws up and down Gulshan Avenue, the main drag in the expat neighborhood. Once we're riding down the street in our little carriage, without fail every rickshawallah -- and many pedestrians -- will stare at us as we pass. I've often wondered what the other rickshawallahs are thinking as they watch our driver lug us around. On one hand, as bideshis (foreigners) we have more money to spend and tip much more lavishly than 99% of locals, so a good rickshawallah can earn half of his daily income with our one fare, which is determined beforehand by haggling. On the other hand, we are two BIG bideshis, both tall even for American standards (6'3" and 5'8") and no lightweights either (over halfway into his "third-world thirty", Matt still weighs over 200lbs.). These little rickshawallahs must be pulling at least four times their weight, and that's not counting the cart.

So the question I keep wondering is, are the stares from other rickshawallahs in envy or pity?

bathing rituals (VAL)

The first time I stepped into the master bathroom shower (and I say M.B. shower because there is a master bath, another full bathroom off of the second-biggest bedroom, a third full bath off of the entry foyer, and a hole in the ground in what is supposed to be the maid’s quarters in the back of the kitchen), I was a little grossed out. The faucet hasn’t been scrubbed in a very long time and the metal is pretty tarnished. The showerhead is from the early 80’s and disperses water unevenly. The ceiling is starting to show spots of mold. Well, I thought, I’ll have to rough it a bit in Bangladesh.

So I begin to shower, with my western toiletries and a steady – if slightly uneven – stream of piping hot water. I open the small window in the shower and peer out across the glimmering lake. At this point I notice the two little boys in the distance, one naked and one in red shorts, standing knee-deep in the water, floating algae, and debris (okay, let's be honest, trash and feces) near the edge of the lake. One has a purple plastic bucket, something he might use to build sand castles on the beach if he were born on the other side of the world. Instead, he is wearing it on his head as he splashes his brother/friend. He then uses the bucket to scoop up water and pour it over his head. He makes a scrubbing motion across his stomach and down his legs. Rinses again with the bucket and then begins using the bucket to fling water at his brother/friend in earnest now, windmilling his arm like a softball pitcher so that the scooping and flinging of water repeat fluidly. The other boy mimics the scrubbing motions, scratching at his underarms and rubbing his face. They continue to splash each other for a few minutes before crawling up the steep hill leading up the dirt road that runs along the lake.

Their bath time is over, which reminds me that so is my shower. As I watch them scampering along the road, I grab the towel off of the bar and realize that I need to reconsider my idea of “roughing it”.


(this photo isn't of the original boys I saw, but luckily this routine repeated itself quite often. I decided it'd be indecent to photograph the adults who bathe this way, so I stuck to the little boys.)

my visa (VAL)

Although I arrived at JFK several hours early, I ended up running through security to my flight because I was held up at the check-in counter. They didn't want to let me board the flight without a visa. Although the Bangladesh Consulate website says tourists can easily secure visas on arrival for up to 30 days, and Matt's various expat connections had all assured him that this is what their guests had always done, the airline agent told me their system "strongly recommended" getting a visa beforehand and thus would not allow her to print me my boarding pass. Her supervisor said he himself was Bangladeshi and would never dream of going to Dhaka without a visa. An hour, a panicked call to Matt, a bloody nose, and a fight with the airlines later, the supervisor's supervisor finally approved my boarding pass.

This, of course, made me nervous for my arrival. Visions of being trapped in the Dhaka airport haunted me as I tried to sleep on the plane. Of course I had no way of knowing what the visa on arrival process would entail...

I was one of the first from my flight to make it to the terminal in Dhaka, so I walked right up to the passport security checkpoint to ask for the visa. The agent gestures past him and into the baggage check area, and tells me to find a kiosk for Sonali Bank. With that I’m through security and staring at a row of airport service kiosks: rental cars, currency exchanges, some shady abandoned TI desks. At the Sonali Bank kiosk, a man sits slumped over in his chair, sleeping, behind a counter and a thick pane of Plexiglas. The lights are out. I knock on the glass timidly. He jumps up, runs his hands over his face, and flips on the lights. I now see that his small office is a 6’x6’ space wallpapered in free posters from old airlines and carpeted in . . . people. Yes, four men are sleeping on the floor, under thin blankets, their bodies stretching from one wall to the other. I try to keep my eyes on the teller and not on his strange office mates, who don’t even stir in the sudden light.
“I need a visa on arrival?” I ask hesitantly.
“Fifty dollars” he replies, as he gets out a carbon-papered receipt pad and begins scrawling on it.
“Do you need to see my return itinerary?”
“No, that’s okay.”
“Well, do you want my passport?” I shove it under the glass.
He waves it to the side, leaving it unopened, and continues writing out the receipt. A minute later he rips off the top copy and slides it back under the glass with my passport.
“That’s it?” I ask incredulous. It takes every ounce of my sleep-deprived focus to keep my eyes off of the floor, where one of the men is starting to stir.
“Go back to security now,” he replies, “that’s it.”
So I head back to security, which I realize at this point was only because I didn’t have the brain energy to come up with my own alternative path. If I grabbed my bag off the carousel, I could have had a straight shot out of the airport and to the taxi stand. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this was the strenuous visa process that the JFK agents were concerned about.

The beauty of PB&J! (MATT)

After just over two weeks, I stepped on a scale and realized I had lost a cool 15 pounds. I knew something wasn’t right, as I had dropped two full notches in my favorite belt. Losing approximately a pound a day, I figured, I’d weigh about 40-50 lbs when I return to NYC in a few months.

A friend jokingly calls it the “Third World Thirty,” which for him meant losing 35 lbs in the first year here. As fat Americans, we’re bulked up on genetically engineered over-sized chicken breasts, which left me in a bit of a shock when I went with my colleagues the first day to the “canteen” for lunch. I had heard that the cows and chickens in Bangladesh are among the skinniest in the world, but after picking through the decrepit bundle of chicken bones that first day, I knew I had to figure something else out for lunch.

Accordingly, I’ve gone back to my elementary days and fallen in love again with PB&J sandwiches. With lots of fat and 8 grams of protein per serving, peanut butter is a good start! I usually have PB&J for lunch and an epic feast each night for dinner (at one of the restaurants near my place), which I think will help my weight bounce back a bit.

At this point, however, I think I’d be nothing more than a slap-hitting 8-hole hitter if I returned to the fast-pitch softball team at this point… Sorry fellas – I’m pretty scrawny.