Oh Bangladesh.

So I am now almost exactly two months from my return journey. After the 9 months that have passed it seems like not long at all and my mind drifts more and more frequently toward that day. As such, I have begun making a list of things that I will be leaving behind to help me remember when they are far away and I wonder if I dreamed this year. Some of these things I will miss dearly, others I can hardly wait to free myself from, but most are a little of both. I often find myself thinking how something drives me crazy, but then the idea of it not being there makes me a little sad. You know what I mean. It has become standard for my sister and I, when experiencing many of the things on this list to give a little sigh and say "Oh Bangladesh."

1. The constant jingling of bicycle and rickshaw bells.
2. “Announcer” rickshaws blaring out music, advertisements, or community news at all hours of the day and night.
3. Random groups of people riding by in large trucks shouting.
4. Riding in rickshaws and haggling over taka.
5. My bathroom floor always being wet because they don’t have separate shower areas here.
6. My digestive system not being crazy (I’ll spare you the details, but man, this is definitely something I am excited to leave behind).
7. Conversations of crazy mixes of Bangla and English… and speaking in English slowly, loudly, and without contractions (i.e. “NO I AM NOT HUNGRY”).
8. Bangladeshi food… and having some one else make it… and on the flip side, American food, and getting to make it myself.
9. GIANT spiders.
10. GIANT mosquitoes (now that I think about it you could really just have a whole list of insects here…).
11. The panic of realizing I just accidentally stepped out my door without my orna on, and our guard turning the other way and pretending he hasn’t noticed anything.
12. All the green and the blue (i.e. coconut trees, mango trees, litchi trees, rice patties, rivers, streams and ponds, EVERYWHERE, oh, and rain).
13. Sweating. All the time.
14. Knowing that when I walk down the street everyone notices me… and the occasional excitement of having men burst out into love songs when they see me coming.
15. Going to 15 different tiny shops to find item I need.
16. Hearing gossip about who had a “love marriage.”

17. Scented facial tissue that I swear has been dipped in men's cologne.
18. Arguing with “servants” trying to get them to stop calling me “madam.”
19. Trying to explain why I am not married and why "no I am not interested in marrying you” (although especially since I live in Abilene and my age is breeching the legal Church of Christ limit this problem may follow me home ;-).
20. Ezra. I can’t say more about that or I’ll turn into a worthless puddle of sentimentality.

Whoops, it’s too late. The list will have to stop here for now.

Happy New Year! Or “Ceasper, I’m just acting!”

Remember how once upon a time I said I would post a blog with a video of my next drama? I have finally remembered that myself. So here it is my friends. I couldn’t put up the whole thing because after I explained asides* to Ceasper he took full advantage of the new understanding and a skit that should have been 4 minutes turned into 15…. Oh, and it was lengthened by the fact that Ceasper refused to believe that any drama (even an improv about a foreigner) was complete without a song and a poem.

So, the basic plot: I am an American tourist named Britney (yes, I chose the name on purpose because everyone here knows Britney Spears) who has been in Bangladesh only a week and is having trouble figuring out how to catch a rickshaw. My friend Ceasper (in the skit named “Dumketu” which evidentially means “comet”) is a Bangladeshi man who happens upon me and decides to attempt to seduce the witless bideshi. The skit progresses as the two try to understand each other using Britney's Bangla phrase book. In the course of things Dumketu sings for Britney (something that actually does happen to me here) and he has Britney mimic a poem he recites.

The section I am putting up here is the big finale. Dumketu has just told Britney that the celebration she sees is the Bangladeshi New Year (which is actually what we are performing at, is this brilliant stuff or what?). Britney argues at first, not knowing that there can be any new year other than her own. Once Britney is brought up to speed, Dumketu asks "tomar deshi ki hoy?" (what do you do in your country?). I, of course, do not understand ("Ami buji na") and attempt to look up the words in my phrase book. He then begins to act out** what he thinks we do (leaving out the hilarious, but inappriote immitation of being drunk he did in rehearsal), building up to our New Year kisses "choomoo." At the critical moment, Britney sees a rickshaw and jumps up to catch it.

So I feel like I could have done an entire blog series just on our rehearsal process, which I think was more interesting than the performance itself. In the midst of cutlural and language confusion trying to direct and be a part of a quasi improved skit was more of a challange than I expected. The biggest obstacle was overcoming Ceasper's missunderstanding of realistic acting. Even though he knew that my character, Britney, was the one who didn't understand his Bangla (not me), over and over again we would be in the midst of a run and Britney would say "ami buji na" and Ceasper would kind of furtively look around to see if anyone could hear, then lean over and translate his Bangla into English. Though I was patient with this at first eventually it propelled me into yelling "Ceapser, I'm JUST ACTING!" Following the outburst was a speech about the importance of staying in character no matter what (to which I wanted to add "or I'll strangle you" but held myself back).

So that is the end of my short lived acting career in Bangladesh. Though the experience is one I wouldn't trade, two performances were enough to satisfy me for the rest of my life. Since then I have begun teaching an English class at my NGO, an activity I find demanding as many of my theatre skills as drama itself. Like for instance, frequently I must "act" like I understand English grammar... :-)

*Asides: If you happen not to be a theatre buff yourself, an aside is dramatic convention often used in Shakespeare where a character speaks directly to the audience unnoticed by other characters.

** Cultural Note: If I haven't made this clear in earlier blogs, in Bangladesh (outside of the capital) the vast majority of men and women make no physical contact in public, and in private only between close relatives or spouses. One of the funniest things here has been guys who get excited about shaking my hand. At the end of this performance there was a long line formed to do just that.

Ceasper Part II & My Acting Debut

In case you don't have the motivation to read this entire blog, but just want to look at the pictures really (I often feel that way) I'll make a long story short by letting you know that one could sum up the following episode by saying: I've been discovered.

If you have not you may want to take a quick jog down memory lane by reviewing my post from Feb. 9th ("Crazy Women Drivers") in which I describe having a conversation with one of my co-workers about John F. Kennedy and Shakespeare. I now lovingly calling this man (to my non-Bangladeshi friends and family): Ceasper.

So a couple of weeks after the JFK talk, Ceasper was giving me a speech comparing sentences to the body and soul ("the verb is the soul of a sentence!!") and low and behold it finally came up that I am an actress. Ceasper practically fell all over himself at the word. Next thing I knew I was agreeing to do a Shakespearean (Ceaperean?) monologue at a cultural performance on their Independence Day (March 26th). In Bangladesh they have a phrase that they use in many more situations than we would in the US and this is how I responded to Ceasper when he asked me to do the performance: "keno na?" or "why not?"

I thought "keno na" because:
A) The people in the audience will not understand the language I am speaking (I mean, heck, half of the people who do speak English say they can't understand Shakespeare)
B) The acting style here (from what I have seen) is pretty over dramatic, therefore as long as you seem pretty emotional people think it is great, and...
C) I'm an American, GIRL. Most people will probably be so struck dumb by simply seeing some crazy American chick up on stage they won't even consider that I am acting.

So, I went forth my friends. I chose Juliet's "banished" speech from Romeo and Juliet and Ceasper created a Bangla translation of the monologue which he performed after me (cracking me up by trying to act as much like me as possible, a little of this is in the following video). And before I was given the "go ahead" to be in the show, I had to perform the monologue about 10 times for this group of men (who did not know much English) and have them direct me over and over again to "move around more" and "be more emotional."Oh, and also they asked me if I could dress like Juliet would have. I told them I didn't have anything here like that. They said "you do not have jeans or a t-shirt?" I tried to politely explain that though we do wear jeans and t-shirts in the West now, Juliet would not have.

I was also privileged to get to watch part of the rehearsal for the bangla drama (part also included in the video) that was in the show. It amazing how despite the vast differences in local, culture, religion (the list could go on and on), I think I can safely say now that there is something inexplicably similar about theatre people across the board. Sitting down and watching the last dress rehearsal (which meant that everyone was wound tight and suddenly couldn't remember anything they were supposed to do) felt like coming home. The director even reminded me a lot of Jay Reese.

So, the night came. I'm not sure what was said for my introduction because up until the moment I walked on stage I was frantically trying to get the "stage manager" (maybe?) to make it clear to me whether I was supposed to carry around a mic or not, however, Ceasper told me beforehand that he planned to introduce me as "Emily, big Merican (his version of "American") stage actress from Texas University." The following performance that a group of probably 100 Bangladeshis (and my sister, brother in law, and nephew) saw on Independence Day was something I rather cringe to think about (which is why, I'm sorry to inform you, my pride will not allow me to put up a clip from it). I did as I was directed. I moved around, threw myself on the floor even, used a hysterical voice, and pretended to weep. As I expected the audience seemed rather dumbstruck, but I was told afterward that my performance was (and I quote from Ceasper) "unlike anything we have ever seen before," with the caveat that they wish I had carried around a mic.

The next day at the office Ceasper informed me that the bigwigs at the cultural club were eager to have me back, but that this time we should do something together. "What did you have in mind," I ask. And without missing a beat Ceasper replies "the death scene from Othello." Now, if you are not laughing here perhaps I should remind you that this scene is perhaps one of the most dramatic duet scenes in Shakespeare's dramas. It begins with Othello caressing Desdemona as she sleeps, then, when she awakes, him chasing her around and eventually smothering her to death. If you don't think this is funny yet, watch the video and see who Ceasper is.

Though I must admit the prospective hilarity of the performance was tempting to me, in the end I convinced him instead to do a skit I made up making fun of clueless foriegners (such as myself a few months ago) in Bangladesh. We rehearsed about a week ago and I was quite impressed at Ceasper's improv skills when speaking his own language. I am still not sure what to expect, but we perform this coming Tuesday for the Bangladeshi New Year. I promise to put up a video of it this time no matter the outcome (however, this time it will be English speakers who do not know the language).

And now, the evidence that it all really happened.



Clips from the Bangla Drama and the end of Ceasper doing his version of Juliet's monologue... with me trying to keep a straight face.

Me being dramatic, #1.

Me being dramatic, #2.

The whole cast at the end of the Bangla drama.

The tech guys at the sound system.

The village set.

And now, to tag on something completely unrelated, a quick mosquito update:
1) My nephew has learned to react to the Bangla word for mosquito, "mosha," by frantically swatting the air
2)They keep getting bigger - I JUST killed one the size of a nickel!

3) I find myself wondering what it will be like to go a day without getting bit... that may be a big part of my re-acculturation process. I'll be paraniodly (can I say that?) slapping imaginary mosquitoes and one of you will shake me and say "Emily get ahold of yourself there's nothing there!"

I raced a rickshaw...

to work this morning.

I know what you are thinking: yes he was pulling his "rickshaw cart" and a passenger, and I had only myself. However, I would like to point out his advantages which you may not realize: a) experience, he's probably been on the road since he could walk and therefore does not have the cumbersome trepidation I have, b) he is on a three-wheeled vehicle and cannot easily be toppled over, AND people get out of the way for him whereas: c) people are stopping in front of me to stare.

The race was of course accidental, but I think we both knew what was happening. When he first passed me he leaned over and gave me a patronizing "hello" (how do you say "hello" in a patronizing tone you ask? I just knew people, I just knew). I was not going to stand for this. I bid my time well, and when the opportunity arose I flew past him with a little "hello" of my own. This went on for a couple of kilometers before, I am happy to report to you, I beat him by at least a few feet.

Today, I have tasted sweet victory.
However, I also moved up to 4th grade today. I had to do math... I was not as victorious there, but you know, you can't win them all.

Auntie!

So since my first nephew was born just a little over three years ago I have dreamed of the day that I would be called “Auntie” or “Aunt Emily,” “Auntie Em,” "Big E"... you get it. March 31 my third nephew, Luke Russell Savage, was born and my dreams have come true. Someone is calling me Auntie non-stop… it is just not one my nephews.

This is Bonnie (and me... obviously). She is Rina’s (our cook, and my best friend) youngest daughter. For the first 6 months I was in Bangladesh, Bonnie, despite Rina’s constant prodding, wanted to have NOTHING to do with me. When the family and I came to the little birthday party Rina threw for her, and offered her presents she looked us over very suspiciously for a long while before snatching them from us and moving to the other side of the room to open them. I tried a lot of tactics to win her over, you know, buying her with candy, giving her a lot of special attention, trying not paying any attention to her but just being in the vicinity using something I thought she might be interested in to lure her... all to no avail. After so many months of of failed attempts at befriending her I had all but completely given up, when about a month ago Rina happened to bring Bonnie to the house one day when I was working outside and I accidentally started a game of hide and seek with her. That was all it took. An accidental game and next thing I know I am constantly hearing "Auntie!!!!" yelled by Bonnie as she searched for me through the house.

As much as I am still looking forward to hearing one of my blood-related nephews call me their aunt, it is pretty wonderful hearing it from Bonnie who knows no other English and (as far as I can tell) does not speak to anyone outside of her family. I am very thankful that friendships can form without sharing a common language, because though at this point I can communicate what I need to pretty well in Bangla, Bonnie's five-year-old method of speech is completely out of my realm of expertise. She talks to me non-stop, but luckily doesn't seem too frustrated by my lack of understanding and simply pulls me wherever she needs me to go. In the picture above, Bonnie had just pulled me out in to the yard and decided it was time we adorn ourselves with flowers.

So, since I am on the children topic, I should let you know that I have began attending 1st grade (or "phela class") here. My office runs a school on the grounds and I've begun sitting in when I have time. I have got to tell you, I wish so badly I had been doing this since I got here! They are learning all the things I have needed, the alphabet, the numbers, correct pronuciation, and of course the teachers are really patient and repeat things a million times. I need one of them as a tutor. One of my favorite moments in class so far was one day when they had game time and I was told they were starting a game called "good morning." This game is just like duck duck goose, except when the "goose" is tagged, the children run opposite ways around the circle and when they meet they have to shake hands and yell "GOOD MORNING!" before racing to get to the open seat first. I can not describe how utterly delightful it was to watch these little Bangladeshi children racing around shouting muddled "good mornings" to eat other... perhaps I'll catch it on camera next time.

And speaking of next time, I really am going to write about Ceasper and my acting debut... next time. Until then... GOOD MORNING!!

Crazy Women Drivers, Part II

Back by popular demand, more stories from the road.

As a general note I must say that since starting my bike riding adventures I have gotten a lot better. I am not constantly feeling that I am about to die (although it is not an infrequent feeling) and I've even begun to enjoy the scenery a little. However, every time I complete an event less journey I feel a bit like I should be given some kind of recognition or something. Sometimes I show up to the office and the guard opens the gate and I want to exclaim "Can you believe I just rode my bike all the way here! I am awesome!", but then I remember that 8 year-olds ride bikes all over the place here, and of course, I don't know how to say all of that in Bangla.

Now, a story.

So one day not long after the incident mentioned in my last entry, I am on my bike coming back from the office. I am feeling pretty good about myself as I have avoided multiple accidents and even woven my way through a conglomeration of at least 100 elementary school students hanging out on the road, when I approach the site of my accident. This time I am not taking any risks. I approach with utmost caution slowly scanning my surroundings for other vehicles and/or animals/children etc. that might suddenly appear. I am almost to the bridge moments from being home free, when I see two rickshaws coming at me with a large truck behind them. Now, I will admit, there was a little space left on my side of the road that I could possibly have gotten by on, but remember I am in the "take no chances" mode, so I decide instead to simply hop off the bike on the little dirt shoulder and wait for them to pass.

- A moment of reflection: Is it just me or did this seem like a smart idea? I mean it did right? Vehicles are coming at you, you get out of the way, smart girl. And yet, Bangladesh always has surprises for me. -

So, I hop. Next thing I know I am sinking quickly through the dirt heading for a fish pond at the bottom of the drop. I mean, it is seriously like quicksand on some cartoon. The bike and I would have ended up in the pond moments later had we not been caught... by a brick wall.

Now I am waist deep in (I now realize) newly laid dirt with my face against the wall still clinging to one handlebar of my bike. This could have been pretty difficult to get out of but luckily in Bangladesh one would be hard pressed to find a place where at least ten people aren't hanging around just waiting for something (like a white girl falling off a bike) to happen. So, before I am even able to fully assess my situation two young guys are picking up my bike and pulling me out of the ditch with expert speed (later I think how grateful I was for the momentary breech of the normal "men and women don't touch in public" custom). I do a quick body scan and note that I am covered in dirt, but uninjured, AND (this is the important thing) I have not lost my orna.

The guys look at me with concerned faces and say "hospee-tal lagbe? hospee-tal?" I begin laughing. The guys look more concerned. I thank them and get back on the bike, still covered in dirt.

Later that day:

My Sister: What happened to your leg?

Me: What do you mean?

My Sister: You're all cut up.

Me: (looking at my ankle) Oh... you know, the bike got me.

Ok! That is all for bike stories now, but you can get yourselves ready for my next post:
"Ceasper, Part 2 & My Acting Debut." You won't want to miss it.

Crazy Women Drivers

You know those horror stories you always hear about teens who have accidents their first day on the road? When I worked for State Farm Insurance I received a call one day from a mother whose daughter had just hit 5 parked cars in the school parking lot her first day out. My story isn’t that bad, but I bet more people already know about it.

So if I haven’t mentioned it before the roads here are crazy. It feels something like it might if you set all the animals in a zoo free at once in a narrow area and them all going their separate ways. The roads are mostly very narrow, and laden with pot holes. Then you have all the rickshaws, bikes, motorbikes, mini-motorized rickshaws, cows, goats, chickens, various piles of things, a few cars, and huge over crowed buses. Oh, and all the people who stop on the road to stare at me. It didn’t take long for me to decide I never wanted to operate any kind of vehicle on these roads.

However, I am also against paying the exorbitant bideshi prices of 40 taka every time I go to work (more on that later). So yesterday I said forget it, and decided to take myself to work on my brother-in-law’s bike. My anxious feelings were compounded by the fact that very few women ever drive anything here. I have in fact never seen a woman on a bike since I have been here. All the same though, I think “hey it is just riding a bike, I can do this,” and I feel certain at least that today must fall in the beginners luck category, so that if I am going to have problems they will come later when I get cocky.

So without waiting to get too scared to go I wrap my orna around my head and set off. I use my acting skills to look confident, but I am scared to death and am repeating in my head over and over “I am going to die, I am going to die” as I go along. However, eventually I get out of the main part of the city to a less crowed area. I begin to feel a little confidence creeping into my consciousness (the kiss of death) and that is when it happens. As with most accidents, I truthfully could not tell you exactly what happened. All I know is that one second I was coming up to a small bridge thinking about how the rickshaws always slow down and move to the middle when they go over it, and the next second I had collided head on with one such rickshaw. I was completely stunned, but I think the rickshaw walla and passenger were even more so. I quickly said “I’m so sorry” in Bangla, and they just stared with mouths wide open.

Without thinking to check to see if the bike was alright or if I was injured, I jumped back on and started riding. I realized later I had a cut on my hand that was bleeding. As I rode away some man shouted something in Bangla to the effect of “you women shouldn’t be on the road!” All I could think to answer was “I know!”

Soon after that a boy whom I’m guessing was about 15 years old rode up beside me and began talking to me in Bangla-English.
Boy: "the road is very dangerous”
Me: “I know, do you think I will kill myself out here?”
Boy: “Oh yes.”
I didn’t though. And now I have gotten the bike back home and been informed that people run into rickshaws all the time, it is to be expected.

This is already too long but I have some catching up to do, so I’m plowing on.

The best news is that I have finally found a place to volunteer. It is this NGO called Gana Unnayan Kendra (GUK). I fell in love with it the first day I went to visit, and have gone almost everyday since. Their work is pretty varied but it can generally fall into the categories of disaster relief, human rights, and poverty reduction. I am still not sure exactly what I will be doing there, right now I am just learning about the organization, but it is so wonderful to be out on my own finally meeting people and feeling hopeful that I may be somewhat productive while in Bangladesh.

And now, a few funny moments on the job.

One day I got to go out to a small village where they were conducting a meeting with women to help them understand the resources and aid available to them. I wish I had a picture of this, because once again I felt like I was in the middle of a national geographic phote shoot, and yet, it felt at the same time so run-of-the-mill. I was made to stand up and introduce myself shortly after my arrival, then sit in the center of the circle throughout the talks. They did this to honor me, but I felt a little like I was in the “mush pot” and gave myself a headache trying to look like I was understanding the Bangla speeches. Afterward I was immediately surrounded by all of the women bombarding me with questions (which was actually kind of fun). When I answered negatively to the “biye hoyeche??” (are you married?) their excitement could not be contained, their were giggles and outburst of applause. I have a feeling next time I go to this village there will be eligible bachelors waiting.

Meeting people at the office has created an interesting social problem. Here is the issue: shaking hands. I am aware that on the whole in Bangladesh men and women never touch in public, so whenever I meet a male I simply bow my head a little. Now the issue is that the people at the office all have had higher education, so they know something of western culture and are aware of the fact that in the US shaking hands is a co-ed event. So this is how it goes down: 1) I am introduced to a male person 2) male moves his hand to shake mine 3) male realizes I have not moved my hand and starts to put his back down 4) at the same moment it registers with me that he wants to shake my hand so I bring it out 5) we both feel awkward.

Today I had this conversation with a man at the office who claims to have a masters in English literature (for purposes of anonymity I will call him Azad… and because I can’t remember his real name, but I do know a guy here named Azad).
Azad: Where are you from in Texas?
Me: Dallas (I am from Fort Worth and in the US it is a big deal to me to differentiate this from Dallas, but some people here have heard of Dallas, and for goodness sakes this is Bangladesh so I don’t think I have any call to be nitpicky).
Azad: Oh, Dallas is a very famous and great city.
Me: Thank you.
Azad: Dallas Dallas Dallas, yes, a fine city. Do you about the great American president Kennedy, JFK, who was, was he not, ass-nated, there?
Me: (trying to hold back the smile) Yes I do.
Azad: Yes he was ass-i-nated. And do you know about the tragedy about his wife Jacqueline?
Me: No, I do not.
Azad: After he was ass-i-nated, she married a Greek man!
Me: … (waiting for what the tragedy was)
Azad: Can you believe that? Oh women! Faithless!
Me: … (thinking about how it is acceptable here for men to have more than one wife at the same time)
Azad: Do you know about Ceasper?
Me: … I don’t think so.
Azad: Oh you must know, he was a very very famous poet in UK, Ceasper!
Me:… oh, Shakespeare!
Azad: Yes, Ceasper!
Me: Oh yes, I have actually performed in-
Azad: He wrote many many plays.
Me: Yes I-
Azad: One was Macbeth, very very famous, many many people know it.
Me: Yes like I was saying I-
Azad: and Hamlet, also very famous.
Me: yes.
Azad: In one of the plays Ceasper says “Frailty, thy name is woman!”
Me: (astounded) Yes he does.
Azad: I am not saying I agree, I am not saying that! But oh, the tragedy of Jaquiline!

And lastly I met a girl with some serious attitude named Asha. She is one of the few women I have met who seems to know exactly what she is about and not act nervous around me. I found out today her name means “hope” in Bangla. I think we are going to be good friends.

The End!