Day-to-Day and De-Normalizing

07/19/13

            When I first decided to write down my thoughts and experiences this summer, I did so because I wanted to be more aware of how I process, of what stands out to me and how I observe it, of who and what matters as I am living my daily life. The goal was both professional and personal. As I get closer to starting the research and writing for my dissertation, I want to focus on writing no matter what, on recording even if I think there’s nothing particularly worth putting on paper in any given moment. At the same time, I remembered how hard it was for me to describe my experiences in South Asia to anyone once I had returned to the United States. It was like some strange dream world in which logic and feelings functioned differently, in which the contours of daily life could not be expressed in the words and emotions I had available to me as an American English speaker to express them. I had hoped that by recording things as they happened, I would perhaps be better able to explain them.

            But how do I explain all the things I take for granted, the things I don’t even realize are unusual or unexpected? Or maybe I did think at one point that they were, but because I did not focus on them in my earlier writings, I no longer remember how strange they were at first. Perhaps there are things that I take for granted with my cultural background that I would not if I were a native Bangladeshi. Aren’t those things also worth mentioning? Today’s entry is a number of stories told in pictures about the little things, the things I have forgotten to notice (which are also very big things). And maybe just by writing them I will see them differently once again.

These are jamdani weavers working on a jamdani sari. Jamdani is a weaving technique which uses a hand loom to create beautiful decorative patterns on cotton and silk. One sari, which can involve days, weeks, or even months of labor sells for anywhere between 700 and 7000 taka. A junior weaver might make 1600 take in a month. 80 taka, by the way, is about equivalent to 1 dollar right now. Somehow, this does not seem like a fair labor practice. I bought a jamdani-woven salwar kameez set because it was beautiful, but I am not sure how to feel about it. It is worth noting here that shopping is a HUGE part of socializing in Dhaka. There are hundreds of thousands of shops displaying all kinds of clothes, accessories, shoes, home goods, and more. One of my teachers told us that she owns 800 saris! And when you are coming from abroad and you can have an entire suit of clothes made from fabrics you hand select for less than $20, it is difficult not to get carried away. I have never figured out how to stop myself from going material-crazy when in South Asia.

This is a human-operated ferris wheel. I just thought it looked cool and ridiculously unsafe.

Hanging the laundry out to dry, like you do, after you've washed it in the river behind your house.

These are the ruins of Panam City. Panam City was once a trading center (under British rule) for fabrics. Now it is a protected ruin with a living village surrounding it.

In the village of Panam City, I ended up spending more time talking with a few village women than actually looking at the ruins. I could not understand everything they said, but what I think I got was that one of them had had 8 grandchildren, 6 of whom had died. Death feels closer here. It's not just the tropical diseases or the fact that one bad earthquake would level Dhaka, it's the other deaths, the ones that seem so preventable. We just went through a 4 day hartal, a work strike called by the radical Islamic group, Jamaat-e-Islami, after two of their leaders were convicted of war crimes they had committed during the Bangladeshi War of Independence. I assumed that a strike was a relatively peaceful means of protesting. But at least 9 people have been killed by bombs and riots in the 4 days of strikes, and this is apparently a low number for a hartal. One of my friend's language partners told him that Bangladeshis have seen a lot more death than most westerners and then related a story of seeing a woman across the street hanging herself by the window when he was 9 years old. Though he tried to run over and stop it, he was too late. People are killed in the traffic here every day (or run over by buses). Then there's diarrhea, dehydration, starvation. Rickshaw drivers frequently suffer early heart attacks by actually working themselves to death hauling passengers across the city. Death is everywhere in the US, too, and I don't mean to downplay that, but I think because I am a foreigner I am more aware of how little anyone seems to notice it here.

But at least these baby goats are ridiculously cute, right? They were born about a week ago in my neighborhood. I tried to go up and pet one, but they are already people shy, so I just took this picture from afar while they attempted to eat part of a construction site.

I have no idea what these men are doing with these bricks, but it has something to do with building things...

This is the central courtyard of Independent University Bangladesh, which is where I attend the Bangla Language Institute. It is a pretty fancy building with classrooms on four sides surrounding a central courtyard. There is a guard at the front gate at all times and guards and cleaning staff on every floor. There are three rabbits who run around the courtyard for unknown reasons, a three story library, a small restaurant/cafeteria which the students have shut down by calling for a strike of its products (they were too expensive and not tasty enough), and carom boards and table tennis on the first floor. The classrooms all have AC, though to pass from one to another you walk outside (the hallways are not walled in). When there is a hartal, it is deserted except for us, our teachers, and the guards and cleaning staff.

This is my classroom and one of my teachers, Nandini. There are only two of us in my class.

This is an empty lot on my walk home. Considering how much development is going on, I am always surprised that it exists.

This is the weird fancy house near my apartment building. It is almost directly across from the vacant lot. So on the one side, I see this ornate house with private cars and a guard house and on the other I see cows, goats, and sometimes random street kids hanging out. It is a strange contrast.

It is currently Ramadan and during Ramadan, the attendance at prayers increases exponentially. This is because you can earn God's mercy (or wrath) during Ramadan based on how you behave. This crowd is all about to participate in afternoon prayers somewhere on a road to New Market. The number of people who fast during Ramadan is also staggering. Most roadside tea stalls hang sheets up to block them from the street so that no one who is fasting has to see others eating and drinking. Even some rickshaw pullers fast. I have no idea how they drink no water and eat no food for almost 15 hours a day while biking passengers all over the city, but somehow they do.

This is New Market, where you can buy basically anything. It is huge and packed and overwhelming. It is also the place many go to find the best deals on certain items (some western clothes, plastic food containers, stationery) in Dhaka.

This is the traffic you have to get through to make it to New Market. Why does anyone go there besides stupid foreigners like me who do not know what they are getting into?