"See you again"
We are leaving LAMB tomorrow, so for now, "Abar dehka hobe."
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
The commute home
As a parent of four, you can easily imagine that peace and quiet are long sought and seldom found. The two are linked in both our language and common experience: sometimes the quietest and most peaceful moment of my day is the commute home. It is often a time for reflection.
If I feel restless, have difficulty doing the simplest tasks, or can't collect my thoughts, it is often because I have not bookended my day with quiet time. Making margin in my life necessary to do this usually requires making decisions, but seeking quiet time makes a difference.
Simplicity is closely related: mental quietness. I admire the simplicity of action following belief. What do you believe? Look at your actions. What kind of tree is it? Look at its fruit. It's a simple principle, but suggests hard decisions. That's probably what it takes to walk peacefully home.
Monday, March 28, 2011
A precious gift
One of my dear ayahs came in the door with a bowl of small green leaves yesterday. When I asked her what it was for, she replied that she had no money to buy me a birthday gift, and so putting the henna-like stain of the leaves on my hand in the traditional Bangladeshi village style (not the fancy swirls we have seen before) would be her gift to me.
The leaves were ground with a rolling pin on a rough stone slab.
She then applied the green paste to the ends of the fingers of my left hand and a big circle on my palm. Both the ayahs did the same to their own left hands.
An hour later, when the leaf paste was washed off, their fingertips and palms were a lovely red. Mine were a vivid ORANGE!
Apparently, even after the color fades from my skin, my fingernails will remain stained. They assured me that it looks quite beautiful as it grows out. I have to wonder what people in the States will think!
Dear friends and I have remarked in the past that it can be a delight to give the gift of an experience, rather than a material thing, to mark an occasion. Our ayahs have shared their lives and culture with us and worked like crazy to keep us clothed, fed, and in a tidy home. But this one heartfelt gesture is sealed in my heart forever as a mark of true affection.
The leaves were ground with a rolling pin on a rough stone slab.
She then applied the green paste to the ends of the fingers of my left hand and a big circle on my palm. Both the ayahs did the same to their own left hands.
An hour later, when the leaf paste was washed off, their fingertips and palms were a lovely red. Mine were a vivid ORANGE!
Apparently, even after the color fades from my skin, my fingernails will remain stained. They assured me that it looks quite beautiful as it grows out. I have to wonder what people in the States will think!
Dear friends and I have remarked in the past that it can be a delight to give the gift of an experience, rather than a material thing, to mark an occasion. Our ayahs have shared their lives and culture with us and worked like crazy to keep us clothed, fed, and in a tidy home. But this one heartfelt gesture is sealed in my heart forever as a mark of true affection.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Marconi
A medical assistant here is more akin to a nurse practitioner in the States: very capable, and often quite experienced, especially in local problems. Marconi, one of the M.A.s, is slim, dark, about my age, and sharply dressed: every crease is crisp, each cuff perfectly in place. His father is a tailor.
He invited me to his family home for lunch and I accepted, not realizing this involved a 14 km sojourn by electric taxi, vangari, and foot that took an hour each way. I passed a very pleasant afternoon today, out in the fields and paddies, listening to the wind in the rice and palms as we walked to his village. Along the way he told a bit of his story.
When he was young, his mother worked as a day laborer and his father taught in a school for tailors. They were very poor, owning no fields with which to feed themselves (each field about the size of my living room). However, his parents worked hard and his father saved for 9 years to purchase two small paddies for the family - a minor fortune.
Marconi studied and excelled in primary school, earning the opportunity to attend upper grades 30 km away in Dinajpur for free. Placing second in his class there, he was sponsored for university in Dhaka. Finishing, he applied to LAMB for the (then free) MA training. Finishing that, he has worked here 6 days a week for 11 years, earning a respectable $157/month.
In that time he has: bought his father a small space (6'x8') in nearby Joshi to open a tailor shop, put his brother through MA school (no longer free), and been the primary breadwinner for his extended family. He is now married, has two daughters, one of which attends school at LAMB (expensive) and they spend the work week living near LAMB. They rent a single room here for $17.14/month: any more than that and his daughter would have to attend the local primary school, about which he says, "That is not good".
Here's an image for Bangladesh today: A slim young man in a tattersall shirt that could be L.L. Bean, sharp slacks, small briefcase, talking quietly on his mobile phone as he threads his way between lush rice paddies, past goats and chickens, and up to his home village of mud daub and wattle houses.
He invited me to his family home for lunch and I accepted, not realizing this involved a 14 km sojourn by electric taxi, vangari, and foot that took an hour each way. I passed a very pleasant afternoon today, out in the fields and paddies, listening to the wind in the rice and palms as we walked to his village. Along the way he told a bit of his story.
When he was young, his mother worked as a day laborer and his father taught in a school for tailors. They were very poor, owning no fields with which to feed themselves (each field about the size of my living room). However, his parents worked hard and his father saved for 9 years to purchase two small paddies for the family - a minor fortune.
Marconi studied and excelled in primary school, earning the opportunity to attend upper grades 30 km away in Dinajpur for free. Placing second in his class there, he was sponsored for university in Dhaka. Finishing, he applied to LAMB for the (then free) MA training. Finishing that, he has worked here 6 days a week for 11 years, earning a respectable $157/month.
In that time he has: bought his father a small space (6'x8') in nearby Joshi to open a tailor shop, put his brother through MA school (no longer free), and been the primary breadwinner for his extended family. He is now married, has two daughters, one of which attends school at LAMB (expensive) and they spend the work week living near LAMB. They rent a single room here for $17.14/month: any more than that and his daughter would have to attend the local primary school, about which he says, "That is not good".
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Birthday!
This March 26th is both Mary's 4th birthday and Bangladesh Independence Day.
She thought that all the festivities, activities and cultural events were for her.
We are deeply grateful for her.
A gratuitous photo of Annie in a Sari (or re-purposed orna).
Friday, March 25, 2011
Practice for reentry
We are less than a week out from leaving LAMB and experienced folk have warned us that it will take more than just recovering from jetlag to reacclimate to the West. We've discussed what that might look like. Here's one idea:
"I'd like a tall skim latte"
"Tall skim latte, OK, that'll be eight dollars and fifteen cents at the first window"
"For that coffee? Are you kidding? I'll offer you 50 cents"
"Huh? It's $8.15, sir"
"Give me a break. OK, how about 85 cents?"
or this:
"Laura, what's wrong with this food - does it taste funny to you?"
"I don't know - just doesn't look right...wait, it's not yellow!"
So the occasion of receiving a package from Maine (more than 3 weeks in transit!) seemed a fitting one to begin the process gently.
 |
| Mac 'n cheese |
It might have been too much of a shock if it weren't yellow.
And this speaks for itself.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Shopping for bags
Have I ever told you that I hate shopping? I think the only thing worse than shopping for bags is shopping for pants. In Saidpur, 18km away, we ran errands on a chuti day, and everyone told us we must stop in at the bag store. Even the driver said, "You go next action bags?". I sighed.
I'm not sure what I was expecting - I had an idea of a dim, cavernous building, the smell of incense and a vaguely bohemian decor: a mental echo from college? Instead, our driver pulled up to a nondescript door in a residential area, where a small sign next to the door read, "action bag, fair-trade project, Saidpur, Nilphimari dist.". We let ourselves in unannounced to a small atrium, walked across to an open door and looked inquisitive (something we've perfected). A fiftyish woman behind a business desk looked over her glasses and smiled, closing a ledger. "I am manager of action bags, you are from LAMB? "
"Yes" How could you tell?
"We get many people from LAMB." Ah, you read minds. And also we're bideshi.
"You wait one minute". She found the assistant production manager who let us into a room about the size of a bedroom, stacked to the ceiling with bags in no order I could discern. I have a suspicion some piles may not have seen daylight for a decade. The assistant manager reached into a pile and pulled out precisely the right kind of bag first try. The right kind? Yes - exactly what Laura was looking for. We dragged it out, and still it took all of six minutes.
 |
| The Assistant Manager |
Out back in another atrium, several people were cutting fabric to take home and a few women were sewing in an open courtyard. Maybe 15 people in all. A whiteboard had orders listed, due dates, and destinations, ranging from Japan to the USA. Each person either looked curious or smiled at us.
Back in the manager's office we were served hot ginger tea with fresh bits of ginger in the bottom of the cup, while the manager explained about the project. We sat and chatted for five more minutes and then excused ourselves, each placing our right hand over our chest and thanking her for the tea. And yes, after this, I might even go shopping for pants in Bangladesh.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Decision
She was well known here at LAMB, like family to some of the staff. Most people were subdued yesterday: Dr. Hassan said to me, "I am not very well today" by way of explanation.
I had a decision to make. A nurse came, said, "The condition is very serious now". I stood up, walked 7 meters and as I arrived, her heart stopped beating. I could have coded her: CPR, life support, special medications. I have coded several people here. But I knew we could not win this one. I made the decision to let her go.
What makes it especially difficult was that she was 29 with an underlying treatable illness. It was TB, though she died of sepsis. I made the correct decision but it is always difficult. Thank you for praying.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)