A Breath of Fresh Air
After five long days of being confined to my bed and with the help of some antibiotics brought from home and the advice of one of the doctors at the office, I'm back on my feet...and it feels good.
Not only that, but I was also able to finish the project that I had been working on since the second day after I arrived in Dhaka - BRCT's first policy paper. It was initially a thirty page document with so much to say but with little power to do so; like a baby before it learns to speak. While the most gratifying point was typing the final period in the executive summary, essentially crossing my last 't' or dotting my last 'i' in pre-word processing speak, I'm also pleased that I learned so much about the organization in the process. The man who initially undertook the herculean task of compiling it all himself in only a week was also kind enough to have me write in my own 'thank you' note (I typed it while he suggested what I wrote) in the executive summary to recognize the work I'd put into it over the past two weeks - only another example of the treatment I've been receiving so far. It was a nice gesture indeed. We're passing it along to our Danish partners and primary donor agency in preparation for their visit sometime in the next two weeks. I had also been working off suggestions made through email by their regional coordinator whom I understand is also quite tall - I look forward to meeting him both to thank him for his suggestions and poke fun at our own vertical peculiarities.
I'm slowly realizing that a daily variation in one's diet isn't very common for most people here, and I assume I can say the same for most parts of the world too. While the food is flavourful and always plentiful, the taste lingers in my mouth from meal to meal. While this doesn't bode well for my appetite, (which has already decreased considerably since arrival), it makes the taste of the foods that only appear ever so often that much more potent. If the taste of a ripe banana or...mmm, a freshly peeled orange, makes my taste buds go wild, I can only imagine what the flavours of a rich lasagna, cold summer strawberry or even a chilled glass of BC white wine might do to my senses. In the meantime, however, I'll learn to enjoy adapting to the realities of life here in Dhaka....hopefully.
Things may start looking brighter on the food horizon once I regain the ability to cook for myself and refrigerate my own milk (rehydrated), yogurt and vegetables. Based on the impressive amount of work done over the past five days on the guesthouse on the 15th floor it looks as though this might happen in the next three to five days. I'll be happy to get out of this hotel, too. Though comfortable, I still can't settle in to my new temporary life in Dhaka until I'm in my pseudo-home. A hotel has too many conveniences and reminders of transiency and suitcase living to let its occupants get comfortable with the local surroundings and stop looking at things through glass windows. In other words, I look forward to looking after my self again.
One thing I forgot to mention from last week was my trip to the National Museum on Friday. For 5 taka (apparently it used to be free), one is treated to four floors of rather dreary displays which detract from the importance and quality of many of the items lying underneath the smudged glass cases, resting on dull grey/green backdrops and underneath uncovered fluorescent lighting. It's not all like that, though, but certainly quite a number of the museums pieces that sometimes make you wonder why they're in a museum in the first place. The most beautiful work of art I came across was the chess set carved out of ivory. Annemarie or anyone else who's taken the tour of the UN in New York will recognize the style as similar to the Chinese sculpture also carved out of ivory that was given as a gift to the UN a number of years ago, in which one of the tiny trains chugging its way up the mountainside contains a passenger waving his hand at you. The chess set was found at the end of a gallery, almost forgotten, but remembered by at least a few. Aside from the entire floor devoted to the life of the founder of Bangladesh, President Zia (including him in a photo with Saddam Hussein and another with Margaret Thatcher), there was also the country's original flag sewn by hand; a moving display on the war of independance including a blood-soaked, bullet-riddled shirt of a protestor during the uprising; a few interesting paintings; many model wooden boats looking as though they were from centuries ago but all of which were labelled as "20th Century"; and a massive country map with lights indicating major towns and cities throughout the country that resembled the physical map of BC built for either Expo 86 or the PNE where you could ride on the bridge and have the guide point out the town of your choice. Visits to Western museums will never be the same.
As for the flooding you may have read about or seen on the news, it was apparently the worst the city has seen since the 50s. It was about a foot and a half deep in our neighbourhood, enough to prevent automobile traffic but not rickshaws, but chest deep in other parts of town. The water had mostly receded by this morning on the street outside my hotel but it was still quite deep in other parts of town. The papers here have headlines such as "Rains bring life to a halt", but the articles themselves occupy only a small section of the paper and are subsumed by national political issues surrounding bombings, murders, student strikes, visits by foreign delegations and the long list of 'ships in port' and the goods they're importing and exporting down at Chittagong. Life hardly ground to a halt, either...it was only slowed down a few notches.
All in a days work, I guess.
Not only that, but I was also able to finish the project that I had been working on since the second day after I arrived in Dhaka - BRCT's first policy paper. It was initially a thirty page document with so much to say but with little power to do so; like a baby before it learns to speak. While the most gratifying point was typing the final period in the executive summary, essentially crossing my last 't' or dotting my last 'i' in pre-word processing speak, I'm also pleased that I learned so much about the organization in the process. The man who initially undertook the herculean task of compiling it all himself in only a week was also kind enough to have me write in my own 'thank you' note (I typed it while he suggested what I wrote) in the executive summary to recognize the work I'd put into it over the past two weeks - only another example of the treatment I've been receiving so far. It was a nice gesture indeed. We're passing it along to our Danish partners and primary donor agency in preparation for their visit sometime in the next two weeks. I had also been working off suggestions made through email by their regional coordinator whom I understand is also quite tall - I look forward to meeting him both to thank him for his suggestions and poke fun at our own vertical peculiarities.
I'm slowly realizing that a daily variation in one's diet isn't very common for most people here, and I assume I can say the same for most parts of the world too. While the food is flavourful and always plentiful, the taste lingers in my mouth from meal to meal. While this doesn't bode well for my appetite, (which has already decreased considerably since arrival), it makes the taste of the foods that only appear ever so often that much more potent. If the taste of a ripe banana or...mmm, a freshly peeled orange, makes my taste buds go wild, I can only imagine what the flavours of a rich lasagna, cold summer strawberry or even a chilled glass of BC white wine might do to my senses. In the meantime, however, I'll learn to enjoy adapting to the realities of life here in Dhaka....hopefully.
Things may start looking brighter on the food horizon once I regain the ability to cook for myself and refrigerate my own milk (rehydrated), yogurt and vegetables. Based on the impressive amount of work done over the past five days on the guesthouse on the 15th floor it looks as though this might happen in the next three to five days. I'll be happy to get out of this hotel, too. Though comfortable, I still can't settle in to my new temporary life in Dhaka until I'm in my pseudo-home. A hotel has too many conveniences and reminders of transiency and suitcase living to let its occupants get comfortable with the local surroundings and stop looking at things through glass windows. In other words, I look forward to looking after my self again.
One thing I forgot to mention from last week was my trip to the National Museum on Friday. For 5 taka (apparently it used to be free), one is treated to four floors of rather dreary displays which detract from the importance and quality of many of the items lying underneath the smudged glass cases, resting on dull grey/green backdrops and underneath uncovered fluorescent lighting. It's not all like that, though, but certainly quite a number of the museums pieces that sometimes make you wonder why they're in a museum in the first place. The most beautiful work of art I came across was the chess set carved out of ivory. Annemarie or anyone else who's taken the tour of the UN in New York will recognize the style as similar to the Chinese sculpture also carved out of ivory that was given as a gift to the UN a number of years ago, in which one of the tiny trains chugging its way up the mountainside contains a passenger waving his hand at you. The chess set was found at the end of a gallery, almost forgotten, but remembered by at least a few. Aside from the entire floor devoted to the life of the founder of Bangladesh, President Zia (including him in a photo with Saddam Hussein and another with Margaret Thatcher), there was also the country's original flag sewn by hand; a moving display on the war of independance including a blood-soaked, bullet-riddled shirt of a protestor during the uprising; a few interesting paintings; many model wooden boats looking as though they were from centuries ago but all of which were labelled as "20th Century"; and a massive country map with lights indicating major towns and cities throughout the country that resembled the physical map of BC built for either Expo 86 or the PNE where you could ride on the bridge and have the guide point out the town of your choice. Visits to Western museums will never be the same.
As for the flooding you may have read about or seen on the news, it was apparently the worst the city has seen since the 50s. It was about a foot and a half deep in our neighbourhood, enough to prevent automobile traffic but not rickshaws, but chest deep in other parts of town. The water had mostly receded by this morning on the street outside my hotel but it was still quite deep in other parts of town. The papers here have headlines such as "Rains bring life to a halt", but the articles themselves occupy only a small section of the paper and are subsumed by national political issues surrounding bombings, murders, student strikes, visits by foreign delegations and the long list of 'ships in port' and the goods they're importing and exporting down at Chittagong. Life hardly ground to a halt, either...it was only slowed down a few notches.
All in a days work, I guess.
posted by Per at 12:26 a.m.
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