A Rainy Day (Figuratively Speaking)

I think I’ve hit a barrier of some sort – an energy-sapping roadblock that makes you stop in your tracks and say, “where am I?” Perhaps it was prompted by the one-month anniversary (which went without celebration, my own fault) of my arrival in this country and the subsequent anniversary gift that came with it: my account statement indicating what it cost me to live out of a hotel for a month. Not that it’s anywhere near what it might cost in the West, but still a decent amount considering the child sized stipend us interns have been none-too-generously given by CIDA and Foreign Affairs. The most difficult part to deal with is that I was only supposed to stay there for the first ten days, however, our religiously lazy and self-interested landlord had other plans for me. The "absolute latest" move-in deadline was originally the 15th, then the 20th, and ultimately the 28th. It's not my office that's at fault, but this nameless and faceless landlord whom I'd really like to give a piece of my mind....in return for a piece of his wallet, that is. In any event, I'm here now and will be able to get by with what I have.

So if it’s not finances that’s causing this temporary rain cloud to remain over my head for the time-being, perhaps it’s the dozens of microscopic ants in our apartment that, though harmless, are really getting on my nerves. Not the ants, you say? Then it's the constant challenge of trying to regulate one’s body temperature while sitting in pants in a non air-conditioned office when it’s 34 degrees and humid outside. Not the humidity?

Let’s try the Bangladeshi bureaucracy. After meeting with the undoubtedly prestigious Assistant Senior Secretary of Home Affairs, Mr. Ashraff (Sir) two weeks ago, my visa, which expired on October 1^st, remains “in processing”. The kind secretary at the Canadian High Commission who has been helping me through the renewal process has not only acted as our ally representing the HC but also as my counselor. Her kind words over the phone help me deal with the fact that this is the way government functions in this country; bureaucrats do as little as possible for as long as they can. Upon calling my favourite Junior Assistant Senior Junior Secretary to the Sub-Office of the Committee on Home Affairs and Other Matters That May or May Not Fall Under the Responsibility of This Particular Ministry for the second time in two weeks, (a not-unreasonable number of follow up calls, one would think), our representative from the HC was met with a rude and impatient individual on the other line. Knowing full well how things function in her native land, she responded in kind.

The outcome of this little conversation was that he would let her know when the “other offices” had returned my renewal request to him. This was not, however, before he had assured her that he was a “very busy man” with “more than this file to attend to”. As was she, she replied. I’m told by one of my senior colleagues that his brother had to wait a month for a similar extension coming from the UK. In fact, it was better to let the process work itself out rather than risk upsetting too many officials to the point where they deny the request entirely and ship you out of the country on the next plane to leave the terminal. This is laissez-faire governance taken to a whole new level.

Perhaps all I need is a tall cup of black, steaming hot Starbucks/Bean Around the World coffee to lift my spirits, and my heart rate. If artificial stimulants aren’t the answer, then it could simply be the act of reconciling with my list of accumulated frustrations. The first step towards achieving this goal seems to be to accept the fact that not every piece of news I send home or journal entry I write can be a cheery, adventurous or even colorful illustration of the complexities of life in the third world. My relatively long blog-drought can be partially explained by my not initially realizing this fact. I’m not saying that what I’ve written so far has been inaccurate or embellished; however, most of my posts are written during periods when my motivation is close to its peak, my mood is energetic and positive and when I feel the urge to share amazing stories or phenomena that I come across throughout the course of my daily travails. Experiences as a Canadian intern overseas, like the majority of stories you read in the newspaper each day, are not always positive. They are, however, equally worthy of reflection.

Post-script: The evening’s prayer calls began the moment I typed the final period above. With the loudspeakers of the local mosque only five floors down and across the street from my open window, I have trouble not being moved by each melodic recitation of a particular passage of Islamic text (I assume that’s what they’re reading), despite not having any idea as to what they’re actually saying. I do know, however, that I couldn’t have timed it better if I tried.