Sweet and Sour Evening

What a great evening. I just returned home from dinner at Saikat's place, where we met his wife and their son, as well as his sister and her daughter who were very keen on finding out how difficult it might be for them to immigrate to Los Angeles. This led to a discussion concerning today's election, the (S)tate of America, the consequences of the 2nd Amendment, and the little known fact that there is indeed a significant amount of poverty in the United States (to their surprise). It was interesting to hear their impressions of the United States and Canada, and we all had a good laugh when Marc and I told them the Statue of Liberty isn't nearly as tall as it's made out to be in the movies. It was also difficult, and this is something I've encountered before, to discuss the challenges they would face in their attempt to immigrate to either America or Canada, the latter (thankfully) being "the best country in the world." The hardest part of this oft-repeated conversation in this part of the world is explaining the fact that despite being a hard working mother who only wants the best for her child, determination and selflessness isn't usually enough to get you inside our borders or, in this case, outside of her own.

Despite hearing this news, everyone remained in good spirits. Once dinner time had rolled around, I had become so comfortable that I didn't even think twice about putting aside the cutlery they had offered to us. Having said that, this probably wouldn't have been the case if the secret to eating with your hands hadn't been revealed to me by one of our new-found Canadian friends working at BRAC who has been here since July 1st. The key to ensuring that the food, (most often rice with chicken and vegetables), finds its way into your mouth rather than onto your lap is the always handy opposable thumb. You mix up the rice with whatever else is available, and use the generous amounts of flavourful sauce of one sort another to help everything stick together. You then collect a spoonful of this rice mixture by corralling it into one side of your plate with your four fingers and secure it on the upper portion of your closed fingers with your thumb. You then retract your thumb so that it ends up below the spoonful sized portion sitting on the tip of your fingers, and finish the job by pushing the food into your open mouth with the outside of your thumb as it extends from the right angle at which it was bent in the previous step. Once you've done it a few times, it's like riding a bike. Despite having learned the trick, however, I'm not sure that I would have been able to eat my first meal without utensils if I hadn't felt as comfortable as I did tonight with such a welcoming family. Saikat, Marc and I were the only ones who could speak English, but we were all speaking the same language this evening.

Many thanks go out to the writers of Lonely Planet: Bangladesh. Their suggestion to bring along a box of sweets when invited to someone's house as a guest was probably one of the most useful bits of information I've come across so far. This little token of our appreciation has pleased past two hosts to no end, and both were curious to find out "how we knew that this was our tradition?"I've also become addicted to the tasty pieces of sugary dough, so it's certainly not a practice I'm about to abstain from, either.

Aside from the great food and company, the highlight of the evening had to be Saikat's wife's characterization of Marc and I. Not only did she compare the two of us us to her own relatives with similar personality traits, but she reitterated what we had heard from another colleague at work. Curious to hear what they were all giggling about, she told us (and this is a rough translation): "Per quiet, read books", and "Marc rough and tough". We were in stitches.

***

So I heard there's an election today...

Luckily the opposition Awami League has scheduled a half-day city-wide hartal (strike) for tomorrow morning, so we won't have to skip work to watch the election results come in from 7am onwards. The overwhelming favourite in Bangladesh is Senator Kerry. In fact, President Bush is disliked to such an extent that the hartal might have been called so that everyone can watch the setting of the "tone for the next eight years", according to the BBC, unfold in front of their eyes. As I said goodbye to Saikat after dinner this evening, I told him to cross his fingers for Kerry, but it wasn't until the CNG driver had pushed the gas pedal and we were on our way that I realized he didn't have a clue what I meant. Well, perhaps the perplexed look on his face was one indicator. In any event, though we might not share the same symbols, it's clear that we share the same concern for the future if the incumbent frat boy manages to re-elect himself to office for another four years of first strikes, soaring debt, environmental degredation and climbing body counts.