dear friends,
I have returned safely to the land of apple pie and red, white, and blue! I confess I have missed my homeland in many ways, and in many other ways I long to be back in my adopted land. One month in Bangladesh is like living six. So much has happened, so many decisions have been made, so many adventures had.
Returning home always takes on a surreal quality to me. I drive down roads empty of carts, animals, pedestrians, and even cars! I live surrounded by air conditioning, hot water in the shower, and cold water in the frig. I have a car at my disposal, and I can fix anything my heart desires to eat. Sometimes I feel like I move through the day like a stranger in a strange land.
Let me give you an example of what I mean. On saturday, I took the chance to shadow a friend in the pediatric intensive care unit at a local hospital. I drove up to a parking space, and strolled casually into the lobby of the hospital. surrounding me was a kindly receptionist, a gift shop, and even mood lighting. In the pediatric ward, each child had an individual, climate controlled room, and the halls were decorated with colorful paintings of wild animals. For 6 patients there were perhaps 4 nurses, a doctor, and a respiratory therapist. The workers sat and chatted casually as I sat at the desk.
I am reminded of Dhaka Children's Hospital, the single rooms filled with twenty or thirty children, the short-staffed nurses scurrying from patient to patient, the doctors working with next to no technology in order to treat their charges. And I am reminded of the dying child with end stage tuberculosis, laying motionless in one of these beds with vomited blood caking her face. Her disease was highly contagious, and I feared for all the other children sitting around her. When I asked the Bangladeshi doctor about this, he told me that they have no way to isolate the child. When I asked the American doc, he told me that he would be breaking the law for not isolating this child!
What are we to do? Are we to blame the Bangladeshi system? Are we to villify the americans for being fat cats with too much money to spend on fancy health care, and for not helping their poor neighbors? the truth is that there is no single finger to point, no single factor to blame. Poverty is an incredibly complex entity, full of moral ambiguities. All we can do, as individuals and as organizations, is to try to help where we can, and to leave the rest to the work of God. At least this is how I get through my days. I have enjoyed writing these posts. Thanks to all who have read them, and I hope you all are blessed.
Signing off
Richie
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Leaving on a Jet Plane
dear friends,
It is with truly mixed emotions that I prepare to leave Bangladesh. But when I reflect on it, my experience of this nation always involves deeply complex emotions. It is a mixture of anger at how terrible life can be, inspiration at the joy and knowledge we are able to put in our children, fatigue at having constantly to be "on," frustration in a nation of frequent power outages, intense heat, and terrible corruption, and pride in our accomplishments. Nothing in this life is simple, especially in a place like Bangladesh. Sometimes people tell me, "oh, you must be so proud of the work you do." To them, I respond, "mostly I'm just tired all the time!" Sometimes that tired is the deep, satisfied tired at a job well done. At other times, it is the lonely tired of those who just wanna sit down and let their burdens down for a while.
You might ask where this more somber tone is coming from. Recently, I met a businessman who invited me to his office because he said he wanted to help me out with my project. So I took the time to come to his office, although I was working on next to no sleep the night before (another story for another time). Anyway, over the course of the next 5 hours, I was first tantalized by the possibility of a major donor prospect, then utterly infuriated by the fact that this man seemed simply to want to show me (a white man) off to his rich friends. I drove home that night, and hit major traffic. Breathing in exhaust fumes while I sat in the motorized taxi, I felt like screaming or breaking something with my bare hands.
When I got home, I called an American friend who is living in Bangladesh and asked, "do you ever [when you are in Bangladesh] just wanna hit somebody?" To that, she responded, "actually yeah, I feel that way right now." She went on to describe a frustration with her roommates, and I felt more at peace, realizing that is was ok to feel this way from time to time.
But enough with melancholy. I'm gonna go play some soccer with my kids before I have to say goodbye to them.
It is with truly mixed emotions that I prepare to leave Bangladesh. But when I reflect on it, my experience of this nation always involves deeply complex emotions. It is a mixture of anger at how terrible life can be, inspiration at the joy and knowledge we are able to put in our children, fatigue at having constantly to be "on," frustration in a nation of frequent power outages, intense heat, and terrible corruption, and pride in our accomplishments. Nothing in this life is simple, especially in a place like Bangladesh. Sometimes people tell me, "oh, you must be so proud of the work you do." To them, I respond, "mostly I'm just tired all the time!" Sometimes that tired is the deep, satisfied tired at a job well done. At other times, it is the lonely tired of those who just wanna sit down and let their burdens down for a while.
You might ask where this more somber tone is coming from. Recently, I met a businessman who invited me to his office because he said he wanted to help me out with my project. So I took the time to come to his office, although I was working on next to no sleep the night before (another story for another time). Anyway, over the course of the next 5 hours, I was first tantalized by the possibility of a major donor prospect, then utterly infuriated by the fact that this man seemed simply to want to show me (a white man) off to his rich friends. I drove home that night, and hit major traffic. Breathing in exhaust fumes while I sat in the motorized taxi, I felt like screaming or breaking something with my bare hands.
When I got home, I called an American friend who is living in Bangladesh and asked, "do you ever [when you are in Bangladesh] just wanna hit somebody?" To that, she responded, "actually yeah, I feel that way right now." She went on to describe a frustration with her roommates, and I felt more at peace, realizing that is was ok to feel this way from time to time.
But enough with melancholy. I'm gonna go play some soccer with my kids before I have to say goodbye to them.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Some Thoughts
dear friends,
I first have to apologize for my absence in the past days. I came down with a touch of food poisoning last week, which, as my brother who experienced it last year in Bangladesh can attest, is not an enjoyable experience. Also, we have been having some major internet connectivity problems, which are now fixed (fingers crossed).
I have been thinking a lot about my life here in this country. Like most places in the world, being successful in Bangladesh is about who you know and who wants to help you out. So I spend a lot of my time talking with wealthy, important people, trying to build relationships that may be useful in the work of Basic Needs. At the same time, I spend a large part of my time with the most poor sectors of society, slum dwellers, village children, and orphans. Life here can take on a surreal, schizophrenic quality.
Let me give an example. The other day I took a trip to Bashundhara City, a towering structure of glass and steel which claims to be the largest shopping mall in all of South Asia. Here you can eat foreign food, buy fancy electronics, or catch an American movie in the cinema. Contrast this with the young girl I met on my way home. She was standing unprotected in the rain, weaving between cars so that she could sell little flowers to the people inside. I asked her name and gave her the typical greetings in Bangla, to which she reacted with a broad, beautiful smile. Before the motorcycle taxi moved on, I clicked a couple pictures of her through the metal gate.
That picture is, to me, emblematic of the problem. I am on the inside, protected and dry, and she is on the outside, soaking wet. It seems that, in this country, both sides accept this reality as par for the course. They seem not even to consider it a problem. But, as an outsider, I have a special position in that I can move between these worlds, and see them both intimately.
You know, I once heard a saying that the only logical response to the realities of life is insanity. Life can be vicious and absurd, and the moment we come to accept this is the moment we can work against this. One Bengali man recently heard about my project and called me an "ambassador of God." This is the most ridiculous thing I've heard in a while, but it also makes me think. Perhaps part of our role in Basic Needs is to help remind Bengalis themselves of their inherent power to change their system, to get out from behind their gates and to spend time with normal people. If they did, they might discover what a treasure Bangladesh has in its citizens.
I first have to apologize for my absence in the past days. I came down with a touch of food poisoning last week, which, as my brother who experienced it last year in Bangladesh can attest, is not an enjoyable experience. Also, we have been having some major internet connectivity problems, which are now fixed (fingers crossed).
I have been thinking a lot about my life here in this country. Like most places in the world, being successful in Bangladesh is about who you know and who wants to help you out. So I spend a lot of my time talking with wealthy, important people, trying to build relationships that may be useful in the work of Basic Needs. At the same time, I spend a large part of my time with the most poor sectors of society, slum dwellers, village children, and orphans. Life here can take on a surreal, schizophrenic quality.
Let me give an example. The other day I took a trip to Bashundhara City, a towering structure of glass and steel which claims to be the largest shopping mall in all of South Asia. Here you can eat foreign food, buy fancy electronics, or catch an American movie in the cinema. Contrast this with the young girl I met on my way home. She was standing unprotected in the rain, weaving between cars so that she could sell little flowers to the people inside. I asked her name and gave her the typical greetings in Bangla, to which she reacted with a broad, beautiful smile. Before the motorcycle taxi moved on, I clicked a couple pictures of her through the metal gate.
That picture is, to me, emblematic of the problem. I am on the inside, protected and dry, and she is on the outside, soaking wet. It seems that, in this country, both sides accept this reality as par for the course. They seem not even to consider it a problem. But, as an outsider, I have a special position in that I can move between these worlds, and see them both intimately.
You know, I once heard a saying that the only logical response to the realities of life is insanity. Life can be vicious and absurd, and the moment we come to accept this is the moment we can work against this. One Bengali man recently heard about my project and called me an "ambassador of God." This is the most ridiculous thing I've heard in a while, but it also makes me think. Perhaps part of our role in Basic Needs is to help remind Bengalis themselves of their inherent power to change their system, to get out from behind their gates and to spend time with normal people. If they did, they might discover what a treasure Bangladesh has in its citizens.
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