people's land

Ei jomi kar?        “Whose land is this?”

Manusher            “People’s”

Our eleven year-old boat paddler on the Padma River replied to my mother’s question very matter-of-factly, with confident authority. But I sensed his answer was a little too simple, perhaps naïve, since it referred to the land on the long-contested Bangladesh-India border.

We had rowed across the shrunken river and were standing on a vast stretch of seemingly desolate wasteland – a sandbar that is completely engulfed by the Padma in the wet season. Hence this temporary land is one of very few wide-open, uninhabited spaces in Bangladesh. It isn’t wasteland, though. As we walked along the so-called sandbar, a man nearby was spraying his lentil crop – dal, said our boy.

Then as the sun began to descend, a long line of human forms began to appear from the far unseen edge of the plain. They carried crops, sacks, children, and all manner of things. Their day’s work was done – what work? I don’t know, but it results from a commute that is only possible half of the year. Their forms grew larger as they approached the river bank to cross back over to the unambiguous land of Bangladesh. Shonar Bangla lit by an orange cheese-ball sun.

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I feel I’m about to cross a river, but still have a month of sandbar. My contract at AUW finishes officially in two days, then a month of traveling with my mom – Mymensingh, Bangladesh, then Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam. Other peoples’ lands.

I’ll land in New York on January 28^th and I’m excited to reach the other side and take in the shores of the jubilant sea of Maine again, even if it means joining my countryfolk as we tumble over a fiscal cliff. The world didn’t end on 12-21-12, but maybe a new era has begun.

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For now, I’m blessed to be welcoming the New Year with my parents – two amazing individuals who taught me to seek adventure, to laugh through rough times, and to love people in every land.