"hanging our shirts" and other weekend rituals

"Coming home after school, flying my bike past the gates of the factories.

My mom doing the laundry, hanging our shirts in the dirty breeze..." - Simon and Garfunkel

One of my favorite weekend rituals, on sunny Saturdays in Chittagong, has been the several-hour long process of doing laundry. We are extremely fortunate to have a washing machine that even spins our clothes at the end of the cycle, significantly aiding the drying process. The machine takes hours to fill with water, and though I can't say my clothes turn out that much cleaner after the long cycle, I know that the results of my attempts at hand-washing would be dismal in comparison. The important thing is how they smell when I pull the freshly spun cloths out of the plastic machine in the kitchen. I love the smell of laundered sheets. Then up to the roof for the best part, during which Simon and Garfunkel's line from "My Little Town" about hanging shirts in dirty breeze always starts humming through my head. The breeze doesn't feel so dirty here, but the thick film of dust on my dresser, after a few days of open windows, often argues otherwise.
Still, sun-dried sheets, with the lingering scent of jasmine detergent, make my whole life feel cleaner. After laundry, I re-hang my clothes, feeling immensely satisfied by my little almira (closet) neatly arranged with colorful salwar kameezes, saris, ornas and one or two Western clothing items.
So far, nearly every weekend here I have been honored to receive an invitation for tea or lunch (often both) in Bangladeshi homes. Usually, these generous invitations come from cleaning staff at the university campus - the few women with whom I can regularly practice my limited (but hopefully expanding!) Bangla vocabulary. The homes are simple but inviting, and I often feel more comfortable in their community-oriented neighborhoods than in my high-rise building of closed apartment doors. While we sipped tea at one home, a "mashi" (auntie), pictured below on the right, asked to adopt me as her daughter, since she only has sons. "Abar ashbe," - "Come again!" they always say as I leave. Of course, I tell them, "Abar ashbo." I will come again because, as I wish I could express to them, they are the women who have made me feel most at home in Chittagong.
In addition to being fed delicious spicy curries in Bangladeshi homes, weekends in my own apartment also revolve around making food to satisfy some craving that hit one of us teachers during a long day at the office the previous week. A couple weeks ago it was hummus and baba ganoush. I fell in love with the recipe from a hummus blog - yes, a website exclusively dedicated to middle eastern chickpea recipes: http://humus101.com/EN/2006/10/14/hummus-recipe/

On the first batch of hummus, the electric blender caught fire, so the second batch was rescued by a nice large mortar and pestal to blend the dark chickpeas, homemade tahini, garlic, cumin, and lemon. This recipe turned out quite wonderfully. Gone are my days of over-priced, store-bought hummus!
Since my weekday meals usually include many delicious Bangladeshi curries and over-cooked vegetables ordered from a cheap place near campus, I feel deprived of raw fruits and vegetables. I love having the luxury of extra time to sit at the table on weekends, chopping and chatting with flatmates. The colors of fresh produce here still blow me away.
Fresh jasmine laundry + sweet tea and talking + smooth-textured tahini + and bright purple cabbage + time to enjoy the sensory explosion = perfect weekend.

Rain

Before leaving Maine, I found a masterful drawing I had created as a four-year-old in Ishurdi. It's a picture of a girl in the Bangladesh rain.... with a nice big smile... and a crown, of course.
Last weekend Alyssa and I found ourselves caught in one of the beautiful, cleansing downpours of the Bangladesh monsoon season. I suppose sometimes they're not so cleansing - namely when they overflow the sewage gutters along the roads' edges. But on this particular Saturday, after a week when the heat had rested heavily on our Chittagong days, everyone seemed to welcome the downpour. Seeing these kids splash joyfully down the street brought a flood of sweet memories from days on Iqbal Road in Dhaka, where my brothers and neighbors and I used to take to the outdoors with the fall of the first fat drop on the cement roof.
The rain certainly hadn't discouraged Alyssa and I from proceeding with the day's plan to find our way to the Chittagong War Cemetery. I had been hearing for weeks that this spot was one of the few neat public "green spaces" in the city, and this fact alone cancelled out the potential morbidity of visiting a graveyard. Still, we found the clouds and thunder appropriate to the occasion. The burial ground honors the memories of a several hundred Bideshi (including Brits, Americans, Nigerians, Japanese, etc) and Bangladeshi World War II soldiers, sailors and engineers.

We walked the rows in the rain, reading the epithets of beloved fathers, sons, brothers, friends, and the Biblical or Quranic verses sending them onward.

Soon the sun came out again, and the neatly planted flora seemed to appear out of nowhere - their colors suddenly vivid under the brightened sky.

How lovely are the rains when they gently summon these coveted colors, but kindly desist from flooding the homes of those on the river banks...

Tanja and the Malumghat holiday

Over the Eid holiday, a dear friend from my other life (the life with snow and lobster) visited me in Chittagong... no big deal, right? You should all come visit! Tanja did happen to be in the right hemisphere, which made this reunion a little easier - and what a sweet one it was! I had stayed with Tanja in Boston back in March while I interviewed for this job at AUW. At that time she was beginning to imagine this journey she'd take to South Asia to partner with anti-human-trafficking organizations that focus on income-generation projects for vulnerable women and girls (Int'l Princess Project, Made by Survivors... see under "links"). She's been in India and Bangladesh since August 1st and is headed next to Nepal and S.East Asia. It was incredible to sit here in my apartment together, remembering our conversations over the past year, now seeing her photos of what we'd only imagined back then. Besides that, we still reminisce about the fact that I was eleven years-old when we first met; Tanja used to take me out for ice-cream in Bath, Maine. A dozen years later I'm negotiating with a rickshaw-wallah to take us downtown for dinner. Several times we broke into spontaneous laughter over the fact that years ago we never would have guessed we'd be in Bangladesh together... very far from Woolwich.

Tanja's visit couldn't have been timed better, since she arrived a few days before my week-long holiday from teaching. On Monday before break she spoke to my smiling, captivated students about her experiences. One student asked her, "Ma'am, what is your greatest ambition?" The students were moved by Tanja's answer, which revealed her dedication to combatting injustices against women.

On Tuesday, we left for Malumghat, to spend four days at the guesthouse and campus of Memorial Christian Hospital. Apart from being close enough (3 hour bus ride) for us to avoid Eid traffic, Malumghat was for many reasons the best choice for a relaxing time away from the city. Also, I had been eager to revisit this place that is an important landmark in our family.

My first visit to Memorial Christian Hospital was in February 1988 to welcome the perfect gift of my brother David into our family. Above, my mother and I are just getting to know little bitty David. Because of that old photo, I was immediately able to recognize the picnic table during this recent visit (pictured below).

Malumghat was indeed the most peaceful place I have visited in my short time here so far, and I have a strong feeling (plus some hints from others who live here) that there are few places that compare.... unless you're a doctor, in which case it's not so quiet. Surrounded by rice paddies, and flowers, and everywhere green, the campus is a paradise after weeks spent in the deafening beats of city traffic and construction.

It felt like it had been years, rather than weeks, since I had locked my arms in streamline position above my head to dive into my favorite form of H2O. I miss swimming, so the pool at the hospital campus was one of my favorite spots. There I met some wonderful little playmates, Silas, Naomi and Seth (children of Dr. Stephen and Monika Welch) who shared my affinity for aqueous fun.

From Malumghat, we took a day trip down to Cox's Bazaar, where first we visited a Burmese market. I had an engaging conversation with an educated Burmese-Bangladeshi shop owner about the current political situation in that junta-run state across the border.

And finally, we saw what Cox's Bazaar is most known for: the longest natural sea beach in the world. My parents actually got engaged here, so again I found myself on sacred ground in my pilgrimage of family landmarks.

Alyssa and Tanja (below) and I enjoyed the late afternoon sun by splashing in the Bay of Bengal in our salwar kameezes. We were so fortunate to find an abandoned stretch of beach; apart from a few cows, we weren't accompanied by the usual crowds of curious onlookers.
The week of respite and adventures wrapped up last Sunday, when Tanja and I took our final CNG ride back to the airport at Patenga beach in Chittagong. On the breezy ride back to my home in Khulshi, already missing my friend, I watched the river boats float quietly in place - their captains away with families for the holiday.

In this world there are many different people...

"Eid Mubarak" - the Eid greeting. This past Saturday was Eid-al-Fitr, though no one knew for sure until last week that it would be that particular day, since it's a holiday based on lunar activity. I utilized my Bangla script and decorated an envelope to give the expected Eid gift to our apartment-building security guards, from the several of us teachers on the top floor. Every time we left he building for the past week, the guards reminded each of us that they were awaiting their money. We were each in turn tempted to say something about how we'd be more eager to give if they'd be more willing to stop giving our water-delivery men such grief about using the elevator. But Eid is not a time for bribery; it's a time to give.

It's hard to believe that I have neglected this blog for over two weeks. Apart from leaving friends and family quite out of the loop, my posting-absence now presents me with the problem-solving task of needing to sift through the recent happenings here in Chittagong and pull out the important details.

So, as temping as it is to publish last night's epic battle with 5 massive cockroaches, ending in the tragedy of my beloved coffee press shattering on my tile floor - (see picture of my pathetic improvisation this morning... Bodum or none, I need my coffee) - I'll back up to the first week of teaching, replacing my current sense of loss with the lovely memories of those eager faces on day 1 of class.

29 September:

6:00am - Went running with Alyssa (fellow-teacher/great-friend) I'm thankful for this blessed daily routine that helps keep us sane through long days sitting and standing and not moving much otherwise.

7:15am - Headed to AUW to prep my classroom

8:00am - Began class with "Silver group." We named the groups according to colors, because students here are quite concerned with rankings (in potentially unconstructive ways). So we don't want it to be too obvious who's in class #1 versus class #8. The class was small - only 9 of the 15 names on my roster were present. I found out later that the Palestinian and Chinese students on my list had decided not to attend AUW, and one Afghani student had left during orientation due to extreme homesickness. Understandable, as many of these girls had never left their village. My 3 Iranian students wandered in about 30 minutes late. It looks like they won't be staying at AUW. They explained to me that coming to Bangladesh has been quite a shock for them, and they do have other great educational opportunities in Tehran.

I dove into syllabi explanation with the rest of the Silver girls - mostly from Afghanistan, in addition to a few Bangladeshis. Another professor here (who spent the last few years teaching jaded undergrads in Iowa) aptly described how wonderful these AUW students are to have in class: "They're so motivated, and it seems to take so little to impress them... I know I'm not that funny, but they laugh at all my little jokes. It's great!" Of course, our job requires more than just impressing students, but having such eager, attentive young women in class is a great esteem-booster for teachers, nonetheless.

2:00pm - In the afternoon, I taught my second 2-hour course on reading and writing, this time to the "Orange" group, of 16 students. I'm sure I'll have many stories to come, regarding my classes. It's going to be a challenge to bring the English level of students up to the undergrad level - especially weeding out the endemic tendency to plagiarize. Students have been taught to memorize and regurgitate. They've also been taught to create "introduction sentences" that usually start with "In this world..." or "All human beings..." regardless of the topic. They also almost always include the words "there are many different," which explains why my students were excited to learn the word "various" from our syllabus on the first day. Anyway, we're working on main ideas and topic sentences this week, so hopefully we'll eventually see some more focused thesis sentences.

Many of my students were fasting during these long first days of classes. I'm sure there will be a notable difference after Eid in their energy in class work and discussions. After 7 days of class, we had our first holiday - a full week off! My next post will detail the adventures of my first vacation, and of my VERY special visitor, Tanja Cesh.

Everyone was out shopping the last week of Ramadan - just picture the shopping malls during Christmas week in the States... it's at least that busy, and lasts late into the night.

A neighbor dropped by a platter of Iftar food. I didn't pull my camera out until we had devoured half of it. Apparently the household which prepared this feast may have had a new bride or wife, and tradition deems that during Ramadan the husband's family gives food to the wife's family and neighbors. Though we've never met this family, I'm pretty darn happy to call myself their neighbor!

khaoya daoya

I returned to my flat last night after a week of far too many hours spent in front of a computer screen and with my nose buried in textbooks. My hands were antsy, and my feet shuffled me directly into the kitchen where I was suddenly overcome with the single desire to cook my first curry meal in our two-burner kitchenette. I think that was the final step I needed to really feel at home here. I had cooked a stir-fry and some Thai omelettes this week, but I needed to know whether the years of cooking under my mother (and many of you have tasted her masterpieces) had prepared me for this moment of returning to Bangladesh on my own. This time she wasn't a phone call away. Also, I find myself constantly craving Bengali spices (rather than any other cuisine), since those are what I smell most of the day here. Fortunately, my lovely flatmate Fatema (a talented cook) already had the kitchen stocked with necessities: turmeric, cumin, chile powder, coriander, and garam masala. I took an inventory, then ran down our 9 floors and across the street to Khulshi mart to grab some yogurt, chicken, and fresh produce. Then back to the kitchen...
It's the one room in the house without a fan or much ventilation at all. So I was a rather grungy chef. And the counter space you see above is about the only usable surface in the kitchen. But we make do just fine, and I was happy with the final product.
Suzanne and Fatema (above) and I are eating like queens - I'm sure I'll be posting some of Fatema's meals too. We're feeling very fortunate to know that we'll be able to alternate cooking nights, so that cooking can continue to be a "therapeutic" activity, rather than a burdensome duty.

Intro to this Adventure - Part II: AUW, Access Academy, and my role

Having spent the past two weeks working long days at the AUW office － meeting the provost, preparing my syllabi, and presenting my courses to the new students at orientation － I should finally be able to give a description of this university and of my role here. Admittedly, it was all a little ambiguous when I arrived. The new provost is Dr. Mary Sansalone － an accomplished academic administrator from Cornell/Harvard/Washington University. Dr. Sansalone is in charge of redesigning the university’s curriculum, which has been an encouraging process and she has proven to be a good pick for the position. The reason for the urgency in whipping up a world-class curriculum a.s.a.p. is clear: this is what the students have been promised, and for their sake, we can’t let the programs fail. I have enjoyed learning the details of the undergraduate curriculum through time spent with the diversely experienced faculty here. Details of the new curriculum can be seen on the website: http://www.asian-university.org/academicPrograms/undergraduate.htm

With an understanding of the ultimate goal of the university － the vision of whom these young women will become after several years here in Chittagong － I have a clearer idea of how I will be preparing Access Academy students in my job as a teacher of reading and writing. The Access Academy is the intensive one year academic English prep program in which students are enrolled when they first arrive. The students are from several Asian countries, including Afganistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Burma, Cambodia, China, Vietnam, Nepal, Iran, and others. 

The desk below has been my home for the past couple of weeks. I am currently sharing it with a wonderful fellow teacher who has just come from teaching EFL in Prague for two years. We will eventually all have our own office space, and we have been promised our desks in time for the commencement of classes this Sunday. I look forward to that, especially since I have "office hours" scheduled for Monday.

In the meantime, our shared desks are piled high with texts and readers and notebooks as we finalize our syllabi and readings lists (or "finalize" as much as possible without knowing our students' exact skill levels). Again, I will be teaching two 2-hour courses of "Academic Reading & Writing," five days a week, Sunday through Thursday (Friday is the holy day in this Muslim context). I will be presented with quite a challenge in teaching the lowest two groups of students who need to be just as prepared as higher levels to matriculate in undergrad classes in a year. I am impatient to get into the classroom, but I'm sure that at the onslaught of lesson-planning and grading I will be missing the flexible schedule of this past week.

Apart from my duties as a teacher, I am also thrilled to have also stepped into the role of advisor to a club run by a fantastic group of 1st year undergraduate students. The group is called AUW Community Teachers - please explore the website if you have a chance: http://sites.google.com/site/buildyourschool/

The project in a nutshell is that our students from AUW are using their ever-improving English skills to empower others, by going out into slum communities to teach English to children, teens, and adults. Ashkar Digghi Uttar Par (currently the main teaching site) is a small alley that is home to dozens of families, mostly migrated from villages to find work in the city. Our connection to the community was forged through relationships with the cleaning staff at AUW. These women (whom I have now gotten to know and to practice Bangla with) asked a former AA teacher (who started AUW CT) whether anyone would be willing to teach their children, thereby giving the next generation better opportunities than their own unstable employment options. I'm impressed by the model of the club - to enter communities though relationships, rather than descend on the "slums" like self-proclaimed heroines to give out of our superiority. I know that the AA students/Community Teachers have already gained so much from their time with these eager and highly energetic students.

I visited the community at Ashkar Digghi yesterday, and absolutely loved it. I knew two things for sure, right off the bat: that the time I spend in Ashkar Digghi this year will by far be the best source for developing fluency in Bangla; and that visiting the families here will be a longed-for distraction and respite from the busy-ness and pace of academia.

Chittagong - first impressions

Even in the drive from the airport to my new apartment I could tell I’m going to like this city.

First sign: Rickshaws and CNGs (little 3-wheel motorized taxis fueled by “compressed natural gas”) rule the roads. There aren’t as many cars, trucks and buses, so rickshaws and CNGs seem much more abundant, and much safer to ride without the fear of being crushed. (On the other hand, putting your life in the hands of some of these drivers can still be scary - last night my CNG driver hit a man pretty hard in the arm while driving fast. I felt awful being involved in a hit and run.)

Second sign: It’s cooler here. The heat in Dhaka wasn’t bothering me too much anyway, but the consistent breeze here is glorious, especially at sunset on the rooftop, just above my flat.

Third sign: The city is smaller, so I actually stand a chance at getting to know it pretty well. Coming from a Maine town of about 1,000 people, I think I do better better in those types of cities that feel like big towns - like Boston, or DC… or Chicago one neighborhood at a time.

My flat:

I am blessed with a beautiful apartment. However, I’m pretty upset to have discovered that I’m living in a Jim Crow building. The sign out front - “TO LET - for Foreigners Only” - was the first hint. Yes it’s nice to have a flat with shiny floors and posh furniture, but in the end, the cockroaches are just as big as in any other building (I’ve killed several 2-inch long ones already). So why does the landlord insist on posting a sign at the elevator restricting all Bangladeshi workers from using it? A sign inside the elevator with building policies instructs us residents to actively enforce the rule barring our workers (maids and delivery persons) from taking the easy way up.

The men whom AUW contracted to deliver our water discovered yesterday that in order to get the heavy ten gallon jugs to us they would be required to climb the stairs instead of take the elevator… we live on the 9th floor! We told the men to leave the water inside with the guards downstairs and we’d go down to get them. We’ll have a lady come clean once a week, since it’s near impossible to keep up with the dust that the flat sucks in, and also it’s a valuable employment opportunity for women here. But again, nine floors up and nine floors down without a right to the elevator - it’s ridiculous. I’ve heard that AUW has had success in reforming some of these Jim Crow tendencies by tactfully putting pressure on authorities such as landlords…