Bangladesh round I, India round II

One day in my room last year at the hostel in Hyderabad, I decided to clean my desktop; hand sanitizer seemed like a good idea since I was also hoping to wipe out any leftover germs from the rat droppings. To wipe the surface clean I used a Muhlenberg College newspaper, used as filling in the care package that my friends Bekki and Dan had sent earlier. After tossing the dirtied remains into the trash box outside, my eye glimpsed a headline on the paper having to do with studying abroad and Bangladesh. Intrigued, I fished out the crumpled paper from the garbage and read the article that explained how a new class at Muhlenberg was being offered in the spring that included a two week study/travel experience in Bangladesh. The class was centered on ideas of sustainable development, natural disasters, and a changing climate. Since the environment and foreign countries are two of my favorite things, that evening I applied for the class. I had applied only a day or two before the deadline—good thing I decided to clean my desk on the day that I did—I was accepted into the course and looked forward all of last semester to my next excursion in a foreign land.

The class size was about 18 students, most had studied abroad previously and many had environmentally-related majors. There were also two professors, one of which (Dr. Hashim) is actually from Bangladesh and it was through his knowledge of and contact with the country that our itinerary was possible. The semester along with my readjustments to Muhlenberg life, exams, and essays took up all too much of my attention, and the realization that I’d be flying across the world for a second time in only one week came as a shock when the semester ended. I would have liked to have read more about the country, its people, and its language in preparation for the trip, but before I knew it I had my suitcase packed and was at JFK airport waiting with our class to board the plane to Dubai. That flight was quite a first: my first time flying Emirates, my longest flight ever (14 hours), and the largest aircraft I’ve ever been on. The Airbus A380 has 2 complete floors and four engines, each of which are significantly larger than any I’ve seen on a plane. I watched a 3 hour documentary on the plane’s construction while in flight (along with A Bug’s Life and Mrs. Doubtfire); evidently its component parts (manufactured across Europe) were so large that they couldn’t be flown to a common area for construction, so they were transported by land and sea. That’s not an easy task considering the longer transportation times and hilly countryside.

Dubai airport is structurally incredibly simple, from the air I bet it looks basically like a long oval. Inside though is another story; it has many floors and so many dazzling stores that it’s definitely easy to get disoriented. You’d think you were in an extravagant multi-story mall before you’d think you’re in an airport! Our layover there was for about 7 hours; although Dr. Hashim recommended we stay at our next gate, I was anxious to explore a new place and fortunately found a group of about 5 brave students who were also willing to try our luck at exiting the airport. By asking about half a dozen people we eventually located customs and easily obtained temporary visas free of charge. And just like that we stepped out into the thick evening heat. It wasn’t difficult to find a taxi that would drive us into the city and accept our US currency. After another 15 minutes we were patrolling around the city sidewalks, admiring the lights, buildings, and internationality of the area. To capstone our quick adventure, we found a road-side eatery that appeared small and locally-owned but also popular, attracting quite a crowd. We received many curious glances and were eagerly directed by our waiter to a private room in the back. We asked for the most commonly ordered menu item, and in about 15 minutes we had a table full of veggies, flatbread, and a heaping pile of diced mutton, chicken, kidney, liver, and brain. The taste had a slight mineral-like aspect to it, but if you tried to forget exactly what it was you were eating, it was a pretty appetizing meal. We made it back to the airport in plenty of time to wait for our next plane ride; no one would have realized we had ventured out into the city if we hadn’t been so excited to share our story.

The plane ride to Dhaka (capital of Bangladesh) was only 4 hours but certainly transported you a world away from the international hub of wealth that Dubai seemed to be. The first thing I remember initially observing in Bangladesh was from the airplane before we landed in Dhaka. It struck me to see so many tall smoke chimneys spread about the landscape. Dozens were scattered about, and each had a square of orange/red at its base, so I figured these chimneys were for brick-making. Since there weren’t many buildings around the chimneys, I figured that they were placed outside of Dhaka maybe because of pollution. I remember reading somewhere that because of the low-lying geographical environment of the country, stone was hard to come by. Bricks were therefore recruited for more construction purposes, and they could also be used to make cement by first being grounded down to a powder. Evidently it is an influential and heavily relied-upon industry. On our bus rides to and from Dhaka, I remember one of our guides saying that there was an enforced minimum height for the brick-chimneys (maybe 40 feet?) so the smoke produced didn’t contaminate the air nearest to the ground. Although pollution readily observed by those on the land could be lessened by increasing chimney height, I wonder about the implications that has for greenhouse influences. I read somewhere that the reason that planes so heavily contribute to the greenhouse quality of the atmosphere is due to not only the volume of carbon dioxide emitted but also due to the height at which it is released. I wonder if, although heightened chimneys cut down on ground pollution, a heavier greenhouse effect is contributed when waste is released at a higher altitude. I also remember observing that some chimneys were emitting blackened smoke and some were emitting white smoke. Evidently that’s because some have filters, but it wasn’t compulsory. I wonder if filters cut down not only on pollution but also on greenhouse-influence. In a larger perspective, how equivalent are the polluting agents with which humans are concerned in comparison to the polluting agents that have the most damaging effects on the global environmental organism?

Upon landing, I remember becoming extremely excited. Finally I was in an area that reminded me of India. The hectic driving, honking, dangerous vehicle weaving, and multitude of colors all made the environment very active and energetic. Despite all of the cars and busses, the air in the city was easy to breathe. In Hyderabad, if you went into the city you came back with hurting lungs and blackened mucus. It was refreshing not to have that issue in Dhaka. The reason for this is the conversion of vehicle energy source from diesel/petrol to CNG (compressed natural gas). Such a conversion must have been a monumental undertaking. I’m fully confident that the United States would have quite a difficult time with it, having a transportation sector that is so heavily reliant upon gasoline. Once I watched a vehicle getting refilled with CNG. Gas content is based on pressure, not volume, and the hole through which the tank is filled is as tiny as a basketball’s. The whole system is so different from what we’re used to. Evidently it just takes the handiwork of roadside shops to conduct a diesel/petrol to CNG conversion for a vehicle. I think that CNG as an energy source is cheaper for Bangladeshis than diesel/petrol; it also is obviously less polluting. I wonder which reason(s) gave the impetus to have such a huge energy source conversion. I also wonder to what extent it benefits the environment; it is easier on the breath, but carbon dioxide I think is colorless and odorless anyway. Lastly I wonder how the conversion impacted the sustainability of transportation-sector energy. I think CNG stores will provide Bangladesh for another 50 years or so, and that may be more or less than what diesel/petrol would afford. In any case, the presence of CNG was one of the most striking things I observed in all of Bangladesh, and I was glad to see it.

The days we were in Dhaka, our group stayed at a hotel that although was more compact, offered the same environment as a hotel we would expect in the US. The staff was probably more excited to see our group though than you would expect; you can imagine how much attention we received! After our arrival, we met with Dr. Atiq Rahman, the executive director of BCAS (Bangladesh Center for Advanced Studies), the NGO (non-government organization) that was working with us during our stay. Dr. Atiq is a leading specialist on the environment and development and has taught at MIT and Oxford University. He delivered a lecture that afternoon, but unfortunately I wasn’t 100% conscious for all of it. Many of us were very tired after the trip. I was saddened that I hadn’t been able to pay more attention, but I planned to make up for it by conversing with him while we were on the boat going through the southern Sundarbans mangrove forest later that week.

Before our trip to the Sundarbans, we did some sight-seeing in and around Dhaka. The National Martyr’s Monument in Savar is 50 meters high and is formed by 7 concrete triangles that accentuate the tip at the top of the monument. It was built to honor the millions who died for Bangladesh’s independence in 1971 (the Bangladesh area was formerly part of Pakistan since its partition from India in 1947 after the British left). A component of the directive for national independence in the 1970s was the Bengali Language Movement where an emphasis on the Bangla language sought to overpower the Pakistani institutionalization of Urdu. Although this sense of pride provided a unified power, I imagine it also has prevented significant prevalence of foreign languages like English throughout the country. As globalization seems to adopt a continually growing importance in the perspectives of national leaders and policy makers, and as much foreign aid comes from English-speaking countries, I wonder if there is any regret in Bangladesh that English isn’t a more pervasive language. I also wonder to what extent English will institutionalize its way into Bangladeshi culture as globalization progresses and if English-speaking aid donors continue to support mitigation efforts in Bangladesh. In reflection of the current situation, it was certainly an observation of mine that English was spoken/understood significantly less in Bangladesh than in the places I visited in India. I also wonder how accountable the Bengali Language Movement is for this observation.

We visited Dhamrai, a Hindu area famous for its bronze-making. An object like a religious statue is first carved from bee’s wax and then coated with clay. It is fired in an oven to harden the clay, and after the melted wax is poured out, a clay mold remains. Molten bronze metal can be poured into it, and the clay later removed after cooling to reveal underneath a bronze statue.

At some point we visited a Hindu temple. It was a spectacular sensory experience for me to see Hindu gods again and smell incense. I remember a devotee there answering my inquiry about life’s purpose by responding that we need to recognize that we are all related and treat one another like family. It is puzzling to me how both Islam and Hinduism seem to preach values of universal brotherhood, but that we hear so much about Islam-Hindu conflict (eg. during partition). Anecdotally mostly every Bangladeshi/Indian that I have ever spoken with about religion has declared that they have no problem with other faiths. In this way, religious tolerance is something that I certainly observe while abroad in India and Bangladesh. Our dozen-member Sundarbans boat crew alone represented Hindu, Muslim, Buddhist, and Christian faiths. They acknowledge such diversity with pride.

On a related note, I remember discussing with Dr. Hashim the religious backwardness of the US in comparison to Pakistan. It feel that many in the US are quick to judge areas like Pakistan as being one of the most destructive areas globally because of religious influence. I think many fail to recognize the backwardness of our own country, where religious ideals seem to often arise as a product of literal biblical interpretation. Such interpretations cause their own rampant destruction in the form of intolerance, blind evangelism, close-mindedness, and ultimately outright or latent conflict due to the inability to accommodate varied perspectives. I imagine some of these issues in the US leak into the political scene of the country and influence policy priority and legislation. Having different religious perspectives is not a problem, but thinking that you have the one True answer is. When infrastructure development is set aside, there may be more similarities amongst us, whether we hail from the US or even Pakistan, than we care to admit. To reference the bible: Take the log out of your own eye before criticizing the twig in your neighbor’s.

We then took a boat ride to Kakran, a pottery village. During most of the 40 minute ride we were trudging through dense water foliage. You could not even see the water underneath. I wonder if the plants flourished so much because of water pollution that doubles as plant nutrients. It was obvious how much it slowed our boat and how river travel would become quite complicated with such plant intrusion. I wonder how rapidly the plant-life has recently grown, and what implications that has had on the overall wildlife of the river.

The village makes pottery by cooking the clay objects in a temporary kiln over a fire pit. I remember being struck by how compact the village was. There was not ample space between structures but really only alleys to walk from place to place. Many people were excited to see us, and some of us hit a beach ball around with them. Hospitality and friendliness were common themes we observed when visiting these places. Curiosity seemed to also be one, as a white foreigner was bound to be relentlessly stared at. I wonder how often people like this see foreigners. It made me uncomfortable how much I was perceiving my own behaviors, taking care with any step or word. I imagined that our behaviors would significantly contribute to how these people would conceptualize foreigners, and I didn’t want to make a poor impression. I wondered what they think of when they see us. I wonder how their perceptions of foreigners changed from our presence there. Despite all of my experiences in India, visiting these villages was rather new to me. It is less common to visit villages like that, probably because it is difficult to arrange. It was certainly a gift for us to be able to visit these more obscure but significant places and to observe their arrangement of life that most Bangladeshis likely assume. Such areas are also likely the most heavily influenced by a changing climate.

We visited the oldest part of Dhaka city by touring the Sadarghat River Front, the pink palace Ahsan Manzil, Shankhari Bazaar, Lalbagh Fort, a walk through the area, and a rickshaw ride. It must have been quite the deal to coordinate. I remember being struck by how low the full barges and river boats were. It seems that they’re loaded to complete capacity, which means on the verge of sinking. Sometimes you can’t even see the edges of the boat because the brim is submerged, and only the square cargo openings and bridge of the boat are left visible. Also, many of the boats looked like pirate ships, all wooden with raised pointed ends. They were characteristically very different from water-faring craft I’ve seen before; usually we see metal or fiberglass boats, not wooden ones.

I was surprised that our motorcoach could fit through all of the streets. Once I remember we hit a man when we were turning, and he got very angry. I wonder if there is a way for a student body like ours to safely transport ourselves from location to location without using the motorcoach as often, especially because I value my experience in and amongst the crowd very highly and love walking around. It would have also been nice to spend more time in Old Dhaka; it’s such a fascinating place. Those who wanted to try out their Bangla (maybe only me) or purchase cha, paan, and trinkets had to do so very rapidly or risk disrupting the group’s progress. There are certainly restrictions that have to be considered when traveling with a group, especially a large one like ours.

At some point during our stay in Dhaka we also visited several universities in the city and met with students and representatives to hear what they had to say about the area, how the climate is changing, and how sustainable development and disaster mitigation are being continuously folded into the public scene. We also met with a community hospital and a center focused on public policy dialogue, creation, and implementation.

So then that evening we boarded the boat heading to the Sundarbans. The Sundarbans is the largest mangrove forest in the world, and it encompasses much of the coastline of Bangladesh and West Bengal in India. A mangrove forest is one that survives in inundated conditions and dense clayish soil. It’s home to many species, including the Bengal tiger. Since the ground is so wet and dense, little oxygen can reach the roots of mangrove trees, so one of the ways that they manage the area is by utilizing specialized roots that grow up and out of the ground to absorb more oxygen.

I remember meeting a man on an adjacent barge after we set sail. He said that his loaded ship may have to wait an entire week until it cleared customs before they could get rid of their cargo. He and several others were excited to talk to me in the few minutes before we left. Later that evening, a member of the crew named Igbal was enthused to communicate with me. When I know a little Bangla and the other party knows a little English, I find that we can meet halfway for a good conversation. When there is enough motivation to communicate, as so many Bangladeshis had, language differences cease to be a huge issue. I find that hand motions also help.

The accommodations on the boat were great. It had two floors, one with tiny but comfortable rooms and another with ample space for group gatherings/meals. The food was delicious, and the bathrooms were perfect for me (Indian toilets available). I also was ecstatic to see that river water was used to refill the toilets. No water is wasted that way! It was amusing to see the toilet get filled with opaque brown water after flushing when the river had been stirred up from stormy weather.

Having Dr. Atiq (director of BCAS) with us was a brilliant experience. He prompted so many great discussions about the environment, Bangladesh, and its citizens. There was also ample time for us to ask him questions, and we were in the perfect environment for it, being able to point out by hand some examples from lectures/discussions in the surrounding areas. I remember seeing how expansively flat the land was, yet how sharply edged some of the coastline was, having been eroded by lapping water. From making sand castles at the beach, I know that sharp surfaces like that are very unstable, and it seemed like at any minute more coastline would sink into the water. It wasn’t difficult to predict that only a small increase in water level caused by a large storm could inundate a huge area with flood waters.

One thing I took from so many of Dr. Atiq’s sayings was that there is no right solution. There are always costs and benefits to any action or environmental process. The annual cyclones are needed to irrigate the mainland (especially rice paddies), but also it can flood drinking water sources with brackish water. Floods are needed to bring in nutrients to the crops and bring fish closer to the coast, but it also brings in saline water that can be damaging. Preventing any of these processes will both cause and prevent damage. Fortifying embankments may prevent coastline erosion, but it also may prevent damaging flood waters from escaping back into the river. Lack of any action however leaves many to the whim of catastrophic environmental processes which are now becoming increasingly dangerous due to a changing climate. I suppose the first step to any situation is first knowing the context of it. Although we were presented with many problems and few solutions, it illuminated the overall situation in our minds of the influence of the environment on human life and livelihood.

I remember constantly feeling like I needed to be doing something about what we were hearing. There were so many issues presented to us, and at each mention I felt like I needed to jump out of my seat and do something about it. I needed to remind myself that my purpose was one of investigation; figure out the context of the situation before action right?

Unexpectedly our plans (and safety) fell into question. Cyclone Aila emerged from the Bay of Bengal, and as we heard of its approach, it was evident that we were going to feel some of its effects since we were so close to the coastline. Its effects were so unexpected that we had disembarked to explore a village without predicting that pre-storm flood surges could affect our area. That was exactly what happened, and we ended up isolated from our boat by the flood waters. Our group hopped onto land and was guided through some paths to the main part of the village, but an hour later when we turned around to head back, the first part of the village and its paths were flooded. We were hundreds of feet away from our boat with nowhere to go but farther back as the flood waters continued to swell. Fortunately we were able to communicate with a crewman onboard to send a speedboat to pick us up. The Bangladeshis around us seemed very calm, maybe because an occurrence like this is not to be unexpected. Some were actually making a great time of it and excitedly casted their nets into the water; the flood waters had stirred up nutrients and the fish were feeding.

Getting caught in the cyclone was one of the highlights of the trip for me. It was not something that made me feel happy to observe, but it was prominently influential in my experience of what a natural disaster actually means. It was incredibly appropriate for us to be left flooded in the village, being able to observe firsthand how rapidly the water had risen. I remember seeing the coastline actively fall apart while we were waiting for the speedboat to arrive. A brick pathway of the village was collapsing brick by brick into the river. Someone had placed each of those bricks very carefully at one point in time, and now in a matter of minutes it was gone, before my eyes. And that is a firsthand experience.

I understood Dr. Atiq when he said that if it could be done, he would have scheduled a cyclone in for our group. The village in which we had just set food had no piece of visible land left when we boarded back onto the boat. Observing that occurrence was likely as close as the group could have gotten to actually feeling the effects of a natural disaster like that, and through this we become more personally aware of what it means to mitigate one. Because of this we also have a more informed perspective of the linkages between climate change, development, and livelihood. Effects on citizen livelihood can be imagined through observations of damaged infrastructure (eg quickly-eroding brick pathway), setbacks associated with its repair, and influenced means of food and monetary income (dirtied rice fields, lost livestock). A changing climate brings more extreme and differently-timed disasters. Occurring at a more frequent pace would bring about calamity because of less recovery time; occurring at an erratic pace would also be more damaging due to unexpected timings. This coupled with a stronger storm intensity is a set of changes to which the security of livelihood and the prosperity of development couldn’t stand a strong chance. With stronger and more frequent floods, how could anyone keep a coastal brick path in one piece?

A quick response to such a disaster is crucial to prevent loss of life. Most of the deaths caused by cyclones don’t actually result from the cyclone itself but from the aftermath of it, over days without proper food, water, or medicine. From what I could gather from Dr. Atiq and others from BCAS, it seems that Bangladesh has a grid of NGOs (in fact, the most of any country globally) that effectively administer first response aid quickly after a disaster. Evidently these responses have been improving in effectiveness over time as death tolls have generally decreased per disaster over time.

Because of their limited resources, NGOs generally cannot continually issue such aid over a prolonged period; it seems as though that governmental programs generally pick up where the NGOs leave off with longer-term aid programs. Although many NGOs implement long-term projects (like livelihood development programs), the general bonus NGOs offer is immediate response, and the benefit of governmental programs is a larger pool of resources. The scenario seems therefore to dovetail rather nicely in theory.

However, an interesting quote from Dr. Atiq about the relation between NGO and government programs is that the NGOs regard the government as a compliment to their efforts, but the government regards the NGOs as a supplement to their efforts. It seems from this that the government adopts a more government-centric perspective to aid issuing. This perspective may have consequences for what kind of aid is issued and how it is issued. If the primary concern is the agency that is issuing aid, then the recipients of aid may be neglected intentionally or inadvertently in some way. In our translated conversations with villagers, it seems that low governmental mitigation effectiveness can be anecdotally supported: The government received a bad grade from the general consensus. This deteriorated regard may be due to aid measures being ineffective, insufficient, or infrequent. In general though, the system of aid delivery in Bangladesh seems to be quite powerful, especially when recent decreases in loss of life due to natural disasters are considered.

These disaster mitigation efforts take quite a toll on resources and time. With regard to confronting climate change as an issue the whole country faces, it seems that the role of NGO and government sectors is to keep up with relief efforts and adaptation strategies in reaction to a changing climate. I imagine that neither the sufficient agency nor the power to confront the actual causes of climate change exist within the scope of Bangladesh’s potential efforts. I also don’t think it is Bangladesh’s responsibility. Addressing the causes of climate change is a tall order that lies most heavily in the lap of countries who have the power to do so. Bangladesh can only do so much; a significant modification to the global climate change situation can only be implemented if nations that are most heavily damaging the environment through high greenhouse gas emission and energy consumption alter their tendencies (the US being the #1 net and per captia energy consumer globally). Such nations it seems usually do no have to deal with the brunt of climate change effects like Bangladesh does. One of the reasons Hurricane Katrina was so devastating was likely our lack of experience in dealing with such disasters, however Bangladesh experiences such destruction on a more regular basis. I wonder how communication of such effects to larger areas of the US population would influence the way we as a nation tackle the causes of a changing climate. As the effects that one decision has on a different part of the globe become clearer, I hope that the perspective of national leaders and policy makers accordingly becomes less focused on individual national needs and more attentive to measures that account for the global collective as a whole.

After a day of anchor to wait out the water currents, a trek through the muddy and buggy Sundarbans, a heartfelt farewell to Dr. Atiq and our boat’s crew/guides, and a day long bus ride back to Dhaka, we were preparing to head to the northern district of Gaibandha. There we stayed with GUK, an NGO that hosts programs in char areas. Chars are basically long islands that the river currents carve out; inhabitants migrate there because of fertile land and open space. After time passes, a community is established that hopes to remain in existence despite the high risk of flooding characteristic of char areas.

We also visited a BRAC site; BRAC is a huge NGO in (and outside of) Bangladesh that implements an array of livelihood support and rural advancement programs. During our time there, we had the chance to interact a great deal with the surrounding community. Whether it was visiting villages, engaging in translated conversations with the villages, seeing the effects of the NGO programs at work, or even drinking chai with locals after a makeshift football (soccer) or cricket game, we definitely got a taste of the country that not just any tour group experiences.

The visit to GUK and BRAC was also tremendously beneficial in the way I conceptualize mitigation efforts. I can gain very little from lectures on these issues in comparison to the perspective that is afforded from firsthand experience. We observed a village organization meeting at a char village and were able to ask the participating women questions about now the NGO’s programs have influenced them. The general response seemed to be very positive, especially with regard to infrastructure restoration. It was good to see the projects that GUK was implementing too, including latrines, garden areas, storage structures, and even solar panels. With such a small electric requirement and lengthy distance from a power plant, the village electrical needs are best accommodated by a few solar panels, a solution that is of course also more sustainable and environment-friendly than drawing from non-renewable sources. Such infrastructural installations are undermined by natural disasters but are crucial to livelihood in terms of physical health/nutrition and income.

Women seem to be the target of so many aid organizations, including BRAC, Grameen Bank, and GUK. For example, the village organizations through which BRAC and GUK arrange programs are always have female members; Grameen Bank also issues its loans to solely to women. With flowering village livelihoods resulting from NGO programs which these women organize, we have observed accounts that these females are regarded with more respect by the community. As a result, it seems that their social status has improved over time and that they have become more active agents in their lives and livelihoods (a less-common sight in Muslim-dominated countries). However, I have also heard accounts of men controlling the decisions of the aid-receiving women. In such scenarios, not only do men continue to dominate the social scenario behind a mask, but also there is increased opportunity for abuse though coercion. The quality of female agency and societal position takes a step back in the face of such possibilities. I have also heard that the directive behind restricting loans to females is contestable. Although it may appear as if female empowerment is the main motivation at hand when loans are made exclusively to women, it is also possible that women are targeted for loans because they are more “domesticated” and therefore more easily held accountable for repayment. These possibilities of exploitation and continued female control and abuse complicate the situation of realized female social position. I like to hope that net positive change is being made over time though, and President Obama has recently praised the women empowerment movements of the country. Social position is certainly an institution that doesn’t change overnight but rather one step at a time.

At BRAC we visited village women who had received aid in the form of livestock coupled with structural additions to house the animals. What was so striking about BRAC’s method of aid implementation was its holistic nature. For instance, if cattle are given to a villager, knowledge about how to care for them, proper vaccinations, feed, and housing are also supplied. In this way, the effectiveness of the cattle as a measurement of livelihood restoration is increased. It was thrilling to observe how this holistic approach to livelihood restoration was well received by the villagers and how it has enabled them to manage their means of livelihood. It is the difference between giving a man a fish and teaching him to. A cow is a cow and it only prolongs life for a short while, as would an amount of monetary compensation. A cow backed with the mechanisms of a sustainable and healthy life (feed, housing, vaccinations, and owner education on breeding/care) becomes an opportunity for owner income and nourishment over a prolonged period, perhaps even a lifetime.

This is where sustainability launches into the picture as a necessity for positive change in the face of a changing climate. The effectiveness of allocated resources is obviously influenced by its sustainable components; this is something that I have acknowledged through my experience in Bangladesh. Without the physical and educational means to house, feed, and breed livestock, animals are as unsustainable as a monetary compensation. Contrastingly, when money is used as a quick means of reimbursement or repair, a lack of resource effectiveness can be observed. Many would criticize the US welfare program for its lack of sustainability; monetary compensation unfortunately does not provide the means to a sustainable livelihood. It was an eye-opening experience to see how thought and planning behind livelihood enhancement can afford tremendous results; however, even such accomplishments can’t face a climate that is changing with as much momentum as ours is. I suppose that a nation is driven to find the most-effective answers to the calls of its citizens when calamity is so often knocking at the door. Such environmental disasters coupled with a high rate of poverty (about 40%) have taught the average Bangladeshi how to effectively use what resources are available. Although maybe often not afforded with much, they are certainly masters of what they have.

Hopping over the border into India only became a possibility a few weeks before we left for Bangladesh. I had overheard Caitlin saying after class one day that she was going to stay in Bangladesh for two more weeks to visit a family friend. My ears immediately perked up; only two weeks is such a short time to stay in an area like that, as interesting and as far away as it is. Although I had been told that the group fare we were using would prevent us from traveling separately, I inquired further to find out that it could work out for me to stay longer if I arranged it through the Emirates office in Dhaka. I prospect shook my parents, and I received immediate “absolutely nots” from them. I found a volunteering program in Kolkata, India that would take me on short notice on a short-term basis to teach English and Math to slum children. The organization is called CRAWL (Children Resolution and Women Learning); it’s an NGO based in Kolkata that hosts programs for volunteers to teach slum children math, English, and computer skills as well as programs for women awareness and street children assistance. Although I left for Bangladesh without my parents’ blessings for a longer stay and not knowing if my return ticket could be rescheduled, I was pumped at the possibility of being back in India.

Much of my free time in Dhaka I spent at the Emirates office, which was fortunately within walking distance from our hotel. The office had to wait for a few days to receive confirmation from another office in the US about the change; then I had to get an encashment certificate for $200 for the booking change since they didn’t accept debit and my emergency credit card was expired. In the end, the return ticket was booked for two weeks later only the day before I was originally supposed to leave with the rest of the group. Although my parents would have rather me come home with everyone else, I was confident that this opportunity was not one that I would be comfortable with passing up. Our perspectives of the situation were entirely different; call it whatever you wish, I was interested in following the energy inside me that resonated, “let’s do this.”

Although my experience with the Muhlenberg group was enjoyable, I looked forward to being on my own after everyone left, and part of that was definitely nervousness as well…There I was after saying goodbye to my friends and professors, in the same hotel lobby, suddenly with little to rely on but my suitcase, an open-minded curiosity, and a one-way ticket to Kolkata for the next afternoon.

That evening I stayed with a friend, Zeeshan, who I had met at a club one evening while out with a few other Muhlenberg students. That night was alone an entire story, leading us through aimless dusty city streets trying to avoid cow dung, to a massive party with dancing and flashing lights, and finally as guests in some of the wealthiest company in the city. Zeeshan and I had kept in touch over facebook, and he offered for me to stay at his home with some friends that evening so I didn’t have to book another night in the hotel. His car and personal driver was also a welcome alternative to public transportation. Atif, also my age, was fond of driving though so the driver sat in the backseat with me, enjoying the ride but grimacing every time Atif scraped the underbelly by going quickly over speed bumps. Richshaws and taxis are fun but often it’s difficult to communicate with the drivers and it’s sometimes also dangerous. I remember earlier another student and I got a rickshaw ride, but the “brief trip” ended up being over an hour and half due to intentional detours, and an obnoxious price was demanded before we were taken back to the hotel.

It was a blast to get to know Zeeshan and his friends, Atif, Arman, Manil, Mikaile, Shabab, and Yaman. We spent the evening driving around, visiting each other’s homes, going places to eat and get ice cream, and joking around with each other. Many of them were coming back from their colleges for the summer, some from schools in Vancouver, New York, and London. Time spent with locals is always a learning experience, and it’s incredibly enjoyable when we relate with similar age and easy communication.

The flight over the border was only about 20 minutes. Although it would have been nice to see the Bangladeshi countryside by bus to Kolkata, my time was limited and the ride would have taken about 16 hours with traffic and inevitable river barge intermissions.

My first steps onto Indian soil sent a wide smile across my face. I hadn’t ever imagined that I’d be back so soon! The airport was hectic with crowds trying to get though the swine flu check point (everyone had to get their temperature taken etc.). Despite the delay, a representative from CRAWL was waiting for me outside of the airport holding a “Matthew Balaban” sign. The taxi ride to my guest house was lengthy with all the traffic—I’d always wondered why there were so many boaty taxis and not the space-efficient auto rickshaws populating the streets. My room was already booked through CRAWL at Calcutta Lodge, located in Sealdah, a very populous and central part of the city. The lodge also had a cafeteria where I could eat three meals a day—accommodation, food, and the two week volunteer fee was only US $260, the price of only a day or two accommodation in New York City I imagine.

For what felt like the first time, I was quite on my own in India. With no study abroad program or teachers to answer to, the independence made me feel like an actual resident. Everyday had its own agenda; sometimes I and a few other volunteers would meet at the nearby train station to assist in the street kids’ project, and once or twice a day I would take the 20 minute local train to Kardah where I would do teaching. Free time was my own to prepare lesson plans, do laundry, converse with guest house attendants, and explore. It was my prized accomplishment to know where to charge my phone with minutes, where to buy the tastiest and cheapest mangos, which trains to take, when my station was coming up, and how to generally navigate the area.

Kardah, in the northern part of Kolkata, was where I did the teaching. CRAWL has found about a dozen and a half slum children nearby who wish to be educated sufficiently to get admitted to main public schools. Three days a week we had an hour of math and an hour of English. There was a syllabus I had that listed what to teach and which books to teach out of. The structure was sufficient, however the children’s attention was lacking much of the time. Maybe it’s characteristic of kids that age (about 10-15), maybe it’s my lack of teaching skills, maybe it’s how boring nouns, verbs, and fractions can be…whatever it was I realized that I definitely needed to cultivate patience and hope that in the end at least something was learned. I guess you never can predict what exactly a student will take away from a lesson, but I imagine most of the time it’s something that wasn’t planned for prior. Who knows, maybe it’s just the “Baa Baa Black Sheep” song I taught them during that one arts-and-crafts day.

In addition to getting to know the children through broken English responses to math problems and shared laughs before and after class, the trains were great places to strike up conversations with locals. Although Kolkatan curiosity toward foreigners doesn’t come close to the bright stares I grew accustomed to in Hyderabad and in Bangladesh, you learn to tell who might welcome a conversation (basically I tried to find people my own age). Two shoe shiners at Kardah station, Subash and Kishore, come to mind when I think of those train rides. While waiting for the train back to Sealdah, we always found the time to practice their English and my Bangla, even including the present-progressive tense. Even when verbal communication failed, smiles, hand motions, and laughs filled the empty spaces for a good time that was easy to look forward to.

It’s fascinating to see people get on and off the trains, especially during rush times. Sealdah station is arguably one of the busiest and most crowded in all of India, and when the train finally stops, like a war the mass of sardine-smashed train-riders meets the mass of hopeful train-loaders craving a seat. It does not matter if the train is still full, everyone still tries to push their way on for a seat, and you can imagine the shoving and stumbling that takes place. Pregnant women and fragile senior citizens beware.

A few days a week we’d also meet for the street kids’ project right at the Sealdah train station. After setting up a small area where kids would congregate to color and play games, I and a few other volunteers would lead them to the washing station to clean up with supplied soap and toothpaste (toothbrush being the trusty right index finger). Later we would line everyone up to receive a small meal, usually jelly and white bread sandwiches and a sweet like chocolate milk, a sure way to get the crowd instantly excited. After the kids had been fed, the extra food would go to the clamoring street-dwelling adults, who tended to be burdened by some sort of physical or mental handicap. Lastly, the rubber gloves would come on and the unorganized medical kit would be opened as a line of multi-aged individuals suffering from some sort of wound awaited treatment. Usually on legs and feet, many had boil-like wounds that likely sprung up from the lack of sanitary conditions. Treatment included disinfecting with iodine and anti-bacterial spray along with a band-aid or cotton gauze. Whatever covering was applied, tape had to be wrapped around somehow to keep it from falling off—with all the humidity and sweat, no dressing would hold unless anchored with tape wrapped around the entire appendage. It proved to be difficult when someone came to us with a head wound. I imagined the pain to be incredibly intense as solution was applied to these open wounds; everyone including the kids rarely even flinched. Maybe they’re used to sucking it up and tolerating pain—it sure did make my job easier anyway.

Back at the guest house, I became fast friends with not only a few traveling residents but also with the crew manning the place. Whenever I’d walk past the front desk, I’d greet the attendant (maybe a few years older than me) and often would stop for a conversation about anything from the differences between our cell phones, to this girl he likes, to how hot it was. The cafeteria was always a good time; the cooks loved to talk about anything in between their dish preparation, and if they were busy it was a pastime of mine to enjoy the overhead ceiling fan and the company of the cashier, who liked to burn incense, watch the cricket game on a miniature black and white television, and shout jibberish to the servers. On slow days everyone would come out to the main seating area to watch the cricket game; that sport sure is a crowd pleaser. I’m sure it’s a welcome break to the work that they’re doing even late into the night. When the day is finished they all found a place on the floor or pushed some tables together for a resting place, no blanket necessary due to the extreme heat. The next day in the same clothes, frequently accented with grime, the process would begin again. Generally from what I hear they didn’t overly enjoy the job, but were happy to have work; most of them came from a neighboring state but worked and lived there in Kolkata for maybe 10-11 months of the year; most were mid twenty in age, although two were only about 15.

Although my singing taste buds would be the first to tell you that Indian food is my all-time favorite cuisine genre, I lost my appetite during my first week or so in Kolkata. I was partially expecting that, as it happened when I first arrived last summer as well. I guess it’s the only side-effect that Indian sanitary standards afford me; everything about you seems to adjust in India, sometimes that requires some time. I was sure to make the point to my cook-friends that although their piles of rice, lentil soup, and chunked curried vegetables were a few of the delicious reasons that I was eager to be back in India, my stomach felt like a miniature coin purse and needed to figure out what was going on. By the second half of my stay though, gorging at the cafeteria, street-side stalls, and Lonely Planet restaurant suggestions was as welcome as a vacation.

I learned the value of a ceiling fan. In the extreme humidity it was the only thing that would dry your clothes, put you to sleep at night, and keep you moderately sane while indoors. If the power failed one night, that was definitely not a good night. I’d venture to say that I sweated more during those two weeks than any of my entire previous summers. Even when I’d be standing on the train at 6 am going to Kardah, the sweat would be dripping off my face and even seeping though my pants. Even though I tolerated it well, one day while exploring a busy shopping street in the central part of the city I realized how heavily I was suffering from heat exhaustion, feeling overwhelmingly dizzy and fatigued. I found the nearest shopping mall and ducked in for a half an hour or so, the air conditioning proving to be one of the most pleasurable god-sent wonders imaginable, right alongside the water dispensed by the chilled cooler at the guest house—pure heaven after a long day. Water of course was a must throughout the day, and although I drank like a fish, it was shocking to not feel the need to urinate at all until right before bed; everything was seeping right out through my skin. The liter water bottle I carried actually was a simple seltzer bottle from Giant Eagle, a grocer by my house in Pittsburgh; lots of people in the villages of Bangladesh and the street-sides of Kolkata found it entertaining to hold it and read what the label had to say. One of my last days there it was accidentally or intentionally taken at Sealdah station while I was treating wounds—a perfect end to its lifetime in my hands, as I wanted to bring an Indian water bottle back to the US anyway, and I’m sure it would be quite a prize in the hands of a street child.

During one of my weekends I went to visit a friend, Ankush, from last year at the University of Hyderabad. His home is only a 3-4 hour train ride north of Kolkata city. Of course he showed me all around his town, Berhampore, including his favorite sweet shop, selling delicious multi-colored and -shaped morsels that were 25 times less expensive and more tasty than the Indian sweets I can get back in the US. We also spent a lot of time at his home talking about anything from cricket to the government to our futures to how excited we were for dinner. His mom’s cooking was definitely one of the reasons I wanted to visit, generously providing an assortment of vegetable, fish, and rice dishes with any meal. Now that’s guaranteed to put a smile on your face, but leave room for your smile to grow wider and your stomach to grow larger as the sliced mangoes are brought out for dessert. Mangoes are an Indian marvel of which I was deprived during my off-season semester stay last year, but this time around consuming multiple ones everyday quickly became a personal endeavor. There were days I must have had over twenty. Ankush and his family taught me about all the varieties, and I ended up learning about the tastes, colors, shapes, textures, and sizes of about 6 different kinds, including langla, mulamjum, sadulla, chompa, and sarenga. Ankush and I also took a brief trip to visit the palace at Murshidabad, near to his home. The stately palace is known for its thousand large doors; it was also the first court of the British presence after the colonialization process started. From there the capital of the British Raj was established in Calcutta, after being relocated to Delhi. Although my time visiting Ankush was a tasty experience, I needed to head back to the city with only a day or two more left in India, and Ankush had GREs to study for; he’s hoping on getting admitted to an institution in the US. I spent about 99% of the trip back with my eyes glued to the passing landscape with its palm trees, thatched-hut villages, and pristine farmlands, as always accompanied by a token cow grazing lazily.

A final memorable experience that comes to mind was when I ventured into the heart of the city (navigating street tram, bus, and underground metro) to get my camera repaired which had suffered a fall in Bangladesh. The Nokia professional said to come back the next day, and it would be repaired as long as the total fee was under rs. 2500, otherwise I would need to give permission to allow a more costly restoration. The bill turned out to be rs. 2400. My initial reaction included a hint of anger, thinking that he intentionally charged me the maximum amount. Thinking about it a few days later, I realized that the story could have gone a different way: The fee may have been rs. 2500 or slightly higher but he decided to save me the hassle of giving permission to continue and needing to come back a third day. It made me realize that we never know what the whole story of any situation is, not only because we don’t have access to another person’s perspective but also because we are embedded in our own. Wherever anger comes from, more often then not it seems to spoil the mind with ruminating cognitions that aren’t even well founded. In the Buddha’s words, “Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.”

Just like I didn’t know the story behind my camera repair fee, it’s hard to gauge how influential my presence was for the CRAWL slum children. Although I enjoyed getting to know them and trying my hand at teaching them something new, two weeks is certainly a very short time. Maybe pluralizing nouns and multiplying fractions wasn’t as ultimately influential for all of us as the memory of the overall experience as a whole. Maybe it’s summed up in the crayon-colored card a student gave me on my last day: “To Matt Uncle, Come back again, all students miss you.”

After a final mango, some last minute souvenirs, and some quick but heartfelt farewells to my new guesthouse friends, I was off to the airport again, this time back to Dhaka. While waiting for the plane I made sure to call any other friends in India from last year on my cell phone that only receives service in the country. It was refreshing to be back in Dhaka, not only because the air felt cleaner but because the people seemed even more open and interested in conversation than in Kolkata. It was also a funny feeling to be arriving without the Muhlenberg program guidance that I had a month ago. Fortunately I had gotten back in touch with Zeeshan who was happy to pick me up from the airport. As I waited I gazed at the crowd of Bangladeshis pressed against the fence that lined the pick-up/drop off zone. Every time I’d been to the airport I had noticed this strange crowd, and each time I wondered why they were there. Some people that I had asked said that they were waiting for their family members to come back. Others said that they wanted to get a glance of a foreigner. Whatever the reason, it was a haunting sight to see a crowd several people thick lined along the entirety of the fence with eager looks on their faces. The police had to shove them aside whenever the gate was opened for a car to enter the area. I wondered how the police decided who to let in and who to exclude.

It was great to see Zeeshan again, and he had brought his cousin and Atif along as well. When I asked him about the crowd of people he said with a shrug that they’re basically always standing there. I asked how the police knew who to let in. With a smile he said “We had to pay them 20 taka [about 30 cents] to let us pass without a fuss, but they wouldn’t let the driver enter.” As we circled the lot looking for our driver, I chuckled at how differently things work here and how I would never fully understand that massive crowd.

That evening I met more of Zeeshan’s friends and we engaged in the usual relaxing business of meeting for ice cream, lounging on the rooftop gazing at the city panorama, and enjoying the mangos, snacks, and other tasty dishes that the maids would serve. The air conditioning in Zeeshan’s house was a welcome comfort. That along with its stately appearance made the house feel very luxurious indeed. I made sure to eat my fill as it was my last day in Bangladesh, and I also enjoyed one last walk around the surrounding busy streets, attracting a very large crowd along the way. Every once in a while someone would muster up the courage to ask me a question, and soon there would be about four dozen surrounding curious eyes. Interestingly enough if a conversation lasted long enough it inevitably included topics like politics and religion. Emphasis was always made about advocating universal brotherhood and exercising religious tolerance (except unfortunately on one or two occasions with regard to the Jewish faith), and Obama as well was praised and Bush often chastised. I remember that day someone my age informed me that Hillary Clinton had broken her elbow the day before. Talk about being politically informed.

Although it was difficult to say goodbye to everyone, this month in Bangladesh and India has made me realize that such places aren’t necessarily as far away as they seem. Upon reflection of the past year, I realized that we never know what the future will hold in store for us. I never thought I’d be back having these kinds of experiences again so soon—only a few months after having come back from India the first time. The future really is an unpredictable place, and excitingly so.

Ready for yet another escapade on my return home, consisting of a flight back to New York (where I met up with my dad), a tram out of the airport, a subway train to Port Authority, a bus ride back to Allentown, and a long car ride back to Pittsburgh, I waved goodbye with a smile…A smile that showed how lucky I felt to have met all these interesting people, from lean village farmers to knowledgeable NGO presidents to giggly slum children to college students just like me looking for an exciting time…A smile that beamed triumphantly at knowledge and wisdom afforded through innumerable explorations and new adventures…A smile that had a better sense of who the person was making it…A smile that expected to see these friendly faces again somewhere down the line in a future that will fold into its story even more interesting characters, tasty food, unexpected turns, and fresh experiences.

Namaste and Assalam walaikum