Teaching kindergarten.

It has been so long since I have written! A lot has happened and we have been quite busy.

I have now ended my third week of teaching kindergarten. This has proven to be a very challenging endeavor. The children do not speak or understand English very well and one speaks Bengali and French but really no English. One girl, I am sure, has been brought into my life to challenge my patience. She is quite bright and can read most any word in front of her but does not understand the meaning of the word she reads. No matter what I say, she smiles and says “ok” but then the opposite of what I have asked of her. She talks out of turn, takes off her shoes and plays with them, gets out of her chair to see what others are doing and then tries to tell them they are wrong, randomly starts singing or making other noises, and takes things off my desk and drops them on the floor. Since the beginning of last week, when we got a new girl in the class, she is now hitting and pinching the new girl and tries to take away whatever the new girl is playing with, even if she doesn’t want to use the toy. It is driving me crazy. I only have a class of five students and I cannot decide if that makes my life easier or harder. If there were more, it would be easier to separate two that are causing trouble but if there were more, there would be more trouble! They jury is still out on whether or not I will like this job. I only have four or five more days before a long winter break.

Another interesting part of working or going to school in Bangladesh is the “Hartals.” I do not know much about what they are, but from what I do understand, it is, basically, when a political party calls a strike. I may not have school on Sunday because a party is calling a hartal and it may include a roadblock.  When the hartals happen a lot of offices, shops, and schools are closed. Next year, 2013, is an election year so we are expecting a lot of hartals, if there are too many days of school off we may have to have school on Saturdays to make up for the lost days.

Here is a link, just in case you would like to know more:   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hartal

I have already missed two and a half days of school because I have had some stomach trouble. Lucky for me, nothing serious, just a day of vomiting and diarrhea, I empty out and all is better. Last week was the worst, I felt really bad at school, went home and slept, woke and vomited, a lot, slept and vomited. I took the following day off too and slept until noon. The day after that was a hartal so I ended up only working 2 days last week. I have no idea what I ate or drank that made me so sick and I hope I do not eat it again!

Winter Mosquitoes

A few weeks ago, someone told me that the mosquitoes were worse in the winter. I had a hard time believing them because at the time, I had gone two or three days without a bite and it was great. I guess that was calm before the storm. I do not know if the summer and winter mosquitoes are different breeds or if the mosquitoes bulk up for winter but whatever happens, they are very different. These mosquitoes do not rely on stealth to get you, they come in vast numbers, they are huge and it seems they are immune to bug spray. These mosquitoes are more like the Minnesota mosquitoes that I am used to. I can hunt them and kill them, they are more active around dusk and they are annoying. I am covered in bites. At the latest count, I have 25 bites on my left foot / ankle, and about 15 on the right. I have no idea why the left is more popular. There are about a dozen bites spread between both hands and arms. The rest of my family, who wears less bug spray, has only one or two total. I must taste really good. Perhaps being pregnant makes my blood sweeter. My facebook friends have been very helpful in offering suggestions and I am giving each its fair chance. So far, no luck. 

Thanksgiving and homesickness.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Today, I find myself ruminating on past Thanksgivings and the traditions I have made for myself. Thanksgiving is usually a busy day filled with food and family. I try to make it to both sides of the family’s houses. I have always enjoyed being surrounded by family even though we only see each other a handful of times per year as a group, having everyone together is comforting to me. Thanksgiving “linner” is my probably my favorite meal. My uncle Todd always makes two turkeys, one of them is deep-fried (without injuries).

I talked to my mom  on skype this morning (her last night). Mom was busy in her kitchen preparing the carrot dish she makes each year and up until then I had managed my homesickness surrounding this holiday hidden somewhere deep inside, even through a conversation with dad. I watched her go through the usual routine, while cooking, that I have seen and participated in so many times before. Seemingly, out of nowhere, I had weights across my chest, a lump in my throat and it took most of my effort to hold back the geyser of salt water that threatened to explode out of my eyes and nose.  Mom was preoccupied with reading the recipe, making sure nothing was missed, and I was glad for it because if I had talked about how I was feeling that would have ruined the rest of the great conversation that we had. After finishing the recipe mom moved herself and computer back out to the living room and the homesickness settled back down into its tiny hiding spot. The trouble is that once it sneaks out I have a hard time keeping it at bay for the next day or two and just the thought of traditions and the taste of crisp cool air, warm coats, sweaters, and my favorite foods brings back the weights, the lump and the geyser.  Poor Abu tries so hard to help even though, through the tears and dripping nose, I laugh and try to explain that I am fine and there is nothing to be done about it.

The same thing happened at Halloween, for about 2 days before and after Halloween, I hid myself in my room while I wrote, read, and listened to music trying to allow myself to feel what I needed to about missing home but not let people see the mess of snot my face had become. I hide because I need to allow myself the emotion so it does not build and explode in the wrong way and I do not want it to be misunderstood as unhappiness. I am surrounded by kind people who care about how I am doing, I would hate for them to think they are doing anything wrong, as Abu tends to think each time my eyes start to bulge and turn all red. That and I think I make ridiculous looking faces when crying that are hopelessly unattractive.  

I am thankful that we have not yet been here two months and I am fairly well settled. I made a friend and even have had dinner at her house. I have started my job as a kindergarten teacher, which is proving to be almost as big of a challenge as moving to the other side of the world, but gives my days more purpose and gets me out of the house. These little steps are small moves towards establishing myself, and my family, in this foreign place.

I am thankful for my family, especially my parents, Abu and Sara, for helping me focus on the positive and not getting bogged down in the little (or big) things that I struggle with adjusting to.

I am thankful for kind and generous in-laws who have taken us in, with open hearts and an open home, regardless of any inconvenience or adjustments they have had to endure.  

I am thankful that we are safe and secure, that we are healthy, that I have a very active baby who seems to be growing well, that my wedding ring still fits and will for a while, that Sara likes living here and has friends, that my marriage has been strengthened by our move, that I can see my family on skype, that I can write my experiences and feelings, and for all you good people who keep reading what I write and even ask for more. Thank you.

Doc appt and Lab stuff.

Since even before I arrived in Bangladesh, I have heard, from many people, that it is hard to have a “natural” birth here. Each person I talked to, with few exceptions, said that doctors prefer to schedule c-sections for various reasons but mostly because they make more money that way. Abu and I decided that we needed to be very careful when picking our doctor. We chose our friend’s mom. She is fairly close to our home, can go to the hospital that we choose and didn’t even want to think of a c-section after hearing that I already had a natural birth. She also has a warm and friendly personality, which I think is important. On our initial meeting, she got a general medical history, checked by growing belly, and we chatted about her son. She then referred us to a lab, near our home, where we could get the ultrasound and blood tests done.

Abu called to see about hours and an appointment and found that we must pay in advance. He went in paid the 1500 taka ($18) the day before our scheduled appointment. Next day, at five in the evening we arrived for our appointment. The doctor who was scheduled to do our exam had been called away and was on his way back to the clinic. He arrived back at about 5:15 and we were fourth in line to have our exam.  As we waited, Abu took Sara to the bathroom. While they were gone a cute young girl, maybe about eleven was going to sit in their chair. Naturally, I said, “this seat is taken.” Unfortunately, she did not speak English and tried to sit again. I said, “no” and waved my hand over the chairs, but she still didn’t seem to understand. Finally, I said, “nai!” Bengali for no, and she picked a different seat. I felt quite bad and kept wishing that Abu and Sara would hurry up so she could see that I was not just being mean. After they came back, I made a point to talk to both of them and hug Sara so she understood I was with them.  

After we saw the second person go into the ultrasound room Abu decided we should move closer (we were on the opposite side of the waiting room).  After we moved, a burka-clad woman noticed me and, quite obviously, told her daughter to have a look at the white woman, or so I imagined her saying. After a few minutes of the shameless, eye bulging, staring I took their picture with my cell phone. The woman in the burka seemed to understand what I did and finally turned back to her business. I took a Women’s writers course at Metro State before I left and in that class, we had a long conversation about the “work” of being watched. I have thought about this conversation pretty much every day since I got here. Each day I have left the house here without makeup or having done my hair nicely I wish that I had because I cannot more inconspicuously here and I am always feeling judged.

As we waited, I thought back to my ultrasounds with Sara and remembered that they took a while to explain everything and try to get good pictures. I found, after the second person was out in less than ten minutes, that this was not going to be that type of experience.  When I was called, they made me go in alone because I guess my husband cannot see me get onto a bed and have a blanket put over my legs (which was quite hot and I was sweating by the time we were done). Once I was “comfortable” on the bed, they let Sara and Abu in. They also made all of us take our shoes off, which I thought was pretty gross. I wanted to tiptoe. I know what can be on the floor in those places! The man who did the ultrasound spoke English fairly well and did a good job explaining everything. He was very fast and it was a good thing this was our second time around with this because otherwise it may have been too fast and confusing. We did not find out the gender, even though Sara really wanted us to. The baby seems to be growing well and everything else looked normal. When we were nearly finished, I asked if we get pictures, he said, yes. We had to wait until after seven to get the report and the pictures. I was quite excited for the pictures but unfortunately, the man doing the ultrasounds was not interested in the cute shots of the profile, face, and feet. I have some small grainy pictures of the femur, spine, abdomen, and placenta. I have to admit to a fair amount of disappointment about the pictures but at least we know that the baby is healthy.

It took us a bit longer to get the labs done because I needed to go in fasting, get my labs drawn, go home, eat, and come back two hours later for more blood draws. When we arrived, we had to pay first, 1100 taka ($13.25), and then we met a crabby looking woman who either spoke no English or just did not want to talk to me. She was an expert phlebotomist and had no trouble finding a good vein. At this point I noticed the plastic shield that the blood tubes went into to be punctured and filled were re-used, there were tiny little blood splatters on the inside. I racked my brain trying to remember if she broke a seal on the needle or if it was already opened. At this point, with a needle in my arm, and the blood mostly drawn, it was a bit late to insist that she remove it, plus I was not sure. After removing the needle from my arm, she put it into a small, dirty, grey machine that made a whirring sound. I was staring at it wondering if she could possibly be washing the needle. I was lost in those thoughts when she suddenly thrust two small cups into my hand and Abu interpreted that she wanted me to pee in them. I left her little room in a sort of daze not only about the mystery of the needle but also because of the small cups in my hand. They were identical, transparent, white plastic with an opening no bigger than a nickel. I stood outside of the bathroom for a moment and Abu asked what was wrong. All I could think to say, which I knew he would not have the answer for was, “how the hell am I supposed to pee in these tiny things?” I was actually a bit more successful than I ever dreamed possible. As I was washing my hands (and doing a extra good job), I guess the crabby looking woman thought I was taking too long and came looking for me. I had not even been in there very long. We were excused after turning in the urine sample.   

Two hours after breakfast, we returned for round two. This time, the woman taking my blood was eager and willing to practice her English on me, she also did a great job finding a vein.  I watched carefully and saw that she took what appeared to be a new needle. After, when she put the needle into the grey machine I asked what it was, she then pulled out the needle to show me. It was a needle burner. The needle had been in the machine for about three seconds before she pulled it out to show me and it was already half-gone and glowing red.  I was quite relieved. As I thought about this later, I think that burning the needles makes a lot of sense here. There is not a monitoring system that the states have to ensure whoever collected the needles would dispose of them properly, this way, they cannot be reused. The woman then asked me if I could give another urine sample. I really did not want to and I guess it was optional so I passed.

The lab reports are all in English and I understand that all looks well because they give normal values with my results but many of the labs have a different name than back home so I do not know which labs look fine. I guess it does not matter as long as they are fine.

The next step is to bring the results to my doctor but she flew to MN today to visit her son, so we will have to wait a few weeks and that is just fine with me. I know all is well.

A bit about Language.

In a blog post weeks ago, I ended by saying that I was going to write about language in an upcoming blog. My desire to write about language and knowing what to say were not quite meshing until recently, I think I may have found a way to explain some of my thoughts. I may write more on this topic again later. 

My auditory sensation is working wonderfully, so I cannot be certain, but I think that it is fair to say that moving to a country where you only understand enough of the language to understand the context of a situation (in a normal voice, not yelling or whispering) is like having lost most of your hearing. I feel that I am slowly (very, very, slowly) getting some back as I learn more of the language (hopefully I learn Bengali before I actually start losing my hearing). I have decided that they are similar because I have seen this with my grandma and other people, generally older, who are losing their hearing. Like I did, they start out by saying “what” a lot and it does not take long to tire from asking “what” so they quietly, lean forward trying to grasp at the important parts of the conversation. Eventually, even that gets to be too much so they sit back, relax, and pretend to have the correct emotions, if the need arises, but often end up day-dreaming about how no one knew that Captain Adora  of the Horde and She-Ra the Princess of Power are the same person, she does not even change her clothes for goodness sake! At least He-Man changes from shirt and pants to furry undies and a chest plate. She-Ra’s mask is a worse disguise than Superman’s glasses, or lack thereof. I usually try to avoid the daydreaming state not only because of the odd things that enter my mind but also because it does not help me to learn.

Before Begum left our employment, because she missed her family too much, she and I used to be home alone during the day together. Right before she left she started coming into my room and showing me an item, like an onion, then she would tell me the Bengali name for it. If I did not pronounce it correctly or if I forgot as she was quizzing me, after a few more items, she would come very close to me, her eyes would get super big and she would yell the word. This yelling happened a lot. Sometimes, I had to use all my will power not to roll on the floor laughing. Her intensity in wanting me to say the word correctly, and remember it, was enough to burn those few words into my brain. This reminded me of all the times at work, registering a patient and someone else, usually a doctor or nurse, would come into the room and yell slow English at someone who does not speak English. I would usually get out of the room, with a quick wave to the patient, as quick as possible in complete bewilderment of the situation. Now that I am on the other side of the situation, it is even more baffling. Begum was also funny because she thought if I repeated a word to her it meant that I understood it, when, in fact, I meant that I did not understand (I also used a confused look and a shoulder shrug).  One day a few weeks ago this type of confusion started with me itching a mosquito bite and ended with me getting an hour long leg massage because she thought I had a sore leg and was asking if I liked the massage and I did not understand so the confused repeating  came into play.  When the whole family came home and she was still massaging my leg, I was so embarrassed and hoped they did not think I asked her to do it! Both of our stories as to what lead to the massage were very different and both very funny to my family and me!  I miss Begum and the way she helped me learn a few words of Bengali, even with the wide-eyed yelling.  

The part about not understanding and speaking Bengali that bothers me the most is that I do not want people to assume that I am uneducated or stupid, which I think is a common thought about non-English speakers in the US. I am lucky that a lot of Abu’s extended family, friends, and his parent’s friends speak English quite well. I am sure that little by little I will learn to understand better and be understood when I speak. 

Eid

You know Easter and Christmas and Thanksgiving and Hanukkah, you know Halloween and Memorial Day and Mother's day and New Years, but do you recall the second most celebrated holiday of all?  

If you were born and raised in the United States then I would bet that you are not familiar with the Muslim holidays so I will give a little background (the best I can) before I explain what happens when Eid al-adha is celebrated in Dhaka.

There are two Eid holidays each year. One, Eid al-Fitr is celebrated the day Ramadan ends and it is a celebration of completing the month of fasting. Eid al-adha, which we just celebrated, is a celebration of sacrifice. There are not set days for these holidays, they follow the moon’s cycle so each year they occur about 16 days before the year prior.

Whether you are Christian, Jewish, or Muslim (or none of the above but have read the Old Testament), you should be familiar with this story, but for those of you who are not, I will offer a quick re-telling. (There are many versions so please forgive any errors as long as the point gets across.)

Abraham was a prophet of God. One day God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. Abraham did not want to sacrifice his son or go against God’s wishes. Abraham went to his son, Isaac, and told him what God had asked of him. Isaac who also believed strongly in God consented to God’s demand and offered himself as a sacrifice. Just as Abraham was about to sacrifice his son, God either: A) stopped Abraham and gave a lamb to replace instead, or, B) Abraham closed his eyes, sacrificed his son and when he opened his eyes, a ram had replaced Isaac (depending on which version you have read, the idea is the same). Eid al-adha is a celebration of Abrahams (or as Muslims know him, Ibrahim, PBUH) willingness to follow God’s demand and a celebration of God’s mercy.

The effects of the Eid holiday can be seen across the city as the day comes nearer. Like Christmas, lights are hung and people want to spend time with family. The newspapers had articles about the inflated transportation costs and showed people jumping over barbed wire fences onto the top of trains because they were already too full with people hanging off the sides. Everywhere you look there were goats and cows either tied to anything solid or roaming the streets. I was assured the roaming animal’s owners were close by, watching. The cattle market came to town with flocks of people going to buy their sacrificial animal. Schools and offices closed, the markets close on Eid and remain closed for the week meaning we had uninterrupted power for over a week due to less demand on the network. On Eid day, and for the week after, the city is relatively empty. The normally congested roads are mostly clear and even the beggars seem to be on holiday. 

A few days before Eid, Abu and his dad went to the cattle market to pick out our cow and goat. Each animal is sacrificed in someone’s name. A cow is good for seven people and a goat for one. We got the cow to cover our family and the goat for Sara. People from the cattle market helped get the animals to our home and for the next couple of days we had two cows in the back yard and about seven goats up on the roof of our building (the other cow and goat were another extended family member’s). We went up to the roof a few times and fed the goats leafs. I was a little afraid of Sara getting too attached to them, as it was, I wanted to sneak up in the night and free them myself. Not that it would do them any good.

Eid day starts with the men going to Morning Prayer followed by breakfast. After breakfast the sacrifice happens. My father in law sacrificed the cow and Abu did the goat. I could not bring myself to watch. Not knowing how best to handle the situation, I explained very little to Sara about what was happening. Once the butchering was well under way, I went down to the very crowded driveway to be a part of the day. The butchers were very efficient. Sara came down later and watched for a while too. I was very surprised by her. I thought, for sure, that she would end up a vegetarian after witnessing a driveway full of dead goat and cow parts. Sara seemed to fully understand that meat comes from animals and they have lives before they die and was ok with that. Only the smell seemed to bother her. Later in the day, she did ask me if the animals were hurt when they died. I did not want to lie so I said that they probably were hurt but they were killed as quickly as possible so the pain does not last a long time. After the hides were removed I could look at them like meat and from a biological stand point it is very interesting to see the ligaments, muscles, and everything else. I am sure that for hunters this is a very normal thing but I am not a hunter and this was very new to me.

The hides are given to people who sell to the tanners. Who knows, your next leather coat from Wilson’s could be made from our cow. The meat is split into thirds. The family keeps one third, the second is given to family and friends, and the third is given to the poor. None of the animal is wasted. The house staff is the first to get part of the meat that is donated to the poor then if there is any left it is given to the beggars who go door to door on Eid. The idea is that no one should be left out of the holiday, no matter how much money they have.

Just before lunch, Abu, Sara, and I went out for a drive to see the “empty” city and visit another relative. Large groups of people were standing outside the house gates where the sacrificing was happening, waiting for the donated share. Animal hides were being gathered and stacked on curbsides. There was a distinct, new smell to the city. Blood stained men dressed in all white were walking around with huge knives. The birds had flocked to the city waiting for their share too. Dhaka had become a different place over night. The difference between everyday and Eid day was quite striking.

We ate goat meat biryani and beef (and veggies and rice) for lunch and dinner. It was so delicious. I never remember eating such fresh meat before and the difference was clear. The house staff, maids, caretakers, and drivers all stayed through Eid day in order to collect their share of the meat and then left for their villages. I imagine Eid is celebrated a day late in their homes. Our regular maid had not been here since I arrived due to some family issues. She rode a train all night with her adult son, brother, and a woman to be our new maid to insure she was here by Eid and send meat home for her family. She and the new maid, Selma, have stayed here over the holiday. Begum decided that she missed her family too much and decided to quit. Our driver has not yet come back. For the last eleven days, we have been together as a family, visiting other family members, enjoying the time off, and eating red meat. All in all, it was a good holiday.

Don't forget to hydrate as you swim. Being in the water is not good enough.

I have wanted to start swimming regularly again for many months now, even before leaving for Bangladesh. My family here has gone out of their way to help me get to the pool and the other day I went for the first time. They are members at the Gulshan Club, which is a very nice club not too far from where we live. I had no idea what to expect from the pool, locker rooms, or even the other women (it’s ladies swim time in the afternoon). At a quick glance, as I removed my sandals and passed through to the locker room, I saw that the pool area is very nice and well maintained. I was surprised to find there were no floating lane dividers and the usual black lines painted on the bottom were absent. As I was walking around the locker room barefoot, I had the feeling that I was doing something terribly wrong. I am engrained to wear shower sandals in any public shower. As I pushed the idea of athlete’s foot out of my mind, the pool attendant arrived with a key for the locker and offered (for the third time) a rainbow tie-dyed rubber swim cap. I had been warned about the need for a swim cap and had brought my own which seemed confusing to the pool attendant who spoke limited English. I was instructed, by signs and the attendant, that I need to shower prior to swimming, no problem. I donned my modest, a bit too big for me, brown and tan flower pattern, conservative (by US standards) maternity swim suit, added a bright red cloth swim cap, showered and was off to the pool.

I have not swum laps in quite a long time so I took it very easy. I would swim to one side, rest and float for a bit, just enjoying the water, swim to the other side, tread water for a bit, rest and repeat. There were four other women in the pool, who were clearly new to swimming, and after a few laps I noticed that each of them is wearing a short sleeve t-shirt. Besides feeling quite exposed in my tank style suit I suddenly remembered that I also have a few tattoos that were exposed and imagined that I may have been causing quite a scandal. At that point another woman arrived who was clearly meeting her friends. After changing, she jumped into the pool wearing not only the same type of fitted t-shirt as her friends but also bright pink with white polka dots stretch pants. It turns out that all the other women were wearing tight cotton stretch pants. After that, I was busy contemplating not only my “modest” suit, how my pregnant belly seems to float, but also how in the world they managed to swim in all those clothes! No wonder it seemed like they were working too hard to stay floating and moving forward at the same time. I also decided that scandal or no, I am not wearing full cotton clothes while swimming. Not long after making the discovery of the pants, another woman arrived and was wearing a black one-piece Speedo, which furthered my resolve that my swimsuit was fine.

I finished my time in the pool and went to rinse off. The locker room felt like an icebox after the pool so I stayed under the warm water for a bit laughing to myself about the “Sham Poo” bottle on the wall. The power went out while I was enjoying the warmth, which means the A/C went out too. Thinking nothing of this at the time, I finished rinsing myself and my suit, dressed and went to go meet my mother-in-law and Sara who were picking me up. As we paid for my swim time, 70 taka ($0.84), I started to get quite warm. I forgot to bring a water bottle. We waited for our driver outside for just a few minutes in about 98 degree heat I was quite uncomfortable and wished I would have showered in cold water. We then made a stop at a market to drop off more fabric to the tailor for my shalwar-kameez. As I stood waiting for my mother-in-law while she bargained about the price, (this woman is the best at bargaining!) I thought I was going to pass out. I moved under a fan to try to get more air. A kind man at the shop must have been able to tell that I was not feeling too well and gave me a stool to sit on. As Sara was begging to sit on my lap or just be picked up I was really hoping that when I faint I do not land on her and that the floor was not an appealing place to land either. The fan must have helped enough that I was able to make it back to the car. We had half a bottle of warm water in the car, which I chugged.

After a lot of water and lunch, I felt better until after dinner. We tried the Pizza Hut here and it was very good. The chicken sausage and beef pepperoni tasted just like the pork they were replacing. It seemed like a “slice” of home. As tasty as the pizza was I believe that it was also very salty and sucked the little water I had replaced right out of my system again. Once again, I was ready to faint. I took a cold shower, which I felt could have been colder, drank ice water and turned on the A/C. I finally started to feel better after all that. I think yesterday was the closest to heat exhaustion I have ever been. I guess exercise, dehydration, and 98 degree temperatures will do that to a girl. 

My very kind cousin-in-law Isa took me out shopping the other day. Our first stop was to the fanciest clothing store I have seen here so far. I reminded me of the clothing department at a Macy’s. As he looked for some pants, I browsed though the women and children’s sections. The woman’s clothes were more like the western styles and seemed to run about 25% cheaper than in the states. The sweaters were about half the price as back home. All the little girls’ clothes that were hanging, with the exception of the swimsuits, were all long sleeve, which I found quite odd in this heat, even with winter coming. The back of the store was filled with folded, stacked high, short sleeve t-shirts for kids. I forgot to look at the prices. There were so many that there was no way I could choose one on a whim. I imagine that this store must deal with a manufacturer and get a deal on shirts before they are shipped for export. I have seen many of these shirts back home. The staff there (like many other places) were far too attentive for my browsing tastes and I felt like they were waiting for me to start shoving clothes under my shirt and then they would get me. As much as it was interesting to look around, I felt a sense of relief when Isa said he was ready to go, I was ready to get away from the overly watchful eyes of the three store clerks.

Our second and third stop was to banks. He needed to use the ATM so I waited in the car. As I sat there at the first bank the security guard suddenly because very curious about the windshield on the car parked in front of us. As he slowly meandered to the car and back to his post he had no shame in staring at me quite intently. Isa then returned to the car to report that the ATM was being filled so we were off to a different branch. I was happy to wait in the car again as he ran into the next bank. As I waited, a family of goats came sauntering down the road looking for stuff to munch on. Then expertly crossed the busy street and moved on. The Eid holiday is coming so there are in influx of animals in the city that, like turkeys before Thanksgiving, are reaching their expiration date. I wondered to Isa about why these goats were not claimed by someone and tied up. He explained that there is often not a good place to tie them and that the owners were probably nearby keeping an eye on them. I can just imagine goats or other livestock wandering through New York City and the chaos that it would cause.

Our next stop was to a movie store. They had quite the collection any movie or show I could think of they had. We picked out a few, including three for Sara, at 80 taka ($0.96) it was hard to go wrong. One we picked for Sara is dubbed in Hindi. I am eager to go back, exchange it, and pick out one or two for myself. I also found a little gem, the picture should be below, which started me searching for others like it but without any luck.

Our final stop was to an ice cream parlor. It reminded me a lot of Cold Stone Creamery but with better service. A (very) young man who could be described as having “boyish charm” and a nice smile was all too eager to show us to a table with very comfortable chairs and offered a six-page menu of ice cream choices. As we enjoyed the A/C and searched though the “make your own” or “already designed” options we discussed life, liberty and the differing taste buds of east versus west. (I would not choose hazelnut ice cream but love mint, which is not a popular choice here.) The young eager man took our order and within a few minutes, we were equipped with delicious treats. As we ate under the watchful eye of our server and another curious employee, we discussed the many ways Bangladesh is very different from Minnesota and discovered that I know absolutely nothing about the professional football (soccer) world. Sara was going to be home from school soon, depending on the traffic so we finished and headed for home. Sara was more than pleased with her surprise movies and even told me that she would like to keep the Hindi one so when she learns Hindi she can watch it. I figure if it was Bengali I would have kept it because it may help her learn but I figure, she should stick to learning one language at a time, so the Hindi one goes back. 

Bangladeshi (or perhaps Romulan) Mosquitoes

The mosquitoes here are very different from at home. I have not managed to kill any mosquitoes because I believe that they are equipped with cloaking devices. I am not “covered” in bites but I have two to three times more than everyone else here, I must be sweet. Each time I try to track the irritating little beasts, even against white walls and floors they suddenly disappear. I have not seen one up close and I have never seen them land. They are a lot smaller and I have not felt a single bite until it starts to itch. They are also very quiet. I do not miss the incessant buzzing the larger MN counterparts use to annoy us but if it meant the little buggers here were not so stealthy I could put up with a few tell-tale traits that I am used to. 

Pictures

Sara on her first flight - MSP to Houston

Starting the second plane ride.

Waiting on the tarmac.

The view from my bedroom window.

The view from the dining room, some of the people who work on the building live in the building.

Gulshan Market

Sara thought it was too stinky. The guy in the back seemed to really want to be in the picture, after he asked for money.

Front of the restaurant that is behind our house. 

View from our balcony.

Begum (our maid) and Sara.

View from the roof. We have not seen anyone working on the construction site on the right of the pic.

Everywhere you look new buildings are going up.

The restaurant again. 

A garment factory.

It is fascinating to watch this building being built. It seems like there are only about a dozen guys working at any given time. They are doing it all by hand. 

Looking down on our driveway and garage. 

Sara's school

School

We had many choices of schools for Sara. There is an American School, the school Abu went to, and some others that all looked to be good choices. I started to research all the schools well before we left. We decided on Beaconhouse for a few reasons. The main reason I wanted Sara to attend is that it is a Montessori school. I have always appreciated the teaching methods at Montessori schools and was glad to find one so close to home.  The second main reason that made Beaconhouse our first choice is that my mother-in-law is a teacher at the school. She has seven and eight year olds so they are not in the same classroom but it is really nice to know she is close by.

I pulled this bit from their website.  

The Beaconhouse group has over 214,000 fulltime students in nine countries and is possibly the largest school network of its kind in the world. Established in November 1975 as the Les Anges Montessori Academy with 19 toddlers, Beaconhouse has since grown into an international network of private schools, imparting distinctive and meaningful learning to students all the way from birth – through its partnership in Pakistan with Gymboree Play & Music – to post-graduation, through the Beaconhouse National University in Lahore.

Of these students, over 84,000 study at the group’s flagship network, the Beaconhouse School System, while the remaining are largely enrolled at The Educators, a parallel school network operated by the group with over 120,000 students. Other students are in Beaconhouse schools overseas.

The Beaconhouse of today is thus much more than just a stand-alone school. Through distinct and independent divisions in the UK, Malaysia, Indonesia, Thailand, Philippines, Oman, UAE, Pakistan and Bangladesh, it caters to the education and training needs of a large and diverse group of individuals of varying ages, socio-economic backgrounds, and nationalities, with its activities also extending beyond education in some countries.

Beaconhouse has always laid tremendous emphasis on the development of human capital. From its initial association in the 1980s with The Moray House Institute of Education in Scotland to its more recent teaching training links with the University of Bradford and MARJON, Beaconhouse has institutionalised in-service teacher training like no other school.

So, with rigorous standards that demand up-to-date teaching skills and a range of challenging programmes, Beaconhouse School System brings success within the reach of every student.

http://www.beaconhouse.edu.pk/cms_main.php?id=3

Sara likes the school and says that she has friends there. I met her teacher and she seems very nice. Her school day is from 8:15am to 1:15pm Sunday – Thursday. They call her class “nursery” which at first I thought was preschool but I am starting to wonder if it is more on track with the US kindergarten class.  The teacher said that each child works at their own level so I am not really worried that she’ll not keep up or be overwhelmed. She brought home her first homework assignment; she was so excited to get her homework done!  It is strange to have her away from me for so long but she is learning and having fun. 

First Impressions

I saw on the news the other day that a shantytown in a part of the city that I had just drove through earlier that day was on fire. They had live footage and this was not a small fire. I have not heard reports since and I wonder about all the people who live there. I wonder about many of the people I see. Very young boys run a lot of the shops in the markets and people set up on the street with cigarettes and small snacks for sale or really anything that will sell. There was a line of people working on sewing machines along one of the roads. I saw a man with no legs pushing himself on a board with very small wheels and another without hands and legs laying on the side walk with no apparent way to get around holding a bowl on his stomach, lifting it with his wrists as people passed asking for money. In traffic jams people will walk from car to car tapping on the windows or pressing their faces to the glass begging. I wonder about all these people. Has this been their whole life or were they displaced because of flooding in the south? Do they make enough money to live? Did their home or their friend’s home just burn up in the fire?

Then there is the other group in the city that I wonder about, the men in suits or the designer clothes and the women with drivers and beautiful shalwar kameez (long shirt, matching pants outfit). Are their lives and families like ours? I find myself thinking about the luck of being born into a certain class and how fortunate some are and others are not.

Like the differences in people, the buildings reflect the same extreme differences. Brand new gleaming buildings are mixed in with the old. In every direction you look there is a building under construction. Huge dented buses share the roadways with tiny beat-up rickshaws and comfortable sedans with expert drivers who weave through traffic, narrowly missing everything else. Traffic lights are replaced with men standing in the intersections, in the hope that people will follow the traffic rules. People cross the streets regardless if there is a car coming or not. The same applies to merging. Our driver and my father-in-law are expert drivers and I am amazed each time we go out by their ability to effortlessly maneuver what still seems like chaos to me.  

The trees are amazing. Huge palm trees and banana trees with the most massive leaves I have ever seen. I kind of want to try to make a fort with them. The bananas here are amazing; bananas in Minnesota hardly deserve the name. The grapefruits are huge and delicious. The meals here are nearly feasts; I have to be careful not to stuff myself. The food is so rich and delicious my poor stomach can hardly handle it. I’ve switched to toast, banana, and sometimes a plain old scrambled egg in an attempt to ward off the pregnancy heart burn. As I mentioned, the bananas are fantastic and the bread is homemade and more delicious and moist, even as toast, than any other I have tried back home.  

There are scheduled power outages each day and I am learning to anticipate them (as I was writing anticipate the battery died on the laptop and the power returned 10 seconds later after being out the previous hour). When the power is out in the US (like what happened at the Houston airport and I could not buy something from the shop while we waited for the plane) we immediately call the energy company, we need to know when it is coming back and we all get bored so quickly. Here, two or three times a day the power is out for about an hour and that is just fine. We have a generator in the house so the lights and fans still work, (thank goodness for the fans!) but everything else is out. We hardly even notice. We were in a market the other day when the power went out and the shopkeepers pulled out lights and went on with business.

The sounds here are overwhelming. It is as if the city has its own soundtrack. Honking is constant, birds, dogs, people, all of it mixes into the harmony of the city. The honking makes perfect sense while moving down the road but from my window it sure is a lot! I am starting to tune it out. A man recites the call to prayers (the Azaan) at each mosque and is broadcast for that area adding to the cities soundtrack. Although it sounds quite different, the idea of it reminds me of the bells from the churches near my home in Stillwater MN.

Abu is now going to the office with his dad each day and Sara and her Dadi (paternal grandmother) go to school. Which leaves me here with Begum, our very nice maid who is very eager to talk to and help me. I have always enjoyed time to myself and I am filling the time with my Teach Yourself Bengali book, reading, and writing. I’ll need to work in some yoga or something too. I have decided that I need to schedule my day so I don’t end up wasting the day. I’ll test how it goes this week. I’m sure I will look back at this time and miss it after our new baby arrives.

I am really trying not to live in fear of the unknown and to get out and try new things and sometimes it goes better than other times. Just crossing a street seems like playing a high level of frogger and I was never too good at games like those. Plus, I have a natural tendency to get lost. I am sure that I will get more comfortable venturing out the longer I am here and as I take more trips out with my family.

For those of you who stuck through my two page, single spaced essay, thank you for reading. Stay tuned for the next blog post, which, among other things, will cover Sara’s new school and my experiences with language. 

A message from my mom.

As we were preparing to leave a lot of people asked how my mom felt about Sara and I leaving. The day before we left my mom sent me the following email and said I could share it on my blog if I wished. I do wish, and here it is:

Going with the Flow

Departure day is upon us.  At church today, I was reflecting upon the long distance relationships in my life.  My life-long friends, Deb and Carol, each live out of state and have for many, many years.  The distance between us has never been a barrier to the affection between us.  Every connection is instantaneous and brings us right back into one another’s world like as though we never left it. 

My guy, Mark, now lives in Afghanistan.  When this plan was first unveiled, I wondered how in the world I’d cope with such distance in my love life.  And yet, here we are connecting through Skype, texts and email.  His ability to take time off every 3 months allows for the adventure of travel once in a while as well as heightened anticipation of every moment together. 

If it were up to me, would I choose to have my daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren live on the other side of the world?  I thought it was up to me years ago when I warned Lisa that if one day she would announce that she was going to marry, have children and decide to move across the planet, that I’d strap myself to a fast moving train and drive between her and this decision.  It sounded humorous at the time… at least for a moment. 

Time has shaped me to move and grow not so much like a tree with roots that hold it firm and in place, but rather like a river bed with the flow of water moving over it.  There are twists and turns which have formed over time and are now part of the landscape; the journey that carries me along.  The flow of water is constant and for this I am grateful.  There is energy in movement and change that I have found to be life giving.  

As a mother, I’ve learned along the way that in the letting go of our children, in order that they become autonomous adults, the separations are mental, emotional, physical and spiritual.  We want them to be happy, to live in love, to be healthy, and to continually grow as children of God.  It is this last piece that makes the others easier.

I have faith that they are in God’s care, as is always in my prayers, and that this experience will be rich with opportunities to learn and find their way in the world.  There will be challenges, no doubt.  My hope is that through it all they will be able to look back and know that taking this bend in the river was one of the best decisions they will be happy to have made.

As for me, when it comes to change, I eventually lift my fears by looking forward to what the new will bring that is promising and exciting.  I wonder what may emerge through the unknown.  As an example, I am focusing now on traveling to them in March to immerse myself in their new location and to meet the new life that will be born into our family!   

My long distance relationships continually challenge and teach me to look at life and love more broadly than that which I’ve simply known.  The known is comfortable and relatively safe, which is why we all gravitate toward that which we know and why we often shy away from big change.  And yet, on the other side of change is a whole new way of life that we cannot begin to guess its brilliance and abundance without stepping into it… or in my case, of being swept along with the moving water and looking forward to the scenic route.

Aren't you gone yet?

Yes, after months of talk and planning we took the 22 hour journey to Dhaka Bangladesh.

The flights were uneventful other than sitting on the tarmac for an hour in Houston because the power was out in the airport and some creepy guy who decided to hug Sara as we were walking down the isle of the plane from Doha to Dhaka. I quickly grabbed her and told him to let go of my daughter. I have no idea of his intention and I don't care. I told Sara that if someone she doesn't know should ever grab her again or hug her she should yell and try to run to me. She said she understood and then added that if she cannot find me she will stop and draw a map to get to me or her dad. :-)

Because of bathroom stops we were some of the last people to reach customs. The lines were to the back of the room. As we approached a few men who work there told us to go to the only short line that was for VISA on arrival, which was not us. Abu explained that to him but I guess it didn't matter. The whole place was chaos and reminded me of the Bangladeshi embassy on a larger scale. We made it though customs in record time. Another man was very eager to help with the bags and tried to get us carts and load them. I think he was out for a tip. Abu thanked him and and refused his help. After getting all our bags (none lost, nothing broke) we headed toward the exit to find Abu's parents. A police man stopped us and after some rapid Bengali, Abu was using his phone to call his parents just to make sure we didn't have to wait too long. At this point I said to Abu, "you're welcome" he asked for what and I said that if it was not for Sara and I he would have still been in line and there would be no offer to help with luggage and use of a police man's cell phone. He agreed. After a short wait outside, in such extreme humidity that I felt I should have been chewing the air, my in-laws arrived and we were on our way home.

My in-laws have set us up in our own room with our own bathroom and AC. They just remodeled the bathroom. Our room and the bathroom are very big and comfortable. They also just hired another full time maid so when we move into our own apartment we'll have someone to help who is already trained in. From the western point of view having a lifv in maid is for the super-duper rich and an unknown entity for us middle class Americans. Here it works differently and that has been an interesting experience for me. I speak essentially no Bengali (I am working on that) and the maid speaks no English. We have tried to communicate with each other without a lot of luck. Gesturing sometimes works. Luckily, there is usually a family member around for me to ask for help. It is especially strange to me to have someone in the house, who does so much for us and I have no way to show my gratitude besides smiling, saying thank you (in either English or my bad attempts at Bengali), or though someone else. She seems to be a very kind woman and I would love to talk to her to know more about her life.

Sara seems very happy here, she likes have more people around and we discovered her second cousins live downstairs and they are just about her age. Everyday, all day she keeps begging to go to their house or for them to come to ours. Sara also gets to start school tomorrow and she is ecstatic about that. 

There are a few things here that a so very different than America, some easier to adjust to than others, but my main impression is that the Bangladeshi people are very welcoming to foreigners, my in-laws have been very open and kind, and that no matter where you may go in the world people are people, we have the same needs, wants and desires so the differences end up to be little things that we may be shocked by at first but with a change or routine or point of view they are easier to get used to. 

18 days and counting!

With only a little over two weeks before we go things still seem to be progressing well. We have moved out of our home and in with my mom in Minneapolis, we still have to organize our bags and figure out what we are willing to leave behind or ship. Our cars are for sale and I really hope they sell very soon.

I am not excited or nervous yet. I wonder sometimes if the truth of what we are doing has not yet sunk in, if I have just come to terms so absolutely with the plan that I don't need to be nervous, or with everything going on I have not had room for nerves and excitement. Maybe a bit of all three.

Sara is handling all of this really well. I think that she understands what is happening as well as a four year old can understand. She's done well thinning out her toys and is very excited to ride on an airplane. After the last day at her daycare, when I picked her up the first thing she said was, "do we get to get on the plane now?" She was pretty bummed when I told her we had a whole month to wait.

I am quite sad to leave people. On that issue, I have no confusion on my feelings. I am not looking forward to saying good bye to my family and friends. It is strange to leave my job. Regions has played such a big role in my adult life, after nearly a decade (off and on) of working for the same company, knowing what is expected, and generally liking my jobs, it's odd to have to move to do something different elsewhere.

When we fly out I will be 15 weeks pregnant. The first trimester was very hard but I am feeling a lot better and getting some energy back. We are very excited for the new addition (we are waiting until delivery to find out the gender) and I have very little trepidation about delivering in Bangladesh. I am due March 22. My mom is already planning a trip to be there with me during the delivery.

I imagine my next post will be from Bangladesh so stay tuned for more exciting updates!  

Washington DC

I always knew that there would be a lot to do to be ready to move to the other side of the world: sell, throw, give, pack, fix, and store are thoughts that are always bubbling up in my thoughts and conversations. The part that I under estimated was the paperwork and it's cost.

Abu has been living in Minnesota for ten years now, which means that his passport will expire this year and that it must be renewed in person at the Bangladeshi Embassy in Washington DC. My passport expired in 2009 and still had my old last name and Sara has never had one. Sara and I also needed to get a NVR (No VISA Required) allowance so we can go to Bangladesh without having a return ticket and stay longer than six months, as a tourist VISA would have allowed. Unfortunately, my planning ahead skills are a bit lax so all of this had to be done rather last minute before our trip to DC. I started to get the paperwork together about a month and half before we left for DC (which doesn't seem last minute but it is with processing times). Birth certificates (plus 2 copies for Sara), photos (6 passport size per person), marriage licence (plus two copies), a notarized statement, from Abu, that says that our marriage is not broken... etc... etc...

I did discover that when you rush order a US passport they do not mess around! They get that sent to you ASAP! I was doubtful as I paid the extra for the rush but it was totally worth the extra money when both passports showed up a bit over a week later. The last bits of paperwork were collected just days before leaving for DC.

Hi Ho Hi Ho, it's off to DC we go!

We were originally planning to make a mad dash out to DC in April but there was other paperwork that had to be done through the mail in preparation to leaving and it's easier for us to do the NVR in person instead of through the mail, which requires passports. My wonderful mother waited, seemingly on-call, to watch Sara when we were finally ready to go.


We left on Memorial Day after I got home from my 9-5:30 shift at Regions ER but we didn't actually get on the road until 8:30pm for a 20 hour drive across country. The drive went well and we made it to Old Alexandria around 5pm on Tuesday. The Lorien Hotel and Spa was pretty great other than the snarky front desk guy who thought that he was the king of the world. We had a great dinner at a local Asian restaurant and ran back to the hotel in the rain which caused us to have to find a place to do some laundry because we were so soaked! The snobby desk guy was no help besides telling us to go to a different hotel.

Embassy Row in DC is nothing at all like I imagined. I thought it would be a long straight road with large white buildings far from the road, hidden behind foliage and big fences. In fact, like the rest of DC, the roads are curvy, the embassies are shoved in next to each other, not in a row, not white, close to the road and the fences (for the most part) are a joke. Israel's Embassy gate was much bigger and guarded. Some other Embassies were located in a different area and much more impressive but still not what I expected. We were the only ones there for a while. Abu and the man who works there talked in Bengali for a long time, working out his passport and our NVR. The man working there was well past retirement age and moved quite slowly. As the time ticked by more and more people came and it seemed to me that the old man and the young woman (who also worked there) would try and help everyone at once instead of finishing one and going on to the next. As I sat there listening to the people around me and noticing them wondering about me, my main thoughts were about how it is that I don't speak Bengali yet. Abu and I have been together for years and I still cannot understand much more than context. I actually felt shameful that I have not made more of an effort. I guess it's never too late to start!We were finally finished and out of there 2 hours and 45 minutes later.

Starving, we made our way to a restaurant that a friend said they went while in DC and that it was "ok." The main draw for us at the time was that we had the directions on how to get there. There was a great parking spot a few blocks away from the restaurant that I could have slipped into if I would have been a bit more aggressive with my driving but I figured that there was no need because we had a few blocks to get to our destination. There were not other spots and as I entered the round-about I realized that we had just merged onto DuPont Circle. I have heard many times from many people (and movies) that you always want to avoid DuPont Circle if possible and here we were: hungry and stuck in traffic. Over a hour later we had circled back to the same open parking spot as before, fed the meter and learned that "ok" is not a good enough restaurant recommendation to follow in the future. On the walk back to the car we saw a half dozen restaurants we wished we would have tried instead. Then I tried my very first Tasty Delite. I liked the vanilla but not the chocolate in my swirl cone. After the pho ice cream it was time to drive back home.

We used both of our phones GPS apps to get out of the city because we kept loosing our signal and missing the crazy turns that are not marked all that well. On the way into the city I wished that we had time to see the things the signs were pointing the way to. On the way out we took enough wrong turns that we ended up seeing the back of the Lincoln Memorial, part of Arlington Cemetery and the Pentagon. The drive home went well, I think. I was pretty exhausted and slept through most of it. Abu was great, he just kept driving and letting me sleep.

We are now waiting to receive all of our passports back with all the correct stuff we need stamped inside. If all that goes well we are done with paperwork. Now all that is left is to sell, throw, give, pack, fix, and store all our stuff.

138 days left...

The decision has been made.

We have not made this decision lightly, we spent a lot of time looking at all of our options and going over the pros and cons of each option. We finally have decided that Abu, Sara and I will be moving to Dhaka Bangladesh at the beginning of October of this year. That leaves us about 150 days to pack up our lives here in Minnesota and travel to the other side of the world. Minneapolis's longitude is -93 ° and Dhaka is 90 ° so we are literally going to the other side of the earth. Minneapolis's latitude is 44° and Dhaka is 24 ° so Dhaka is on the same latitude as the Florida Keys. The weather will be different than Florida because Bangladesh is South of the Himalaya Mountains.

I included a map above for those of you who don't know where Bangladesh is. The simple answer is East of India in the Bay of Bengal. It is in South Asia or the subcontinent. Bangladesh is surrounded on three sides by India and shares a small border with Burma in the South East. Bangladesh is home to the Sundarbans, the worlds largest mangrove forest.  

A short history of Bangladesh:

The subcontinent was ruled by the British from 1858 to 1947. When the British left they decided to break up the area by religion. India was left to the Hindu people and East and West Pakistan were left to the Muslim population. This created problems for many people so house swaps were arranged. The Muslims in India and the Hindus in Pakistan were forced to relocate. The government of Pakistan was set up in West Pakistan. India stood between the East and West. The distance between the two made governing both hard. In 1971 East and West Pakistan fought over the right to rule. East Pakistan won and the government of The Peoples Republic of Bangladesh was born. For the full story: http://www.bangladesh.gov.bd/

The tricky part:

The first hard part was telling my friends and family that we have decided to go. I believe that they understand why we made this choice so I think that that part went pretty well. There are plenty of concerns to address and a lot of unknowns. Another hard part of this is getting ready to go. We have to get the house ready to sell, sell most of our stuff, store a lot of things, keep working as long as possible yet sell our cars before we go... there is so much to plan and organize. 

We are excited for this new chapter in our life and I will keep this blog as we go. 

Until next time...