It's a boy!

I once said that the story of my new baby’s birth could be the most exciting blog post of all time. I am very happy to report that it may not be true. Do not stop reading though because it was an amazing experience with an interesting twist.

I went into labor in the usual way. Nothing special, just back pain and contractions that were a few minutes apart and painful. It was morning so we showered, Abu and Sara had breakfast and we left Sara with her grandparents as we went off to United Hospital about 10 minutes away. It was a Tuesday morning so it should have been a school day and very bad traffic but fortunately, it was also a hartal so we made it to the hospital pretty quickly. The doctor told me to check in at the ER so we did and realized that we, once again, left all our paperwork at home. I wanted Abu to stay with me so we sent our very helpful driver, Aziz, to get the paperwork. We are very lucky that the strike was going on or all that would have taken a lot longer.

The contractions had been going on regularly since the day before but got more serious around 3 am so I thought I would be fairly well along by the time I was admitted to labor and delivery. I was only 1.5 cm dilated at 11 am. I need to get to 10 cm in order to deliver. Abu wanted us to check out, go across the street to his aunt and uncle’s house, and wait there. The doctor advised against it (and I was not feeling much up for that either) because she thought things were going to progress quickly. The doctor suggested instead that we go to our “cabin” and I can walk around and be more comfortable there.  Our cabin was great. As I mentioned before there are four levels of private rooms. The first two levels of rooms were all full so we took the “luxury suite.” The VIP single seemed like it may have been too much. It was very comfortable. We only got to spend about an hour in our suite before my water broke in a big gush and we were wisked off to the labor observation room again. I was checked again and I was still only 3 cm. My water broke at 1 pm and I remained in labor with no medicine until 5:30 pm when I was still 3 cm and I decided I was too tired and sore to continue in this way without progressing. To be honest, I was scared. I was in labor with Sara for so long that I needed to make things happen or I would have had to have a c-section and the epidural was so good, it took all the pain away. I could feel pressure of contractions but not pain. Because of this, I was very scared of the pain of the baby coming out. I got the epidural around 7:30 pm and was at 4 cm after. The epidural did not seem to be working that well. Everything still hurt a lot but I guess it did take the edge off the pain.   

A funny thing about being a patient when you do not speak the language is that people do not really explain what they are doing or who they are. I had a lot of different nurses and doctors. Nurses would come in and say that they are going to give me a medicine but no one ever told me what it was. As soon as my water broke, some nurse showed up with a pain medicine that I promptly refused. The nurse, or “sister” as nurses are called here, looked quite confused by my refusal and said, “But the doctor ordered it!” With each medicine, a nurse brought me and I refused, I said, “the doctor did not ask me if I wanted it!” After refusing induction medications and pain medications about a half dozen times from the nurses a doctor came in and tried to talk me into it. “My” doctor seemed to be on the same page as me about what I wanted to do but she was not on duty. She stopped in a few times to check on me but otherwise left me with another doctor, who seemed very nice but she was very pushy about medications. This other doctor seemed very pleased when I finally consented to medication to help dilate my cervix and the epidural.

One of the labor observation rooms.

Our Luxury Suite

Another view of our suite

After the epidural and another check (4 cm), I was hooked up to a monitor to see how the baby’s heart rate was doing during contractions. This test lasts 20 minutes. One of the reasons I did not want an epidural was because I was afraid it would slow the contractions and I would have to have more meds to speed them back up. During the 20-minute test, it seemed my fear was confirmed. I only had four contractions and they were not very strong. During the test the pushy doctor finished her shift and introduced me to the new doctor that would take over. They left my room about 5 minutes before the test ended to do rounds. Just as the monitor beeped to indicate the test was done, a contraction started. I remember being disappointed that the test was not still running because it was a big one and I was wondering what number it would reach on the monitor.  Usually the contractions would last 40 seconds to a minute. After about 40 seconds to a minute of the worst pain I have ever felt, epidural or not, I started yelling, “make it stop, why won’t it stop?”  It did not stop. As it passed the minute and a half to two-minute mark, I felt the urge to push. The doctor had told me not to push so many times so I tried not to but there was no helping it. At this point, I remembered, and ignored, my promise to Abu not to scream. I also remember screaming for two reasons. One was that it hurt and the other was because Abu was the only one in the room and I was about to have a baby. I was yelling, “I have to push! I have to push!” Then a second later, “The baby is coming! The baby is here!” I could not see Abu, my back was to him but I could tell he wasn't understanding the gravity of the situation so I ripped the sheet off of me to reveal that my small push had pushed out the head. Abu then yelled, “HOLY #*%^!” (Add your own curse word because I do not remember which he picked.) and he literally ran from the room searching for a doctor. Sam slid out of me very smoothly and my fear of what it would feel like seemed like a silly thing of the past because it was the most amazing feeling in the world. All at once, the pain stopped and I had a beautiful baby boy lying on the bed in front of me. The I tried to look for the cord but I could not seem to find it and then it occurred to me I did not know if he was a boy or girl so as the nurse ran in, yelling at me to be calm, I checked and announced to no one in particular, “It’s a boy!”

In the moments I had alone with Sam, before they took him away, I sat up and looked at him while I rubbed his back and legs. The memories I have of it are blurry and I couldn't figure out why until later when they returned him to me all clean and wrapped (I wanted my skin to skin time and to wait on the bath but no one listened as I asked for him, they just kept telling me he was fine). My blood pressure bottomed out a bit after he was born so I could not see clearly up close. I did not really see him until about an hour later. I also lost muscle strength in my right leg for a while which would have been amusing if it was not for the nurse who literally pushed me into the bathroom. I nearly hit the floor.

There are a million other little details and I could go on but that is the gist of the story. I delivered my own baby and it was amazing. Truly an amazing experience.  Samiul Taher Alam was born around 8:15 on March 12.

We stayed in the hospital for 24 hours after the birth, Sam was circumcised, and we are both healing well. Sara is very excited to be a big sister and is eager to be as helpful as possible.

Thank you for all the love and well wishes!

Proud Baba!

Our wonderful Sam!

I love this little man!

Sara holding Sam for the first time

Cuddle time

Dadu, Dadi, Sara, and Sam

First night at home. He looks a lot like Sara did in this picture.

More Pictures

I said my next post would be about a new baby but I figured, everyone likes photos...

It looks to me that the buses here are made from paper mache. Obviously, they are not. The outsides are so banged up and patched so many times that it seems to me that they are paper. Usually, there are big cracks in the windshields as well. People cram onto these buses with standing room only or even hang on with half of themselves out the door. If there is a back bumper people will ride on the back too. If traffic is not stopped at the intersection where you want to get off the bus often does not stop but just slows so people can jump off and on. I have not figured out how anyone can figure out the bus routes. Maybe if the bus is pointing in the direction you want to go you get on and ride until it starts going the wrong way.

This view is from Abu's cousin's house. Parts of Dhaka are in the background. The water is highly polluted. On the shore of the river is a large shanty town. Boats follow a rope trail across the water but I am not sure for what purpose they go back and forth. 

This is my in-laws' full time maid, cooking in the kitchen.

A random street. The lack of traffic suggests that I took this picture on a Friday or a Holiday.

These kids are selling the towels. There was a parent selling stuff somewhere near by. When traffic stops they run between the cars, window to window, trying to beg money or sell a towel. When they saw me they came over and spent a few minutes just waving and smiling at me. They were picking on each other too. They were pushing and pulling, both trying to be the one to get more attention (or money) from me. As the traffic started to move they expertly weaved through the moving cars back to their spot on the curb to wait until traffic stopped again. 

This is a bridge that is on the way to Sara's school. If it were not for the polluted waters, ground and air it would be quite picturesque. The cars must share the road with the rickshaws. On this bridge, rickshaws often go against traffic which can cause further congestion.  

In an attempt to improve the traffic congestion a "fly-over" is being built near the airport. Funding issues have delayed the work many times.

I believe this is a side street near Sara's school. 

People carry so many different things on their heads. I wonder how their necks handle the pressure. Although, it does seem like they can carry more on their head with better posture than they could in their arms.

It is an election year in Bangladesh and this truck load of people seemed to be loading up to go protest in a different part of the city.

Winter is wedding season. This is a stage where the bride and groom sit throughout one of the parties. 

Me and my hubby celebrating his cousin's wedding.

The henna party for the wedding.

Sara celebrating Valentines day. The hat and the flag came from school. 

This is on the roof. The black things are water tanks. The tanks are always full unless the power is out and we happen to use a lot of water while the power is out. Once the power comes back, the city water fills the tanks again. Each flat has their own water tank. While the sun is out the water gets quite warm in the tanks. 

As Abu grew up here they had metal water tanks with flat tops and he used to play train on them with his brothers. Sara enjoys the game too but the new tanks are harder to climb on top of. 

The kids carnival. 

Pre-baby Update

I am happy to report a much better experience at United Hospital. The building and facilities are comparable to a hospital in Minnesota. I was not able to see the delivery room because it was in use. I joked that we should see anyway so I can get the full experience of it but that did not go over very well.  The nursery looked good and the patient rooms are just as expected. There are a few “levels” of room options ranging from a shared room, single room, and VIP level. The room choice is not down to space in the hospital, but to how much money you want to pay.

The doctor we saw I have been describing as “intense.” She has a no-nonsense feeling to her. The plus side to this being my second child is that I know she will only be around long enough to deliver the baby and it is the nurses that I’ll be spending more time with and that I have no control over who they are. I hope that they will speak English well enough to communicate with me. I also hope that I like the food.

 If someone would have asked me just a few days ago if I am ready to have this baby I would have wanted to shout, “NO!” Perhaps even put myself into a bit of a panic thinking about how much we are not ready for this baby and how scared I am about the pain and other difficulties that come with labor. After a night of steady, painful contractions followed by days of utter exhaustion, I can say that this baby can come whenever s/he is ready, and soon is ok with me. I remember the same feeling with Sara. I believe that this is nature’s way of preparing a woman for labor.

We moved into our own flat a bit over a week ago. We are two floors down from my in-laws flat. The setup is the same, with a few minor differences. I am eager to make my own home here and little by little, we will accumulate all the stuff a house needs to make it a home. Our new home has three bedrooms and three bathrooms. The master bedroom, with attached bath, shares a balcony and a door with Sara’s new room, which is the smallest bedroom. The smallest bedroom is still larger than an average room in Minnesota. I was told the total space is 3000 square feet.  The guest bedroom is on the opposite side of the flat and very large. This room is the same layout as the one the three of us shared while living upstairs. There is an attached bath and balcony in the guest room. We also have a very large sitting room, large dining room and a normal sized kitchen. The dining room and kitchen is the biggest difference in the layout from upstairs. Abu’s uncle, when he lived here prior to moving to the US, valued a larger dining room and gave up kitchen space to get it. I share his ideas about this and look forward to cooking for my family and serving a meal in a spacious dining room. Plus it will give the baby more space to throw food as s/he learns to eat.

My brother just came for a short four-day visit after he spent some time in India for work. We had a nice visit and I am glad that he got to see a small part of my life on this side of the planet. He also brought me a suitcase stuffed full of baby stuff that I saved from Sara along with some new things that I asked for. My mom is coming March 20; I am very excited to see her after nearly five months. I get mom for two and a half weeks. I hope to be able to spend quality time with her at home as well as get out and show her the craziness of Dhaka and shop some awesome fabric shops.

The baby is due March 22. Part of me hopes that mom will be here for the birth, as she was with me when Sara was born, and a part of me cannot stand the thought of waiting another 3 weeks to deliver. I guess it is a good thing that it is not up to me! This pregnancy has been so different from my first that I cannot guess what will happen next.

I am very much looking forward to the experience of giving birth here. Not to say that I am not nervous about it but I believe that all will be well and I am sure that I will get a great story out of it. The next adventure will be learning to take care of a new baby here.  

Stay tuned… the next blog should be a good one. 

Ready or not, the baby is coming soon!

I went to the OB doctor again the other day, the same doctor as I saw last time. All seems well with the baby.

The place I went for my appointment is Lake View clinic. I thought it would be funny that Sara was born at Lakeview Hospital in Stillwater and this new one could be born at Lake View Clinic here. Abu’s brothers were born at Lake View and the vice principal of the school where I worked had her daughter at Lake View about three to four years ago. The building looks like most of the other older buildings here, cement and kind of dirty, nothing unusual. When going inside the first thing I noticed, last time and this time, is that the big double doors are left wide open for people, and mosquitoes, to come and go as they please. I saw, as we walked down a long hall to the doctor's office, smoking clay pots on the floor, these are to keep the mosquitoes away. Judging by the amount of mosquitoes flying around, the only thing the clay smoker things do is give me a headache and stomachache. As we waited, a housekeeper came by to sweep the patient room that was directly in front of us. There was some poor man in the room "recovering" from some foot injury or surgery and everyone in the waiting room can see right into his room when the door opens. He did not have a curtain to pull. I imagine he could also hear everything from the hallway and was breathing in the poison mosquito smoke. No one else seems bothered by the poisonous smoke so maybe the man did not even notice it.

When we saw the doc, she asked for a “prescription” she gave us last time, this seems to be equal to my chart. I found this is how all the clinics and hospitals work. The doctor jots down your info, in their own personal shorthand, and it is the patient’s responsibility to bring their “chart” to each appointment. Some clinics provide a folder some do not. This “prescription” was the only paper we did not have with us. For most of the appointment, the doctor would casually mention how much she needs that paper and how important it is. I nearly lost my patience with her. I wanted to say, "We do not have the paper. Either see me now, and get over it, or send me home without being seen, but I do not want to hear about the stupid paper anymore!" I managed to keep my mouth shut. 

At one point during the appointment, Sara announced that she had to go to the bathroom. Abu told me, after we left, that the bathroom, the whole building for that matter, did not have running water. He found this out when trying to flush the last person’s “deposit” with no results. Abu reported to the front desk attendant about the water and the attendant said that they had not had running water since the afternoon. It was after seven in the evening at this point.

When it was time to be examined, the woman helping the doctor, there is no way she was a nurse, she was not busy enough, asked me to climb onto the examination table. My head actually hung off the end of the table a bit because she wanted my legs straight and I am taller than her average patient. The helper removed the top of the jelly tube and plopped the cold jelly onto my big pregnant belly. The doctor examined my belly and we listened to the baby’s heartbeat. I have no idea of the rate because she did not bother to count but said it sounded good. When the doctor was done, I watched in speechless amazement as the helper scraped the jelly off my belly and put it back into the tube. Waste not want not I guess.

After she examined me and checked for swelling in my legs and feet, she spent the last half of the appointment scolding Abu and I, (but mostly Abu, which I found really strange, like it is his fault the mosquitoes like me?) for all of the mosquito bites that I have. We both tried to explain that most of the spots are old and I do not get very many anymore because I cover my body with long pants, socks, long sleeves and I am using some heavy-duty bug spray. This explanation was not good enough, I guess, because she lectured us quite firmly about the dangers of mosquito bites.

After that, I told the doctor about how I am against having a c-section and made sure we were on the same page. She was shocked to hear how long I was in labor with Sara (about 30 hours), which worries me because I am sure she would have insisted on a c-section if she had been my doc last time. I mentioned that I had to have pitocin and an epidural last time and she explained that they do not have epidurals there, only IM and suppository analgesics. I never wanted the epidural last time until I had to have the pitocin so I said that was fine. Millions of women give birth without meds, so can I, if all goes well. As I thought about it later, I started to wonder what they do for c-sections; I imagine they knock the women out before the surgery. I then asked if I could see the delivery room and recovery room so I can know what to expect. The doc called upstairs to check, making a point to tell them that I am not a Bangladeshi; we got the go ahead because no one was in the delivery room or recovery room. There is only one of each room.

We waited a bit for our escort and then we were taken to the OR "theatre." We had to remove our shoes and put on shared flip-flops. The dangers of athlete’s foot swept through my mind just as had happened when I was at the pool a few months ago but I figured the flip-flops are better than going barefoot, and I had the remnants of shared jelly on my belly. Our escorts led us through a narrow door into a diamond shaped room. For every birth, regular or c-section, women have to use this room. The "bed" is more like a flat narrow dentist chair complete with the arm rests. The old blue plastic that covers the bed is cracked in many places and the padding has long since been squished. It did not look comfortable to sit in for 5 minutes much less having to lie on while my body is experiencing the worst pain a person can endure. There was a large archaic looking OR light hanging over the foot of the "bed." The light actually looked like the newest thing in the room. Around the walls were silver circular containers, containing who knows what. This was the most I could see before I had to get out of the room. We were probably in there for 5 seconds before I had to get out. I could just imagine them tying me down to the bed, like 1950’s Twilight Birth style…  Clearly, they are not into the natural or holistic approach to childbirth.

I tried my best to swallow my emotions and asked to see the recovery room. The room itself is no bigger than the room where I had Sara in Stillwater. It has three beds squished in there with no curtains. The beds are made with the typical cream blankets but it is clear that they too have seen better days. I do not believe that they are adjustable. There are no chairs in the room for guests. In fact, this room is in the OR area so I do not think guests are allowed. There is one small "crib" in the corner for the baby. There is no TV. I did not see a bathroom but I have to assume there was one, even if it did not have running water. We quickly thanked the women who showed us around, put on our shoes and got out of there. I hardly held in my hysterical laughter as we went down the stairs and quickly got out of the building. 

Since then I have had another ultrasound, as the doctor requested, all looks good, only seven weeks to go. We saw United, a little bit, the other day when we took Sara there after three days of vomiting. Sara is feeling much better now. United Hospital looks good, like a hospital I am used to, from the little I have seen so far. I do not imagine that I will get the same birth experience that was so wonderful in MN but that would be hard to top. I have an appointment in a few days, with another new doctor, at United and we will request a tour. This doctor, I found through a Facebook group for foreign parents living in Dhaka. Three women suggested her and had a good birth experience at United. I am hopeful that this will go well. Actually, it had better go well because I only have seven weeks to go and I do not have a regular doctor yet or a place to deliver. If it does not go well I will end up delivering at home in bed! There has been some talk of me flying back to MN for the delivery but that is not an ideal situation for many reasons. Either way, no matter what happens, this baby will come and come soon! 

Stuff you may not know.

Bangladesh is roughly the size of Iowa with the population of Russia. I imagine that a large part of the population problem dates back to 1947 when the British required all the Hindus and Muslims to migrate to their assigned areas. Before 1947, Hindus and Muslims were all jumbled together. The British rulers thought that the mix of religions would be a problem so they required people to move. House swaps were arranged but the land mass of India is much greater than that of Pakistan and Bangladesh combined causing strain on the small countries forced to deal with the influx of people. One day per year the Indian government will allow Bangladeshis to go to the border fence, without fear of being shot, to visit with family, through the fence, that they were forced to leave behind when so many were forced to move.

Dhaka is one of the fastest growing cities in the world and it shows every day in the overly crowded streets and the new construction going up everywhere. What would be a ten-minute walk is often a half hour long drive. I recently learned that many of the buildings being built do not have permission to build. There has been a story in the news about how Hallmark is building illegally. Bridge construction projects are left half finished because they run out of funding. There are now so many children that the public schools cannot handle them all and a lottery has been set up to see which kids, whose parents cannot pay tuition, get to go to school.

Dhaka occupies 140 square miles of Bangladesh, leaving roughly 57,000 square miles of area that is not Dhaka. There are other big cities, like Chittagong, and other smaller cities and villages, the Sundarbans: a rain forest, which is home to the Royal Bengal Tiger, and the world’s longest uninterrupted beach. Being pregnant, and trying to get settled here as a home I have not had the opportunity to see most of Dhaka much less the rest of the country but I am eager to see more.

The population growth in Dhaka is largely due to climate change, lack of water because of damming and pollution, and more opportunity in the city. Our two maids come from the same village about a day’s ride by bus away. I do not know how often they go home but since they arrived in mid December, they have not gone home. One has grown children and the other has a seven-year-old son. Our driver also is from a village. He has two children, a boy and girl who I got to meet the other day. He also has a long bus ride home. The decision to come work in the city, leaving their family and everything they know has to be a hard decision and financially driven.

From what I have seen, when someone wants to hire a maid or driver they ask their friends and family to ask their maids and drivers if they know anyone who is looking to work. If the person has never been a maid before they get paid a lot less and there seems to be a large learning curve. Cleaning a mud house is quite different from a cement one. I also belong to a few Facebook pages for foreigners in Dhaka and I have seen many requests for maids or recommendations from people who are now leaving Dhaka. If a maid or driver has experience working for foreigners they usually expect to get paid a lot more.

There are full time and part time maids. I have been warned against the part time maids many times. They do not live with you in the same building and have a reputation of stealing things. The full time maids and drivers live in the same building. I have seen a few different setups to accommodate the staff. The least common is that they will stay in the spare room. Some buildings have a place built onto the roof for the maids to share and a place behind the garage for the drivers. Others have small “quarters” built right next to the flat. The staff earns a monthly wage and is provided a place to live and food to eat. Right now, we have six people living in my in-laws home plus three staff members, for each meal nine people have to eat. When we move into our own space, one of my biggest concerns is feeding the maid and driver we are bound to have eventually. I hope to find a maid who cooks well or who is not a picky eater! So far, whenever I “cook” anything, American style, no one else, besides Sara and I like it.  

Hartal

Hartal: A countrywide strike. A hartal can be called by any political group at anytime. A while back, I explained hartal on facebook in the comment section of a post so I imagine that many people may not know what this is.

I will explain the best I can and add a Wiki link if you care to explore more about it. I have not done any research on hartal. I have just have experienced them, listened to others explanations and added my own history knowledge.

Hartals date back to when the British governed the Indian subcontinent. The Indian people (modern Indians, Pakistanis, and Bangladeshis) had no control over their government and were ruled by a relatively small group of British officials. When there was a decision made that the public did not approve of the Indian people would call a hartal, or strike, and the British would be forced to compromise on demands. This method of strike was quite effective for many years.

In 1947, when the British separated the countries of the subcontinent, making India a Hindu state and East and West Pakistan two separate Muslim states (under one ruling government in West Pakistan) and then left, modern day Bangladesh (old East Pakistan) was still being ruled from afar so the hartals continued as an effective way of influencing government. Bangladesh only became its own country in 1971 so it is no wonder that hartals are still continuing even though their effectiveness wanes.   

To explain my terms: Pretend that the Republican Party is upset with a recent proposal or decision from the democrats. In response, a leader of the Republican Party could call a countrywide strike. The Republicans, depending on: personal feelings and how staunch the person is, could choose to take part in this strike. Imagine if half the registered Republican Party took part in the strike. A large portion of the population would not work or shop and this may cause shops, work places, and schools to close due to lack of shoppers, staff, and students, effectively shutting down the country for a day or longer. These strikes are meant to be peaceful  but when too many people of like minds get together and are angry about something, we all know how that can escalate.

This year, 2013, is an election year in Bangladesh and this has caused a large number of hartals. Prior to winter break there were so many strikes that the last two weeks of school were pretty much called off. The US embassy recommends that US citizens stay within the “diplomatic enclave” which consists of three parts of the city, (I live and work within the “diplomatic enclave”) because riots and violence can happen at any time the night before the hartal and the day of. I have not witnessed this and I hope not to. The newspaper reported a number of cars that were set on fire last night. Today the strike was called in reaction to a rise in gas prices. Before the winter holiday, a man was beat and hacked up with machetes buy a large group of men because he was mistaken for a member of an opposing party. The weeks following his death many articles in the paper about rounding up the people who were responsible, interviews with witnesses and the family and friends of the man killed and the killers and if hartals should continue. Graphic pictures from security cameras filled many pages. The outrage over the incident was palpable.

The general feeling about hartals, from the people I talk to, is that it is a nice, unexpected day off but also a pain because they fall behind on work and school, having to makeup days on the weekends. The shops are also closed on strike days, which is bad for the merchants and hard on the shoppers who have to plan around these days.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hartal

Are you sure this is winter?

Winter has come to Bangladesh.

The clothing stores have changed their inventory to warmer clothes surprisingly not months before the weather change, like in the US, but just as the mercury started to drop. There are articles in the newspaper about how to dress fashionably for the cold temperatures and everywhere I go there are people wrapped in scarves, shawls and winter jackets that seem more appropriate to a Minnesota winter.

The “extreme” cold temperatures that the newspaper reports are highs in the 70s and lows in the low 50s, to us cold weather experts this seems like beautiful weather suitable for camping, hiking, picnics, and bonfires, pretty much the perfect weather. While in Minnesota, I looked forward to this type of weather all year long and it lasted far too short a time. I love pulling out my cozy sweaters and cuddling up with a warm drink under a blanket in the evening, not wanting to turn on the furnace just quite yet, and that is okay because in Minnesota we insulate our homes and they hold the heat of the day long into the evening. Even the homeless people of Minnesota are not in danger in these milder temperatures. Clothing drives, shelters, and experience dealing with the cold have them ready for snow and freezing wind chills.

Life is different in Bangladesh. The homes are made of concrete, the windows and doors do not have weather stripping and there are no furnaces. The concrete buildings hold on to the nightly cold all day making socks and slippers necessary on the cold floors. Many homes do not use a clothes washer or dryer so often the clothes on the line are still damp at the end of the day, depending on the strength of the sun. Even in the winter, it is still humid here, keeping things damp. Likewise, many homes do not have water heaters. Some have small hot water heaters hanging on the wall above the shower head but with the short winter season, many people do not feel it necessary. During the rest of the seasons (except maybe monsoon, I don’t know, I have not done that yet), hot water is not necessary, the sun warms the water in the barrels stored on the roof and it is too hot to want hot water anyway. In the winter, most people decide to warm water on the stove and bathe from a bucket. When Abu moved to the US, he brought with him his grandfather’s blanket. This is the thickest, warmest blanket I have ever seen and it was great for cold Minnesota nights. I could not imagine why it was needed in Bangladesh! We now have one of these blankets on each bed in the house and some nights I appreciate it. I do not know if it is because I am used to cold or if I am warmer because I am pregnant but I am not cold here. We still sleep with the fan on but that is mostly because I am not used to city noises and wake up a lot without with white noise from the fan. In the mornings, I am usually uncovered and Abu and Sara are wrapped up tight.

The homeless and the people in the shantytowns build fires on the edges of the streets in the evenings and huddle around it smoking and drinking coffee or chai. I do not know what they are burning but the smoke smells suspicious and it is defiantly not wood. The newspapers run photos of families sleeping on cardboard, wrapped in blankets, the small children in the middle and adults on the edges, with more cardboard on top of the blankets. University students go car to car while traffic is stopped to raise money for warm winter clothes but there is not nearly enough to go around and no shelters, like Dorothy Day to go to when the temperatures dip into the 40s late into the night.

One of our maids was working in the evening a few weeks ago and clearly shivering quite badly. Abu asked her if she had a sweater or a wrap and amazingly, she said no. I do not understand how she does not, perhaps she left them at home in her village. I brought a sweater from home that I cannot wear until I am not pregnant again and I will not need to wear until next winter so I decided to give it to her. I could not stand watching her shiver so badly. She could have gone to buy one herself but she saves her money to bring home to her family and I can always go get a new sweater next year. She is probably about 5 feet tall and very petite so my large sweater on her is comical but at least she is warmer.

Even with the understanding that life is different here and the people are not equipped to handle the cold, I sometimes still snicker at the more affluent people as they walk down the street with the huge “bubble” coats or have their head and neck wrapped in a scarf. While I am in just a thin top wishing, I did not have to wear the scarf because it is too hot around my neck. I really enjoyed an article in the newspaper about fashionable ways to wrap your scarf around your neck so you do not catch a cold. As I read, I had flashbacks to high school when I thought it was un-cool to zip my coat and I rarely dried my hair before waiting at the bus stop and most of the time managed to not catch a cold.

According to the Daily Star, the local English newspaper, the “bitter” cold temperatures are going to last for another few days but it will remain cooler until about February. I, for one, will enjoy this "cold" and will miss it when it is gone.