My (kinda illegal) day in the Chittagong Hill Tracts.

What do you do when you want to get out of the city for a day on the weekend? Well, if you're anything like my friends and I, you make plans to get up early and catch a local bus to some unexplored destination. Most unexplored destinations though don't exactly require government permission to travel to, as our destination did last Saturday. 

I did no planning for this exploration, I was told to be awake and ready by 6:45 and so I was. It wasn't until arriving at what passes as a bus station here in Chittagong that I learned we would be heading into the Chittagong Hill Tracts, an area you can read about on the UK's Travel Advice page that states, "The FCO advise against all but essential travel to the Chittagong Hill Tracts which comprise the districts of Rangamati, Khagrachari and Bandarban. Security in the Chittagong Hill Tracts continues to be a cause for concern. In 2010 clashes between rival ethnic groups led to fatalities. A gun fight in 2011 between rival political factions resulted in at least 5 fatalities. There are regular reports of violence and other criminal activities, particularly in the more remote areas. If you propose to visit the Chittagong Hill Tracts you must give the Bangladesh authorities 10 days’ notice of your travel plans."

So what are experienced, respectful foreign travelers like ourselves going to do when faced with such a dilemma? Well, we got on a bus anyways, shrugged our shoulders, and figured "maybe they'll let us in anyways!" 

About an hour and a half from Chittagong city our bus was stopped and a man boarded to insist myself and my five traveling companions got off the bus and checked in with the police checkpoint. 

At the checkpoint we were asked for our permission slips. Whoops! Through a combination of feigned ignorance, sincere contriteness, promises not to cause trouble, assurances that we were just there for a day to explore, and talking about our German tourist friend (world cup winners are very popular) and our resident Sri Lanken (the Sri Lanken cricket team is quite popular too) won the border guards over and they made some calls. Fifteen minutes later and we were back on the bus and on our way!

We had to sign our names, addresses, workplaces, passport numbers, visa numbers, phone numbers, ages, ethnicities, and favorite colors. Well, not the last one, but I was tempted. The bus was stopped a second time for a second go-around with the border patrol before we were finally allowed into the border town of Rangamati for the day. I'm sure the other passengers on board weren't too happy about having to stop and wait for us twice, but it just can't be helped!

The town of Rangamati is nestled on the western bank of Koptai Lake and home to some of Bangladesh's indigenous tribes. Close to the border of Burma, you see the indigenous population looking distinctly more Southeast Asian than Bangladeshi, not just in their physical appearance but also in their traditional garb. 

This woman is part of the ethnic minority in Bangladesh, made distinct by her long wrap-style skirt featuring geometric stripe patterns and borders. Bengali women generally don't wear skirts, preferring salwar kameezes and saris to the more fitted skirts and tops favored by the women in the Chittagong Hill Tracts. Here this woman is selling Betel leaves used for a popular chewing drug not unlike chewing tobacco that eventually causes teeth to turn solid black (and terrifying). 

Being right on the lake, fishing is very popular and dried fish and seafood of all types are sold in the open-air markets around the lake itself. 

Blocks of grey mud in baskets all around the market turn out to be a type of sticky fish paste popular in cooking. The smell is enough to knock you off your feet when walking by it. 

This beautiful little girl was much shyer than her friends who were swarming around our cameras. Foreigners very rarely travel to this part of Bangladesh (and hell, foreigners rarely travel to Bangladesh in general) so we had a contingent of bouncing children following us for most of the day there. The kids were thrilled with our cameras and fought to have pictures taken of themselves that we would then turn around and show to them. This area is notably impoverished and I imagine most children here don't frequently see pictures of themselves. Considering my struggle to find a mirror to use here in Bangladesh, I can't imagine many of them have mirrors at home either. 

Realizing that hiking was out of the question (the dangerous area was in the hills surrounding the town itself), we decided to see about renting a boat to take us out onto Kaptai lake to view the surrounding hills as well as the thousands of small islands that dot the lake. Water hyacinth choked the area between the water and the town, with houses built on stilts just over the water in a way that doesn't inspire confidence or feelings of safety. 

I stood around uselessly taking photos while others did the hard work of arranging a boat to take us out. We got a large wooden boat that could probable seat over 20 comfortably to the six of us for two hours at the price of 700taka (about $10 USD). 

The water and environment was beautiful. A warm, sunny day showed how clear and clean the water in Kaptai actually is. After about half an hour of cruising around the boat we got our driver to stop and together we jumped off the roof of the boat into the warm lake water around us. We swam for maybe half an hour total, trying (and failing, on my part) to climb back into the boat and then jumping back into the water. It was definitely exhausting. Us women in our group had to keep fully clothed so we were trying and struggling to swim in long pants and t-shirts while the guys were able to go shirtless and in shorts. The injustices never seem to cease. After swimming we clambered back on board to feast on a picnic lunch while we circled different parts of the lake endlessly. 

After finishing our boating trip we did a little bit of shopping to stock up on the wrap skirts women in the Hill Tracts rock so wonderfully, and then we stopped at a fruit stand to grab some pineapples and coconuts for a snack. So foreign were we that we took our fruit and found a roof of a building being constructed, and we laid down some cheap clothes to have another little picnic snack right off the road near town. Clearly the locals thought we were crazy, because after about half an hour a crowd had formed to watch us:

No joke, this is the crowd just standing around watching us having our fruit snack. Just chilling, trying to figure out why the weird foreigners were sitting in a construction area eating pineapples with pocket knifes. Gotta love Bangladesh!

With our crowd of kids and adults formed, we decided to head back to the area of the bus and buy our return tickets for the evening. The adults returned to whatever they had been doing before but the kids followed and amassed around us so thick we could barely move at points. All they wanted was their picture taken and hand shaken! Two of our group went and bought a ball and together with the kids played soccer in an open field for almost an hour. While people were playing ball and learning how to do cartwheels, I followed along trying to take pictures of the speedy kids in the fading light. Clearly I didn't have the right lens for the job but it was still amazing to witness!

Our evening ended by climbing up onto another roof, this one the highest in town, to watch the sun set in the distance. It was absolutely beautiful, as this picture was taken the call to prayer was ringing out around us and the sun was peeking between the clouds for one last red glance before setting for the night. The adventure over, we had a quick dinner and loaded back onto the bus back to Chittagong. Excepting the terror we felt in a driver committed to speeding up around every hairpin turn, it was a peaceful return to the hustle and bustle of Chittagong city and a well-spent Saturday afternoon!

My honeymoon weekend in Cox's Bazar

Honeymoon? Yes, honeymoon. You see, last week I made the critically important decision to get married. We eloped and took a beach trip to celebrate.

Yup, my, myself, and I.

My ring. I splurged, 300 taka (about $4)

Why did I buy myself a fake wedding ring? Well, in a past entry I complained about the unwanted attention from men here and since then, it's increasingly grated on my nerves to be asked for my personal information or contact information by strangers on the street looking to be friends with the white girl. On recommendation from Neema who has been living here since last December, I decided to pick up a fake ring to parade around and pretend to be married. And sure enough, immediately after buying it another strange man tried making conversation with me and asked whether I was married. When I replied "Yup" and showed my ring, his entire demeanor changed and he just walked away. Success! So jokingly, I like to think of my weekend in Cox's Bazar as a little honeymoon to myself. And boy, how romantic it was!

Cox's Bazar is the longest natural beach in the world, and it's supremely undeveloped for tourism (especially tourism from abroad). Once you arrive in the beachside town you can see a couple huge hotels that cater almost exclusively to the Bangladeshi crowd. On the main beaches in town though, typical Bangladeshi modesty rules apply. No shorts, no tank tops, and definitely no bathing suits of any kind! Most women don't even get in the water (although I think that's because many Bangladeshi people I talk to never learned how to swim). What these people are doing visiting the beach then if they can't sunbathe or swim? I don't know. Honestly, it's a mystery to me. But hey, to each their own! While they hung out fully clothed on the beach, I headed out to the Mermaid Beach Resort which is about four miles outside town on a more private beach area. I chose this resort not just because of their affiliation with AUW (and discount for AUW staff) but because it's considered the western resort of Bangladesh and you can wear a bathing suit there! At least, I did. I didn't see anyone else wearing one but after the first day I was the only westerner staying there so that's not necessarily surprising. 

After a rather peaceful five-hour bus ride from Chittagong to Cox's Bazar I arrived at the Mermaid Beach Resort. They sat me down with a coconut and some freshly cut tropical flowers to finish the sign-in. After the paperwork was over they took me off to my private bungalow!

This is the name of my Bungalow. All the names of these are a bit odd and charming - another friend who stayed at this same resort before stayed in a bungalow called Hot Water Ice Cream. You just can't beat that kind of creativity!

As adorable as it is that my Bungalow has a little sign out front with my name on it, it did occur to me that it's probably not the safest thing to have announced that "SINGLE WHITE GIRL TRAVELING ALONE IS STAYING HERE" but whatever. 

The front yard of my little bungalow, the cute little fence is there more for looks than anything else. Local goats would step around and through the fence slats in the mornings while scavenging for things to eat. Adorable!

Aw damn, queen sized bed. Not a western mattress but still way more comfy than my mattress back in Chittagong!

Here's the view from the beach! There are tons of fishermen about on the boats tossing nets into the shallows of the giant tide lake (way bigger than a tide pool) that forms when the tide goes out. 

The trees are on a little sandbar island in the middle of the lake that forms when the tide is out. It's really too far to walk so they pick you up on a little boat and ferry you across to get to the actual beach area. 

View from the little ferry boat. You can see on the beach there's chaise lounges and behind that is one of the bungalows people stay at. Look at the cute little thatched roofs! Ahh I love it so much!

Fisherman walking home in the evening as the sun is setting along the beach. 

Another tide lake in between me in the actual ocean here. It makes these beautiful little tidal pools and you can see a fishing boat off in the distance. 

A final view of the sunset on my last day!

The ups and downs of life in Chittagong

Hi friends!

First update post-hospital update, and life is looking up here. I checked the scales and found out I've lost 23 pounds since coming to Bangladesh. It's so crazy to think about, and of course nothing fits now. Oh well. Nothing new or particularly interesting has happened IMO but there’s enough small stuff to warrant making a blog. So below are the ups and downs of the last few weeks. I’m going to intermix them so it doesn’t turn into a complaint fest. Only one picture this time, sorry folks :(

MAIL!!!

THE UPS

Mail! I’ve finally started getting some of the mail sent about a month ago from the states. So far I have four cards and a postcard, and a small parcel from my parents. Thanks so much to my family, including my Aunt Kay and Grandpa, and Kristina from work for sending me mail! Nothing makes my day brighter than a card with a short message (or long) from home. I’ve been pinning them to the wall in my office to help brighten up the place and I love the mosaic that they’re starting to make.

If you’d like to send me mail (shameless plug), my address is:

Bree Roozen

C/O Asian University for Women

20 M.M. Ali Road

Chittagong, Bangladesh 4000

Something small like a postcard or card is amazing. Adding photos or letters is even better. Packages are a bit of a different story – they’re quite expensive to send and don’t always arrive intact. The package I received today was about the size of a hardcover book, and the contents were just some candy and a letter with pictures. It cost $25 to send from the states, took just under a month to arrive priority, and was probably opened at some point along the journey. When it came to me it was tied with twine and sealed with a (no joke) wax seal over the twine. Apparently tape just doesn’t cut it once it arrives in Bangladesh. But it was a welcome distraction from…

THE DOWNS

My hospital bill. Yuck. If you think dealing with insurance and billing in the states is rough, imagine doing it here. I finally got called to pick up my hospital bill from the health center here at AUW. I nearly choked when I saw it was almost 50,000 taka, which is about $700 USD. Looking broadly, it’s not too bad a sum for six days in the hospital with medicine and tests and everything going on. Hell, the same in the states probably would have cost more like $70,000. But this hospital wasn’t nearly as nice and boy am I uninterested in paying that much for a stay.

Thankfully I have insurance, although nobody has been able to explain to me what happens now with money and insurance and all that. The health center told me to go to finance who told me to go to acquisitions. After trying to ask a few questions about what I’m supposed to do to the woman in acquisitions, she more or less sent me away and told me she’d be in touch. So how is this bill getting paid for? Is insurance paying for everything or will I have to pay a sum? All of these questions remain mysteries. Good thing I’m still in a great mood from the mail.

THE UPS

Last night Minoli (my roomie) and I hosted a dinner party that went from, “hey, let’s have the apartment downstairs up for dinner again” to “we have nine people coming? Nine?!”

Still turned out to be an amazing time though. Going the vegetarian route, I decided to make homemade chickpea burgers (recipe here: http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/1364634/chickpea-and-coriander-burgers) that turned out absolutely amazing, and Minoli was head of the side of a pomegranate, orange and quinoa salad (http://barerootgirl.com/nourish/2013/1/7/in-season-a-cool-pomegranate-orange-quinoa-salad.html) which was also delicious, but won’t necessarily be heading to my recipe box for the future. We topped it off with some ice cream brought by the downstairs apartment and had ourselves a great time! Good food, good company, and for a minute you can almost forget we’re in Bangladesh.

THE DOWNS

We had to fire our maid. I know, this is something that’s hard to complain about to people back in the States who think we’re pretty spoiled just having a maid come every week, but damn, we finally sucked it up and fired her. Ok, Tarah from next door came over and fired her for us because we don’t speak Bangla, but it was our decision.

So why did we fire our maid? Well, largely it was the lack of cleaning prowess that you would expect someone who works full time as a maid to have. We’re talking wouldn’t move a hamper while mopping or never sweeping under the bed, silly things like that. She’d come and clean for two hours and I could look behind my headboard and find huge dustbunnies just chilling out there. The worst though was the experience in the apartment below us. They had the same maid and got tired of her poor work much earlier than we did. The kicker was when I was over chatting and their newly hired maid was sweeping through Holly’s room. After a minute the maid came out and started speaking with Asfara, who speaks Bangla, who translates that the maid had found a dead, mummified bird carcass underneath Holly’s bed. After we were terribly squicked out, we realized it had probably flown in while the building was still under construction and died. The furniture guys, in a spectacular example of “it’s not my job” put the bed in place over the dead bird, and then the old maid just never swept underneath the bed in the two months she worked for them.

And that’s a quick summary of the cleaning problems. We also had to lose her because she got into this odd habit of walking into our apartment any time of day, even when none of us usually weren’t home. Twice Minoli stayed home to work when she wasn’t feeling great and without warning the maid just walked in and stopped, looking confused and horrified when she noticed Minoli sitting there. It makes us wonder how often she tries to walk in when we aren’t around. Since it’s all AUW people in our building and we tend to go in and out visiting with the other apartments, it’s not uncommon to leave the door unlocked for a period of time during the day. It’s not the most secure feeling to have. Plus there was the time right before the Eid holiday (before I got dengue) that she walked in on a weekend morning with her toddler as we were all trying to recover from a late night with friends over. I woke up hearing Bangla spoken in the living room and Minoli was out there trying to entertain the maid and her baby. After we got them to leave, Minoli told me that she woke up on the couch with the maid just standing over her, watching.

Creepy, huh?

THE UPS

I’m going to the beach this weekend! With the illness killing my fall break plans, I decided to take the weekend and go to Cox’s Bazar, the world’s longest natural beach, to lounge and have some me-time. I’ll be staying at the Mermaid Beach Resort, which is the closest thing to a Western-style beach resort that Bangladesh has. Apparently it’s even possible to lay on the beach in a bikini there so I’ll certainly be testing that theory. Figuring out how to get down there is the real struggle though. I’ll be trying out the domestic bus system here in the country. Talking with those who have been down to Cox’s already, they say it’s not so bad. With my luck though, I’m sure something will come up!

THE DOWNS

I was sitting in the AUW van on my way to campus this afternoon looking out at the horrendous traffic, thinking to myself how bizarre it is that I haven’t really seen any accidents. Seconds later, our car rear-ended the car in front of us. Traffic, man…

THE UPS

I’ve been making candles! Using old jam jars, white candles sold for use in temples (like the candles in Catholic churches), and essential oils and herbs, I melted down the candles in a double broiler, mixed in the scents, and repoured them with a wick into the empty jars. This place is making me feel so crafty, between boiling citrus and herbs to help clear the musty smell in the apartment and wrapping our super ugly couch cushions in scarves and extra fabric, I feel like a third-world pinterest queen.

What I could do with a Michaels, or a Menards or Home Depot. I’m thinking small pots of fresh herbs growing on my balcony, being able to hang hooks behind the wall for extra scarves and jackets, and nailing panels of fabric to the wall to brighten up the place. A few houseplants, hooks in the kitchen to hang up pans or mugs, or spray painting the plastic hamper and metal baskets in my room… there’s just so much that could be done!

Dengue is a hell of a virus.... (longer text post, sorry!)

First off I wanted to thank everyone for keeping me in their thoughts over the last (almost) two weeks as I was diagnosed and then carted off to the hospital with dengue fever. It's been pretty sucky but hearing all the concerned comments from friends and family helped me feel a little less self-pitying in the grand scheme of things.

No pictures of me for this update - Minoli my roommie and one of my besties here took a few photos at different points in my hospital journey but she's off bonding with the earth or something in Nepal until Sunday. I'll go back and add photos later. Honestly I haven't seen any of them since they've been taken and I imagine they're very, very flattering - definitely the kind of thing I want my name associated with forever on the internet. There's a few pictures, but none of them are mine. All are stolen from the internet.

Hey, check out that orange country to the right of India. Guess which country that is? Hint: I'm there.

Anyways, story time! I'm guessing most people reading this are not familiar with dengue because they've been smart enough to stay in places where it doesn't exist. Like malaria (which I've also had), dengue is transmitted through mosquito bite. It's also known as breakbone fever so that should give an idea of exactly how much fun it is to catch. The really awful thing about it is that it comes on really suddenly. Monday night I was perfectly fine, in great spirits actually trying to decide what to pack for my trip to India. I tried and failed at making a spanish tortilla for Minoli and I for dinner, and went to bed after staying up late reading on my newly arrived kindle. I was feeling really itchy from mosquito bites so I also took a half a benadryl before bed to help calm that nonsense down. This is important to the story because I can be affected by the weirder side-effects of benadryl, and so when I started waking up with a splitting headache and leg cramps (think charlie horses) in the middle of the night, I assumed I was reacting badly to the benadryl.

The next morning my head felt steamrolled. I wondered whether I had a migraine for the first time in my life, but popped two excedrin and hopped in the shower. After hopping out I noticed how shaky I felt, and no matter how many times I tried to dry myself with a towel I was still dripping. Eventually (I'm always this dumb in the morning) I realized I was dripping sweat, which was odd considering I had the AC going and was quite comfortable.



Anyways, I finished grabbing my things including a chickpea salad for lunch that still resides in the office fridge to this day. That's going to be terrifying to clean out later. Loaded onto the van and headed to school, where I confided in my friend Asfara that I was feeling off. After unloading in my office I decided to run over to the health clinic before my 12:30 afternoon meeting.

At the health clinic I described my symptoms and got my vitals taken. The nurse recommended I go to my meeting and then come back to the clinic to rest until the doctor came in later that afternoon. I didn't have a temperature and my heart rate and all was normal, so she told me to drink fluids and sent me on my way. I headed back to the fellows office where there's a couch and decided to lay low and rest until my meeting to see if I could kick whatever it was. Eventually I felt worse and worse, and texted Minoli that I was dying because I'm nothing if not hyperbolic. She fetched me and hauled my butt back over to the clinic where my vitals were taken again and my temperature was already 101.4 after less than an hour away!

Here's one entrance of the hospital I stayed at. 

I was immediately laid out into the bed area to rest while the nurse checked the rest of me and decided what to do. She noticed pretty quickly that my finger and toenails were all a dark purple and after checking that I wasn't wearing nail polish, they pulled the oxygen tank over and strapped me into the good, clean sweet stuff. Oxygen. Amazing how nice it is to breathe that in after dealing with pollution here in Chittagong normally! I was shivering violently so they loaded some blankets onto me while trying to force me to eat some cookies so I could take Tylenol to lower my fever.

Honestly, this is about where I started to check out. Everything below is what I remember coming through a pretty high fever and so my concept of time and space is mostly nonexistent. I remember being told I had to go to the hospital and protesting because I had to go to India in two days - like if I could just stay out of the hospital I'd be well enough to stick on a plane.

Once at the hospital the nurses crowded around and the AUW nurses who accompanied (one American nurse and one Bangladeshi nurse) tried taking care of me, fending off the local nurses, and filling out paperwork. It was a hectic process that I mostly remember for the moment a squat older Bangladeshi nurse came in armed with gloves and a suppository. Caught between hysterical laughter and crying, I got permission to, uh, take care of that myself. Meanwhile my basic contact information, including my father/husband's name was written down on a chart affixed to me. After what could have been ten minutes or ten hours, I was moved from the ICU to a private room, the VIP suite (don't get excited for me).

Other entrance of hospital I was at. 

My fever was taken again in the VIP suite and it rose somewhere over 103.5 at that point. I was being given lots of tylonel and an IV bag was set to give me fluids, but the staff refused to give me anything stronger despite the bone-breaking pain in all of my limbs. Hence the name breakbone fever. Turns out dengue has a nasty habit of turning hemorrhagic, especially with any kind of pain killer administered to deal with the joint pain. So there's literally nothing you can do for the pain and fever other than tylonel.

Of course at this point they weren't sure it was dengue, I had to get all the proper tests done. Accompanied now by just Asfara, a Bangladeshi fellow who I consider one of my closest friends here, I was taken out of bed and wheeled down to what I was told was the lab area for an x-ray and blood tests. Turns out the lab area was literally just the front hall of the hospital entrance. Anyone who knows me well knows I'm not a fan of needles, so here I am sobbing in pain, hallucinating from fever, dragged sweating and dripping past the crowded waiting areas of the hospital so someone could take my blood. It gets better. Immediately after that's over with, the take me to go get x-rays by CARRYING ME DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS.

That's right, this "modern" hospital in the heart of Bangladesh has decided that downstairs in a non-elevator accessible room is the best place to put an x-ray machine. I was carried down by two male nurses and a door guard who looked about my grandfather's age. Absolutely nothing was stopping them from dropping me. And of course I was too tired to stand for the x-ray so they had to let me sit in the wheelchair and then propped me up for 30 seconds it took the machine to take a photo. When I was done I was carried back up the stairs and then took the elevator back to my private room.

From here the story gets much less interesting. I was watched round-the-clock by a mixture of friends here and AUW staff, some of whom were nice enough and some of whom I dislike enough to wish dengue on. We had to keep the door to the room locked to keep out errant nurses or workers who popped in to stare at the sick white girl, which got pretty old. My fever dreams got pretty vivid and if I didn't know who was with me at the time I would start calling people until someone I knew and liked answered the phone and listened to me hysterically respond to whatever hallucination I was having. My favorites include imagining someone brought in one of the feral dogs I like to pet outside the other AUW housing building and let it crawl onto my back where it trapped me in heat. Another included the mosquito net around my bed falling on me, making me think a giant spider had tried grabbing me into its web.

I was brought food three times a day that I refused to eat. The one time a friend insisted I ate, I took one mouthful of omelette before throwing just everything up. I didn't go a single day without throwing up while in the hospital, and have lost a pretty crazy amount of weight because of it. It almost makes me wish I had taken before- and after- photos. It's significant enough that several other fellows have commented after seeing me out of the hospital for the first time.

Well, that's about it! I was locked away in the hospital until my fever dropped for more than 24-hours, which means I didn't get released until Sunday night after being there since Tuesday afternoon. Everyone was gone on holiday off amazing places like India (without me), Malaysia, Nepal, and other parts of Bangladesh, so I've mostly been lying about at home resting and recovering and going a little crazy with boredom. Boy I was looking forward to getting out of this country for a few days! Hopefully I can find the time next weekend to head down to the beach area and stay in the nicer resort where western women can wear bikinis to relax some.

Hartals ruin weekend plans, heading to India later this week!

I was holding off writing this blog entry until after I returned from a weekend trip to Banderban arranged for the fellows by AUW, but as the title would suggest, hartals ruin weekend plans. So instead of going to the beautiful Chittagong Hill Tracts region last weekend, I laid around my apartment pretending to accomplish things.

But I've been told people are curious about what hartals are and what happens during them, so this will be more text-based since I haven't been out taking pictures recently. I'll include pictures that aren't at all relevant just to break up the text.

Check out the sunset from the roof of my building!

If you google hartal, the definition comes up as "Hartal is a term in many South Asian languages for strike action, first used during the Indian Independence Movement. It is mass protest often involving a total shutdown of workplaces, offices, shops, courts of law as a form of civil disobedience."

Here's a guy selling guavas on the street. Yum!

Hartals are almost always called by a political party who is protesting some kind of government action or court decision. This latest hartal was called because of a court ruling sentencing a major revolutionary figure to death, later amended to life in prison. Nobody should take my relaying of this court case and the figure as fact - everything I know about it I got by scanning Daily Star articles posted on Facebook! Hartal was called for Thursday and Sunday, leaving the weekend open and clear but apparently in the past hartals resulting from court cases tend to be more volatile so AUW's security head decided it would be too risky trying to get a bus full of foreigners out of the city. This hartal was national too, which means just getting out of the city doesn't mean we would avoid the protests. During hartals motorized vehicles (so basically anything other than rickshaws) are banned from the roads so trying to haul a bus full of people through town isn't necessarily the best idea.

Here's a view of Chittagong from the top of a green hill we walked up one afternoon.

Luckily this hartal was pretty boring - as far as I know Chittagong was fairly calm although news reports did say it got messy in other cities and villages. Most of the time I find out about hartals through Facebook, funny enough. I follow the Daily Star which is the major english-language newspaper here in Bangladesh. They'll report pretty immediately when a hartal is called and it'll pop up on my newsfeed. Otherwise I'll get an email from the US embassy in Dhaka, where I registered my location after I moved here, or an email from our security department here at AUW.

I might have already posted that picture, whoops. Here's a rickshaw!

Last year the hartals were pretty regular and much more uncertain in terms of violence and damage, so campus was closed more often and movement for people here got pretty restricted. Generally it's safe to go out during hartals if you stay in the neighborhood. I feel fine walking down to the grocery store and picking things up. Many people will take rickshaws into school if the campus is still open to get to work, but since I only have class one night a week it's pretty easy for me to just work from home and skip the hassle on hartal days. The main issue is trying to get through GEC circle (actually more of a triangle, but whatever), which connects a few major roads and is sort of the center of town. Where I live is on the opposite of GEC circle from school, which means crossing it is a must. When things do get hairy during hartals, it can be the worst around GEC circle. 

Every time I go out I get mobbed by children. This guy had pretty good english so we chatted as we walked. 

For the most part though, hartals just sort of ruin any weekend plans we make, and give me an excuse to stay home and work in my pajamas all day instead of having to come into work and look presentable. 

No idea what these say, but I'm pretty sure it's the "father of the nation" who was a major player in the liberation war of Bangladesh in 1971.

Not much else to say here on this one other than I'm going to India on Thursday for the duration of our fall break! I might update again before I go, I'm thinking of bringing my camera into school to take some pictures of the campus to put up if anyone's interested. But I'm busy trying to get everything done before fall break.

I'm trying to get out of here before the Eid break starts and the cow sacrifice that will be taking place all over Bangladesh. Eid al-Adha (Festival of the Sacrifice) is celebrated by Muslims worldwide to honor the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice his promised son as asked by God. Before he could finish the dirty deed, God intervened and told Abraham to just sacrifice a lamb instead.

IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH, DON'T KEEP READING

To honor that sacrifice, families who can afford it are expected to sacrifice their best halal animal which in Bangladesh is expected to be a cow. Some of the meat from the slaughter of the cow is given to neighbors and the poor or needy so that nobody will go without the sacrificial meal during the holiday.

What this means for me as a vegetarian and animal lover though, is several days of public animal slaughter throughout the country. It's difficult for me to try and write about in a culturally respectful way because it is a longstanding tradition that has benefits for the economy and health and welfare of impoverished populations, but from a western standpoint it's pretty brutal. If you're curious you can google Eid cow sacrifice Bangladesh and see some of the really gruesome photos.

The animals are killed by slitting their throat, which is supposed to be very humane, but the cows generally know what's going on and so apparently you can hear them crying as they are slaughtered. The slaughter usually takes place in the garage of the family's apartment building or home, and the blood is allowed to run into the streets.

We were warned about this holiday pretty early on once we've arrived and I've made very sure to leave the country before it gets going. Hopefully when I come back from India the whole deal will be over and I can go on pretending that a couple dozen cows didn't have their throats slit down my street.

Early morning at the fish market!

I should preface this by saying this was about two or three weeks ago, but I've just gotten around to writing up the post and adding pictures. Sorry for the delay, people I promised to!

So writing a blog sometimes really does work in your favor. About a week before this excursion one of the Access Academy (AA) faculty, John, apparently saw my blog and thought my photos were halfway decent (my words, not his) and thought I'd be interested in checking out the fish market one early morning. Backtrack for a moment, AA is the first year for students joining AUW where they do intensive courses in the basics (reading, writing, math, science, and history) so when they actually start their first year of undergrad (UG1) everyone has the same foundation in classes. So it was one of the AA teachers who took me out to the market.

Well as any good fisherman would tell you, the early bird catches the, well, fish in this case. That means these fishing boats are out early early in the morning and we needed to be by the fish market early enough to catch them as they brought their daily catch in. I woke around 5AM and walked down to meet John at the other AUW faculty buildings and we grabbed a tuk-tuk to the other side of town.

We got there just as the sun was rising and had to pass through open market areas where baskets of shrimp and fish were being slung from wagons onto tables. Huge, square blocks of ice were making their rounds on vendor's carts throughout the market. Honestly it smelled exactly as bad as you would expect an open-air fish market in a country with open sewage problems. After about a five minute walk through the crowded market, we emerged to the other side where the docks and boats were, and I was absolutely stunned.

The following is terribly picture heavy, and I'm not really sorry about that. You came to this blog, so now you get to look at these photos. It's the closest thing I can get to making someone sit down with me and go through photo by photo (which, incidentally, I make my roommate do... sorry Minoli).

Here I was thinking that we would see small metal trawlers not dissimilar from those professional fishers use in the US to bring in their daily catch. I was pleasantly surprised to see that every boat was a beautiful dark carved wood. John mentioned they were Portuguese style and I have no clue either way, so I'm quoting him on that.

We walked around for a couple hours, then got tea in a small local tea stand and headed back home all before 9am. Can't beat that for a morning excursion!

Back of one of these boats, not a great photo for the lighting but gives a good idea of the shape and materials of the boats. You can also see the carved paneling in the boathouse. Is that a boathouse? This is an exercise in how little I know about boats.

By this time, the ships had come in for the morning and so those who weren't hauling in the catch were working on de-tangeling and mending any nets that had been damaged in the night. 

The sun rising gave a really pretty golden tint to everything. 

Loading fish onto a cart for market

Woman holding a baby in waist-deep water talking to fishermen. 

Hauling in a load of shrimp(?)

This kid saw I was taking a picture of the boats, and at the last minute ran and jumped up into my photo. Probably the best picture I got that morning. 

All generations out mending nets and helping out. 

View in towards the city from a bridge on the edge of the market area.

Final small canoe loading to meet a larger boat out in the water. 

Until next time!