Mongla and the Sundarban...

Today is Sunday 23rd February, it is 8:30am.

Yesterday I just got back from spending a week down south in the Khulna Division of south west Bangladesh.

My initial motivation to go there was to first visit an NGO who also runs a solid waste management social business, and then check out the biggest mangrove in the world, the Sundarban.

The local NGO is called RUSTIC and they are involved in several smaller projects varying from providing schooling to slum girls, home garbage collection, solid waste management, vermiculture...but as is usually the case, when I got there I quickly realized that it looked a lot better and bigger on paper than in reality. Nonetheless, I spent two days with them, visiting a couple of projects and asking millions of questions to try and better understand their models and problematics. The more I visit similar organizations and the more I realize how truly valuable is the combination of my different past training and educations (NGO, agri-tourism, MBA, banking, consumer goods...). So I came up with quite a few interesting ideas and suggestions I think, that can help them become more self sufficient and sustainable. Let's see...

So after two days in Khulna town, I headed down to Mongla, starting point of the famous mangrove. This town is not such a small town, and is surrounded by numerous other tiny villages. I stayed in Mongla 3 nights and 4 days. The entire time we (this weird Australian guy and I) were the only foreigners in town. (In Khulna I was myself the only foreigner).

So the fact that Bangladesh is such a non touristy destination, being the only "white face" in town definitely brought a LOT of attention.

If you ask me what is the most annoying thing about this country, aside from the traffic and urban pollution, I would say people staring at you ALL the time and everywhere as if I had come from another planet. This does get quite tiring after a while, but I sometimes turn it into a little game. Lol. I simply try to stare them down for as long as possible to make them feel uncomfortable. Funny little game. The thing is that in the West, staring at people is quite impolite, so when people do it to me it makes me feel uncomfortable. And I must admit that the staring in Bangladesh is hell of a higher level than in Indonesia. By the end I tried something funnier: when entering a public bus or a local small restaurant, and every one staring on and on, I would just quickly get up and yell a very loud and animated (with my arms) "hello everyone!". Hahaha! It was so funny. The uncomfortable ones quickly turned around and the more curious and gutsy ones actually used this "intro" as an excuse to engage conversation.

So where was I? Hmmm...

I am actually now in Katmandu, it is February 27th, 6pm, and am headed to Pokhara for my second Vipassana course. Kind of dropped my blog post during my last few days in Bangladesh. But I got really busy, and in a very inspiring way!

Ah, Mongla! Mongla, Mongla, Mongla! I initially went there to check out the mangrove and spend some time on small boats hanging out on the canals. Yeah right! When I got there I quickly realized that because I was a foreigner, it was going to cost me an arm and a leg, and not because the mangrove is filled with crocodiles, but because of the prices the boat people were asking. Pure robbery! I tried many times to make them understand that 23 Bangladesh takas is not the same as 23 US dollars. They were unable to get it. So I just gave up and realized that after all, there is only so much excitement a mangrove can provide, and that soaking on culture and people would definitely be much more enriching. So I got walking, walking, walking, walking...just about every day and everywhere...and gosh was it magical! But i walked alone. No way I was to walk with this weirdo from Australia. (I keep saying he is a weirdo because on the few occasions we hung out or went for short boat rides together, as soon as we got back to town, the guy would just disappear in a second and not reappear til night time as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile. I would waste about an hour looking for the guy...the first time only. Backpacker behavior, you always look after your buddy.)

So yes, I walked through the surrounding villages all the time. I met the most colorful and beautiful people. The biggest (and at the same time most shy) smiles. Kids fighting with each other to hold my hands. Words just can't describe how magical it was. I remember thinking while I was walking how amazed and happy I was. So many smiles and happy souls.

One day, as I was walking at random, a guy on a motor cycle stops by and asks if I want a ride. He asked where to, I said I don't know. I just pointed towards a direction. I jumped on, and off we went. For like 40 minutes we rode, with his buddy on another motorcycle next to us, through the rice fields and villages, and for the most part, along the most luminous and beautiful fishing ponds. Little did I know that he thought I wanted to go to this huge construction site at the doorstep of the mangrove, far away. As we were going I initially got worried as to how I was to get back to town from sooooo far away, and barely any vehicle on the road. But when we got to the fishing ponds...I forgot everything. I was just in awe. 40 minutes later he dropped me of, we shook hands, and we went our separate ways.

I walked a bit and to my luck, a shared rickshaw showed up soon after. I jumped on and we headed back to town where I arrived about an hour later...just in time for sunset.

My last day I decided to go to Bagerhat...with the Australian guy. (20 minutes after we arrived the guy disappeared. Oh well...) Wow! That place is so incredibly beautiful...but not the things that all tourists go there for, not the many ruins of mosques and not the 60 dome mosque. No, none of that. But the villages and the old remnants of the very first red-brick paved roads going through a sort of giant bamboo tunnel, where only bicycle and pedestrians can go, way outside the center of town.

An hour after arriving, as I was walking trying to find those old mosques, I met this student, Abdel Rahim, who was riding this old bicycle. We were kind of in the jungle, along this gorgeous greenish duck pond. At first I just wanted to tell him to go away and leave me in peace. But no. I decided to have yet another Angelina day (I will explain later). So when he asked if he could walk with me, I accepted, and off we went, following his lead, since he was from there. He took me to  every single point of actual interest in the town through the most beautiful back paths. He asked me after a while if he could spend the whole day with me. Sure. Why not. He then tells me that he prefers to do so than to go to school in the morning, and to work in the afternoon. Oh my did I feel privileged! He just wanted to be friends and practice his English. Then, given that time was running and I didn't have much time left before catching my bus back to Mongla, he told me to jump on the back of his bike and off we went, like two kids riding through the town. It was so fun, yet so uncomfortable! He invited me to his village and to meet his family. Everyone was so nice and welcoming. He just wanted to show me off to his friends and family. He proudly introduced me, every time he would bump into a friend or a relative, as his "Bhaia", his big brother. It was quite moving when I had to leave. He hugged me and said I made his day and that he was the happiest to have met me. He didnt want to let me go.

A bit out of order, but on my second day, as I was walking around, this young shop owner calls me over to offer me a cup of tea. I was tired of walking and also tired of rejecting everyone's invitation to sit down for a free cup of tea. So I said yes. His name is Josim (pronounced Joshim). Very smily and happy guy. Not shy at all, and very proud of his shop. Sitting there, on a little wooden bench were two of his buddies and his uncle who is a doctor and a pharmacist across the dirt path. Yes, a doctor, that matters for three main reasons: 1) he was the first sick person I met in town, 2) he was totally drunk an hour later when he came back from his quick lunch, 3) after going through my camera, he looked around it, under it, tried to look through it, and finally said "there are lots of pictures in your small camera?!". A doctor! Apparently not really fully aware of the advantages of today's digital cameras. Hmmm...wouldn't want to be one of his a patient!

Soon after, this very old yet beautiful man came by to beg for money or a coffee. He only had a couple of teeth left. I instantly jokingly, after accepting to buy him a coffee, asked if he would rather I offer him a tooth. Everyone laughed so hard, him included. Got my camera out. His portrait was so priceless. Then I told Josim "no sugar for him in his coffee, don't want him to lose his last remaining teeth". Another round of laughs! I stayed about two hours at Josim's shop, chatting with everyone about life, love, family, football, and traveling.

I know I only spent 4 days in Mongla but it felt like I spent a lot more than that. Everywhere I would walk in town, everyone would wave at me as if I grew up in the town. I knew my way around, and many of the shop owners.

The last night was the night of celebrating international mother language day. Crucial day in the history of Bangladesh as its people went to war against Pakistan in 1952 to maintain Bangla as the "national" language of what used to be east Pakistan, while west Pakistan wanted to impose Urdu as the national language. Thousands of people died during this war. But it worked, even more so that years after that first war, Bangladesh even obtained its independence from Pakistan in 1971. So that night, at midnight, thus on February 21st, all of Bangladesh was unified as one to commemorate that special day.

Mongla was no exception. And the town site were it was all happening, and where all locals would go one by one to drop a flower on the symbolic statue, was literally right under by bedroom window. And trust me, these villages audio equipment is not of best quality and usually tends to have only two sound levels: off and extremely loud. So it was to be a long night.

At midnight, after hours of excruciatingly loud local music,  it all started. Chants, parades, screams of joy, flags, flowers, and more music. I just sat down on the bench of my balcony and watched from above. Being the only foreigner awake (Mr Aussie was seemingly asleep) I would probably have attracted more attention than the celebration itself, and my mother language not being there's might have perhaps led to some tensions...who knows.

At 1 :30am, when it has almost (to my surprise) all quieted down and most of the town had gone back to their house, this guy at ground level screams at me, thinking I am a local. No clue what he says. He tries again. I am thinking he must be drunk or high, so I ignore him again. Then he screams in English for me to please get someone to open the front gate as it is closed. Ah! Got it! Sorry! I wake the manager up. She throws the keys to the guy by the balcony. The guy walks up. Short, bulky guy, with red-died beard, early 50's. We start chatting. His English is really good, he is a seaman, actually works as the operations and logistics manager at the big harbor in the middle of the mangrove. I was so frustrated to meet him on my last night, as after he buys me diner at 2am, and spending half an hour chatting about life, the world and his kids studying on Canada, he offers me to tag along with him the next day to go hang out at the harbor and around the mangroves. Agrrrrr! So frustrated to have to say "no thank you" to such unbelievable opportunity. Oh well...such is life. Somehow, it only goes to show that life is full of hope and always has something better to throw at you.

The next day, I buy him breakfast, and we chat some more in his room. We shake hands like two very good friends, and both wished we could have spent more time together sharing experiences. And for sure, if I had gone to the harbor with him, he would have been so proud and thankful to me. Which is strange, as it should totally be the opposite.

Later that afternoon, after having one last tea with Josim and his friends, I cross the river on a little wooden boat, and get on a bus (literally on the rooftop again). Headed back to Khulna, to catch a night bus to Dhaka, with both my heart and camera filled with moving memories and inspiring encounters.

But one particular moment stands out more than the rest, more so for its comical side than its emotional side: my first hour in Bagerhat, as i was trying to sneak around the 60 dome mosque given how ridiculously high a price they were charging foreigners to get in,  and as i was walking along the giant magnificent lotus pond behind the mosque, i get approached by these 3 little kids who are asking for candies. I dont have any on me, and they are so beautiful and joyful, i feel bad. I search around in my bag, and find a small pack of Fisherman's Friend strong mints. As everyone knows (in the west), these are pretty strong, from western standards, but we are in Asia, the land of chili and spiciness. Mild is not a known concept in their cuisine. So what the hell, I give one to each of the kids, and right away this very old toothless, yet beautiful woman brings her hand towards me asking for a candy as well. Impossible to refuse her. I give her one.

They all look a bit shy and confused when seeing the white, strangely looking unknown candy laying in their hand. I mimed to them to go ahead and eat it...a few seconds later, the scene is beyond hilarious.

You know that reflex we, westerners, have when we put spicy/hot food in our mouth and we are slightly caught by surprise by the spiciness? We are kind of fanning our mouth with our hand (as if it were really going to do anything). Well, here they are, eyes tearing, fanning their mouth, and rubbing their nose as if they wanted to cut it off. Hilarious!!!! Yesssss! I finally got my revenge on all these times when I have asked naively in restaurants "please no spicy.".

Observation about Bangladesh: Bangladesh, urban and rural...has more schools and banks than central america has churches. Alarming fact as it talks not about the access to education but perhaps about the quality of the education provided.

I get back to Dhaka on February 22nd...