A nation in need of anger management

It is a local custom here to flee a traffic accident, especially if you caused it.

"The best is to offer money.  And to leave as soon as possible. People can become very angry and you can get hurt, badly", was the advice from a local driver.

It sounds strange but is unfortunately very true.

The justice system in Bangladesh is about as functional and reliable as a broken umbrella. 

Thus, the random crowd in the streets acts as an instant street court, condems and punishes on the spot with eye for eye -principle. 

The angry crowd's speed trial, verdict and sentence is history when the police eventually arrive.

Unfortunately, the angry-crowd-justice applies to many other situations, too. 

"The angry people beat the man severely and left him dead on the spot", is a typical sentence almost daily in the newspapers.

For example, last weekend a youth was beaten to death allegedly for stealing money from a mosque.

A week ago four alleged robbers were killed in a mass beating while they were trying to snatch a motorcycle.

In July 12-year-old boy was killed when bus ran him over in Dhaka. 

Shortly after the accident, an angry mob set the bus on fire and beat up the driver. The driver died later at a hospital.

Lesson learnt: I refuse to sit next to my husband when he is driving and will never even dream of driving myself here.

Charity bargains

Many foreigners in Bangladesh work in diplomacy, international organizations or multinational companies.
Efforts are made for social justice, gender equality, helping the weakest in Bangladesh.
Garment industry was, and still is, one of the sectors with a huge potential for improvement.

Therefore, for a newcomer it was slightly shocking to see a large bunch of the foreign corps diving in mountains of H&M clothing at a sales occasion on a Friday morning. (Friday is a day off here)

I was advised by the more experienced shoppers to come early because the fight for t-shirts, shorts, pants and underwear was not exactly diplomatic in the hight of the two hours session.

No moralizing here.

I was one of the first in line and secured six items for  about 11 euros. All items cost 150 taka each which equals round 1,7 euros.

 The more experienced H&M sharks told that there was no need to panic if the catch this time was modest - a new sale of samples is just a some weeks away.
And in between there are other sales. Last weekend was kind of a warm-up with Ahlens sale, only one middle high mountain of clothing.

To make the retail therapy more palatable, the sales revenue go to charity.
But don't worry: I will not drown family and friends with second-rate clothes as gifts.

Onion crimes

There are far too many endlessly sad crime stories in Bangladesh. People are hacked to death, they are beaten to death, they are cut to death with machetes. Plus all the violence that doesn't end in death but torture and awful injuries. Often the victims are women and children.

But this is just too much at the moment. I can't distress my readers or myself with these stories, not just now.

But let's stick to crime. Onion is the big thing now. Not as the perpetrator but as an object for market speculators, big money in onions.

According to news reports, the government in Bangladesh is afraid that the current onion crisis in India is a start of a large smuggling activity of Bangla onions to India. 

India is experiencing a record hike in onion price because of production shortage after heavy rainfall and flood. The tasty vegetable is a central ingredient both in Indian and Bangaladeshi kitchens.

Officials at the Ministry of Commerce in Bangladesh suspect that Bangladeshi traders start smuggling their products to India. The production cost in Bangladesh is less than the current onion price in India. 

But authorities have decided to catch the onion criminals. The Border Guard in Bangladesh is already on alert and sniffing for onions. Their main task is too prevent Bangla onions from being smuggled out of the country.

 

The price hike in India has caused an increase of price in Bangladesh as well. In normal times you get a kilo of onions for 50 eurocents, but now the price is around 90 cents a kilo.

This is not a new phenomenon. Due to similar circumstances the kilo price went up to 1,2 euro a couple of years ago. 

In hell, with a taste of heaven

Dhaka is a dump, almost unlivable, the second worst place on this planet.
At least according to The Economist's global liveability ranking published this week.
An improvement from last year when Dhaka was the absolute jumbo, a living hell.
This year Dhaka was marginally better than Syria's war battered capital Damascus.

Dhaka has a long and sad record in the bottom tier of the ranking. And it seems to be a potent candidate for bottom medals in the future, too.
The ranking lists 140 cities based on various criteria such as health care, education, culture, environment and infrastructure.
It's easy to see why Dhaka scores very low in all categories. The infrastructure here is a really bad joke, the environment is literally drowning in pollution, the most secure way to become seriously ill is to end up in a local hospital.
Political instability, crime, violence and social inequility dominate every day life of the approximately 15 million people in Dhaka.

The ranking is, however, not quite fair. Life can be a struggle but Dhaka people seem to cope well with the harsh reality. They are hard working and resilient.

And the ranking didn't measure the good things, like fuchka. (This has nothing to do with the f-word).
Fuchka is street food, right from heaven.
Fuchkas are small, bite-sized hollow wheat breads fried until they are crisp. The hollow part is filled with a mixture of chickpeas, onions, potatoes, a spice mixture called chat masala and tamarind.
In the global fuchka index Dhaka is a clear winner.

It's raining from men, not hallelujah

It's monsoon season in Bangladesh. According to weather statistics nearly 80 per cent of the annual average rainfall occurs during a few months.
Some parts of the country have been suffering enormously from heavy rains and floods. The situation is very serious and dangerous for many people.
Not so for the issues below.

In Dhaka it's raining from men. And it's not hallelujah.

Dhaka has about 15 million people,  but the city can boast with less than one hundred public toilets. No place to go in case of emergency.
No wonder that every day and in every street there are urinating men. First - in my newcomer naiveté - I thought that they were praying when they were squatting over open ditches in the streets.
Since praying is a private thing I looked away until I one day realized what was going on.
The more universal version of against a wall/tree I did figure out immediately.
Maybe urinating is a little like yawning - if one starts doing it, many others join since peeing men tend to appear in a line formation.
Authorities in Dhaka have tried to stop "the yellow monsoon" with all kinds of campaigns and punishments, but in vain. A million or three public toilets might be a relief.
But this is not all.

It's also dripping from men and even women.

People spit all the time - men in suit, women in office dresses, men in working clothes. The streets are covered with snots of all shadows of green, in all sizes.
I panic when in a crowded street I hear that a person just behind me prepares a major spit with profound slimy sounds.
So far, I have been saved from the  "mucous monsoon".

PS. No action pictures, here goes the line, if not stream.

All day in pajamas

 

 

The dress code in Bangladesh is simple. Women should dress conservatively.
The more inconspicuous the clothing, the less attention. Long sleeves and long pants or modest length dresses.

 



I am all for the less attention but would rather fight the muggy heat in a sleeveless top and shorts. Since this is not an option, I decided to buy a shalwar kameez. It's an exotic name for fancy pajamas with a scarf.
Basically this Bangla uniform consists of baggy pants with wide legs at the top and narrow at the ankle. The top is a long tunic. Plus a scarf which can be used to hide upper body curves. Relatively redundant in my case.
The stores are more than full of these dresses in all combinations, colors, lengths and materials, price classes, ready made or tailored.
Banglawomen look really nice, even elegant, in these pajamas.
Not this woman.

 

 

 The waistline was so wide that the pants could easily accommodate a whole family whereas the ankle functioned as a clamp. The top was comfortable but looked like a tent.
As a newcomer, I learnt at least two lessons: better to have clothes tailored and wait a while before buying a saree.



Parallel realities

 

There are many countries with striking contrasts between the poor and the rich, the old and the new, the traditional and the modern, the good and the bad.
These countries are pale copies of Bangladesh: the contrasts here are everywhere and they are huge.

 Today's little walk is a good example.
We headed for Jamuna Future Park which is the the largest shopping mall in South Asia and number 11 in the whole world. The building is an embodiment of the strong economic growth in Bangladesh.
This eight floor air-conditioned shopping paradise has its own power plant, swimming pool, movie theaters, amusement park plus a plethora of posh clothing stores. The shiny mall has been open for two years but still many of the stores are empty.

 And no wonder since the reality outside the flashy building is slightly different.
The local market less than ten minutes walk from Jamuna Future Park consists of merchants sitting in the dirt mending shoes, selling live poultry and welding car parts in the street. These customers don't need parking services since they hardly can afford a bus ticket.

 Today the official Bangladesh was paying tribute to the Father of the Nation Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. He and most of his family was assassinated 40 years ago. The young nation became fatherless at the age of under four years.
As a newcomer, I feel that this theme is a bit big for me after less than two weeks in Bangladesh. But as an avid observer, I can say that National Mourning Day was not very visible in the streets.

Fake licence to kill

The street in front of our house is like a barren potato field. And I am very grateful for every bump, hump and hole. Cars cannot speed in our street, unlike in many other parts of Dhaka.

The traffic here is wild, crazy, dangerous. Almost 20 000 people die in traffic accidents every year in Bangladesh, 50 000 are seriously injured.
Many of the accidents happen in cities and the victims are often pedestrians.

One reason for the numerous accidents is also the large number of fake drivers.
It is estimated that over a million drivers have a fake licence. Many of them are bus drivers.
This, compared to the relatively relaxed attitude to traffic rules, is not a good combination.
The rules here are the same as in the rest of the world but they are seen more as a nuisance than a guideline. A red light does not mean that you stop if you think you can speed over the crossing.

The roads and streets are jammed almost all times of the day. The distance between Dhaka and Chittagong, the shipping capital by the coast, is less than 300 kilometers but it can take more than eight hours to drive the distance.
The authorities have tried to evict the motorized rickshaws from the highways but after large protests last week it seems that the threewheelers will not disappear soon from the highways.

Buses are both the worst and the most popular choice of transport in Dhaka. Buses are cheap but the quality of the vehicles is often of Fred Flintstone style.
During the rush hour buses are so crowded that people hang outside. The passengers inside don't have it better: most of the buses lack air condition.

For shorter trips the rickshaws are a good alternative. A tour of 10-15 minuters costs about one euro, with the blonde surcharge included.

The flip-flop workforce

 

 

We needed photos for official documents.  They love documents here, all in paper form and several copies. Not copied by a machine but multiplied through a carbon paper. 

 

We went to a photo studio for instant pictures. The store was the size of a smallish bedroom.

 

We  were greeted by the staff, a total of eight. A good customer-staff -ratio. 

Three of the men had a cashier function, one was the photographer, one edited pictures, one was the editor's boss and one was the big boss. Plus a male cleaner. All in flip-flops. 

 

 

 

The photographer took the pictures.

The editor worked with the previous customer's pictures getting rid of the customer's nose and ear hair, virtually.

 

The copy machine made sheets of our pictures.

Two, at the most three of the employees cut the sheets into pictures with regular scissors.

We went to the first cashier who wrote a receipt, took the receipt to the second cashier who took the money. The third cashier controlled that everything went correctly.

All the time the big boss shouted advice (or something) to his employees.

Bangladesh has a population of almost 160 million people. Since there is huge availability of surplus labor, Bangladesh is a favorite destination of labor intensive industries. Many underemployed and underpaid people. Even more overemployed and severely underpaid people.

The garment industry and its shocking working conditions have got a lot of attention. Fortunately, the situation is improving, but very slowly.

Occupational safety and health standards in the most labor intensive jobs are appalling. Construction workers, for example, are equipped with flip-flops, bare hands, no hard hats. 



 

 

A new man in my life

 

Last week my husband and I celebrated our 27th anniversary. 

We had a nice dinner with lots of water.

In Bangladesh the food is very delicious, but it is hard to pair it with matching champagne or other goodies, since alcohol is prohibited. 

 

This week I got a new man in my life. 

Not really. 

He is our housekeeper. Let's call him S.

Affluent people here have help in the house. According to statistics there are about two million domestic workers in Bangladesh, many of them children. Many of them badly underpaid.

And most probably the statistic figures are not reliable, the real numbers may be gloomier.

I have never had any help in the house and have never even considered it. I am a top cleaner, a mediocre cook and a terrible ironer.

My husband's predecessor hoped that we would employ S. and continue to give him an income in a country with few decent job opportunities. 

S. has a wife, four grown-up children and five grandchildren. He lives in Dhaka during the week and travels back to his family to a rural village in the weekends. He has worked for the same, well paying employer for decades. 

It was selfevident that we said yes. 

Now my new man and I just have to start "going out" together.

We'll hang out at the crocery market, add oil to the apartment's generator, shift light bulbs after power outage and chase roaches. Plus enjoy his Bangla cooking.

Good - and bad

To start with, life in Bangladesh is not only awful. 

I might have been too harsh in my earlier posts. There will be happier times. 

  

Already now I can say that people I have met are really nice. Many Bangladeshi people may be poor but they are big spenders of smiles and laughter. 

But. 

I feel that I have to write about the bad things, too. Like the blogger killings.

On Friday a Bangladeshi blogger known for his secular views was hacked to death by a bunch of men armed with machetes. 

According to autopsy the blogger was chopped 12 times in a style similar to the previous killings of bloggers in recent months. Friday's victim was the fourth blogger to have been killed this year.  

The economy in Bangladesh has been growing fast, GDP annual growth rate has been over six per cent. I hope that tolerance will grow with at least the same pace.

 

Child torture

 

Reading Bangladeshi newspapers has been a depressing experience. Too much crime and too many child victims.

Most shocking have been the reports on children who have been tortured to death.

A 12-year old by was killed by three adults who pumped air through the boy's rectum since he had left his job at their garage and went to another employer.

A 10-year old boy was found dead after his neighbor alleged the boy for stealing fish from the neigbor's fishing net. 

In addition to fatal cases the papers have daily news about child violence.

A 12-year old boy was beaten so badly by a teacher that the boy was hospitalized for his injuries. An adult neigbor raped a 12-year old girl while the girl's mother was at work. 

Sadly, domestic violence is very common, too.

During the last few days two women were killed by their husbands. In the first case the husband had four wives and the murdered wife complained of the co-wives. 

In the other case the husband demanded money as dowry. He beat her dead and later hung her body to make it look like a suicide.

 

 

 



First day in Dhaka

Intense. Exhausting. Demanding.

 

The impression of my first day in the capital of Bangladesh. I had an idea what to expect but reality was quite overwhelming. The crowds, the smells, the sounds.

We moved here because of my husband's work as a diplomat. He went to his office, I walked the streets in Gulshan, an affluent area in Dhaka.

I followed the dress code, had a long top down to knees, long sleeves, pants down to ankles. Plus sweat under my armpits, back, face, hair. The temperature was about 35 and it was really humid. 

I looked different from everybody and was stared at. I am old and wrinkled but have a fair skin and blond hair. Or maybe it was the sweat.

Fifty rickshaw drivers offered, or rather, tried to force me to their bikes. School kids shouted "hello, hello". A couple of "guides" wanted help me with shopping. 

Shopping? I hardly survived the traffic which is totally crazy. Buses, trucks, cars, motorized rickshaws, pedestrians, sellers, beggars share the same streets.

They keep to the left here, but only in theory. The driving pattern follows more creativity than rules. The national sound of Bangladesh has to be honking. The symphony of the horns never stops. 

 Bangladesh is one of the most densily populated nations in the world. It was easy to see. The streets were more than full of people. They were walking, selling clothes, food, tea, fruit, mending shoes, sitting, eating, sleeping, begging. 

One handicapped man crawled in the street, with his knees covered with black plastic pads. And this is the welloff part of the city.

And the smell. It's like the whole city is suffering from a severe inflammation in the lower parts of the body.