Adventure 1

The beauty of my present living situation is that I am staying 19 floors below my desk. Yes, the BRAC Inn is in the same office building as BRAC the NGO. After hearing numerous people urgently tell me multiple times not to go out after dark alone, I became slightly agoraphobic. For me, that means not going outside for about 48 hours. So, I planned an adventure for myself. Since I am not quite ready to haggle with Bangladeshi drivers, I decided to limit myself to somewhere within walking distance. Thanks to my Lonely Planet: Bangladesh guide, I decided to check out Books Express. Here, I could purchase some of the top ten reads to get into the Bangladesh mindset. As a bonus, Lonely Planet also said that the cakes served in Books Express are "epic."

BRAC's chai wallah makes the best tea!

When the work day came to a close, I walked over to the elevator and chatted with one of my co-workers. She is a native Bangladeshi and graduated from a college here. When I told her where I was living she giggled, since it is quite ridiculous that I theoretically never have to leave this building, and said "At least you don't have to deal with the rush hour." As I giggled, my agoraphobia sank in again. Suddenly, the outing I had planned did not feel quite as doable. A Bangladeshi friend of mine from college once described Dhaka as "rush hour in New York City...all the time." But, my cabin fever was hot, and I was going to walk the streets of Dhaka no matter how uncomfortable it was.

And uncomfortable it was. At least the city has pseudo sidewalks; that I was not expecting. But for ten minutes after I returned from my adventure, I could still hear beeping in my ears, and no, the beeping was not coming from outside my window. Bangladeshi drivers honk their horns constantly and incessantly. It is as if they must reinforce their turn signals (yes, they do use their turn signals). If their vehicle does not have a horn, they have a bell or some sort of noise making device. As for pedestrians, Godspeed. At some intersections, there are stop lights, but certainly not walk signs, especially not walk signs that speak to you and warn you that you have fifteen seconds before the traffic light turns yellow, not even red. When I arrived at the loud, busy, scary intersection in Gulshan (a neighborhood of Dhaka), I first looked to the road to determine which cars were moving and which cars were stopped. Confused, I turned to the traffic lights to determine which cars were supposed to be moving and which were supposed to be stopped. Deducing that red must mean "go really, really fast" here in Dhaka, I looked to a group of locals and crossed the road in their midst.

After finally crossing this giant intersection/roundabout/free for all, I faced my biggest fear, the true reason why I had become so agoraphobic. I was terrified to face the poverty that I knew awaited me in the streets. Having to ignore a barefooted four year old girl, who both gently and desperately stroked my arms, turned my stomach. Seeing limbless teens sitting on the side of the road, I couldn't understand how this happened. I began realizing this during my pre-trip vaccinations: I have taken my health care for granted. I don't want to speak for the entire United States, but I think many Americans take their Health Care for granted. Certainly our system isn't perfect; it has its "winners" and "losers." But, we have eradicated so many diseases in the U.S. because of sophisticated sewage systems, organized trash collection, and modern medicine.

Although it may not have looked like it from my perspective, Bangladesh is certainly on its way to great health improvement. BRAC has helped educate millions of impoverished people on how to live hygienically. It has provided assets and trained millions more to provide healthcare to their community members. One of the Social Enterprises I will get to work with which deals with healthcare is called BRAC Salt. It crushes, iodizes, packages, and sells 13,000 metric tons of salt to Bangladeshis every year to help prevent iodine deficiency diseases. BRAC found a way to inexpensively and properly iodize salt, but what's even cooler is that this enterprise was made possible by the 120 Bangladeshis employed by BRAC Salt and the Community Health Volunteers who deliver and sell the salt to their villages. BRAC intends for Bangladeshis to take ownership of their work. Instead of giving hand outs to the kids I saw in the street today, I hope my work at BRAC can help these kids pull themselves out of poverty and into a life of great health.

First Day at BRAC

Significant advancements in telecommunications and internet access have, in the words of Thomas Friedman, flattened the world. Without these luxuries, I would not have been able to secure an internship 8,000 miles away from home. However, proponents of globalization too easily gloss over the disadvantages of not communicating face to face. They may argue that these disadvantages occur because we have not mastered how to communicate effectively over long distances. The reason for this digression is to explain that before meeting with my supervisors yesterday, I did not have a great idea of what kind of work I would be doing. The internship coordinator had given me a list of possible tasks I could complete on the job, but it was not until yesterday that I understood my official summer assignment. Luckily, I cannot think of a more perfect internship for myself this summer.

For those of you that do not know, BRAC is one of the largest development NGOs in the world. What makes it such a remarkable organization, in my opinion, is that it is 73% self-funded. Only 27% of its expenditures last year used donor money. Its ability to finance itself is partially due to investments it makes in organizations which it owns or partially owns and the success of its Microfinance and Social Enterprise programs. This summer, I will be working with BRAC's Social Enterprises via the Communications Department. Because BRAC has very limited documentation on the progression of its 18 Social Enterprises, my chief duty is to work with the other Social Enterprises intern and trace each enterprise from its commencement to where it is today. I will document the inspiration behind each of the enterprises, what social problems it aimed to address, and how well it embodies its original mission today. With this information, BRAC would eventually like to create brochures for each organization. Hopefully I will be here long enough help publish these brochures.

The first four hours of my job were so exciting; I spent all morning reading about empowered, impoverished people who have pulled themselves out of poverty, enrolled their children in school, and can put food on the table. I read about so many people, particularly women, getting loans from BRAC and successfully starting their own small businesses. There is almost nothing in the world I would rather read than entrepreneurs' success stories (much more inspiring than Orwell's 1984, which I finished reading this morning). Then, after lunch time, the jet lag kicked in. An accidental nap from 1 pm to 7 pm on Sunday afternoon, interrupted by room service spraying for bugs, did not exactly help my circadian adjustment. By 4:30, I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to make it.

Besides the jet lag, the hardest part about the job is that I am the only intern in the office right now. Orientation is on Sunday, and I am so excited to meet the other 15 interns. It is nice to get a head start on the reading and meet some people around the office. Fun fact: my supervisor actually went to college in Minnesota! Next week, things will definitely become more dynamic when I can meet kids (can I still say that?) my age and hear about their passions, aspirations, and how they ended up at BRAC.

Night 1

View Outside My Window

In preparation for my travels, I met a few Bangladeshi students and alumni from my college. Last night, I met the parents of one of these friends. They helped me buy groceries, showed me their beautiful home, and took me out to a wonderful Thai meal. Riding around the city, I got a glimpse of poverty, sighting numerous beggars with a myriad of physical ailments. Maybe I lack compassion, but I have never felt the slightest inkling to give money to beggars in the United States. I expected these emotions to follow me overseas, but seeing a level of poverty nonexistent in the United States, I had greater difficulty dismissing beggars tapping on my car door window. Maybe when I begin my internship with BRAC tomorrow, my contribution to poverty alleviation in Bangladesh will replace any desire to spare change for these beggars. 

Outside of the grocery store, I heard a familiar sound: a song that I had heard played outside of my hotel earlier that day. I turned to my friend’s mother and asked her what type of instrument was being played. She smiled and informed me that no instrument was playing, but the sound was a call to prayer from the nearest mosque. It is a very unique sound, resembling some mix of a horn and a string instrument, but I believe it’s just a vocal chant. Little did I know that this call to prayer occurs multiple times per day, including 4:41 this morning. 

Lychee Fruit

At my friend’s parents’ home, I tried raw lychee fruit, much better than the canned variety I’ve tried in California. For dinner, we shared the following dishes:

Fish Cakes

Mixed Vegetables with Oyster Sauce

Grilled Fish

Chicken with Green Curry

Pudding

Before ordering, my friend’s father asked if I was sure I had tried and liked Thai food. I told him I had had American Thai food, so it was probably much milder than anything I would be served in Bangladesh. After finishing our meal, I told the family how much I enjoyed the meal even though I found it quite spicy. My friend’s father told me that this meal was actually quite mild for authentic Thai food: apparently a good level for a Midwesterner. That is, until midnight last night. 

Every online resource, personal friend, and piece of literature I used to research Bangladesh warned me about the stomach problems that would ensue. Having a pretty strong stomach, I was stunned to wake up in the middle of the night groaning with pain. It was nothing a little pepto bismol couldn’t handle; I was back to sleep after about an hour and a half. I’m not sure whether the strong winds and thunder, characteristic of monsoon season, or the stomach pains woke me up, but I am starting to really appreciate every small success throughout the day: getting my luggage, having someone at the airport waiting to pick me up, successfully exchanging currencies, meeting a kind family to show me around in Bangladesh, tasting the best mangos and bananas I have ever tasted in my life, and somewhat overcoming my jet lag. 

Arrival

Throughout the past week, my emotions started to build up, becoming increasingly mixed and confusing. I was getting too comfortable at home and second guessing my decision to work abroad this summer. Just months ago, when I returned from CMC's Washington Semester Program, I was bombarded by tales of study abroad, and I became envious of my friends' worldly perspectives and rich cultural experiences. Following a couple close friends' blogs, I realized that I needed this experience. However, I can't say Bangladesh was on my radar. I had visions of traveling to Barcelona or Buenos Aires, both to hone my Spanish language skills and gain work experience abroad. But when I received an offer for a once-in-a-lifetime internship experience in Bangladesh, I just couldn't say no.

Upon telling my family and friends about my summer plans, I faced statements like: "Wow! You're going to stand out, that's for sure" and "Have you thought about dying your hair?" Surely, the same thoughts crossed my mind. Being blonde in Bangladesh will come with its own unique set of challenges, which I am excited to face and reflect upon.

Although my exposure is limited to the 25-ish hours of travel time and cab ride to my hotel, Bangladesh has enchanted me thus far. I flew into a hazy, purple sky blanketing the capital city, Dhaka, at about 5:00 am. Luckily the high is only 91 F today, so I was able to make it out to my taxi without fatiguing despite the 90 percent humidity. On my ride home, I watched the bright orange sun rise gradually. Even during these early hours of the day, rickshaw drivers piled their vehicles high with bananas, mangos, and bushels upon bushels of rice and pedaled fervently along the roads to markets. I did not realize that all the rickshaws would be so brightly and ornately decorated.

While the people seem soft-spoken and very kind, their driving habits could fool you. Just on the front page of Dhaka's Saturday edition of The Daily Star are two stories about how prevalent fatal road accidents are becoming in the city. In 2011, 2546 people died from road-related accidents in Dhaka, and that's about 1000 less than in 2010. There's no such thing as a Minnesotan 4-way stop here. It's every driver for him or herself, racing to get to the front of the traffic jam. Even going through airport security, I had to squeeze my way in front of people and shove my passport in the travel agent's face in order to hold my place in line. I was always skeptical of the idea that Americans have the largest personal space bubble than any other nationality, but I think much of the discomfort I feel this summer will be due to this reality.

As I become more comfortable with navigating the city, I look forward to soaking in the tropical climate and stunning scenery. While the unpaved roads add a sense of dryness to the picture, the lush trees and rivers running just about everywhere give the city a majestic feel. It is like nowhere I have been in the world. It is so colorful and so urban while maintaining a level of simplicity. It is so crowded and chaotic and yet achieves a kind of peacefulness I have never experienced. Dhaka beckons adventure, and I cannot wait to begin.