On Wednesday (Ange’s birthday – yay!), it was finally time to get our
asses out of Dhaka. While we could easily have stayed longer, hung out
with L&A and seen more of the city, in some ways we were looking
forward to leaving, not only to see more of the country but to get away
from the intensity of the place! It sure is one of the most intense
places I’ve ever visited, not only because you’re a walking curiosity
that draws a crowd the minute you stop, but for the heat and humidity,
constantly sweating, having dirt under your fingernails, the constant
hassling by the very- and not-so-poor (not that I blame them) and the
horrendous traffic.
We had bought tickets for a boat
affectionately known in Dhaka as “the Rocket” a couple of days before,
and were to take it that evening. The Rocket is a huge orange
paddlesteamer that regularly plies the river southwards to the city of
Khulna; we were taking it to Morogonj. Interesting name for a boat that
moves at a snail’s pace. Anyway... That morning we headed down to the old
city once more to try and find somewhere to deposit our backpacks. We
found out that we were able to actually put them directly into our
cabin, so we jumped on a canoe and cruised around the busy port of
Dhaka.
It was one of the highlights of our trip. The
port is a bustling scene of organised chaos. There are canoes plying the
river left-right-and-centre, transporting dozens of people and a
plethora of goods (watermelons, pineapples, fishing nets, mechanical
parts) across its waters, rusty old passenger ferries being cleaned by
their smiling, waving crewmen, people washing on the steps of the river
bank (and in their canoes!), lines of washing hanging out to dry and
flying above it all, amazingly, numerous brown falcons, always watching
for something to bomb down and snaffle. This all goes on in front of the
crumbling riverfront façade of a dirty South Asian city dotted with
amazing old mosques, the Lalbagh Fort and the stately Pink Palace, which
shines like a beacon in the sun. It was quite extraordinary to
experience. The waterways really are the main form of transport in
Bangladesh. The sheer quantity of people moved on its waterways every
day would be an astounding figure.
Have a look at my album of Bangladesh pics to get a better idea of this scene and all of the other places we visited: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=40582&l=95ef8&id=543196685
Our
boat crew took us up a side canal (which can really only be described
as a smelly, dirty sewer) to get a better insight into everyday life in
Dhaka. It amazes me how people can live in such crowded conditions,
amongst such huge amounts of garbage. It’s really not good. I can’t
imagine their drinking water quality would be very good either.
The
more I saw of Dhaka, and Bangladesh generally, the more I realised how
much more beneficial my work could be there, instead of Indo. People in
Aceh, and tsunami beneficiaries in particular, are so much better off
than people in Bangladesh. Rich even. I haven’t ever seen such poverty
as I did in Bangladesh. So many people on the street asking for money,
and the rest just struggling to live every day.
It was
interesting talking to some Swiss Red Cross people we met later on in
our trip, in Mongla; they said they just can’t get the money to do
beneficial work in Bangladesh. There isn’t the focus there like in
Indonesia, which has received so much media attention and international
aid funding because of the tsunami. There are so many dirt-poor people
in Bangladesh that need assistance – and that’s before any part of the
country floods each year. I almost said yes immediately when the guy
from Swiss RC said they needed a WatSan person there!
That
said, there are plenty of poor people in Indonesia itself that need the
same sort of help, but they live outside of Aceh and weren’t tsunami
victims, so they don’t get anything. It’s really unfair the way things
work in the world. Pity that more rich governments and people in
developed countries don’t give more money to people who really need it.
Or that corrupt people in third world governments continue to pocket
money meant for their own people. But I could rant and rave
about this all day. Back to the story.
After a great
start to our second day in the old city, we made our way to the Pink
Palace, which after our random first day of getting lost, we didn’t
actually get to see. The Pink Palace is a huge colonial-style building
set on the banks of the river in sprawling grounds. It was built for
long-ago royalty of Bangladesh, but it looks like a colonial English
building for the Queen. And yes, it definitely was pink; they could have
come up with a more original name. It’s a nice escape from the
craziness of the street because you have to pay to get in, and you don’t
get bugged. Some university students befriended us and showed us around
the Palace, which has been converted into a museum.
We
then continued our wandering around the old city, got some food,
accepted invitations for chai by crazy vendors, wandered around the
waterfront and through all the vegetable markets, and then hit the sari
markets to peruse some of the beautiful fabrics. An afternoon
thunderstorm and massive downpour – which flooded the streets – kinda
stuffed up our plans for arriving on time at the port to take the Rocket
… so after waiting as long as possible, getting a rickshaw to the wrong
docking platform, then back to the right one, and then running around
in the rain to actually find the bloody place, we made it just in time.
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