My Time in Bangladesh

From time to time, I remember how great the people were during my time working in Bangladesh in 2005, and I miss that country.  

Bangladesh is a hot and humid country. There are terrifying mosquitoes—the main culprits behind dengue fever—and terrifying swarms of ants. One day, I bought a cereal box and put it on the desk. Next morning, when I woke up and looked at the ceiling, I saw a black band stretching from the outer door to the wall by my desk, where a cereal box stood — a line of ants marching in formation. They burrowed right through the plastic bag. A single ant isn’t scary, but seeing hundreds of them is truly unpleasant. At night, a tiny gecko lizard ran across the window, looking at me. One day, after the rain, when I looked at the river, I saw huge, ugly, black fish leap out of the water and swim away. After seeing that, I never ate fish in Bangladesh. Sometimes I was served cooked river fish in curry powder and deep-fried it, but I couldn’t tell what kind of fish it was; it might have been the black fish I saw in the river.

Because of its rapid economic development, the gap between the rich and the poor in Bangladesh is really severe. The place where I stayed was a two-story house that a wealthy family had rented out to BRAC as a dormitory. I was given a room in the attic of that house for my exclusive use, and it was actually quite nice. The house owner employed a driver, a housekeeper, a gardener, and others. His children attended an international school, rode with a driver in a nice private car, and spoke perfect English. But among the maids in that household, there was a young girl—about 10 years old—who did not go to school, helped with cooking and laundry every day. I sometimes saw her when she came to hang laundry in front of my attic room, and she couldn’t speak a word of English. She was a pretty girl… Meanwhile, in the slum neighborhoods, cows were washing themselves in sewage-filled water, and children were playing in the same filthy water.

Environmental pollution is also severe. The air is thick with smog from the traffic congestion and exhaust fumes. The white masks worn by traffic police directing traffic at city intersections are completely blackened. At that time, Dhaka was undergoing rapid development, with many buildings under construction, and construction waste was simply being dumped into the river. In addition, there are textile factory districts in the countryside. As the factory gates open in the evening, workers pour out in droves after finishing their shifts—and there’s no need to explain just how much pollution textile factories cause.

I was also invited to visit what is said to be the best hospital in Dhaka, established by a nonprofit organization. The founder took me around the facility, proudly showing me why she believed it was the best hospital in Dhaka. This hospital had a ward specifically for dengue fever patients. Beds were lined up in a row, and since dengue patients suffer from high fever, diarrhea, and vomiting, there were holes at the foot of each bed with buckets placed underneath. So when they had diarrhea, it would fall through the hole into the bucket... And unlike the smell of disinfectant in hospitals, there was a rather unpleasant odor that made my stomach churn constantly. When they took me to the hospital cafeteria, I simply couldn’t bring myself to eat anything... Still, as a hospital founded by a nonprofit organization, I felt deep respect for it. I believe conditions have improved significantly by now.

Since Bangladesh is an Islamic country, the calendar is different, and every evening, the entire nation observes prayer time. Because it’s a religious country, the entertainment and cultural industries aren’t very developed. Especially on weekends, there’s not much for foreigners to do. The only place to go is the U.S. or Canadian embassy. The embassies—especially the U.S. Embassy, the largest—serve as social hubs for foreigners working at international organizations, NGOs, and other embassies. Regarding the shopping, I went to the so-called “largest” department store, which is actually a collection of individual shops, much like Korea’s Dongdaemun Market.

The government office buildings in the capital, Dhaka, are made of plain gray concrete, just like those in South Korea back in the ’70s and ’80s. In South Korea today, government office buildings have become truly elegant. Dhaka is in the midst of rapid development, much like South Korea in the ’80s, so many newly wealthy people were emerging.

Bangladesh was not a developed tourist destination either, though things may have changed a lot by now. Dhaka airport used to resemble Korea’s Gimpo Airport in the 1970s and ’80s. Back then, Gimpo Airport had no tourists; it was just for people working in the Middle East who left for a job and arrived in the country. Dhaka Airport was also deserted, and I only saw people returning from work in the Middle East, like at Korea’s Gimpo  in the 1980s.

​Dhaka is also overflowing with cars, and weaving through them are three-wheeled carts without doors and rickshaws navigating precariously. For short distances, people almost exclusively ride three-wheeled carts or rickshaws. Honestly, it’s scary. The three-wheeled carts have no doors, so I’m afraid I would get flung out the side. The rickshaws teeter precariously, almost like a circus act, among the parked cars. There were many beggars on big roads — especially women carrying babies — who walked around cars begging at the car windows.

For long-distance business trips to the outskirts of Dhaka, when there was no company car, I took the express bus... The bus drove on a single-lane national highway with the yellow centerline on one side. The man hanging out the side door wasn’t the conductor collecting fares; his job was to signal the driver that it was okay to cross the center line. When that man taps the side door to signal the driver that it’s okay to cross, the driver crosses the center line. But if a car is approaching from the opposite direction, the man hanging from the door—who’s been watching the road ahead—taps the door again to signal the driver to return to the original lane.  Because the road is single-lane asphalt, they aren’t actually changing lanes; they’re just constantly crossing back and forth over the center line. Amid the sheer terror of countless near-head-on collisions, I truly thought I was going to die in a foreign country. But what’s even more surprising is that many people ride not just inside the express bus, but outside it—on top of the bus (as you sometimes see on TV). Even while performing these acrobatic maneuvers, not a single person fell off the roof.

National highways are paved only in key areas, like a sneak; the rest are mostly unpaved. When I took a bus to a BRAC regional office in the countryside, an office staff member who came to pick me up at the express bus terminal gave me a ride on his motorcycle to the office. For the staff at the regional office, this motorcycle is a must-have. Hanging onto the back of the motorcycle as we sped along the unpaved road, by the time we arrived at the office, my mouth was full of dust. That’s why, when locals arrive, they immediately rinse their mouths with water.

This is what life is like for people in Bangladesh. A local friend invited me to their home, and I found they lived in a large extended family. They were middle-to-upper class. My friend’s eldest brother was a family leader. He took care of his mother and the wives and children of his two other brothers, who were in Saudi Arabia. Also, my friend was under the protection of her eldest brother until she could leave the house to marry. Those nieces and nephews call their uncles Father. In Bangladesh, they say an uncle is practically like a father. So, three generations and siblings’ families all lived under one roof. In Bangladesh, they say an uncle is practically like a father.

My friend’s eldest sister-in-law was from Burma; Burmese people are Buddhist, and their faces look similar to ours. In particular, Burmese food is similar to ours in that they blanch vegetables and serves them dressed in a seasoning. They don’t use curry like the Bangladeshis do. When I arrived, my eldest brother was slaughtering a black goat at home and skinning it; the floor was soaked with bright red blood, and I almost fainted. Here, they slaughter goats and chickens at home to prepare the cuts for cooking. The neighborhood where I stayed was the same: every morning, vendors would walk around with rubber basins balanced on their heads, shouting, “Buy chickens!” They carry live chickens on their heads to sell, and housekeepers buy them to slaughter at home… because they’re fresh… I was also invited to a wedding, which was similar to a rural feast back home. They treated their guest very nicely and warmly.

Also, since it’s an Islamic country, people eat with their hands, and there’s no toilet paper in the restrooms… Instead, there’s a rubber basin filled with water. I’m sure you can imagine what that’s like without me going into detail. Still, since I was a foreigner, they gave me toilet paper. Cultural differences… it really isn’t easy to adjust.

If you go outside the capital, Dhaka, to the countryside, the people are truly pure-hearted and kind. They don’t tie up their cows. I was standing at a bus stop when a cow wandered from house to house. The person I was with told me that no one would steal that cow because, even though the cows roam the neighborhood, everyone in the village knows exactly whose cow it is.

Although their climate, environment, culture, and religion differed, as fellow Asians, their way of life—centered on kinship in an agrarian society—was similar to ours. It was like looking back at Korea in the 1970s and 1980s. It was like watching a Korean version of the 1970s and 1980s when I grew up.... I truly miss Bangladesh.

07/23/2020 by Dr. Lan Joo