*July 6, 2011
The past several weeks have flown by with the same resolute wind that blew me to Bangladesh in the first place. But it’s amazing how different things look when you take a step back.
I had my first day off with Sareeta Apa today. We traveled to Chilmari and took a rickshaw to drive us around the village of Machabanda, a serene place surrounded by clusters of rice fields, divided by elevated dirt roads. Sareeta Apa wanted to walk, so two young girls offered to lead the way to a beautiful spot in between two fields, next to a small stream. It was there Sareeta Apa and I sat in silence, facing a vivid scene of goats and fishermen and water and trees, as bubbly monsoon clouds flirted with the sunset light in the distance. One of the most flooring things about being in the chars is just how tangible the silence is, especially after the bedlam of Dhaka.
We weren’t sitting in silence for long, as word spread like wildfire around the village that a bideshi (tourist) had arrived. At one point, I counted 18 children surrounding us. I also wasn’t doing my best at not attracting them, as I had started to practice some of my Bangla with the two girls that had led us to this spot. One of the girls that later joined us was 17 years of age. Her face was just ebullient, though it also revealed a maturity that I’m certain I didn’t have when I was 17. When I told her I was from Istanbul, she said one day she would come to my country and find me. She extended her hand, shook mine, and put her hand to her heart. A Bengali way to make a promise, I’m told. I’m a big fan.
The tone of the conversation makes it so easy for me to understand what they’re saying and asking, which makes it even funnier for Sareeta Apa when I don’t know how to respond. When Sareeta Apa asked why everyone was so intrigued by me, one of the girls answered that usually when bideshis come, they just sit the kids on their laps and give them money. She says no one has ever tried to speak to them before.
During our visit, we also encountered a group of children racing toy boats – their hull made from banana leaves, their sails from thin plastic. No wonder I’ve seen the most beautiful boats I’ve ever seen in my life here – everyone starts training really young!
We traveled back home on a lovely road called Dhormopul, sides lined with long, agile trees. Among rice fields that graced our view from the tuk tuk (one step up from a rickshaw, open and motorized), we also saw many brick guilds and fabric factories.
On the final boat home, I rode on the top like I have so many times before. I gazed out at the chars at night. It’s a scene devoid of any sort of electrical lights as far as the eyes can see, with only the stars to light up the view.