Monday, September 22, 2008

There Will Be Blood

In Bangladesh, it is customary to sacrifice a goat (or cow if you're crazy rich) to bless your child's birth. (For a reference on this custom, I suggest the Bible. Look for a guy named Abraham) Last time I was there, I wanted to do it all: I wanted to eat everything, see the country, go to masjid, discover the joys of cricket (until I learned a match lasted 5 days), catch an exotic disease, everything. So, when it was time to bless my child, I wanted to truly experience it, not run up into my room and hide until the goat curry hit the table.

So, the Imam from the local masjid came over to Tania's Boro Phupu's house (her eldest aunt) with two guys. He eyed me suspiciously, and Tania's cousin introduced me as an "American Muslim." He seemed to dislike my name until given my Muslim name, at which point we were cool. He then blesses the goat, and they sacrifice it. The two guys then butcher this thing in about five minutes and divide up the meat into thirds. Not roughly thirds; exactly thirds: they bring a seriously old-school, Biblical era scale. One third goes to the family, one third goes to the community, and one third goes to the poor. I'm not fully clear on what happened to the skull, but I think it was included in the calculations. If you've ever folded up a letter to mail, you'll know that its particularly difficult to divide something into thirds, particularly if there's a skull involved.

That night, Tania's family ate goat.

This brings to mind a good family story. When Tania's younger sister Sonia was little, she attended the sacrifice of a cow with Tania's older brother Latif. At the point of sacrifice, Latif pushed Sonia into the cow. She didn't eat beef for five years after. What brought her back to beef? A Burger King commercial. She is an avid burger eater to this day.

So, we were over at Tania's parents this past weekend, discussing the adoption of the twins, and started discussing the sacrifice for this adoption. Tania's mother smiled and said, "you do know that you have to sacrifice four goats this time, right?"

Uh, no. What? I don't get it. It was one last time, so I can see two, but four?

Yes, four, she explained. It's two goats per boy (having been a boy, I can see how they would require extra blessing).

So I guess that's what we'll do. Latif, by the way, is going to sponsor one of the goats. If any else wants to buy a goat, let me know. This time, Tania's mother is organizing a big meal at the orphanage for the kids and staff with all that meat plus some additional food. I think that's a great idea. I don't think I'll attend the sacrifice this time, but I would love to watch those kids eat. I don't eat goat.

That Was Last Time

During our last trip to Bangladesh, I sent an email back to friends describing what Dhaka, Bangladesh was like. Note that I didn't address the character of the Bangladeshi people, nor did I deal with the interesting political situation. Both will be dealt with at a later date, but I would be remiss if I didn't indicate that the people of Bangladesh are amazingly kind and giving. They would gladly give you the shirt off their back and wouldn't even make you ask for it. In fact, if you so much as eyed it approvingly, they probably would not only give you that one, but go where they make them and buy you three. They make Western concepts of hospitality look selfishly feeble. Due to this great treatment, I had a wonderful time there. Don't lose that in this description of the chaos. The mad, roiling, chaos of kind people.


Bangladesh And Its People (all sixty zillion of them)

In order to first understand our trip, I need to explain a few things about the country of Bangladesh. Depending on who I’m talking to, Bangladesh has somewhere between 130 and 150 million people crammed into a country roughly the size of an average American state. If you then consider that much of this country is covered in water, particularly during the monsoon season when everything floods, you’re talking about cramming half the population of the United States into Rhode Island. The largest, capital city, Dhaka, has 14 million people, and is oddly reminiscent of New York with 10 times the dirt and 100 times the chaos. If you think New York City is a bustling, gritty metropolis then you’re a yokel. People here routinely refer to some of Bangladesh’s smaller cities as towns, despite the fact that they are populated by 2 million people. I thought this might just be a poor choice of English words, but when I asked someone how large Chittagong was, they told me “not very big.” I asked specifically, and I was told 4 million.

The overcrowding colors everything here. The sidewalks are crammed with people in the commercial areas and even the residential areas have numerous people walking down the street. The roads can be described no other way than insane. There are four predominant types of vehicles sharing the roads everywhere in Bangladesh (including the highways): cars, buses, mini-taxis, and rickshaws. The percentage of buses here, by necessity, is much higher than in the US. They’re all privately run, and they’re all packed to the brim, with typically one guy hanging off the back bumper or out of the door, usually smoking a cigarette. The mini-taxis are basically a three-wheel ATV that someone has thrown a green carriage on top. So, they seat a driver and about two passengers in back. Lastly, there are the rickshaws, which are three wheeled bicycles fitted with a small, inclined, half-sitting, half-standing carriage area in back. Rickshaws are the coolest thing on the road, because the carriages are all brightly painted and unique. The best rickshaws have streamers, shiny metallic ornaments, and murals of famous movie stars. They’re also the biggest pain in the ass, because they’re slow and plentiful, creating a big, eco-friendly, brightly painted nuisance. In addition to these vehicles, there are all kinds of custom conveyances: rickshaws converted to transport large items (like refrigerators), flat push-carts for transporting things like building materials or vegetables, and tiny trucks that look like quarter size versions of US military troop transports.

The diversity in size, speed, and survivability of the mode of transport is what led me to describe the roads as insane. Driving here is not driving in the sense that we know it; it is more like an infinitely repeated game of chicken. There are no lanes, and there are almost no signals (none that are obeyed), stop signs, or police supervision. Every inch of road is occupied and everyone is trying to force their way into your space. Because of this, rapid fire honking is absolutely necessary, and the drivers keep their hand on the horn at all times. When traffic is relatively clear, the cars weave their way through a phalanx of rickshaws, mini-taxis, and pedestrians. They don’t so much go around, as they go through, gaining ground from behind or heading face-on, with their hand on the horn, forcing the people or rickshaws to move or be hit. Drivers here are constantly engaged in what appear to be near head-on collisions, only to have someone pull away at the last second. Somehow, there is a system to all this, with everyone teetering on the brink but pulling away at some controlled moment. In the US, everyone says that people in fill-in-the-city can’t drive because they don’t drive the way they do in that persons home town. People can drive here; there is a system; it’s just based on insanity. I haven’t seen any accidents in the city, but judging from the busses and some cars, they are plentiful. The busses in particular look as though they’ve been in hundreds of accidents. You can only pull dents so many times before you’re driving around a ball of crumpled tinfoil.

In the midst of this are the pedestrians, playing Frogger across traffic. There are no signals or stop signs, so there is no designated place or time for safe passage. So, they have this impotent, darkly humorous means of stopping traffic. They extend their arm between them and the car, as though holding it back. Janeane Garofalo used to say her Los Angeles fantasy was to hit someone in the cross-walk just as they were saying “you know, they have to stop.” The response here from drivers is frequently similar, and I have seen several people nearly die this way before scampering off in the Heismann pose. They’re smaller people, but quick. Good reflexes.



Out of necessity, I’ve had to turn down my stress level from worrying about accidents to worrying about fatal accidents. The only saving grace about the congestion is that it is rare for people to get up to 30 mph here. So, most accidents are minor. This is not true out on the highways, something I did once and swore never again. There, cars, trucks and buses do get up well over 60 MPH and feel no need to drive on their side of the road. You either get on the shoulder, or you die. This is made very complicated, because those same rickshaws and mini-taxis are out there, driving slowly, mostly on the shoulder. In my trip out to the countryside, I arrived upon a recent, absolutely horrible accident where a bus plowed through a mini-taxi, demolishing it before turning over and running into a bazaar. After this experience, I stopped worrying about the car being dented or pedestrians dying. One can only worry about so much, so I’ll just worry about myself. Thus, in the city, as long as traffic is moving and I have AC, I’m happy.

But I’m usually not happy. Most intersections are a mass of gridlocked vehicles and commerce, and the AC is frequently out. While stopped, kids selling balloons, popcorn, candy, flowers, maps, and fruit descend upon the cars. Most people run up and call me “boss,” which I really don’t like. I’m sure some white visitors like to feel above the masses, but I’m not fond of it. I have a different style, and thus I have a favored patron. Tania’s aunt Berry (Berry Fupu) bought candies from a small girl one night, and she asked Berry Fupu to give the candies to me, her “friend.” Every since, I buy from her when I see her. We shake hands, and I give her 10 Tk (about 14 cents) for flowers or whatever she’s selling. Tania calls her my girlfriend. We now know she lives in a rented room with the other Oliver-esque kids selling at that intersection. Tania asked me if that is what would’ve become of Maya. Perhaps if her mother hadn’t gone to women’s center.

In addition to these kids, there are the beggars. These are typically women, holding naked, half-asleep children and people with horrible deformities. You name it, I’ve seen it. Every shape of tumour or growth, every type of lost limb. We save up coins for these people, although this can get out of hand.

I’ll leave you with this cat, who rolled down the driveway where we’re staying. Yes, rolled. He was singing a nice, religious song, and blessed me when I gave to his cause. I ran out to take this picture (and give him a 10 Tk bill) because a different legless man--I’ve seen many--got away from me the day before on his way out of the cul-de-sac. This guy was not so speedy. Quality was bad, but I was trying to be stealthy when I took it so as not to embarrass him. He’s had it bad enough.

It's Not Like We Haven't Done This Before.... Right?

On October 6th, my wife Tania, my daughter Maya, and I are going to Bangladesh to adopt twin boys. In some sense, we've done this before, as Maya was adopted in Bangladesh in the summer of 2006. However, we haven't done this before. We've never adopted two at the same time, and depending on who we tell this to, we are are either totally bat sh*t crazy or Mother Teresa-esque world savers AND bat sh*t crazy. I particularly like the latter. Much like Cindy McCain, I too want to claim that Mother Teresa personally handed me the babies in Bangladesh, despite her being dead for 11 years. But I digress.

Last week, Tania's Aunts in Bangladesh went and visited the boys. Tania's cousin, Salman, took a camera, giving us our first view of them, Kamran and Kalil.

Cute, no? (Koob shundor, na?) It goes without saying that I'm very excited and can't wait to get there and start the process. As we work through this, I will attempt to keep you all up to date on the twists and turns of the process. This is never simple though, never easy, but worth every step.