KHAGRACHARI at last – I luuuuuuuuuuuuuv being here. But you have to come with me from Dhaka first, so pour yourselves a glass of wine (or three) or make a cuppa because this could be a marathon (and for those of you who have won the Nobel Prize for your literature expertise – happy for you to share your reviews with someone who cares………just kidding, I luv your comments).
Alimgir, the driver, and Ronjon (both with smiling faces), turned up fifteen minutes early with the ute (and Inspector Steve…..absolutely no resemblance, in any sense, to the utes of Aussie country boys) loaded to the rafters with the furniture we had to take with me from Dhaka – two problems already. As most of you know fifteen minutes early for me is like asking me to be there yesterday and the ritual ‘paint job’ was only half done – how could I possibly travel to Khagrachari without applying mascara (my young friend Alex will understand this for sure). The second issue : where the hell am I supposed to fit everything I have accumulated to make life as comfie as possible while living in the bush. No problem – these guys could pack an elephant into a matchbox – (and Dawnie they laughed when I explained the value of the tool kit and made a very secure spot inside the cabin). With fond farewells from all my wonderful flatmates we’re on our way – well not quite – as we turn into the busy main road, I realise I have left my glasses at the flat………..the smiling faces change momentarily to ‘are you sure’ expressions and after a ‘no find’ search of my bag, Ronjon runs back to the flat (a quicker option than trying to manoeuvre thru the traffic again) and it’s not long before he returns with the specs and smiling face.
The trip out of Dhaka was the same ‘you have to experience it to believe it’ madness (still think you could pull it off Lesley and 'Arraine) – but I was relaxed because Alimgir is an excellent driver and Ronjon (who at this stage, I find out is a stowaway and has come along to experience a trip out of Dhaka) was very chatty - which suits me just fine as most of you know!!!!. While we saw a lot of that inexplicable poverty, the guys were great tour guides, pointing out landmarks, explaining vegetation and what happens in the villages along the way…..at several points we could have almost reached out of the ute and touched the barbed wire fence of the Indian border. Whe we stopped to get petrol and a young guy convinced me to buy the local newspaper (if the photo is clear enough, you can see the loaded ute reflected in the windows at the servo). We also stopped at a flash hotel along the way for a very enjoyable lunch. All the waiters are dressed in the colours of the Bangladesh cricket team and yep the obligatory ‘do you know Ricky Ponting????’ – but wait, in this group we discover Brett Lee and Adam Gilchrist fans - I decided to limit my friendship claim to Ricky Ponting (well Jordan sat next to him at a Pink concert once, doesn’t that constitute a friendship?).
After travelling over terrain that included very narrow, long-drop if you go over the edge, dusty, windy, deep ditched tracks (and bridges in various states of repair or disrepair!!!!) we come around a bend and the view is breathtaking – lush jungle and hills for as far as I can see (no glasses necessary to appreciate this scenery). We can see Khagrachari in the distance carved into the side of one of the great hills.
There are some formalities to go through before we get there though – two check points – just a matter of producing my passport and security clearance stating what I am doing in the Chittagong Hill Tracts (CHT) (and I'm sure they ask Almigir about my hair) to the army duty officers and signing the register. (These guys, while very formal, are more friendly like your troops Inspector Neil). The captain of the army cricket team just happened to be at the check point and by now you know the conversation that followed when he saw my Australian passport.
Alimgir, the driver, and Ronjon (both with smiling faces), turned up fifteen minutes early with the ute (and Inspector Steve…..absolutely no resemblance, in any sense, to the utes of Aussie country boys) loaded to the rafters with the furniture we had to take with me from Dhaka – two problems already. As most of you know fifteen minutes early for me is like asking me to be there yesterday and the ritual ‘paint job’ was only half done – how could I possibly travel to Khagrachari without applying mascara (my young friend Alex will understand this for sure). The second issue : where the hell am I supposed to fit everything I have accumulated to make life as comfie as possible while living in the bush. No problem – these guys could pack an elephant into a matchbox – (and Dawnie they laughed when I explained the value of the tool kit and made a very secure spot inside the cabin). With fond farewells from all my wonderful flatmates we’re on our way – well not quite – as we turn into the busy main road, I realise I have left my glasses at the flat………..the smiling faces change momentarily to ‘are you sure’ expressions and after a ‘no find’ search of my bag, Ronjon runs back to the flat (a quicker option than trying to manoeuvre thru the traffic again) and it’s not long before he returns with the specs and smiling face.
The trip out of Dhaka was the same ‘you have to experience it to believe it’ madness (still think you could pull it off Lesley and 'Arraine) – but I was relaxed because Alimgir is an excellent driver and Ronjon (who at this stage, I find out is a stowaway and has come along to experience a trip out of Dhaka) was very chatty - which suits me just fine as most of you know!!!!. While we saw a lot of that inexplicable poverty, the guys were great tour guides, pointing out landmarks, explaining vegetation and what happens in the villages along the way…..at several points we could have almost reached out of the ute and touched the barbed wire fence of the Indian border. Whe we stopped to get petrol and a young guy convinced me to buy the local newspaper (if the photo is clear enough, you can see the loaded ute reflected in the windows at the servo). We also stopped at a flash hotel along the way for a very enjoyable lunch. All the waiters are dressed in the colours of the Bangladesh cricket team and yep the obligatory ‘do you know Ricky Ponting????’ – but wait, in this group we discover Brett Lee and Adam Gilchrist fans - I decided to limit my friendship claim to Ricky Ponting (well Jordan sat next to him at a Pink concert once, doesn’t that constitute a friendship?).
After travelling over terrain that included very narrow, long-drop if you go over the edge, dusty, windy, deep ditched tracks (and bridges in various states of repair or disrepair!!!!) we come around a bend and the view is breathtaking – lush jungle and hills for as far as I can see (no glasses necessary to appreciate this scenery). We can see Khagrachari in the distance carved into the side of one of the great hills.
There are some formalities to go through before we get there though – two check points – just a matter of producing my passport and security clearance stating what I am doing in the Chittagong Hill Tracts (CHT) (and I'm sure they ask Almigir about my hair) to the army duty officers and signing the register. (These guys, while very formal, are more friendly like your troops Inspector Neil). The captain of the army cricket team just happened to be at the check point and by now you know the conversation that followed when he saw my Australian passport.
A little further down the road we repeated the same formalities at the second check point and Kyson, who works at Zabarang, was there to greet me with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a very warm welcome.
As we drove through Khagrachari, I am already comfortable and the differences between this big rural town in the CHT and Dhaka are not only obvious but a relief – minimum car traffic, no CNGs, little dust pollution and room to move around without having to walk in somebody else’s space. Rickshaws are the main mode of transportation, and some of them are very fancily decorated (remind me of your super creative talents Wendy) and most are generally in much better condition than those in Dhaka.
Finally we drove through the gates and up the driveway of the compound where my flat is situated on the third floor of a building which is still being constructed. The guys insisted on unloading without my help (except for the tool kit which they passed to me as priority). When we opened the doors to the flat, I couldn’t believe my eyes - the walls are pink!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(not quite purple, but the next best choice). It is also very big – two large bedrooms and one smaller – so plenty of room for you all any time between now and end January 2009. The kitchen is basic but functional (and you can cook up a feast here any time Mon Ami) and I am slowly getting organised to a comfie lifestyle Khagrachari style.
As we drove through Khagrachari, I am already comfortable and the differences between this big rural town in the CHT and Dhaka are not only obvious but a relief – minimum car traffic, no CNGs, little dust pollution and room to move around without having to walk in somebody else’s space. Rickshaws are the main mode of transportation, and some of them are very fancily decorated (remind me of your super creative talents Wendy) and most are generally in much better condition than those in Dhaka.
Finally we drove through the gates and up the driveway of the compound where my flat is situated on the third floor of a building which is still being constructed. The guys insisted on unloading without my help (except for the tool kit which they passed to me as priority). When we opened the doors to the flat, I couldn’t believe my eyes - the walls are pink!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(not quite purple, but the next best choice). It is also very big – two large bedrooms and one smaller – so plenty of room for you all any time between now and end January 2009. The kitchen is basic but functional (and you can cook up a feast here any time Mon Ami) and I am slowly getting organised to a comfie lifestyle Khagrachari style.
On the night of my arrival, the staff from Zabarang had organised a welcome party for me at their favourite restaurant which was so much fun............a little tricky remembering all their names that night, but I'm happy to say I know most of them now. The food was super and they all enjoyed the rice wine - very toxic apparently and this district is famous for the production. They cannot believe they have met a foreigner who not only doesn't drink rice wine, but doesn't drink alcohol.....they are waiting for Jordan's visit so he can restore the Aussie drinking reputation which is even know about in this remote, restricted area of the world.
Some of the greatest bonuses of my life here are Miriam (who I think I introduced you to in a previous blog), Lysanna (also from the UK) and Kyson who all live in my block of flats. They are amazing people and the piccie is of the special breakfast they treated me to on my first morning here. Settling in has been made so much easier because nothing is too much trouble for them and they are all fabulous cooks. I am going to have a lot of catching up to do when I finally get an oven - (which is 'going to be available next week' - for the last three weeks).
The day after I arrived was International Women's Day so we joined in the march and rally. Then, after having a cuppa at the local tea shop (you can see us heading there in one of the piccies) we enjoyed the days cultural activities. The local people embraced me like a long-lost relative and I feel so welcome and comfie here.
The weekend (which incidentally is Friday and Saturday here) was a whirlwind of social functions I wondered if I was actually going to be able to cope with the pace.
My first day at Zabarang on Sunday was a wonderful meet and greet - all the staff have wonderful senses of humour and extraordinary commitment to the aims and objectives of their organisation. The level of busy reminds me of the Secretariat, except without the resources - so I know my colleagues and friends would have a lot of admiration for this team.
There is so much more to share - particularly the trip with the Chairman of the Chittagong Hill Tracts with his armed escorts, to a wedding in a village where, not only am I the only Australian to have ever visited but most probably the only foreigner.
But because I am concerned that those of you who are drinking wine while reading this are probably intoxicated and those of you who chose coffee are on caffeine overload - I will keep that trek for the next chapter.
I still miss you all very much and am so grateful to you for staying in touch. Take special care.
Abar dEkha hObe
Hugs from the Desh
Marguerite
Abar dEkha hObe
Hugs from the Desh
Marguerite
1 comment:
Hi MM,
you take great photos! wish I was there with you - love reading your essays :)
hugs
WW
Post a Comment