Some interesting adventures this weekend. In Bangladesh the weekend is Friday to Saturday, while Sunday is a working day. I went on a walk each day and managed to get lost both times! The first is the more interesting story...
I decided to head north on Gulshan Road when awkward staring and congestion forced me off the main road and onto the side streets. I got caught up watching some kids play an animated game of cricket and subsequently wandered around them, past a cancer center and an abandoned school, until I hit a small path that looked like it was going to a dead end (as it turns out, Dhaka is filled with streets that go to dead ends).
I stood awkwardly, considering what I should do, when I heard a man calling from behind. I turned, did a quick gut feeling check and decided he seemed alright. With a great deal of gesturing, I managed to ask him how to get back to the main road. He walked back a few steps and pointed to a small cluster of shanties next to a large abandoned building. I looked at the shanties, then looked back at him. What, like walk through them? He said something in Bangla, to which I stared blankly, and then he took the lead.
The shanties were made of pieces of wood, scraps of tin, and strips of cloth and plastic, strung together into a makeshift community. Collectively they created a pile of discarded garbage, leaning on itself for support. Take one out and they'd probably all fall. They were each missing one wall; the open side faced the abandoned building.
As we got closer, I saw that there was a gap between the row of homes and the building - a walkway. My guide casually strolled through. I hesitated, held my breath instinctively, and waited for something to happen. Nothing did, so I smiled meekly and walked in. My eyes were downcast at first. I felt like I was stomping through someone's living room (which I essentially was) - the living room of someone who probably resented my presence. I glanced upward and saw people sitting up, looking at me with eyes that were curious but not unfriendly. I exhaled and smiled slightly. They didn't reply in kind, but they didn't seem to mind me either. I let my eyes move from their faces to their surroundings.
Each shanty was probably no more than 5 feet wide and 5 feet high. They had a dirt floor and were mostly empty. Their inhabitants were crouched on their legs, comfortable in a position most westerners couldn't get into. Their homes were made of garbage - other people's unwanted, discarded things, but they were neat and tidy. Their bit of space was small, but they appreciated it, they cared about it. I looked down, wondering if I respected my things as much as they respected theirs. I looked forward. We were nearing the end. My guide was greeting a young boy in faded black shorts. I smiled and nodded hello, he stared at me, then smiled shyly in return.
We came out of the other side, bent down to get through a wire fence and a barrage of honks welcomed us to the main road. I felt myself completely relax and I turned to my friend. He extended his hand and in it was his business card. The only words in English were, "Nasir," "Farhad" and "Ambulance Service." I smiled and thanked him. He asked for my number. I told him that I didn't have a phone, he said, "No problem." I thanked him again, turned and walked to the road, smiling as he shouted, "Call me! Call me!" - the only bit of English he seemed to know.
Cragin, you lived life to the absolute fullest, you took every moment as an opportunity to do more, give more, be more. At the very least, we owe it to you to do the same.
