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06/15/2007: "Dispatches From Bangladesh"

(Reianna DaRosa photos)

The Island Guardian is pleased to publish the first submission of what we hope will be a continuing narrative by Hadley Rose of her experiences living and working in Bangladesh.

We first heard about Hadley at the local Rotary Club when her father, County Administrator Pete Rose, said how proud he and wife Cynthia were that Hadley had won a fellowship from Willamette University Law School, where she had just finished her second year, to intern at the Grameen Bank in Bangladesh.

Many will recall that the Grameen Bank and its founder, Muhammad Yunus, shared the Nobel Peace Prize in 2006 for its 30-year groundbreaking project in micro-credit. Rose will be working with the bank for eight weeks.

The following is the first narrative, of Hadley Rose’s first day in Bangladesh; and we particular like the comment that “road signals or signs are just a suggestion”; seems there is at least one thing we have in common with the drivers in Bangladesh.

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A Narrative Of Rose’s First Day In Bangladesh

Bangladesh and its people are known for their kindness and welcoming nature. They are often called the friendliest people in the world. I thought that was a nice idea, but that it was probably an exaggeration. I visited Ghana, and the people there were so friendly. Strangers would wave and say hi, and mere acquaintances treated me like close family. However, the kindness of Bangladesh reached me even while I waited to board my plane to Dhaka in the Bangkok airport.

My traveling companion and I were haggard and generally not at our best after about 24 hours of traveling. To say the least, we did not appear very inviting. Mrs. Amin, however, did not let our looks deter her. She is Bangladeshi, but has lived in Seattle for 15 years and comes back to Bangladesh about once a year to visit relatives.

Mrs. Amin asked us if we were traveling to Bangladesh and why, how many siblings we had, where we were from, what were our parents like, and many other questions. Her two sons, ages 6 and 12, were talking and playing with us as well. The older son was helping Mrs. Amin to teach us useful Bengali phrases, like "apni ki ingregi bollen" (do you speak English?). After speaking with her for only a short time, she gave us her name, phone number, and address while she is staying in Bangladesh. She has offered to take us along with she and her sons when she visits some of the tourist sites in Dhaka. We are going to visit her this weekend.

Upon arriving at the airport, the humidity was, of course, apparent. It is the monsoon season, so not only is the temperature between 80 and 90 degrees, but it is accompanied by absolutely driving rain. A well-dressed young man from the hotel was waiting to meet us, and fortunately he was allowed to come into the airport area. Most people waiting to pick-up passengers wait in a packed crowd behind a tall wrought-iron fence on the other side of the vehicle pick-up lane. Jashid of course would not let me touch my luggage from the moment we met him, even though one of the airport workers had conveniently stacked all my luggage onto a push-cart even before I made it through the customs line.

After about 20 minutes of waiting, Jashid was able to hire a taxi for us. However, before even leaving the airport, he noticed that his door would not shut, but flew open unpredictably. With impeccable foresight, Jashid decided we should not take that taxi, and we would wait a few more minutes for another one. The "taxi guru" who coordinates all the taxis out of the airport came out in the rain to personally apologize, even though our bags were already being loaded into another taxi before we even got out of the first one. The taxi man even gave me his business card in case I have any problems.

Within seconds, I was reminded of third-world traffic. Generally, it is best simply not to look. Most lines and road signals or signs are just a suggestion. I am continually amazed at how many cars fit across what I consider a two-lane road, and how small an opening between two tall, tilting buses a taxi can fit into. While I was somewhat prepared for that aspect of road travel in Bangladesh, I had never before experienced the volume of rickshaws and bicycle traffic.

The rickshaws are three-wheeled bicycles with a small seat, sized for one person in the U.S., and anywhere from two to four adult men in Bangladesh. Each rickshaw has a small canopy to protect passengers from the rain and the sun, and each rickshaw is painted with colorful designs, artwork, and the beautiful Bengali script. Also, there are many auto-rickshaws, which are essentially the size of scooters with a bench seat and a full car-like covering over the top and the sides.

If you are traveling only a few blocks or a few miles, a rickshaw is the best way to travel. Sidewalks are a bit treacherous, and also kind of like a parade if you are a foreigner, so even though I have some moral questions about whether I should allow another human being to pull me in a cart behind his bike, I accept that it is the Bangladeshi way to travel and look at it as an opportunity to give a poor man some money and treat him with as much kindness and respect as I can in the transaction.

After a nail-biting 45-minute taxi ride from the airport to our hotel in Mirpur, we were welcomed by a hotel worker carrying a large, golf umbrella who walked us the 10 or so feet from the taxi to the door of the hotel. Of course, we were again not allowed to touch our luggage, even though the street was absolutely teeming with people and we had all of the most important and valuable things to us packed into those four suitcases.



The bottom floor of the hotel building is actually a very busy grocery store, with everything from jewelry, saris, and children's toys to specialty chocolates, exotic fruits, spices, and strange-looking meats. The second floor is a Chinese and Thai restaurant, with chandeliers, classical music, and a giraffe statue in the corner.

The next floor is the reception area of our hotel, the Grand Prince. When we arrived at the desk, we were immediately rushed to the couches and we were brought cold Cokes with fresh lime slices. There were about 8 men in all catering to our arrival, between the doorman, the luggage carriers, the bus boy who brought the drinks, and the desk staff. We were not allowed to get up from the couch or to check-in until we had finished our drinks and relaxed a little.

Our luggage soon followed us to the reception area. Then, the manager came over to personally welcome us and brought us the check-in materials to fill out and had our luggage carried up to our room.

After unpacking a bit, we went to the desk to put our valuables and cash in the safety locker. We were of course beyond exhaustion at that point and we were not sure what to do about changing money or eating dinner or calling home. The manager asked us to please sit down on the couch and he called someone to come to the hotel to change our money at the market rate.

He had a bus boy from the restaurant bring us a bottle of cold water, and he wouldn't let us pay for it. The bus boy would not let us even open the bottle of water on our own, and he got some help to move the coffee table closer to the couch so that we could reach our glasses without even moving. After changing money, we made some macaroni and cheese in our room and quickly fell into bed.

After only one afternoon in Bangladesh, I can understand why, and I am in complete agreement with the classification of Bangladeshis as the friendliest people in the world. I am eagerly looking forward to eight more weeks of their warmth and hospitality!