A Westerner in Dhaka, Bangladesh

by Cynthia VanBibber
(Fayetteville, AR)

Dhaka, Bangladesh is not the "coolest" travel experience I've had, but it was one of the more
valuable. This story takes place back in 2000.

I drew doormat designs for a company that imported rugs into the United States and sold them at places like Sears and JC Penny's. Bangladesh was the place where there was the raw material they sought, jute, and for cheap labor that made the product something a middle-class American would want to pay for.

The designs I created were elaborated by a small team of artists who were mostly from Dhaka
University. These line drawings were used to create stencils. I visited the factory and saw the workers who worked for less than $1 a day stamp the designs I had created.

You might think, "Well, items were cheaper there; $1 means more." And to some extent this could have been true. But for "proper" Western style accommodations that were clean, you could pay around $60 a night for a hotel; and a mango, I remember, cost $0.50. Bangladesh doesn't produce enough food to support its population and much is imported. Potable water was very expensive (I probably drank $5 a day).

Dhaka, Bangladesh was not a place of tourism accommodating to the Western middle class
budget. It was a very poor town where a small number controlled the vast majority of the wealth. The amenities were for the wealthy.

At the time hand-drawn rickshaws still made up most of the traffic. Dhaka had just gotten taxis the previous year. Significant car traffic was new, and a pretty bad change, I'd heard, that made the pollution bad - since leaded gasoline was still being used.

I visited the visited the art department at the university with one of the team. My employer had
commented on the student art he'd seen - "just a lot of paintings of trash." And he was right.
There were pictures of trash piles and pictures of destitute people scavenging like vultures. But it was honesty.

It didn't seem to make sense to see sterile, picturesque, idyllic images in this environment. Yes, there were beautiful things to see - some of the most beautiful, careful, meticulous handicrafts made by (wo)man come from Bangladesh. But the trash and the poverty were hard to ignore.

You would set your garbage just outside your door, and it would be taken, not by the city garbage
patrol, but by people looking for any remaining charms, food - something they could put to use.

The trash, real useless trash, was in neglected piles in the streets.

At the university, I met a woman artist who wore jeans. It was endearing to realize rebels are
everywhere.

I was shown a site where bodies were dumped and burned during the 1971 genocides. No one I
met there was unscathed by this tragedy.

All the people I associated with were the highly gifted and educated. This was one thing that
made it such a valuable experience.

Another interesting thing was learning to dress appropriately so as to not be distracting. I wore loose clothing or long dresses, and it was hot as heck for such clothing. I learned that upon traveling to Nepal and seeing a tourist in shorts, that culture is something you get used to. I was shocked to see so much skin; whereas before I would have thought nothing of it.

After a while I left the hotel where I was staying and went to live in an apartment downtown. It was not comfortable for me to leave my home and go for walks. Every time I did, I had one after another of the poor grab hold of me and follow me asking for money. I could string along around 20 people on a walk; I quickly grew tired of walks alone and only took a few in a month's time.

Though I never tested the theory, I figured that in such circumstances, one cannot give. There is
never enough really. I though what might ensue would be a fight over the gift.

But I was never in any danger from these beggars, as desperate as they were. No one ever threatened me. I was amazed at how such desperation had still left them with some shred of dignity.

I was sick every single day of the 6 months I lived in Dhaka. The good days were when I was not so sick. I got used to saying, "no" when offered food, even if it would be perceived as rude. One day, in front of everyone, I lost control of my bowels.

There were never times before this experience that I was comfortable taking about bodily matters:

"Hey, everything regular today?" "My, I haven't gone in days." But my bowel movements
occupied a good 30 percent of my thoughts the whole time I was there. It is here where I lost the capacity for embarrassment.

After this experience I weighed around 30 lbs. lighter than I weigh now. I am average weight, and by some standards thin. I recuperated in Bangkok, Thailand for 2 weeks before heading home to the U.S. There I ate voraciously. I'd been a vegetarian, but I ate meat three times a day during these weeks.

Bangkok was civilization. I could eat everything, even street food, and not get sick. Every meal I ate during those days I cried through, for happiness that the food was nourishing and that I would likely not get sick. I gained 10 pounds. This was not enough for my mother to cry at the shock of how gaunt I was.

Upon getting back, I looked at all my possessions in storage. I wondered why I needed all of
these things.

People have asked me whether I enjoyed traveling to Bangladesh. I say, "I did not, but I wouldn't
trade the experience for anything in the world."

Particularly after this experience, I'm aware more than anything that my perspective of the world is distinctly Western.

Cynthia VanBibber
Co-owner
www.themed-party-ideas.com