Arrival

Well I’m here. After without a doubt the longest trip of my life, I am here: Atlanta to Los Angeles. Los Angeles to Bangkok. Bangkok to Dhaka (the capital of Bangladesh). Dhaka to Chittagong. The Chittagong Airport to where I now live. I include that last leg because the ride from the airport to my apartment took three times as long as my flight from Dhaka to Chittagong. And the distance was only about 15 miles.

I could sense immediately upon flying over Dhaka that I was somewhere new and completely different. The land was green and marshy, the canals of water crowded and brown. On the runway I saw men and women with simple tools like pick axes and shovels tearing up the tarmac. Despite being a spread out city of 12 million the airport was tiny with 2 terminals—the international terminal (which was air conditioned) and the domestic terminal (which was not). There was a single metal detector in the domestic terminal and two x-ray machines. Behind a green curtain a woman guard patted me down with a handheld metal detector.

Everything went smoothly until I got to Dhaka around noon on Wednesday July 7th. My luggage came through. I cleared customs, immigration, no problem. But when I went to check in for my flight to Chittagong the carrier told me that they no longer operated the flight I was scheduled for and they had no more flights to Chittagong for that day. After a brief moment of panic and with help from two friendly airline workers it was arranged for me to fly an hour later than scheduled on a different airline—Biman (the national airline of Bangladesh). I tell you all this because had I not been utterly exhausted when I stepped onto the Biman plane I’m not sure I could have gone through with the flight. If the bright orange and green flowered upholstery was any indication the plane must have been from the 1970s. The arms of the seats were cracked and some broken completely. The windows were so scratched up I could barely see outside of them and the carpeted material covering the side of the plane was pealing off. I watched a cockroach scuttle from the seat pocket in front of me to the window ledge while the flight attendant served us warm juice boxes. I felt a glorious sense of relief that I was too tired to even care and pushed the nagging concern about the state of the plane to the back of my mind as we took off.

I arrived in Chittagong 35 minutes later around 5 in the evening local time. (I’m ten hours ahead of home right now because Bangladesh does not observe daylight savings time). A kind man who works for AUW named Alan was holding up a paper sign with the words the Asian University for Women on it when I exited the “baggage terminal.” He helped me carry my bags to the van and before I could even get the door open I was surrounded by several begging young boys.

Alan warned me the ride would take about 2 and a half hours because of traffic. I tried not to appear too surprised. As we pulled out of the airport I could not stop looking at everything around me. There were people everywhere—mostly men but some women too. Makeshift metal shacks lined the road. The buildings were shops and places to eat. I saw a group of shirtless boys in a dusty field playing cricket. In another field the boys were playing soccer. Fruit and vegetable stands were everywhere with bananas bunched together on long stems and many fruits I did not recognize. We passed the bay where hundreds of the biggest ships I’ve ever seen stood being loaded with cargo from oil to bricks to produce.

Then we hit what I hesitate to call rush hour. I hesitate because that will give you the impression of packed orderly lanes of cars crawling along through a city. And that’s not what this was at all. The extremely narrow road really should have only been used for one car at a time going in one direction but the road was used in both directions. It was paved but no there was no demarcation of lanes at all. There were vehicles like ours, cars, larger vans and trucks but there were also hundreds of rickshaws— driven by wiry men with thin hard bodies and also mini- cars shaped like tiny green Volkswagens (these are cabs). And let us not forget the pedestrians who thought nothing of darting out into this madness. (along with our friends the cows, goats, and dogs).

The folks of Bangladesh make the drivers of New York and New Jersey look like calm submissive saints who rarely use their horns. Alan weaved in and out of this collage of crazy using his horn as a constant instrument (if you’ve been watching the World Cup the buzzing noise of the vuvuzela filled stadiums is an apt description of what this all sounded like only louder). People stared unabashedly as we drove by and I even saw some taking pictures of me with cell phones from their buses. I didn’t see another Westerner until we arrived at my apartment.

The drive from the airport was actually a perfect introduction to this bustling city and a country of 150 million in the space of Florida. But I was relieved to arrive at my apartment which is stunningly beautiful. I’m going to try not to compare this experience to Namibia too much but I could not help remembering showing up to the empty cement room that hot afternoon in January of 2007. This could not have been more different. I feel so spoiled. Where I’m staying is called the Panchlaish (after the road we are on I think) and it’s a series of apartments in a gated area. Mine (which I assume I will share with others soon) is spacious with a large table and a living area with a couch, chair, coffee table, desk and tv. My room had a bed with sheets and a mosquito net and AN AIRCONDITIONER. There’s also a lovely little kitchen with a working fridge (wooo!). And a bathroom connected to my room. Everything was neat and clean and welcoming. There are three other bedrooms in the place—all empty right now.

Omar, the director of operations for the University ordered me dinner and it was delivered to my room. In a word: delicious (rice, dahl, okra, all in a wonderful curry sauce) but I was too tired to eat much. Needless to say I pretty much collapsed for twelve hours straight. I’ll have internet soon in my room so communication should be easy with you all. Thanks for hanging in there with this ridiculously long posting. I hope to take pictures soon.