Hello everyone,
For those of you who don't know, my blog is now featured on the Globe & Mail's "Globe Campus" website. My most recent, and all future, posts can now be found at this address: http://globecampus.ca/blogs/~globalcitizens/.
Thanks for reading!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Welcome to the Concrete Jungle
It’s 7 o’clock at night here in Dhaka city and the power’s out...for the third time today. Bangladesh currently has about a 2000 megawatt shortfall between the country’s demand and what can be generated by the country’s plants. Without the money or resources to upgrade electrical capacity, the government has decided to deal with the shortfall by cutting the power to the country on a rolling basis. Since we live and work in relatively “upper class” neighbourhoods, we usually experience power outages only about three times a day, each time for about an hour. Other parts of the city have their power cut as often as every other hour. Electrical shortages are as much a part of life here as the humidity that wraps around you like a wet towel as soon as you step outside. I’ve been here now for two weeks, and my body has acclimatized somewhat: instead of the sweat pouring out of me like a faucet the minute I step outside, I can usually walk for a few minutes before having to mop up the perspiration on my face.
The humidity is a mild annoyance compared to the intense discomfort you feel when you see the wide gap between the wealthy and the poor here. The stark contrasts that exist in this country are completely intriguing to me. The mansions in Gulshan, the richest neighbourhood in town, would rival those you’d find in Beverly Hills, and the inhabitants have the lifestyles to match (think lots of servants, BMWs, and security guards with rifles). But on the same street, you’ll inevitably encounter a decapitated beggar, children with sores on their face and sharp looking ribs, and women who are 30 pounds lighter than they should be. The list goes on, and the possibilities are gruesome.
Dhaka, the capital city and where I’m living, is aptly nicknamed “the concrete jungle” of Southeast Asia. It’s crammed with skyscrapers, garment factories and residential buildings, and the number of people that live their lives in this metropolis is truly incredible (Dhaka has one of the highest population densities of any city in the world). The rainbow coloured rickshaws, the hidden side streets with hundreds of vendors selling everything from mops to luggage to live chickens (“Dinner’s ready, honey!”), and even the slums in the middle of “modern” neighbourhoods, provide a welcome relief to the layers upon layers of concrete life.
Myself and the other AIESEC interns live in a small apartment in an area known as DOHS Baridhara. The “DOHS” stands for Defense Officer Housing Society, meaning that it was built for former members of the army. It’s a huge plus for us, because the DOHS neighbourhoods are also the safest ones, since no one wants to cause trouble in an area with former militia. That being said, the only trouble I’ve had (if you can even call it that) is being the target of a LOT of staring, and understandably so: I look Bengali (I’m from India), but at 5”7, I’m about 5 inches taller than the average resident, and when I’m not wearing the local shalwar kamiz, I tend to really stand out.
The NGO that I’m working for here – the Bangladesh Association for Social Advancement, also known as BASA – is really impressing me, more so everyday. There’s about 300 people in total working for the NGO, with 30 of them working in the head office in Dhaka. Right now, I’m working closely with some of the senior officers in putting together a project proposal on improving the aquaculture practices of rural farmers. I also had the chance to visit one of the slums in the rural areas where BASA has built sanitary toilet facilities for the residents of the slum to use. That was one of the most exciting experiences I’ve had so far: seeing the enthusiasm of the residents, especially the children, over having such basic facilities and the sense of gratitude that I felt then, for always having had a decent bathroom to use and safe water to drink, will stay with me for a long time. Another curious contrast here that I must mention: most of the residents of the slum don’t have access to clean drinking water, but almost all of them had nicer cell phones than I do! People here are nothing if not connected.
The one other feature about Bangladesh that would be a crime for me not to describe are the people: in spite of the language barrier, never have I met people more friendly and welcoming than I have in this country. Navigating through this frenzied labyrinth of a city, bargaining with the rickshaw drivers, warding off the “beggars” that carry tiny snakes in innocent looking boxes (which they’ll open if you don’t spare them some change), crossing the roads that have neither traffic signals nor crosswalks – one person or another has always been there to lend a hand. It’s amazing how help just seems to appear here every time I start feeling like a fish out of water.
I’m sure there’ll be many ups and downs in the remaining three and a half months that I have left here. Monsoon season is just around the corner, and there’ll soon be seven people living in our “mini apartment.” But there’s a lot to look forward to as well: there’s many parts of Dhaka (not to mention Bangladesh) that I’ve yet to visit, lots of learning to be done at work about micro credit, waste management, legal aid, etc. and I just got invited to a Bengali wedding! Even though it’s only been two weeks, I feel so at home here, and I can’t wait to get more wrapped up in the culture, the places, and most of all, the people, of Bangladesh.
The humidity is a mild annoyance compared to the intense discomfort you feel when you see the wide gap between the wealthy and the poor here. The stark contrasts that exist in this country are completely intriguing to me. The mansions in Gulshan, the richest neighbourhood in town, would rival those you’d find in Beverly Hills, and the inhabitants have the lifestyles to match (think lots of servants, BMWs, and security guards with rifles). But on the same street, you’ll inevitably encounter a decapitated beggar, children with sores on their face and sharp looking ribs, and women who are 30 pounds lighter than they should be. The list goes on, and the possibilities are gruesome.
Dhaka, the capital city and where I’m living, is aptly nicknamed “the concrete jungle” of Southeast Asia. It’s crammed with skyscrapers, garment factories and residential buildings, and the number of people that live their lives in this metropolis is truly incredible (Dhaka has one of the highest population densities of any city in the world). The rainbow coloured rickshaws, the hidden side streets with hundreds of vendors selling everything from mops to luggage to live chickens (“Dinner’s ready, honey!”), and even the slums in the middle of “modern” neighbourhoods, provide a welcome relief to the layers upon layers of concrete life.
Myself and the other AIESEC interns live in a small apartment in an area known as DOHS Baridhara. The “DOHS” stands for Defense Officer Housing Society, meaning that it was built for former members of the army. It’s a huge plus for us, because the DOHS neighbourhoods are also the safest ones, since no one wants to cause trouble in an area with former militia. That being said, the only trouble I’ve had (if you can even call it that) is being the target of a LOT of staring, and understandably so: I look Bengali (I’m from India), but at 5”7, I’m about 5 inches taller than the average resident, and when I’m not wearing the local shalwar kamiz, I tend to really stand out.
The NGO that I’m working for here – the Bangladesh Association for Social Advancement, also known as BASA – is really impressing me, more so everyday. There’s about 300 people in total working for the NGO, with 30 of them working in the head office in Dhaka. Right now, I’m working closely with some of the senior officers in putting together a project proposal on improving the aquaculture practices of rural farmers. I also had the chance to visit one of the slums in the rural areas where BASA has built sanitary toilet facilities for the residents of the slum to use. That was one of the most exciting experiences I’ve had so far: seeing the enthusiasm of the residents, especially the children, over having such basic facilities and the sense of gratitude that I felt then, for always having had a decent bathroom to use and safe water to drink, will stay with me for a long time. Another curious contrast here that I must mention: most of the residents of the slum don’t have access to clean drinking water, but almost all of them had nicer cell phones than I do! People here are nothing if not connected.
The one other feature about Bangladesh that would be a crime for me not to describe are the people: in spite of the language barrier, never have I met people more friendly and welcoming than I have in this country. Navigating through this frenzied labyrinth of a city, bargaining with the rickshaw drivers, warding off the “beggars” that carry tiny snakes in innocent looking boxes (which they’ll open if you don’t spare them some change), crossing the roads that have neither traffic signals nor crosswalks – one person or another has always been there to lend a hand. It’s amazing how help just seems to appear here every time I start feeling like a fish out of water.
I’m sure there’ll be many ups and downs in the remaining three and a half months that I have left here. Monsoon season is just around the corner, and there’ll soon be seven people living in our “mini apartment.” But there’s a lot to look forward to as well: there’s many parts of Dhaka (not to mention Bangladesh) that I’ve yet to visit, lots of learning to be done at work about micro credit, waste management, legal aid, etc. and I just got invited to a Bengali wedding! Even though it’s only been two weeks, I feel so at home here, and I can’t wait to get more wrapped up in the culture, the places, and most of all, the people, of Bangladesh.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
You're the ones who are amazing
As I write this, I’m sitting in my bedroom, in the middle of what looks like the aftermath of a small tornado. Apparently, the storm left behind not only the predictable smattering of clothes and a couple well-thumbed travel guides, but also heavy duty bug spray, the strongest sunscreen available without a prescription and the mess goes on. Usually being around this kind of clutter would make me feel stressed (intrude upon my zen) but right now, it feels strangely natural, even soothing. It takes me a while to figure out why, but then I realize it’s because it’s pretty reflective of the my life at this moment: at first glance, chaotic, but with a reason and end goal to the seeming disarray.My exams are done, I’m progressing through the travel guides – although only at the pace of an elderly tortoise because part of me doesn’t want to ruin any of the surprises that might await me there – and my flight leaves in SIX hours. There’s still a lot to do before then, but I know I need to take a little time to reflect on everything that’s happened over the past month (before my excitement totally takes over and makes me incapable of writing good...).
When I started telling people about my internship and why I was doing it, I admit that my main motivation for sharing that was to raise money. And the money has come in, and I’m blown away by the generosity that everyone from close friends and family, to people that I’ve never even met before, have shown. There’s no getting around the fact that we are in a recession and even if we weren’t, nobody has extra money sitting around that they couldn’t find a use for. Calgary is a town for Big Business, but it also has a lot of heart, and one of the ways you see that is in the thousands of ``good causes`` that are locally supported. The fact that people chose to sponsor me when there are so many other cause that they could be putting their money towards is nothing short of humbling.
I can also honestly say that the other forms of support that I’ve gotten, which have ranged from heartfelt words of encouragement to those wonderful bear hugs that I wish people exchanged more often, to people going completely out of their way to put me in touch with friends or relatives that they have living in Bangladesh, to being fed mouthwatering meals – all of these gestures have meant the world to me. When I think about it, I feel overwhelmed to the point of pulling a Halle-Barry-Oscar-Acceptance-Speech moment. Luckily, the video function on my camera is acting up, so none of you will be subjected to that :)
Even if I get nothing else out of this trip (which I know won’t be the case), witnessing people give so unselfishly has made me hopeful about positive change – after all, if those of you have supported me in this endeavour can have such a positive and significant effect on my life, which is admittedly privileged, what’s to stop me from having a similar impact on the lives of the poor in Bangladesh?
As for my actual journey, I’m flying from Calgary to Houston, then onto Qatar and finally landing in Bangladesh early on Monday morning. It’s going to be a long journey, but right now, I just CAN'T WAIT to get on that plane and take off – to feel that sense of freedom that (I’ve heard) only leaving the country by yourself can give you. I love my life here in Calgary, but it’s unbelievably exciting to know that in a couple of days, I’ll be diving into a different culture and way of life!
Time to finish up some last-minute packing... Next update: my journey to Bangladesh, and Dhaka city!
Friday, April 3, 2009
An accident of latitude
These last few days, I’ve been feeling a little overwhelmed: school assignments to hand in, working part-time, travel guides to read, visa applications to send off, plane tickets to book… the list goes on. And yet, everyday, I look at the small piece of paper taped to my mirror that reads, “An accident of latitude” and I feel re-energized.
That phrase appears in Bono’s introduction to the bestselling book, The End of Poverty. If U2’s Joshua Tree album and his activism in global issues wasn’t enough to make me like the guy, this phrase definitely did the trick! Why? Because it so concisely captures the injustice of a sixth of humanity being caught in a poverty trap that they cannot break out of on their own, while another sixth live in, relatively speaking, the lap of luxury. Having been born in India, my earliest memories are of living in a clean, well furnished and almost-permanently-air-conditioned house – one of the highest kinds of luxury in that part of the world – while the children who lived in the slums across the street would crowd around the gates to our property. As if their torn, soiled clothes and bloated bellies didn’t speak loudly enough, they would beg for food, money or even garbage (that they would later resell for pennies).
Aside from the sheer tragedy of that scene (which played itself out on a daily basis while we lived there), that memory is so vivid because even at the age of five, I remember wondering about how radically different my life would be if I’d simply been born on the other side of the street. Sixteen years later, I’m still contemplating the same question. The fact that I’m here now in Canada, graduating with a university education and never having gone hungry in my life, is incredibly rare, statistically speaking, and mostly a result of incredible luck. I can’t help but think that my life has been shaped by being born on the “right” side of the street, defined by a tiny fraction of a degree of latitude.
I’m sharing this story not as an outlet for any guilt I may feel, but rather to explain why I’m going to be spending four months working for a microfinance organization in Bangladesh. The usual reasons are there: to meet new people, to learn about a culture in the way that only living and breathing it can, and to challenge myself in a way that I never have before. But it’s mainly about helping to give people the “hand up” that I was given naturally through birth. And to me, that’s what microfinance is about – giving people a hand up, rather than a hand-out, to a better life by providing them with small loans and other financial services that they would normally be too poor to qualify for. They can use this money to build small businesses and since they are required to pay back the loans, it allows them to escape poverty in a way that preserves their dignity.
So, yes, I’ve been feeling somewhat overwhelmed with the end of school and my trip coming up, at what feels like a breakneck speed. But, really, that emotion is miniscule compared to the excitement I can feel building as I get closer to leaving for Bangladesh, and hopefully, to playing some sort of role in correcting those “accidents of latitude.”
That phrase appears in Bono’s introduction to the bestselling book, The End of Poverty. If U2’s Joshua Tree album and his activism in global issues wasn’t enough to make me like the guy, this phrase definitely did the trick! Why? Because it so concisely captures the injustice of a sixth of humanity being caught in a poverty trap that they cannot break out of on their own, while another sixth live in, relatively speaking, the lap of luxury. Having been born in India, my earliest memories are of living in a clean, well furnished and almost-permanently-air-conditioned house – one of the highest kinds of luxury in that part of the world – while the children who lived in the slums across the street would crowd around the gates to our property. As if their torn, soiled clothes and bloated bellies didn’t speak loudly enough, they would beg for food, money or even garbage (that they would later resell for pennies).
Aside from the sheer tragedy of that scene (which played itself out on a daily basis while we lived there), that memory is so vivid because even at the age of five, I remember wondering about how radically different my life would be if I’d simply been born on the other side of the street. Sixteen years later, I’m still contemplating the same question. The fact that I’m here now in Canada, graduating with a university education and never having gone hungry in my life, is incredibly rare, statistically speaking, and mostly a result of incredible luck. I can’t help but think that my life has been shaped by being born on the “right” side of the street, defined by a tiny fraction of a degree of latitude.
I’m sharing this story not as an outlet for any guilt I may feel, but rather to explain why I’m going to be spending four months working for a microfinance organization in Bangladesh. The usual reasons are there: to meet new people, to learn about a culture in the way that only living and breathing it can, and to challenge myself in a way that I never have before. But it’s mainly about helping to give people the “hand up” that I was given naturally through birth. And to me, that’s what microfinance is about – giving people a hand up, rather than a hand-out, to a better life by providing them with small loans and other financial services that they would normally be too poor to qualify for. They can use this money to build small businesses and since they are required to pay back the loans, it allows them to escape poverty in a way that preserves their dignity.
So, yes, I’ve been feeling somewhat overwhelmed with the end of school and my trip coming up, at what feels like a breakneck speed. But, really, that emotion is miniscule compared to the excitement I can feel building as I get closer to leaving for Bangladesh, and hopefully, to playing some sort of role in correcting those “accidents of latitude.”
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