Majiid - the Freedom Fighter and my Friend

I am thrilled. I was informed that our Save the Children driver, for our journey to the Barisal impact area where I will be reviewing our implementation, is none other than Majiid! This professional driver will conduct us across wide rivers, using ferries and on into the remote areas of the river delta of Bangladesh approaching the Sea of Bengal.

Majiid was our driver to this same area on my last visit in March of 2005. As seems to always be the case, I am given, against my continual protests the world over, the passenger seat next to the driver. Majiid has driven for this office longer than any driver, over 22 years. He is an older man, as myself, but he is tall and distinguished. It helps that he speaks and understands more than functional English, as most Bangladeshis do, but Majiid and I seem to have that additional non-linguistic link of communication that I rarely encounter.

On the last trip, we had arrived at our first river crossing, the wide, swollen Ganges river that had coursed across eastern India from its source in the Himalayas. This particular river transit is more than simply crossing, but rather a meandering trip across and down the river to the next river landing. These smaller ferry landings are most exciting places, reminding me of small Western towns of the 19th century U.S. The ferries are typically huge and filled to the brim with vehicles and people, an opportunity to obtain a condensed sampling of Bangladesh. After we had entered the ferry with our vehicle, I quickly, and excitedly, got out to mingle with the vendors hawking their exotic foods and wares.

Soon though, Majiid found me and motioned for me to follow him. I was initially dismayed since I wanted to stay on deck, but I figured it was a security precaution to move me to safer location on board in case we capsized. Instead Majiid conducted me up a series of stair wells to the bridge. I, of course, was greeted with surprised looks, but I saw that Majiid was recognized and greeted with some honor. I was introduced to the Captain, who briskly demanded that another person on the bridge get up and give me his seat. I was given a glare from this man, which the captain noticed and quite harshly told the man to remove himself from the bridge. I sheepishly then sat in a prime location where I had a wonderful view of the ensuing hour-long voyage. However, the displaced person hovered about the bridge too long and was ordered to return with tea and biscuits for my pleasure. This made me very uncomfortable, but who was I to argue with a Captain!

What i found out later was that Majiid was well known. He was a freedom fighter during the war of liberation from Pakistan in the early 1970's. Imagine, if you will, the 1840's in the United States on the East Coast during the 4th of July and all the remaining soldiers from our War of Independence being given honor during the parades of the day. This was Majiid.

I recall well my first instance of hearing of the newly-created state of Bangladesh. George Harrison, late of the Beatles, had crafted a benefit concert to aid the people of Bangladesh who were suffering the twin-pronged effects of a devastating cyclone in the very area which I will re-visit tomorrow which killed thousands of persons with it's floods, and the effects of a virtual genocidal advance by the Pakistani Mor. Harrison sing of Bangladesh in my studio apartment with some friends, wondering where in the world Bangladesh is!

This afternoon, Majiid and I reacquainted ourselves. I told him that I had spoken of him the world over and that I considered him my friend after three days of travel together last year. We laughed and exchanged news of family and he congratulated me on my marriage to Heidi.

So, tommorow, I wil once again have the opportunity to travel with Majiid, the freedom fighter of renown! By the way, Majiid is the gentleman on the right in the photo at the top of this blog entry.

Where Are the Utensils?

Since this is my 3rd trip to Bangladesh, it is so enjoyable, the re-acquainting with past friends, familiarity with local customs (no, those bottles are not filled with alcohol! ) and knowing what to do in a given situation - mostly.



Again, this is my third trip and I am still amused with myself for what I encountered on the first couple of trips and how I reacted to those situations. Like the time it was time for lunch on my first day. I half intended to see bottles of alcohol at each place setting in the office cafeteria on the top floor (see Pre-requisite - Must be Willing to Travel Long Distances, and Appear Foolish at Times.... 6/17). In the absence of the bottles I also noticed an absence of familiar utensils - fork, spoon, knife. Now, I mean this meal is essentially heaps of rice, a small dish of meat with a gravy, and a lentil soup to cover all. There were only a couple of persons enjoying there meal, but the cafeteria attendant had likely seen this bewildered look before from Western visitors. He caught my attention and slowly guided me over to a corner where a little-used set of utensils lay. alternately, I looked down on my symbols of comfort and safety, and back towards the others eating their meals. Yes, I remember in my research, one eats with out utensils in a Muslim nation and the (and this is vitally important!) only with ones' right hand. Alas, I am left-handed, so I am doomed from the start no matter what i do. Yes, I am gauche, sinister, whatever marking that you prefer. But, this was, and is, my south-paw birthright I have learned to accommodate you right- handers all of my life (those excruciating marks left across the back of the left thumb by those deviously-constructed right-handed scissors; am I whining again?)

Still, I stared at those utensils. Comfort and escape was possible if I only picked them up. But the stares of the onlookers i could not escape if I grasped my Western lifeline. Should i reach, and then pull back my hand from the fork, just to amuse myself. No. I turned and thanks the gentleman and offered a polite decline with a slight downward turn of my head and found myself seated facing but a plate and three bowls. You try scooping up a loose concoction of gray and boiled rice and raise it to your mouth before it slides down the inside of the palm of your hand to your lap. Well, I have, and am willing to, provide amusement to onlookers before! Finally, my host approached and exclaimed that I was doing it right, since food always tastes better when it reaches ones' mouth directly from ones' hand. I was not sure about this since I was still trying focusing on trying to get the food wholly in my mouth. Later, I was told that I made a favorable impression on my onlookers and word spread of my disdain for utensils.

By the way, one significant change in my life since i began traveling for Save the Children to other, non-touristy, countries, is that whenever I am back in the U.S., and I spy an obviously bewildered foreigner struggling through a simple transaction at the cash register, I am much more tolerant and patient with them. I know....

Pre-requisite - Must be Willing to Travel Long Distances, and Appear Foolish at Times....

This is rather a late story which occurred on my first visit ot Bangladesh in October 2005. But, I have been reminded of it of late on this visit.

On my first entry into the Save the Children offices in Dhaka city here in Bangladesh, I was ushered up to the 4th floor where my office work would be conducted. Of course, all Bangladeshis' are exceedingly polite and I was continually greeted and made well at home. As is my custom, I read as much as I could prior to my departure from North America so that it might be a richer experience and also so that I might be a more informed guest and effective worker.

Since this was my first visit to a Muslim nation, I knew that it would be best to attempt to lay aside most of my pre-conceptions. But here i was standing in the foyer of the office on the 4th floor, and before me was a tray of hard liquor bottles at various levels of consumption. I was startled, but decided to avert my gaze of the vodka and gin bottles noting they were all expensive brands. Later, as i puzzled over this noticing that most cubicles in the office had a neatly place gin bottle at the work place. I then spied a westerner, who happened to be an American. Ah ha, i would get the real scoop on this conflict that I was wrestling with; open alcohol consumption in a Muslim nation, and in a non-profit no less. I mean I never had seen such brazen display at out home office in Westport, CT!



Well, the American set me straight. He told me that" it was a happy place!". At trips' end two weeks later, I was invited over ot attend a dinner at the then Country Office Directors house, Ned Olney. After the meal,and knowing that I was flying out tomorrow morning, I had to ask this apparent paradox of values. Ned almost fell out of his chair laughing. He explained that empty alcohol bottles were salvaged and carefully washed and filled with drinking water. This was to avoid the contamination of the water by the plasticizers used in the manufacture of plastic water containers. No, they were not filled with alcoholic beverages. I explained to Ned that I had been stunned these past two weeks over how well his entire staff could remain so effective at their tasks while consuming obvious amounts of strong spirits (I watched the bottle levels change...). I told him that I was most impressed by the tolerance level to alcohol as well.

It is good to ask questions quickly....

Mobile Computing in Developing Countries

I used to work at Boeing in the factory where the assembled the major sections of the twin aisle aircraft. Sometime back, a Boeing engineer had the opportunity to view how their competitor assembles major aircraft section. Airbus rolled their aircraft very, very slowly along a track within their factory as workers brought parts to the airplane as it moved at a snails pace across the floor. This was opposed to Boeing's tradition of transporting parts and people to a static position as the aircraft was assembled. In other words at Airbus, the airplane was brought to the workers as it passed by each assembly discipline. Before I left Boeing in 2002, the final assembly of 737's and 747's were on the rolling assembly line.

I am writing this blog on my mobile computing device. Instead of bringing my computing/data/image tasks to a desktop computer to process and analyze, I take my mobile computer processor to my tasks.

That is why I am here in Bangladesh, to introduce mobile computing to an NGO in a developing country. To be able to take mobile computing devices to the point of service delivery, instead of transporting reams of paper to those area, and then returning them back to areas with sustained computing infrastructure (i.e. electricity, network connection, etc.) .

On Monday we will deploy the 15 PDA's that were delivered ot the Save the Children USA office here a couple of months ago, as well as testing the wireless mobile device that I brought with me. We have already tested this in the main office in Dhaka, but after validating it's connetion ability withe the Save network via the ubiquitous cell phone coverage in the impact areas, then they will not need ot plan the mobile device transportation logisitcs after data is obtained at the health and food distribution areas. They have alreast directed me to order 135 additional devices for use in their program.

The assembly line slowly moves along, in fact here it comes toward me now...

Upon Being Accomodated

I am staying at the Royal Park Hotel about 5 minutes from the Save the Children office here in Dhaka. It is 4:30 AM and I am not up, suprisingly, due to the effects of jet lag, but polishing up my training script for the new GPS PDA's that I smuggled into the country.

http://www.royalpark-bd.com/photo.htm

It happens to be the exact same room (205) that I've had each of the past two trips, which I am really pleased with since it is familiar to me. I could live in a closet, like I did in that tiny cabin the last 4 years. It is a small room, but it accommodates me. This is a fancy hotel. I had a chance to speak to the new Country Office Director here at Save and when he asked me how I liked it. I told him that I could afford to be a lot more uncomfortable for the price that they are paying to have me stay here. But, it is nearby and very secure. The traffic here is horrible, with what I saw in Cairo only being worse. Lee knows...

I mean, when you go into the restaurant and sit down, THEY lay the napkin on your lap and a waiter stands about 20 feet away watching you and filling your glass or removing your plate. I definitely do NOT like that stuff, not at all like the treatment I used to get at the truck stop restaurant in Niland, CA! For that reason I had room service last night night deliver me a chicken sandwich and fries so I did not have to endure the attention of the waiters. I sure whine a lot!



The point of a hotel while being away from one's home is to make one feel "at home". I enjoy traveling to see something different that my home, I mean, I've been there! I cannot wait to get out in the countryside of Barisal south of here. Lots of "wild west" river towns bordering the ferry landings here. I just get giddy when we pull up to those and my hosts indicate we will need ot walk into one the tiny restaurants (restaurant?) to have a meal. I typically get a small crowd of people standing near our table silently staring at me with curious looks. By smiling and making small gestures it is so easy ot gain their smiles and portray perhaps a different view of Americans that they might have. In turn, I am also being changed from my view of the actual people in Muslim countries that I have long held as fact based on watching and reading the media.

A Downpour

Now I am beginning to understand the word monsoon. for me personally, this is largely what all of this traveling is about. Removing my encyclopedia/library images from my mind and replacing (juxtaposing?) them with real images.

I arrived in Bangladesh yesterday morning. Of course it felt like late evening since Dhaka (the capital city, where Save the Children has it's main office) is 14 time zones forward of my home state of Washington in the U.S. Interestingly, this jetlag is getting to be less of a problem. Perhaps I received the secret jetlag inoculation during one of my travel health appointments amidst the plethora of needle pricks.

Here I go again... On my last trip here I was "taken" by a man during my Immigration inspection. Since that time 15 months ago, I have thought of it often and related the story ot others to demonstrate how gullible I can be and how things work when we are unaware in developing countries. The story goes like this...

I had just walked off the plane after arriving in Dhaka at Zia International Airport. As I approached the array of immigration officers sitting in their booths to inspect our passports and visa's an older man approached me. He walked directly up to me, offered me his official looking credentials as he began to speak. He simply said to me, "Please come with me". Believe me, this is the last words that you want to hear as a foreigner upon entering a country. Bangladesh has had more than its share of internal strife and suspicions are often cast on Western visitors.



Like the time I serendipitously arrived in El Salvador on the eve of the national elections. El Salvador has had suspicion cast on it's voting practices and prior ot my departure, former U.S. president Jimmy Carter announced that his team of fraudulent election observers (were they "authentic" observers) would arrive in the country prior to my menial arrival. Sure enough, after I disembarked a military person had his automatic weapon pushed against my chest wanting to deny me entry. This was before i even made it to the immigration area. As I fingered mt Save the Children picture ID which has an text offering on it's backside pleading that I be given expeditious and safe conduct across international borders to provide humanitarian response. The soldier was not interested. Fortunately my host explained in rapid fire Spanish that I was okay.

Back to my "immigration" official. This serious-faced man then asked me to hand over my passport to him (a big no-no) and when I hesitated I found it hard to to comply as he reached toward it. He then conducted instructed me to follow him as he walked me over ot the VIP immigration desk. Oh, my orifices were aching already. As he approached the officer who was currently engaged with an immigration case, he turned towards me and directly me not ot approach the immigration officer. This was all in a very low, authoritative tone of voice. Well, after a few moments he returned with my passport stamped and ready ot go. Then he said, "Do you have something for me?" I had been conned. This statement becomes familiar overseas. This man had been credentialed to 'assist" travelers through the immigration process. Occasionally Save the Children will provide someone to do this for me, but I am notified ahead of time. As I fumbled for something, I argued inwardly the notion of, "I did not ask for you to provide this service", but I had gained about 10 minutes of line waiting time back into my life. So, all that I had available, I gave to him, a 2 English Pound coin. I normally do not keep cash on my person except for that carefully hidden away $100 for drunken border guards in remote areas. But i never pull out this stash of emergency money. Besides, I would probably be arrested for doing so in public.

Well, I had been ready for my "immigration" official. I had made sure I had some additional British coins at hand when I disembarked. This time, if i was approached, I was going to ignore his official stature and calmly ask, "For what services do you offer to me?" I would then negotiate on the spot so that we both knew what was going on. Ah, fragile ego that I have! Well, the best laid plans of mice and travels are often disappointed. He was no where to be seen. Perhaps he was pummeled by a suddenly enlightened traveler after learning his true quest. But, yes, is that him over there by a young disheveled traveler. Yes! Sure enough (what horrible grammar), there he was with his well-practiced approach. I was like in a time warp watching myself as this young man fumbled for his passport and the sweat on his forward exceeding the monsoon temperature and humidity. "Next!", I heard from the immigration official that I was awaiting. Time to move on...

I am so petty, just like the British comedian, Mr Bean who takes childish offense so quickly and plots his revenge.

I love Bangladesh. In part, because it is the first exotic locale I visited. The first time was part of a round the world trip (my 1st) in October 2005 soon after I started doing this. The excitement has not worn off, rather it has increased i would say. I returned in March 2006, so I have made many friends.

Oh, and for some inexplicable reason I was upgraded to business class on my Boeing 777 flight from London Heathrow. More on that later!

Back to the Monsoon. I found out during my first visit to El Salvador in 2003, that our northerly (and southerly) notions of season do not exist. That in the tropics (betwixt the latitude delineations of the Tropic of Cancer and the Tropic of Capricorn) there is a rainy season and a dry season. The former in Bangladesh is produced by Monsoons. It is pouring rain and thundering this morning as I enjoy my small pot of coffee and toast. The movie "Elephant Walk" comes to mind, and "Rains of Ranchipur", the former which I read the book. Here I am.

Asia - Bangladesh

Yes today is packing day. In some ways, for me, the preparation time is almost as exciting as the trip itself. I think this stems from anticipating Christmas or a trip to Disneyland. Ya gotta enjoy the whole trip - even before you leave! I'm searching through my bag of coin and currency to see if I have some Bangladeshi "Taka" left from prior trips. They are worth very little, but I can use them for tips to the desperate persons battling (literally) to carry my luggage from airport security to my hotel shuttle, about 50 feet.

I leave tonight at 6:40 PM and arrive there at the equivalent of 4PM Seattle time on Friday, routed through London. Not bad at all, a couple of 9 hour or so flights with 3 hours layover at Heathrow.

Oh, how I know Terminal 4 in Heathrow. I have spent several multi-hour layovers there, with one being a 12 hour early in my flights overseas. The seats throughout the terminal single with arm rest in between each, and are made of metal with little cushion. I am not one to sleep in a terminal (too much to see), but this 12 hour stint was on a return flight and I was pretty beat. So, I noted a three seat set off in a corner, likely re-constructed by a tired traveler.. i awaited the fortunate travel laid out, and saw a stirring as they needed to run for their flight. I made my move and arrived for possession with my hip bag, briefcase and travel bag just as another man arrived tardy. I stretched out entwining the straps of my bags in a Gordian Knot both through the seat arms on my arms. 50 minutes of sleep did the trick. This seat arrangement was on the south side of the terminal 3/4 of the way from the food court. By the way, a bit further is huge handicapped restroom ideal for a quick wipedown with baby wipes, shave and tooth refresh.

I got smart later on and would book a room at the Airport Hilton which is connected to the terminal. A great few hours stay, but very expensive. I still have great problems with spending Save's moneys for things like that, but the option is arrving in Tajikistan "thinking" that you are doing well with 12 hours of jet lag and no sleep for the past 30 hours and noting the curious stares from the audience during my first presentation to management. I guess it is worth it. My manager Lee always tells me to be rested and ready.

Back to packing. No, where is that passport....?