(#10 on my list of my favorite moments, things, and people from my past year abroad is Bangladesh itself, and how it became home...)
The
first time I thought of Chittagong as “home” was after the end of Ramadan, when
my friends and I were returning from Sylhet.
I had a horrible stomach ache, the AC on the train was broken, and
everyone was getting pretty irritable.
Several times that day I just wanted to be home – not back in the States
in my childhood house, but in my apartment in Chittagong, my little slice of
Bangladesh that I was slowly becoming comfortable with and beginning to
understand.
Looking down and up the street from our apartment.
Throughout
the year, I gathered different reasons and meanings for why Bangladesh, and
specifically Chittagong, was home. Of
course, part of it was rooted in what we traditionally identify as home – where
my possessions were, where I slept night after night, where I based my daily
life from, where my job was, where my friends were, etc.
A river running through the forested parts of Bandarban in eastern Bangladesh, and *a group of men during the Bangladeshi New Year (they cracked me up!).
The tea gardens of northern Bangladesh, outside of Srimangal.
Granted, it was not all roses. Bangladesh is not the richest or the cleanest part of the world. There were many times that I was handed a reality check, whether it was wading through knee deep water in the late monsoon season or consistently walking past garbage heaps steaming in the open sun. I was constantly covered in bug bites, confronted by cockroaches, and suffered a couple illnesses. I was frustrated by the pollution, the traffic, the patriarchal and conservative aspects, the way people (specifically men) would stare at me because I was a blonde-haired foreigner, and hell… the inability to buy a box of cereal for less than 10 dollars.
Several men buying fish on the outskirts of Chittagong, and a view across the river into the slums of Dhaka.
But
it became home in ways beyond that. I
incorporated pieces of the culture into my life, such as wearing the shalwar
kameez or saris, loving the food, associating and/or working with locals,
learning some of the language, taking public transportation, shopping where
everyone else shopped… the list goes on.
It
was a place where I could learn and experience.
What did I know about Islam before going? Had I ever seen a city so green? Had I ever walked through seemingly infinite
rows of tea bushes? Did I really know
all of these sounds, smells, tastes, sights before?
Granted, it was not all roses. Bangladesh is not the richest or the cleanest part of the world. There were many times that I was handed a reality check, whether it was wading through knee deep water in the late monsoon season or consistently walking past garbage heaps steaming in the open sun. I was constantly covered in bug bites, confronted by cockroaches, and suffered a couple illnesses. I was frustrated by the pollution, the traffic, the patriarchal and conservative aspects, the way people (specifically men) would stare at me because I was a blonde-haired foreigner, and hell… the inability to buy a box of cereal for less than 10 dollars.
But
we all have problems at home, don’t we?
And despite all those problems, there’s still a seat deep in our hearts
for our homes. Whenever I left my
apartment, whether to go to work or to travel to further-flung parts of the
world, and no matter how much I enjoyed being away… I cherished returning back
to that comfortable familiarity of Bangladesh.
*A procession during Mother Language Day, a significant holiday, and the intersection we'd pass through every single day.
I
will always consider Bangladesh, and specifically my corners of Chittagong, my
home sweet home.
Photographs with a * are courtesy of Jessi Hinz.
Photographs with a * are courtesy of Jessi Hinz.
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