"Preach it, white girl" Part 1

Privilege. Let's examine privilege. Woa, such a loaded term (emphasis my own).  It's been in my mind since I've been in Bangladesh and interacting within different circles of people. How do you know that you are in a position of privilege? I think in most feminist circles we all lean towards one of more of the following categories:  white, wealthy, heterosexual, able-bodied, educated,  middle aged, male, and I'm probably forgetting some.  Just possessing one of these characteristics puts you in a position of power because it is your ticket to accessibility. And who doesn't love having access to things they want or need?  The more of these categories you fall into, the more power you possess and the more things you have access to. For example most of the former Presidents of the United States of America had all of these characteristics...Can you feel the power yet?

I think most people aren't aware of their own karma given privilege. It's not something that's often discussed over coffee (unless you're part of a marginalized group book club) and truthfully I probably wouldn't be aware of my own beautiful privilege had I not taken a Sociology of Womyn course (yes, womyn. Take the class you'll understand why) during my junior year of college. It absolutely pains me that it took me so long to get "it", but once I did, the whole view of my world changed. This is where my father would interject with some comment about me and my feminist mumbo jumbo but please see our categories above and note that my dad fits into all of them. My hero...

So the reason I'm tackling this loaded topic at all is because whiteness and wealth consistently pop up in Bangladesh. For example, I've been told that, like many other cultures, lighter skin is a desirable trait in the Bengali culture, I guess it is a sign of wealth. They even sell whitening creams (much like our tanning creams) so that they can get their skin whiter. It's just comical to me that so many white people are trying to be tan while so many tan people are trying to be white. No one is ever happy...but the commercials are pretty good.

Continuing with whiteness... you'll never be more aware of your own whiteness than when you are in a country where white is the minority color. People stare at our cohort of predominately white interns like we are the Royal Family of England. On occasion, people take pictures of us simply because we are a pack of white people and they don't get to see white people that often. I think it's important to note that simply because we are a minority in this country, we have not lost any of our privilege that comes with being white. Immediately upon arrival, regardless of what your actual income looks like, you get put into the "Foreigner" category which actually just means rich.  I mean it makes since when you watch TV here. They love to throw around images of the wealth, prosperity, and happiness experienced by lighter skinned and white people. I think there's also a lot of misinformation being spread about foreign people because hey not everyone gets an education in this country and the people who get the best education have to pay a pretty penny for it. Given, a person's perception of wealth is all relative but I haven't become angry with anyone for making judgments based on my skin color.

So in this country, I have access to all the upscale coffee shops and restaurants (it helps that the exchange rate is super good) and people role out the red carpet for my arrival. Granted, Bangladeshi people are hospitable by nature but still, I'm not used to this. This meaning being so aware of my own white privilege. I could go down the white guilt road, but there's nothing worse than a white person feeling bad about having it so good.  When you are in the armpit of the world, it is shocking to realize how good you have it back in the States. I know that, although I am currently uncomfortable, sweaty, and sick of being stared at (after only a week, mind you), I will be getting on a plane in a few weeks and I have no obligation to return sans moral imperative. I like the idea of acknowledging your own privilege especially when it's so blatantly obvious. It doesn't excuse that your better off because of it but it makes you that much more aware of what you say and how you act. It also makes you super cool in my book, just saying.  I guess thus far, it's been quite a humbling experience and I probably acquired some new knowledge and perspective whether I was trying to or not. Can I count this towards my master's degree? I just made myself laugh out loud or LOL, if you will.  

Rickshawty what's your price?

It's obvious the transportation methods are blowing my mind in this country. The way things work around here are entertaining and provide a pretty well rounded cultural experience. One phenomenon that I have recently become acquainted with are rickshaw rides. Rickshaws is basically a third world country pedi-cabs only on single speed bikes from the early 80s and a carriage that's actually attached to the bike which holds its passengers. They're pretty ornate and their bells harmonize with then incessant honking. I'm sure you'll know what I'm talking about if you've ever watched the travel channel or Indiana Jones: Temple of Doom (that rickshaw might have been pulled by a dude, but the concept and sweet Dr. Jones reference are still there). Taking a rickshaw is an easy and cheap way to travel short distances around the city. A five to ten minute rickshaw ride costs less than $1. It's absurd considering I know some pedi-cabbers in Austin that had some $50 rides during South By.

The rickshaw drivers (peddlers?) are some of the skinniest men I've ever seen in my life. They're not emaciated, just muscular from working out all day. I don't think female rickshaw drivers exist. They might, I've never seen one and I think it's highly unlikely. The presence of men in Dhaka is just greater than women in general... but I digress. We can cover that topic later on.

Internship day one, myself and two other interns decide that we are going to take a rickshaw to BRAC. No one speaks Bangla, the language of the land, but somehow we manage to get across our need to get to BRAC. Being that no one in our threesome had ever been on a rickshaw, we didn't fully understand exactly how we were going to fit three people on one. The carriages can comfortably fit two if you're cool with eliminating your own personal space bubble. So we did what any family does with an extra person; you put that person on someone else's lap. And guess who got to be the Nancy sitting pretty on top...yours truly.

Ultimately that would have been fine if Dhaka's roads were in better condition and the rickshaw driver didn't have to weave through traffic. I was precariously placed on the lap of one of the interns, nearly falling off at every bump or sharp turn. Needless to say, I became instantly close with the two other interns I had just met within the previous 24 hours. Eventually we made it to BRAC University which is a block or two from BRAC Center(where we needed to be) so we counted it as a mild success, got off and paid more than we should have. I felt okay paying a little more just because it had been three of us and I really wanted to focus on the small victory of just getting there without falling off.

The next day, we took another rickshaw. When I handed the guy his money, he demanded more. We danced back and forth between his price and my price. During this short duet, other rickshaws were gathering around interested in the debate. I don't know if the rickshaw dude finally gave in or if I gave in because I was not having the band of rickshaw brothers coming after me, so we met in the middle. I still paid more than I should have according to my Bengali homies.

Naturally there's no fixed fee for these rides. You're supposed to negotiate beforehand so that you and the driver agree on a price for the service. What I've experienced is that there's a tax for being a foreigner and they love taking advantage of little ol' me. I typically ask the Bengali interns how much a ride should cost between the two locations I'm going before I begin traveling. Most of the rides, they say, should be around 30 Taka which is like forty cents. The several times I've attempted to negotiate the price, I've been relatively "successful". Meaning I managed to negotiate a lower price but they're still getting a good deal out of me. Some rickshaws want to take you places because they know you can pay them more more than they'd make otherwise. I think rickshaws benefit from the sympathy card once people really understand how little they're working for. This results in an excessive payment for a short ride and the foreigner walking away feeling better about her/himself for having improved someone's life by a dollar. In reality, all we've taught the rickshaw guy to do is overcharge the shit out of foreigners. What's cool is that some rickshaws refuse to take foreigners altogether because they don't want to deal with you. So they get to decide who, when and how they do their thing. Oh the autonomy and struggles that come with owning a small business. Can I even call it that?

The Bengali people I've met always tell me I've paid too much when I'm just trying to count the small victory of surviving the ride over. They say it's part of the culture and that I just need to do it. I get it, culture, I'm happy to follow suit. However, sometimes it just feels wrong to argue over a ten cent difference with a man who works ten hours days for change. I'd rather just pay the extra ten cents to not get into it with the dude. But then I'm just perpetuating the "foreigner tax" model. This clearly is not the worst catch 22 anyone's ever been in.

Cultural Experience No. 1

I have been in Dhaka for four days now and there are few other things that shock and awe me more about this culture than the traffic. I have never seen anything like it and it is quite possibly the first thing you get thrown into when you get here. Why you ask?...Because you have to leave the airport at sometime and thus perpetual adventure begins.

So the traffic here is like a demolition derby. You can easily tell which cars have been the "winners" and which the "losers" by the number of marks, bumps, scratches or shotty paint jobs to cover it all up. Many cars are equipped with a gnarly chrome ramming bumper for just that extra bit of reinforcement. It's protection for the inevitable collision, a wise choice. I'm assuming there are rules to the road, or at least that's what I've been told but the only universal rule that seems to apply is that if there is space, fill it. I have never seen a better demonstration of controlled chaos. I haven't witnessed any accidents yet; this system seems to get people to where they're going, inefficiently, but they at least eventually get there.

I have to credit the Bangladeshi culture for adequately using their horns, not just to show their discontent for each other like us lovely Americans do on the roads, but to simply let every other person around them know that their car is present and has joined the party.  Common motivations for horn honking appear to be "move out of the way", "I'm about to enter this intersection without stopping" or the  frequently used "I'm driving my car into the space your car is currently occupying so you should move it immediately". They're not shy about it either. The incessant honking is like a painfully orchestrated symphony that sets the tone for the entire city.

I can't really determine if there is one side of the road that you're supposed to drive on. I've been driven successfully on both sides and have watched most cars weave back and forth. Driving against traffic happens often and is quite exciting.  Like I said if there's space, they find a way to manuever their cars, large or small into it. Driving in Dhaka is pure talent and from my first impressions, also insanity. This is clearly not a place for timid drivers.  

To add to the chaos, there are an abundance of rickshaws, CNGs (they look like little three-wheeled mobile cages) and pedestrians all of which contribute to the high volume on the roads. Each of these elements somehow navigates the traffic well enough to get to where they are going and not incur fatal bodily damage. Walking around has been quite the thrill seeking adventure given that if there are sidewalks there's usually some sort of barrier that makes utilizing them inefficient, impossible or more of a danger than walking on the road itself. If you're unaccustomed to walking around in large cities, I suggest practicing in one before coming to Dhaka. Walking down the middle of the street in Time Square would be good practice for Dhaka. In preparation, I think it would also be good to simply have one of your friends drive a car at least 25 mph in your direction and practice getting out of the way quickly. 

If you are unwilling to risk being hit by a car, rickshaw or other person, you're better off staying inside or having someone else drive you around. You have to operate like the cars; if there's space, fill it and do so with your easily breakable body with no chrome bumper attached to it. When attempting to cross the street, you get a one to two second time frame to react when you see a window of space between vehicles. If you act too early or too late, at best you'll receive the angriest honk of your life, at worst you'll get hit. You really have to commit to crossing the street. I've never walked with such conviction.  I sometimes feel like a super heroine with super refined cat-like senses because my eyes are watching the car driving at me while my ears are listening for the horns or bells while my legs are walking and my neck is swiveling and eyes are darting all around in super awareness mode. At the same time, your body is flexed and ready to absorb the impact of any unforseen components of traffic. Given that description I must look absolutely ridiculous trying to cross the street but hey I haven't gotten hit yet.

I've really enjoyed attempting to navigate the streets of Dhaka and I feel that this post is a testament to my evolving ability to navigate them successfully. It has definitely been a thrilling cultural experience. While walking in Dhaka does seem dangerous, I would argue that this city has some of the best drivers I have ever seen. And, most importantly, they're not texting while driving, so you have to feel a little bit safer about that.

Word Vomit and Dhaka Day One.

I think it's fair to assume that anything I write during the immediate days following my 26 hour traveling experience to Dhaka, Bangladesh will be incoherent.  I had a 7 hour delay in the Kuwait airport during which my few entertainments were people watching and then documenting on my iphone my initial thoughts and feelings of this whole ordeal. I can tell you right now that the only reason I've finally created this blog is because I am so exhausted from jetlag, I need something to focus on other than how heavy my eyelids feel.

So for our studio audience out there, let's just recap my lovely trip to the other side of the world. I think I've decided that I really couldn't have picked a further place from the U.S. to visit. In my mind, Dhaka is the last place you fly east to get to; for traveling to other parts of Asia you fly west. Either way, it feels far. The whole journey started on Friday, May 27th when some competent United Airlines check-in counter associates told me my flight to Dulles was cancelled due to inclement weather. Great, no problem, just reschedule me on a flight for the 28th and I'd have been happy. The drama happened when it became my responsibility to coordinate the communication between United and Qatar airlines. Each airline told me the other had to reschedule my flight. After about 40 minutes of holding with United, their customer service representative then informed me that my flight to Dulles had, in fact, not been cancelled and asked if I was able to get back down to the Norfolk airport to catch the flight. A gross miscommunication on their part. My voice was shaking with anger but I thought I did a good job of asserting in a relatively calm manner that they needed to fix their mistake. They had royally screwed up and it just wasn't the kind of stress I needed given that I was already trying keep my anxiety about everything else subdued. By this point in time, my parents had already driven us back to the peninsula. Anyone from the 757 knows that trying to get to Norfolk at 6pm on a Friday evening (especially with an accident just after the tunnel ) just ain't happening. It's like equivalent to I-35 through downtown Austin on a Friday evening. Or the DC metro area any time of the day...There was no way I was making that flight.

It took them an hour and a half to rearrange all of my flight plans and I flew out of Dulles around 6:30pm on Saturday, May 28th. They upgraded me to Economy Plus which didn't occur to me until about four hours into the ten and a half hour flight. Clearly it's been awhile since I've traveled internationally. The majority of my flight to Kuwait was packed with military personnel, both civilian contractors and active duty. Man, if I had a nickel...Since my flight plans were royally screwed by United, they also thought it would be cool to ship my lovely vegetarian meal on the flight I was supposed to be on. The flight attendant was quite rude about it, so I reluctantly ate the noodles around a gross looking piece of chicken and the man next to me was kind enough to offer me his salad. Two vodka cran-apples later (a delightful twist to the standard vodka cran), I fell asleep becoming instantly aware of my upgrade due to the noticeable extra leg room.

Arriving in Kuwait was fun. Growing up as a military child with the Middle East almost always at the forefront of military operations, my assumptions were confirmed; that area of the world really does look like a large sandbox. It was also 112 degrees Fahrenheit when we arrived; a very hot sandbox. I didn't know at the time that my layover would be seven hours so I was happy to be off of the plane. I took a nap across a row of chairs in the terminal because I was quite exhausted. Then I befriended a gentleman by the name of Joel who was waiting for his connecting flight to Baghdad. Joel, as it turns out, is also from Austin. Halfway around the world and I can still find another person who understands my preference for Mopac over I-35. We got coffee and chatted until his flight at 4pm. Quite a lovely fellow. I then spent the next four hours people watching and being stared at. Never in my life have I been the object of curiosity by so many different people. I clearly stood out. It was a fun new dynamic to experience and one that I'll be experiencing for the next seven weeks. Commencing mental preparation now...

Another BRAC intern, Ali, was on the same flight to Dhaka with me but I did not know when she was arriving in Kuwait. The lucky girl arrived right as I was standing in line to board our Kuwait Airways flight to Dhaka. I was the only little white girl in the airport at that time and had not spoken with anyone in around four hours so I was very happy to see her. The flight attendant on this airline was much more accommodating then our delightful United flight attendant and he upgraded my new friend Ali and I to business class. The five hour flight to Dhaka was possibly the best flight I've ever taken. I had plenty of room, the food wasn't half bad, and I had a new friend to get acquainted with. Additionally, the flight attendant was just wonderful, offering us magazines, gum, mints, hand sanitizer and at one point he brought us "ice cream" which in reality was simply cold pudding that had the consistency of cake batter. Regardless of how it got that way, it was enjoyable.

We arrived in Dhaka around 4:30am on the 30th, "two days" after I started traveling. I think the universe should reimburse me one day this year for losing a day to travel. I want my full 365. Immigration, baggage, customs went smoothly. Our transportation, which had been arranged through my dear friend from college, Samier, found us instantly. Of course, it's hard to pick up two American girls from the Dhaka airport and not be able to immediately notice them, especially when I was very specific about the color of my shirt and bag.  A clever move on my part, I thought, just in case we didn't stand out enough.

Right now I do not have all the words to describe to you what it is like being in a developing country for the first time. The drive to our hotel was a great introduction. It's confusing, intimidating, exciting. It made me feel curious, anxious and overwhelmed. There is much to be learned in a very short amount of time. Ultimately, I'm happy I feel excited to be here because I am a long way from home. I know for a fact that there is no amount of preparation I could have done stateside to mentally prepare me for this. It's like trying to describe to someone how painful it is to get a tattoo; you really aren't going to know exactly until you get a one.

So this is all very new and exciting. My first blog post written during my first trip to a third world county. A great time to start in my opinion and also my grandmother would be very angry with me if I didn't document any of this. I only hope someone teaches her how to find this blog. Day one in Dhaka, a relative success.