Since it's raining...

I'm slowly getting into the swing of Bangladeshi life after this first week. I've oriented myself for the most part, so let me tell you about where I live!

I live in Bangladesh, the most densely populated country on Earth. Bangladesh is about the size of Iowa, but contains half the population of the United States (about 150 million people). Bangladesh had been part of the Indian colonial holdings of the British Empire until 1947, when India was split into two independent nations, India and Pakistan. Present day Pakistan and Bangladesh were split from India into West and East Pakistan, respectively, an Islamic nation split by the entire nation of India. West Pakistan's grip over the government of Pakistan led to civil and political unrest in East Pakistan, which culminated in a bloody war for Independence from West Pakistan. West Pakistan is now Pakistan, and East Pakistan became Bangladesh.

The Bangladeshis speak Bangla (Bengali) and are ethnically Bengalis, a language and culture that they share with West Bengal (capital: Kolkata/Calcutta), the Indian state that borders Bangladesh to the west. West Pakistan's resistence to allowing Bengali as an official language of Pakistan was, and still is, an important symbolic grievance for East Pakistan. The Bengali Language Movement was a strong player in the years leading up to the war for Independence in 1971, and Bangladesh's annual independence holiday is called International Mother Language Day.

(The Call to Prayer microphone/sound-system at the Tara Masjid aka the Star Mosque in Old Dhaka)

I mention all of this because I can't leave my apartment without being reminded of the history that shaped this city. The Muslim call to prayer, which resounds five times daily from mosques throughout the city, including one a block from my house, ensures that I don't even have to leave my apartment to be reminded. I've been trying to learn Bangla for the past month or so, and even a simple 'kaemon achen?' ('how are you?') is enough to put a big smile someone's face. Bangla is not just a part of their culture, it's the pride of their nation. Many people are around the world love their country and their culture, but far fewer are truly able to say that they are proud of it like the Bangladeshis are. Maybe it's because only 37 years have passed, so the memory of the liberation war is not just a memory recorded in textbooks. I suppose Americans in 1820 must have felt the same way.

For the last ten years, India has been in the global spotlight. When Bangladesh achieved independence, Pakistan fled with most of the political and economic leadership. Struggling to find its footing on the world's stage, I'm witnessing a country that is lucky to make a footnote The Economist, but not for lack of trying. Dhaka is a city that looked completely different five years ago, and will probably be unrecognizable in the next decade.


I hear the call to prayer a few times every day, but even more often I hear the sounds of hand labor and construction. The skyline is laden with incomplete buildings.


I feel humbled, and blessed, to be able to witness this country in its explosive adolescence. The poverty around me is not a result of laziness; these men and women are working day and night to earn their meager salaries. The world may not care, but Bangladesh is trying.