Chittagong

5/4-5/6

After boarding the train, we ran into one of Tapas' collegues, Eusuf. I ended up tagging along with him and his guest from Bulgaria, Pavlo. We all walked quickly to find a hotel as the rain was only going to come harder. By the time we had all checked in and freshened up, the streets were covered in several inches of rain. Eusuf ordered food from the reception where it would be easy for one of the men wearing a lungi and no shoes to pick up our food while we waited it out in the candlelight. I suggested that we visit the District Commissioners office tonight to get a permit for the Hill Tracts, since I had been in contact with him already. When we arrived, the office turned out to be his residence. The private secretary was so friendly and we got the permit faster than you could say pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. Later, I went to a cybercafe to empty my photos and update my blog, but was interrupted by another power outage. When I checked it on Pavlo's Mac, the pictures didn't show up again. As a photographer, Pavlo said it could be due to the sensitivity of card readers to operating systems and other factors. So back to the cybercafe later to retrieve the photos from the software again. Hopefully, Nepal sells the CF cards so that I won't have to deal with this problem again


The dimly lit classroom on the floor.

The other friend and son praying in the CNG.

The next morning we went to Rangamati, one of the Hill Tract areas, hopefully avoiding all of the riots planned for that day. Eusuf had planned a boat trip around the artificial lake that would take us to the different tribes and temples. The trip was cut short very quickly due to more rain. So we decided to head back to the main land. Luckily, the rain did stop at one point which allowed us to walk around and meet the locals. It didn't take very long before we had an army of kids following us, willing us to take their photos. The gem of the trip was a school we stumbled upon in someone's home. The teacher taught English, Arabic, Hindi and other subjects to a group of kids sitting on the floor. The floor, which served as their seat and desk, was dimly lit by one light. There was no chalkboard and the walls were covered in old newspapers. Everything about this situation reminded me of a book I am currently reading called "Three Cups of Tea". It is these situations that make it so hard to choose only one cause to fight for but also makes us more compassionate to help.

On my way back to Chittagong, the bus stopped halfway and almost everyone stepped out to watch the TV. I knew it could only be the riot that had their undivided attention. Two hours later, everyone emptied the bus, or came back for their belongings and left again. I spun my head around, looking confused but deducted that the bus would not be moving any further. One woman holding a young child came back on the bus and handed me her phone saying "husband". I took it and he said "if you want to get to Chittagong tonight, take the CNG with my wife. Okay? You understand?". So I followed her off the bus, joining her other friend and son. All of us hopped into the back of a CNG, while the driver and another male friend of theirs sat in the front. The CNG went in the other direction, which I was assumed was heading towards smaller roads that led to the city. After driving
around for two hours or so, and making numerous stops to ask other drivers coming from the other direction of the situation, we parked with the rain cover drawn. The guys in the front left to scope it out while I sat in the back watching police cars drive by. If I attempted to take a photo, the ladies would quickly motion for me not to move. They sat praying and pulling their dupatta closer to hide their face when we heard what sounded like drums beating. They asked me about my religion and I got an idea they were afraid because the Muslims would attack them for being Buddhists. After remembering that they had an extra kameez and dupatta, they rushed me to put them on and cover my face as well. When it was safe to move again, we finally arrived outside of the city center a little before midnight. Their husbands, that came to meet them, greeted me. The husband that I had spoke to on the phone offered me a ride on his motorcycle back to my hotel. So a 2.5 bus ride turned into an eight hour ordeal. I found out the extremists had blocked the Chittagong-Rangamati road and the fighting had continued long into the night, especially in the capital (check out the article by clicking here), hence the delay.

The next morning, I found out there would not be any services running to Dhaka yet so I went to check out a shipyard Eusuf recommended. TaraTari Shipyard turned out to be a French NGO, aimed at improving the stability and durability of Bangladeshi boats, and supporting the community through various projects. If anyone is looking to do some volunteering in this field, I'm sure they would love to hear from you. Greg, my guide, also took me around a jute mill nearby. After repetitive promises of no photography, a guard finally accompanied us in. I couldn't say I've heard of it until now but have seen them in the form of a gunny sack. It was quite fascinatining seeing the factory at work. It was very dark and reminded me of a scene from an old movie. Half of the mill was no longer in operation so the machines sat there collecting further dust upon the thick two inches. Many of the weavers were older men and the ones spinning included some children. Upon seeing us, the children tailed us without being reprimanded. Before entering, Greg and I were discussing the humanitarian issue of child labor. Is it better for them to have this task and earn some money for their family, or is it better for them to run around the streets begging? Either way, we both argreed neither is a desirable picture but neither is the root of the problem.

When I got back to Chittagong, the buses had started running again. I got a seat beside a lady that was eager to have a female neighbor. She turned out to be very bossy and chatty. She only spoke Bangla but would drag me around insisting things. I couldn't even pee without her yelling and pounding on my door to instruct me to do something. Nice person, but pushy. Glad to have gotten to Dhaka in one piece though.