Bangladesh 2024 pt. 5: Celebrations, Snakes, and Soya Beans

SUNDAY, JUNE 16th, 2024

Khulna, Bangladesh

DAY 10

Happy Father’s Day!

We got in the van and drove through Khulna City. Eid would be the next day, so town seemed emptier than normal. Everyone had gone home to their villages or were in their houses preparing for the celebrations.

Eid Al-Adha. This is the annual Islamic holiday in which faithful followers sacrifice and animal: a bull, billy goat, or, if you’re really rich and really faithful, a camel. (That’s what Muhammad sacrificed way back in the origin days.) This celebration commemorates Abraham’s (Ibrahim in the Quran) willingness to sacrifice his son. The man of the house slits the animal’s throat while others hold down the legs and feet. (They say there are lots of injuries each year: men getting kicked by the animals, people accidentally chopping off their fingers and hands during the butchering, ect.) Once the throat is sliced and the animal has bled out, the men must step in the blood. There are lots of rules: the animal may not see the knife; the animal may not be slaughtered in front of another animal; the knife must be sharpened as to not cause any undue pain and suffering; when cutting the throat, the word “Bismillah (In the name of Allah)” must be uttered; the body of the animal must be completely cold before butchering begins. They must divide the meat into thirds: one-third for yourself and your family, one-third for your neighbors, and one-third is to give to the poor.

Of course my animal-loving heart can’t take it. I have decided I wouldn’t make a very good Muslim. Most people sacrifice bulls, and I can’t bare to think of those huge, gentle creatures being held down and slaughtered for blood sacrifice. (I’m not a vegetarian, but sometimes I feel like I’m on the verge.)

And so, the day before Eid, we drove around Khulna and looked at everyone’s beautiful bulls. They were tied to posts, trees, fences, wherever. I wanted to cut all the ropes and lead them to freedom.

We found the market where they were selling them. Beautiful bulls… red, white, black. I felt so sorry for them. We stopped and watched as people led their prized sacrifices away. We got quite the show as one of the bulls broke away. Three men ran frantically behind, trying to incarcerate the animal once more. I wonder how much money was exchanged that day. We heard the bulls can go for $3000-$5000.

After that ordeal, we went to the big market. We walked around the back side looking for treasures for me to take home. We stepped over trash and around puddles. The sky was gray and heavy and looked like it could dump rain at any minute. The vendors yelled for us to come as we squeezed past other shoppers. It was so HOT. I filled my bag with treasures and we headed back to the respite of our AC van.

Trevor drove around town and suddenly we found ourselves at the river. We marveled at the children who lived on the railroad and by the river. There were people getting on small ferries and launches to go across the river. One of the big ships had just come in and the men were working hard. Doing what? I don’t know. Sometimes these people are good at looking like they are working.

For lunch, we went to a hotel. We waited over an hour for our food. Whitney finally declared that she thought the chef had died. Finally, just as I got up to go stand next to the window, the food came. I should have got up long before.

After lunch, we drove around the rich part of Khulna looking at everyone’s bulls. Some people had their bulls out in the open for everyone to see—perhaps to show how much money they had to purchase one. Some people kept their bulls inside the gate underneath tents, or inside the garage beside their cars. We saw one of the men sharing his bread with his Billy Goat. I guess some might have half a heart after all.

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MONDAY, JUNE 17th, 2024

Khulna, Bangladesh

DAY 11

Eid Mubarak!

Dipti, the maid and the cook, made Bangla food today just for me. She made chicken curry and vegetable fry. And rice of course. How could I forget. It was sooooo good to eat her cooking again. I only wish I had been feeling better so I could have eaten more.

In the afternoon I went back to Ety’s house. Ety is the wife of our guard’s brother. As per the culture, they all live in one house with the parents. The parents have both died, so now it’s just Bishnu, his wife, Ety, their daughter, Puja, and our guard Tulshi. Bishnu was the guard for 15 years before Tulshi took over. We still have a very good relationship with their family.

Ety is only a few years older than me, and she’s super sweet. She told me today that she was married at 14. It was an arranged marriage, and Bishnu is 10 years older than her. She told me, “I was sleeping one night and didn’t know anything of it. When I woke up, they had my marriage arrangements made.” I asked her if she had been scared. She said no, she was ready to get married. She had quit school after 3rd grade. I told her she was lucky: she had received a very good husband and a good family. “They’ve been very good to me,” she agreed.

That evening, we had an invitation to eat at a Bou Bhat. This is customary for Bangladeshi weddings. The wedding happens at the bride’s place on day one, and day two is hosted by the groom’s family. This is when the groom brings his bride — his Bou— home to his village, and they serve everyone a meal— bhat. Ergo: Bou Bhat

We don’t have any direct connections to the people, but Brother Shanto had built their house. The family looks very well to do and their house is amazing. They had a tent set up in their yard for everyone to sit under. They were expecting around 550 guests to come and go, and they had purchased 120 kg meat and 75 kg cups dry rice for the occasion.

Shanto was already there, so we stopped by his house and picked up his wife, Sister Shati, and two of their sons: Hridoy, 24 and Spondon, 12. (Their middle son Antor, 17, had gone to his Uncle’s for a few days.) We drove down the winding, narrow road enjoying the lush greenery. It was a little drive, but soon, we were there.

We couldn’t sit down to eat right away as there were only a certain number of tables. Instead, we walked around meeting and greeting. The bride was sitting in her little “sitting spot” for pictures. I’ll never get over the Hindu brides. Maybe I’ll just include a picture instead of trying to describe it. Basically, the next morning when they get out of bed without all their makeup and jewelry on, they look like a completely different person.

(It can take up to 8 hours for a Hindu bride to get ready)

Of course, we had to sit with her and take pictures. When the groom appeared in his all-white garb, we had to take pictures with him too.

Their marriage was arranged and they didn’t seem to be in love at all. When they sat for pictures, they both looked like they were just getting through it and couldn’t wait for it to be over. But, some arranged marriages seem to work here. One thing Brother Shanto explained: an arranged marriage isn’t necessarily a forced marriage. Basically, the parents present their children with one or two good options, and if the child agrees, the marriage can go forward. If the child does not, the parents will start looking for a different option. (When I say “child”, I don’t mean an actual child child. Underage marriages don’t happen here much anymore. I just thought the word “child” sounded better than “offspring”.)

While we waited to eat, we walked out into the pasture a bit. We enjoyed the breeze and watching the children fly kites. It was so peaceful and beautiful out there. It was a large clearing with lush, green trees framing every side of the area. I know I keep talking about the luscious green; but I am sorry— I’m from Western Kansas and I just can’t get over it. (For the record, I think Kansas has its own beauty too.)

We returned to the house and sat down beside a tree to wait. Of course, it wasn’t long before people swarmed around us. It’s so hard being famous lol. Lisa and I talked to a lady and her granddaughter for quite awhile. It always impresses me how these people are so willing to just get in your face and talk about anything and everything. Privacy is totally a foreign thought to them.

Speaking of privacy, we found out that around 30 people had stayed at the groom’s father’s house the night after the wedding. The day that ever happened in America…. They love it. They love being a part of each other’s lives and they love being one big happy family. I too am a people person, but at the end of the day, I like my own private place to recharge.

We sat down to eat in front of the fan. They turned it on high for us foreigners, and I, who was sitting directly in front of it, struggled to cope with my hair blowing backwards into my face and my plate flying in every direction. Better than no fan, I guess. They served us dal (lentils), potato curry, pork curry, chicken curry, and mango tok. (I don’t know how to explain what tok is. The English word for tok is sour. They make tok out of different things: tomato, tamarind, mango…. It has a very strong flavor but is a good way to end a meal)

I declined the pork, as it’s usually very oily and not my favorite. Sometimes the pork is served with the skin and BRISTLES still attached. Not my style. I’ll try everything once, but my “one time” happened long ago. I told the server that I would take a potato from the pork curry though. He gave me one, along with a nice big chunk of pork fat. That’s the good part, you see. I was thankful Shati was sitting next to me and likes it. I discreetly slid it to her plate.

Once the meal was eaten and we were full to our necks, we were ushered into a neighboring house and were sat down. They got out the cups and served us coke and sprite. After sitting there for a bit, we got up to leave.

We encountered quite the sight on the way home. We came up on a rickshaw van accompanied by two men.

(Rickshaw van: used for transportation of goods and people)

Our headlights bathed the van in a dim, golden light, and we could see that there was something on it. It was something rolled up in a blue mat. Trevor said, “is that?…” and then I looked and saw it. There was a pair of feet poking out of the rolled up mat. Never mind the fact that there is just casually a dead body rolling down the road in our headlights.

We followed them for a bit, arguing about whether it was actually a dead body or not. I think some people were trying to convince everyone it wasn’t for the sake of the children. But we had all clearly seen feet. Hridoy and Trevor wanted to get out and ask the men what had happened. At this, there was a chorus of NOs and ABSOLUTELY NOTs.

We were all intrigued. In Hindu culture, they burn the bodies within 24 hours of their death. But it’s a whole ordeal. There would be a lot more fanfare and people than just two people rolling down the road in the dark. It seemed a little too sketchy for comfort. But, as Lisa pointed out, they weren’t trying to be sneaky about it. They were heading toward the bazaar where lots of people and lights are. It’s not like they were trying to sneak around in the middle of the night.

Who knows what happened. When we got home, I told our night guard what we had seen. He said he hadn’t heard of a death. (Word spreads fast.) In the end, he was just as confused as we were.

I’ll admit, when I closed my eyes to sleep that night, I saw a pair of feet poking out of a blue mat.

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TUESDAY, JUNE 18th, 2024

Gopalgonj, Bangladesh

DAY 12

Doyle and Krystal Barkman from Annapolis Valley, Nova Scotia, are the current Gopalgonj couple. They have four adorable children, aged 3 months—6 years. Krystal was a teacher in Gopalgonj 12 years ago. They invited us over for the day, so we got in our white minivan and scurried down the road.

We were greeted by the new puppy, Copper. (RIP Buddy ???-2024. He was a good boy.) We walked around the house, inspecting the new concrete and the updated landscaping.

Gopalgonj is truly a beautiful post. Palms and bushes line the road barely big enough for our van. There is a canal running in front of the house and a pond beside. The only things that pass on the road are motorcycles, dogs, cows, and people. It’s so quiet and peaceful. From the roof, one can see for miles…. Trees and pasture in every direction. The yard is dotted with flowering bushes and fruit trees.

We had a gorgeous lunch of tacos and rice. I had the privilege of holding the baby during the preparations, so I didn’t have to do anything to get ready for lunch. ;) I know how to manage my time well. After lunch, we sat and drank our coffee while we chatted in the living room.

Then came a highlight of the trip. Doyle had arranged for us to go on a boat ride down the canal. We precariously shimmied down the bank and got in the boat. I was a little worried it would capsize when I got in. Alas, it held.

The boat was maybe 35 feet long and 5 feet wide. At the back of the boat stood the boatman. He pushed us along with his bamboo stick, pushing off the bottom of the canal. Tall grasses and marshy plants grew up along the banks. Water hyacinths and lily pads dotted the water. We skimmed across the water, marveling at the beauty of it all.

I tried to find a picture to show you, but I couldn’t find any to do it justice. Your imagination will have to do.

We came to a point where the water hyacinths had completely taken over the canal. A little farther on, there was an old man standing on a floating garden. He was holding something up for us to see. Draped over his stick was a huge black snake with three white stripes. Slowly and painstakingly, the boatman pushed us along through the hyacinths to where he was standing. The snake was dead on the ground. I asked him to pick it back up so we could see it. It was amazing—maybe about 4 feet long and fat. The man said it was a “black cobra.” After the sighting, the children were instructed to keep their feet and hands inside the boat at all times. (!)

Doyle’s did some research later, and we’re pretty sure it was a King Cobra. We wondered why the snake we saw didn’t have the King Cobra’s distinctive hood, but after some research found out that they only flare their hoods when they are agitated.

We turned back around and went the way we had come. The whole time, there was a smaller boat with three young boys staying right with us. They dove in the water and swam beside and climbed back on and were just having a jolly good time. Someone commented that that must really be the way to grow up.

I had to think about what Mama Cheryl once said. She said if she had to stay in Bangladesh all her life, she’d like to be a duck. They have so much water to splash around in and they must be so happy. Well, I think being a duck in Bangladesh would be a fine time, but I’d also be content to be a 10-year-old boy with a boat and not a care in the world.

(floating gardens)

We leisurely floated along past the village. People came out of their houses to stare and point. When we pushed up against the bank to get out, we precariously tiptoed out of the boat, hoping not to fall in the canal in front of our growing audience.

I just loved every minute of that boat ride. Sometimes, I forget I’m only here temporarily. I wanted to think Hm, this is something we can do next time we come, and the time after that. This is something I can bring my company to do! I keep forgetting that this time, I am the company.

We had sandwiches for supper, did the dishes, sat around and talked, and then drove the hour and twenty minutes to home.

(I missed you, Kelly, Lanae, Marcy, Thomas, Krista, Sally, and Miss Trish)

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WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19th, 2024

Khulna, Bangladesh

DAY  13

I woke up to the rain. Beautiful rain. They’ve been needing it here. It cooled things off and washed the dust off the trees and grass.

I stood in on the roof and watched the boys playing football in the field a little distance away. I listened to the constant rumble overhead. It was kind of a dry rain, but just the right rain for playing football.

In the morning Brandi and I went to the place where the men were working on the new building for Sunday School. Trevor, Brock, and Kylie were already there as Tulshi and Bishnu were breaking the ground. It’ll be so nice to have our own building for Sunday School.

It was raining off and on, and when Brandi and I left and turned toward the dokan to buy coke, it started to pour. We ran home in the torrent.

(Example of a village dokan [Bangla for “store”])

Our neighbor had invited us for mangos. And so, just before lunch, Brandi and I slipped and slid down the narrow, muddy paths to their house. We sat on their veranda eating mangos to our heart’s content.

We were so thankful to have an invitation to Shanto’s house for supper. Something to do on this slow day! And so, after a walk to the river to see what the rain had done, we loaded up and went.

Shanto and Shati wanted to feed me my favorite foods. I had ordered egg curry, soya beans, and payash. Soya beans are quite peculiar. I encountered them for the first time one day when I stepped inside a dokan to get out of the rain. They were sitting in a barrel waiting to be bought. “What are these??” I asked. I had never seen the like. Rotin told me they were soy beans, but they didn’t look like any soy beans I had ever known. They were dry, puffy round things. I asked how they were cooked and Rotin said, “Just like we cook meat!”

(Dry soya beans)

I was still puzzled and didn’t know what they were, but way back then I told Shanto’s I wanted to try them. He made them for me, and I was hooked. But I still didn’t know what they were. Everyone knows i talk too much, and very soon, the whole village knew they were my new favorite. I ate them every time I went somewhere. During my last week of teaching here, all my friends and neighbors wanted to have us over for one last meal. When they asked me what I wanted to eat, my one reply was “Soya beans.” I had so many that week, that I almost got burned out. When Shanto said he had one final gift for me to take back to America, I didn’t necessarily expect for it to be 3 bags of soya beans; but that’s what it was.

Now upon my return, I had to eat them again. It had been a whole year and I still didn’t know what they were, but I was ready. Sitting on Shanto’s floor with my plate before me, I turned to Hridoy and asked, “Actually, what are soya beans??” And then I found out. He told me that they take a soya bean, extract all the oil from the bean, and then grind up what’s left into powder. Then, they take that powder and mush it up all together into these little balls. They are high in protein and a favorite of the Hindu people, as they don’t eat much meat. (It could be their uncle they’re eating you know) At last, the mystery had been solved.

(Soya bean curry)

(Egg curry)

(Payash [rice pudding])

We prayed for the food and I went to pick my plate off the floor. In doing so, my paper plate broke and spilled all over me and the floor. My boiled egg went rolling across the concrete, and my soybeans were a mess in a puddle.  I just stared at dumbfounded it and laughed. I ate what I could from my lap, and collected the rest of the rice and soya beans onto my plate. Shati looked at the plate in horror. “Don’t eat that!” she said. I reassured her that I was just cleaning it up and didn’t plan on eating it. I went outside to wash up, and I found that my white pants were completely ruined. So much for that. Now I will take soya beans with me wherever I go.

(My egg would roll off my plate one more time, but looking around, I saw that nobody noticed. I quickly picked it off the floor and put it back onto my plate. )

At the end of the meal we had my favorite: payash. (Aka rice pudding) I have also talked too much about my love of payash. I had two helpings. Shati sent home an ice cream container full of payash, and I had some at home too. We finished off the evening at Shanto’s with some raucous Bengali singing and went home.

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I have one more week in the village, and nine more days in Bangladesh. It’s been so worth it. I’m so glad I came. Every day I’m so thankful for the love that surrounds us here. This post is in desperate need of replacements, so I’m trying to get everyone enthused to come :) You won’t regret it. I promise. Of course, nothing is without its struggles, but I can assure you that you’ll carry this country and her people with you wherever you go. 🤍

Love from Bangladesh 🇧🇩

-Kalli Sue