Part 11: "Angels Still Sing"

June 13, 2022 Choyghoria, Batiaghata

District Khulna, Bangladesh.

Jara and Dean arrived the evening of May 25th. I wore one of my sarees to the airport and Trevor wore the new lungi he had purchased just for the occasion. The vehicle was abuzz as we piled in at 9:30 in the evening and set out for the airport. Strange things, airports. In a foreign land, they are either really sad or really happy. Tonight was a happy night. I feel so lucky to have twin cousins who take the time and money to fly to the other side of the world to come hang out with me. :)

We found parking and waited for them at the terminal. I had been communicating with them and finally got the message that read: “Ok we are coming out now.” My heart beat faster and faster as I craned my neck to see over the many heads belonging to others who were also waiting for people they loved. And finally I saw them: two of the most beautiful faces in the world. ;) It felt like a breath of fresh air. I walked up to the security guard and asked him if I could go inside the barricades to see them. He granted me access and we were reunited at last.

It was a relatively cool evening when they came in; we had all been talking about the nice weather. Jara and Dean, however, commented about how it was so hot. Ha. Foreigners. We arrived back at the flat that CSI rents in Dhaka at midnight. In a true Bangladesh welcome, the power was off when we arrived. I made Quesadillas in the dark, and we ate them by the light of the flashlight. (Almost as good as candlelight, huh?) An hour later, the power finally came back.

We came home to Khulna the next day. The girls got to experience the ferry across the river, gypsy beggars and all. Once we got into our familiar territory, I found myself pointing out all the significant sights. I was reminded of my first drive across that bridge, through that toll booth, and down this bumpy road. Most of all, I was so excited for them to meet my people. The first person they got to meet was our guard, Tulsi. He’s less of a “guard” and more of a “caretaker” and “play with the kids” kind of guy. He is a young man with a shy disposition and a huge heart for animals. Once, he even helped return a fallen chick to its nest. His only weapon is the Gerber multi tool I had my dad send along for him. I couldn’t wait to give it to him. When he opened it, all he could say was “Beautiful, beautiful. This is so beautiful. Thank you so much.” I almost wondered if I could see his eyes filling with tiny teardrops. We love him.

As soon as we got home, we left for Shanto’s. Today was Hridoy’s 22nd birthday, and we were late. He had called me when we were an hour away from the house. “Didi, where are you? We are hungry!” They had invited us for biryani, a Pakistani dish that is probably the best food in the world. I took the cake I had made out of the freezer, and we headed out for Shanto’s.

The girls got to meet the whole clan: Shanto, Shati, Hridoy, Antor, Spondon, Hridoy’s girlfriend Pinky, his best friend, Shubho, Hridoy and Antor’s uncle who is only 21 named Shorav, and their grandparents. They got to eat with their hands while sitting cross-legged on the floor for the first time. They got to awkwardly wait as one of the college boys explained to the less enlightened ones how it was possible that they were indeed twins, even though they aren’t identical. Of course, they didn’t know what was being said, but they knew it was about them. I tried my best to keep them in the loop of conversation.

The first thing we did when we arrived back home was hit the sack. We were all very tired from our early morning following a late night. I awoke just as the sky was turning a dark shade of dusky blue. Horrified that I had slept so long, I picked myself up and went downstairs to join the living. I discovered that everyone else had also slept and were actually still asleep.

Tulsi and Pim were working in the garden, so I went outside to join them. Pim is a 15-year-old boy and the entire village’s collective best friend. He greeted me in his usual manner, but I was unable to match his enthusiasm. “I just woke up.” I said in my scratchy morning voice. “Oooooooh, so that’s where everyone is! I wondered!” Tulsi exclaimed.

The next day, Dean and Jara got to witness our church service and Sunday school. It was very hot and I was stressed out that it would be too hot for their tender American selves. But, alas, they aren’t tender after all. They didn’t even complain. They got to watch an actual dogfight ensue during Choyghoria SS, and got to sit under the trees at the Chakrakhali SS.

Then, at church, they got to sit in a tin and bamboo building with no fans, as the power was misbehaving again. After church, the boys took us on a walk around the river. It was so beautiful. I could hardly handle it; I was so happy to have my Bangladesh best friends and my American best friends in one place.

The next few days were uneventful. We walked many miles around the village, stopping by people's houses and eating many mangoes and melons. Of course, everyone wanted to meet my “sister cousins” and talk with them. Nobody could understand why they would return home. “What, you don’t want to stay in Bangladesh? Don’t you like our country?” We drank a lot of cha in the cha dokans. We even played some football. We went to Khulna a few times, got the girls their very own Salwar Kameezes, and gave them their first rickshaw ride. It was fun to see everything through new eyes. I realized anew how normal this life has become to me.

One day, we went to the Sunderbans, the largest mangrove forest in the world. There is lots of wildlife: deer, monkeys, birds, and the elusive Bengal Tiger. There are only around 230 left in the world, and very few people have been lucky enough to see them.

We drove for an hour and a half and got on a quaint little boat. We went across and down a rapidly flowing river. In the middle of the river were huge cargo ships, just sitting there. Some were tied together, making it so one could jump from ship to ship. We asked our boat

driver about it, and he said they were waiting for supplies. The supply ship comes once per week or so. In the meantime, these ships drop their anchors in the middle of the river and lie in wait. After they receive their load, they travel to their respective ports to deliver it. I guess BD doesn’t have docks?? Come to think of it, I’ve never seen any loading docks at the river! It was a neat feeling, navigating through these hulking ships in such a little boat. For some reason, I felt like a little kid again.

We made it down the river to the Sunderbans, only to discover that it is closed for the months of June, July, and August. It was June 2nd. No matter, though! We were still able to go, we just needed to hire a security guard for an extra tk600. (About $7.)

Our guard/guide was named Aashik and carried a gun. He took us around the “zoo” first. We saw crocodiles: baby crocodiles, child crocodiles, rebellious teenage crocodiles, and adult crocodiles they had caged for breeding. Their names were Romeo and Juliette. The guide spoke of these crocodiles almost with reverence. Lisa was frightened that they would somehow see her as an opportunity for a snack. Of course, the rest of us found humor in this, and did not even attempt to make her feel better.

We got to see the speckled deer before heading out to the boardwalk. The rickety boardwalk leads through trees almost dense enough to block the sunlight. Beneath the boardwalk is brown, sticky mud. In the brown, sticky mud are little crabs happily crawling around. Some might describe this scene as creepy, but I thought it was quite charming. There was not a breath of wind inside the forest. All the light coming through had a tint of green, and we tried to find the birds that were singing songs from the tops of the trees.

Aashik was doing a beautiful job of speaking and understanding our watered-down English. (This is important for later.) He was answering all our questions, and volunteering information whenever we passed by a special tree. Bengalis know naught about gun safety. I know naught about guns in general, but he looked too young to be wielding such a weapon in such a careless manner.

We made it to the watchtower and climbed to the top. It wasn’t very tall; maybe three stories. We couldn’t see much from up there, but it was nice to feel the wind again. A little monkey came up and looked hungry, so naturally, we shared our food with him. First, we gave him an opened bag of chips. He took them and sat down on the railing. After his chips were finished, he came back around for his second course.Lisa did not appreciate this uninvited guest. She was armed with her stick and was prepared to attack the first sign of aggression from the cute little guy. Don’t worry, she isn’t like this with all guests. We gave him someone’s leftover chicken wrap, and he took his prize to the rail to eat it. Once he was finished, he climbed down and disappeared into the forest.

We returned back the way we had come. Halfway down the boardwalk, Lisa and I stopped to ask Aashik a question about snakes in the Sunderbans. He was having a very difficult time answering in English, so I said to him in Bangla: “Speak Bangla, I can understand.” His eyes got as wide as doorknobs and he said: “You know Bangla? But how? You knew Bangla

this whole time and you’re just now saying something? Oh, it could have been so easy for me from the start!” Forever from that time, he refused to speak a word of English, even though he had been doing perfectly fine before. Now, the questions we could ask him were almost limitless. He told us that he would not use his gun on anything unless it was charging us. He told us that over 1,000 species of snakes lived in the Sunderbans. He told us that in the 15 months he had been there, he had never seen the famed Bengal Tiger. The only problem was, now, there was also no limit to the questions he could ask us. And ask he did.

We made it back to home base and drank some coke. Then, we bade Aashik goodbye and got back into the boat for our ride back to the other side of the river. Our boat driver took us down a smaller river, past houses and picturesque riverside villages that looked too pretty to be real. Our boat driver informed us that the village people swim in the river, which is inhabited by crocodiles. I told him that this must be trouble for the local people, right? He replied “oh no, but now and then a crocodile will come and take a child or a cow,” as if it were as common as grandma coming to visit. He then told us that a few times, tigers have even come from the forest and run off with people. Personally, I think I would move.

Another day, we drove an hour to Gopalgonj to eat shrimp curry with Kelly and Lanae’s family. Then, we all loaded into one van and drove another two hours to “Monkey town” aka Madaripur. In this town, monkeys roam freely and love when foreigners come to feed them. We are foreigners, and we had come to feed them. Soon, the word spread among the monkeys and locals, and many showed up: monkeys and Bengalis, that is. We weren’t sure who the monkeys were, us, or the actual monkeys.

I had so much fun that day. Some monkeys would take the peanuts so gently from my hand that I almost expected to hear a “thank you.” Others grabbed with startling force. I think my favorite was the mama monkey with a tiny baby clinging to her chest.

One evening, we went out to the river that runs beside a neighboring village. We sat there enjoying the cool breeze and the fiery sunset. Women were fishing for shrimp by the bank, ships would slowly pass, and every now and then, the dolphins would jump.

Then, one day, we packed back up and headed back into Dhaka. We went a few days early so the girls could experience the city. We did all the normal Dhaka things: hit our normal markets, bought some fabric, souvenirs, rode in some rickshaws and CNGs, ate at Pizza Hut, and went to our coffee shop. (If you ever feel like putting a little extra in the CSI offering, let us know and we will go to North End ;] )

We took them back to the airport on a Sunday evening. This was one of the times the airport was a sad occasion. We reluctantly said goodbye, and I waved at them one last time as we drove away. I managed to hold back the tears as we drove our empty-feeling van away from the airport. We got back to our beds around 1:00 am, and I found a surprise waiting for me! Trevor and Lisa and fam had bought flowers for me! Apparently they were listening when I had gazed out the window as we passed a flower shop a few weeks prior and had said “I wish I had someone to buy me flowers...”

That was not the only surprise awaiting in the night. At 1:30 am, Jara messaged and said their flight had been delayed 6 hours. Then, she messaged again and said it had actually been delayed 16 hours. So, after much messaging, confusion, and a phone call or two, they arrived back at our apartment at 3:00 am, more frustrated than happy. I don’t blame them. And so we had another day. And we spent it sleeping. We ate breakfast at noon, and left for the airport two hours later. I barely said goodbye this time because I didn’t know if it would stick or not. But, this time, it did. Soon, they were flying away from me and back to my homeland. I do feel that a small part of my heart went with them.

It still felt good to come back home to Khulna. Hridoy and Antor came over soon after, which I have discovered is one of the best remedies for when I am sad. Hridoy made us food like usual and Antor and I challenged each other to eat a hot chili. It was a mistake on my part. He didn’t feel a thing, of course. But I, on the other hand? I felt everything.

Summer may end eventually. I will be glad when it does. It seems that every Sunday night, I have a wedding to listen to. I told my family the other night that, at this rate, all my friends will be married by the time I come home. Let it happen, I said. Once they are all married, at least I won’t have any more weddings to sit through, alone on my broken rocking chair. But I can sit in my broken rocking chair on my balcony 7,000 miles away and still be happy for them. I can listen to their choirs sing morning songs in the evening, and I can imagine how beautiful and perfect they must look sitting on the front bench of our church. I can close my eyes and almost imagine myself sitting there with them.

If you have any extra prayers in you, please pray for the people here. Times are tough for them and the future seems uncertain. There are many unanswered questions and it all leaves them asking, “How will we manage?” The man who suffered a stroke 16 days ago hopes he can get out of bed again someday. One Brother cannot provide for his family due to his injured shoulder. Meanwhile, a windstorm has ruined his tiny mud house. Another Brother wonders how he can keep his construction company running if he has no workers, while his boy wonders if he will find work enough to pay bills after college. Our Sister up north wonders if her husband will ever repent and come back to the church. Sometimes, we cannot understand their way of life and their culture. We cannot make things easier for them. My heart goes out to them, and I just want to give them everything they need and make everything better. I wish I could give them just a glimpse of Heaven and tell them that everything will be ok in the end. But alas, I am human, thus my capabilities are limited. I know God can still work miracles. And... “If you listen, the angels still sing” (-Korey Smith) They do. Everyday.

One last bit of news before you go: I have earned my very own Bangla name. Aditi. A smiling friend gave it to me one morning after days of careful thought. I am obsessed.

Come see me,

-Aditi