Part 17: The Bay and the Indian Ocean

November 21, 2022

Choyghoria, Batiaghata,

District Khulna, Bangladesh

Prologue As Lisa and I sat across the table from each other tapping out our letters on our laptops, I said, “I think I’d like to write a letter that is less romantic. I should show the real side. I should write about stomach problems and people constantly staring at us and the mountains of trash.”

But, I love Bangladesh too much to show you that side. Sometimes, I’m afraid that if I tell you about the trash mountains and the food that causes stomach problems for three days, you won’t like Bangladesh. I want everyone to love it as much as I do.

A pessimist by nature, I try not to dwell on the negative. I have spent plenty of years doing that, and I have learned that it accomplishes nothing besides creating a horrible environment for everyone. For this reason, I try my best to forget about the less attractive parts of this country.

I do think that my perception of beauty and normalcy has been changed by time and distance. It’s now been over a year since I’ve walked on carpeted floors; over a year since trash cans were a common public sight; over a year since I’ve seen my family. Sometimes when I glimpse a memory from that past life, I can hardly comprehend.

The other thing is, I sat on the river banks today, and I had to write about it.

A tangle of thorn bushes is taking over one section of the bank. Just beyond the thick, sticky mud, a goat is grazing on a patch of grass. Beyond the small patch of grass, a rice field is beginning to head. There is a little rowboat beached on the bank, awaiting the coming of the tide. When the tide goes out, it can leave some interesting debris on the banks of the river. Perhaps the strangest thing I can see is a leftover idol from the temple, discarded like the useless thing it is.

A cargo boat overladen with wood is churning its way upriver. Behind it, a fishing boat skims the surface of the silky water, a boatman just visible above its curved silhouette. The sun is a bright red ball in the west, lowering slowly, but surely. In just a little while, dawn will break over America as evening settles on Bangladesh. The morning birds will sing their songs to you as the crickets and frogs of the night sing theirs to me. It’s one of my favorite songs of all.

Or, I can be less fluffy and tell you this way: I went to the river today. The water was brown. The mud was deep and sticky and I saw a goat. I watched the sunset and then I went home. The end.

****

The letter begins with John and Debbie Shetler, my students’ maternal grandparents, arriving at Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport. Ah, that wonderful place full of goodbyes and hellos. They arrived on a sunny morning at 9:30. I helped Whitney and Brandi drape their saris over their shoulders as perfectly as my foreign knowledge allows. In the van on the way to the airport, Whitney and I tried our best to pin Kylie’s together so it wouldn’t fall off. (Three-year-olds probably aren’t made to wear saris.)

We arrived at the airport and made our way to the tall black fence that stands out front. The children eagerly scanned the sea of faces for those two familiar ones. At last they were reunited with Grandpa and Grandma, and Grandpa and Grandma were reunited with them. We had a fine time with John and Debbie Shetler. I eventually couldn’t help but call them “Grandpa and Grandma” myself. It made me lonesome for my own. _________ Not long into their visit, Cyclone Sitrang hit. Eight million across Bangladesh people were left without power, over 20,000 homes were destroyed, and thirty-five lives were lost. The damage in our area was minimal, thankfully. We were without power for around twenty-four hours and a few small trees were downed. The highest recorded wind was 50 m/ph, sustained for 3 minutes, so the wind did little in impressing this Kansas girl. That being said, it was the first time I had seen that much rain. The rain ended that evening, and Whit, Brandi, and I went walking around to observe the damage. A few small trees had fallen down in the wind and there was some flooding. The whole village was black and quiet due to the power outage. We stopped to visit our neighbor’s house and ended the evening by having a water fight in the “puddle water”, as Brandi called it. The power came back on at breakfast the next morning. _________ For me, the highlight of the last month was our trip to Kuakata, a little ocean town on the Bay of Bengal. It took us five hours to drive the 120 kilometers. Perhaps the best part of the whole trip was the BATHTUB IN THE HOTEL! Simple joys...

We arrived in the seaside town just in time to watch the sunset over the Indian Ocean. In the darkening light, I couldn’t see the trash on the beach or how brown the water was. Instead, the entire beach was aglow, reflecting the splendid orange and pink banners above. The waves gently rolled onto the beach, soaking our feet in foamy water that mirrored the sky and blended seamlessly into the sand. Black silhouettes of other visitors dotted the edge of the water. First impressions truly are everything, because when we visited the beach in the daylight the next day and I saw the trash and the brown water, I didn’t care, because I had already fallen in love.

After the sun had completely set and darkness had come, the beach was aglow with seafood stands: table after table covered with fresh fish, clams, octopus, and squid. A smiling young man made and sold ruti by request. (Ruti is the Bangla word for “bread”; these were like tortillas.) Another man sold cha from his cart. I had never seen cha like this before. It was served in little clay cups that dipped in fire before filling them with steaming cha. He topped it with spices and different things I didn’t recognize, and when I asked him what it was, I couldn’t understand. Who knows what I drank that night, but I’d do it again!

Speaking of eating new things, I tried octopus for the first time! They cut it into little 3-inch strips and seasoned it generously before frying it. It still had those creepy little holes that would have made my big sister gag. (Trypophobia) I also had the delight of trying squid! It was pretty rubbery and seasoned so nicely that I could barely taste it. I don’t think I would order a whole plate of either, but it was a good experience. 10/10, would recommend.

The next day, we took EZ bikes out to Crab Beach. We bumped and bounced along for about forty minutes through back villages and along pot-holey roads. Our driver soon found out that I love water buffalo, so he took the liberty of stopping for me every time we saw a herd of them.

When we went on a safari in Africa, our guide told us that water buffalo are the world’s most dangerous land mammals. Well, apparently not in Bangladesh. They’re as docile as a kitten! I really think I could have gotten out and patted them on the head.

When we arrived at Crab Beach, I found out why it is called that. There were red crabs everywhere. They were small, maybe the size of a half-dollar. As soon as we would come around, they would scurry sideways down into their little holes. Our driver was very enthused about them, and pointed them out while announcing “Look! Red crab.” He even got out and picked one up for us.

A hundred yards out in the water, fishing boats floated with their anchors down. We arrived just in time to watch three young men/older boys take their boat and anchor it with the rest. Some of the fishermen had pulled their boats from the water and had them on wheels.

We had our drivers park the EZ bikes so we could get out and walk around. It was truly amazing. We were the only ones on the beach, save the handful of fishermen and a few people who were sitting at some small food shops. I’ve never seen a place so empty in Bangladesh. I didn’t know it was possible!

A hundred yards out in the water, fishing boats floated with their anchors down. The little boats bobbed up and down with the waves. We arrived just in time to watch three young men/older boys take their boat and anchor it with the rest.

On one part of the beach, fishermen were clearing their nets of leaves, sticks, trash, and everything else they had caught that wasn’t fish. We stopped to talk to some fishermen who were re-applying black, sticky tar to the inside and outside of their boats. They pointed out which trees they had collected the tar from. They proudly told us they were elish fishermen. Elish is the national fish of Bangladesh, and is considered by many to be the best, though this may be due to its high price. I think they were trying to impress us. I couldn’t have cared less about their elish, because my favorite fish in this country is the humble, lowly, cheap pongash (catfish). Their boat was very cool, though.

In the shade of the tall trees, we had a picnic of American ham(!) sandwiches, chips, and brownies. Once we had eaten and washed our hands in the sparkling clear blue water of the Indian ocean, we headed back. (The water wasn’t sparkling, clear, or blue. That was a joke.) On our way back to the hotel, we stopped at a Rakhine Tribal village. The Rakhine people are an ethnic group in South Asia, scattered across Bangladesh, India, and Myanmar. A majority of the Rakhine people are Buddhist, and this particular village is home to one of the largest (?) statues of Buddha in Asia. That’s what I was told anyway. I had trouble reading the sign.

We walked around the village, stopping to duck into the rows of shops. My favorite shop was the woodshop, where one can buy plates, cups, bowls, and much more handmade wooden items. The poor shopkeeper had to tell me three times the name of the wood because I kept forgetting. He finally laughed and resorted to writing it on the bottom of one of our cups.

The hotel where we stayed nights didn’t have a pool, but the more expensive resort owned by the same man did. As the two are “sister hotels”, guests at the cheaper hotel can enjoy all the amenities of the resort, and enjoy them we did. Upon returning to the hotel that afternoon, the children hurriedly and excitedly got ready to go to the pool, for in their opinions, this was the sole reason we had come to Kuakata. We swam for an hour until it was time to leave for the next excursion.

We frantically ran through showers and tried to find a fresh set of clothes to change into before we got back on the EZ bikes and drove to Sunset Point. Worth it. Worth it. Worth it. I’m sorry to McDonald Lake, but I think I have found my new happy place. Is it possible to have more than one?

The beach was a little more crowded, but not horrible. Lisa and I tried to find an in-road to the strange forest that lurked behind the beach. We found a few little cow trails here and there, but no real footpaths.

We finally gave up on our search and emerged again on the beach to find a huge herd of cows heading home for their evening meal. We looked at each other and laughed! Who would have ever thought you’d see a herd of cows on a beach? Whose are they? we asked ourselves. Our question was answered when a sari-clad woman appeared behind them, wielding a stick and chanting her ever-steady ay, ay, ay to her cows. “Are these your cows?” I asked her. She nodded enthusiastically. “Where is your home?” She pointed ahead and motioned over the hill. Why does she bring her cows to the sandy beach to graze? How does one woman control so many cows with just one stick? How do the cows climb the steep hill? I had so many questions, but she was rushing to get her herd home before sundown.

Again, the beach and the water blended in with the sky as the sun sank lower and lower. It touched the waves just before it disappeared, looking like a glowing red fishing boat and suddenly, it was gone.

That evening, after a hearty meal of octopus and squid again, we shopped the streets. The girls picked out gifts to send home to their cousins, and I helped the kids get their Bangla names engraved on seashells. After a few full hours of looking around and talking to different people, we hit the hay.

We left on the third day. I have nothing to say about that day because I slept for most of the ride. _________

Of course, we were fed lots of good food while Grandpa’s were here. Shanto’s had us over several times as well as coming over to make singaras and spring rolls.

Singaras and spring rolls used to be my love language, but when I eat too many of them from the man in the bazaar, he resorts to yelling “fatty” at me when I walk by his dokan. I didn’t say anything to him that day, for words said in anger are never wise. I pinched the tears away and walked home to cry in the privacy of my own bedroom. I was half hoping I would meet Tulshi or some other person who knows and loves me, and, upon noticing my sad face, they would ask me what was wrong. I was hoping I would tell them what was wrong and they would go tell the mean man off. Alas, that would not happen, for that day was the day Tulshi was leaving on a three-day trip into The Sunderbans.

It’s a Hindu thing, so naturally, I don’t understand it. I guess you can pay a certain amount of money to get on a boat and go celebrate Kali Puja in The Sunderbans for three days. The boat is where you sleep, the boat is where you eat, the boat is where you live for three days. It’s honestly just a big party in the name of Hinduism. I met Lisa walking to the riverside where Trevor and the rest were seeing Tulshi off.

“I’m so angry!” I said to Lisa when I saw her. I then proceeded to tell her what happened in a loud and animated voice, half wishing everyone around us could understand. I still haven’t gone back to that man’s dokan, although it may have something to do with the fact that I’m trying to abstain from food after lunch.

We walked to the point of the river where Tulshi and his friends were getting on the boat. A few family members and friends had also come to see them off. There were twelve others on that particular boat, but perhaps a dozen boats just like this one had already gone or were preparing to. We watched as they loaded cages of chickens and ducks onto the boat. I made a comment to Bishnu- our old guard and Tulshi’s older brother- about the chickens, and he chuckled under his beard and said “What, you expect them not to eat?”

A few ladies did the mandatory ritual for protection on the bow of the boat: lighting candles, twirling incense sticks, dabbing flowers, and of course, the high-pitched tongue waggling that we hear from Hindu homes every night at sundown. That is a sound I truly cannot describe. It’s eerie, mysterious, and fascinating all at once.

Kylie cried and cried as Tulshi put her down to get on the boat. “I’ll be back in only three days,” he reassured her. Everyone waved as the boat left the shore and headed down the river. ________

We left the next day to take Grandpa’s back to the airport. We got to meet the new couple! Daniel and Amber Kauffman, the Dhaka people, will be leaving in January. Jared and Brianna Regher from Hesston, Kansas will be taking their place. They have a 5-year old boy named “Layton,” and another baby due in April.

We did the Dhaka thing, taking Grandpa’s to Newmarket, Aarong’s, traffic jams, the whole nine yards. We ate suppers on the rooftop of the hotel as the sunset over the buzzing city. (Why are there so many sunsets in this one?) A sunny morning found us at the airport again, this time saying “goodbye” instead of “hello.”

We returned home the day after Tulshi returned home from the ocean. He was full of stories and videos to show. He said there were around ten thousand people there. It was literally like a Hindu conference! Except it wasn’t exclusively Hindu, even though it’s supposed to be. They say some Muslims will disguise themselves with a Hindu name and go. Tulshi said that since I’m a foreigner, I wouldn’t need to take a Hindu name if I wanted to go next time. __________

The village had a boat race the other day in the kal right in front of the school. (A kal is a body of water that would fool you into thinking it’s a river, but, unlike a river, it has two endpoints. To summarize, it's a big banana-shaped pond-lake.) There were four teams of four, each on a boat made from cut-down banana trees held together with nothing more than rope. The grand prize for the winners was a 14-inch TV.

I think the entire village and all their cousins were there. My dog even came to watch. People packed onto the narrow road, across on the other bank, and on top of the tall ones’ shoulders. There were balloons strung across from tree to tree, marking the starting and finish lines. The team members strutted about feeling important and tightening the strings that were holding their boats together. Some teams took time to practice; and what a sight it is to see a bunch of banana trees tied together flying across the water! A loud speaker mounted on top of the school proclaimed all the important announcements.

Of course, this is Bangladesh, and Bangladesh is as Bangladesh does. Bangladesh is always late. We were supposed to leave for church at 3:40. (Remember this: it’s important for later.) The race was supposed to start at 2:00. The girls and I made our way over there, and a man told us to come a little later. So, we came a little later. And stood around. For an hour. Finally, the little man inside the speaker said this: “Ok everyone, the race’s starting time has come! We will start in one minute. We don’t have much time! We must start now!” And I thought to myself, yes, you had better start now. We have to leave for church in a few minutes.

Newton’s law is a curious thing. We finally decided we had stayed as late as we could, even though the boats were all lined up at the starting line. We were walking home, trying our best to find away through the surging crowd, when someone said, “Sister look! They are going!” Sure enough. The minute we turned to leave, the race started! We found Tulshi in the crowd, and I offered that he could come along and leave with us, but he politely declined.

After church that evening, Shati Ma discovered me sneaking rice from her crock pot. I tried to tell her I was only a little hungry, and that the small handful had satisfied my hunger; that I only wanted to eat white rice and nothing more. I tried to tell her anything because I knew the inevitable was going to happen.

Of course, she got me a plate full of rice and plopped on some leftover chicken and potato curry. Of course, I was made to eat it. Hridoy told me he’d help me eat it, but of couse, after I hid the plate behind my body as I snuck to the boys’ room to indulge, he just looked at it, waved his hand and said “I’m not hungry.” Well thank you, sir. I’m not either. All being said, the food was 10/10, as always. My fingernails are still stained yellow from the turmeric. ________

Speaking of food again, Tulshi, Fahim (our family friend), and us walked down to Sunil Kaka’s (our night guard) house for supper one night. Fahim wrapped his head tightly in his new scarf, and Lisa laughed and made fun of him.

“It’s not cold!”

“It is.”

“You’re COLD?”

“Yes!”

“TRULY?”

“Really, truly.”

And so it is. I feel it too. I haven’t resorted to wrapping my head in any knock-off Gucci scarves that weren't good enough to export, but I have found myself shivering a few times. I even got goosebumps once. I truly feel like an old friend has come back after a long, long time away. I cannot tell you how beautiful it is to not be constantly covered in sweat. And the temperature has not even dipped below 70*!

Everyone dug out their jackets from stored suitcases and bins. The thick blankets are making their return. Village people mill about in thick hats and scarves complaining of the cold. I couldn’t be happier!

With cold weather comes badminton. Tulshi and I started working on building our badminton court last evening. I gathered all the trash and empty cigarette boxes and dried leaves into a burn pile and threw all the cow pies into the pond. We measured and strung boundaries, planted poles, and he and Trevor wired the lights. We played our first games tonight. (Insert heart eyes emoji here.) __________

A few days before we started building our court, I was standing in the clearing talking to one of my friends. I noticed that the ladies who work at the factory next door were donning plastic bags over their saris. I asked them what occasion warranted such beautiful, new clothes, and they motioned to a new shipment of coal that had just arrived at the factory.

They were starting to carry the bags into the factory one by one.

I thought it would be a good job for me. “I’d help you, but I have no special clothes like you,” I said. But, as I watched, I learned the bags weren’t so heavy. I could probably manage without lifting the bags onto my hips like they were. And so I started carrying in bags of coal. The ladies were taken aback with shock. They insisted that I did not need to help them, and that it must be so much trouble for me. As my hands turned black with coal dust, they apologized profusely. I reminded them that my hands were no dirtier than theirs and that I was glad to be working. It’s amazing what a little physical labor can do for the soul.

After the work was finished and the “thank yous” were said, my favorite factory lady- the one for whom I make pumpkin cake- hustled me into the narrow hallway to a sink to wash my hands. When I say narrow, I mean narrow. I thought she would just point the way and surely let me go alone, for there was barely room in this hallway for just me. I forgot that she was a Bengali, and they are nothing if not hospitable. She stood beside me, both of us squished in this teeny-tiny hallway, and washed my hands of all the black coal and dust. When they were finally white again, she was satisfied. __________

We have a wedding to attend on Thanksgiving day. The weekend after thanksgiving, all the families are getting together in Gopalgonj to have a farewell for Daniel’s and a welcome for Jared’s. Last time we did this, it was my family going and leaving. I’m so glad that’s not the case this time.

We plan to do up a good ole American Thanksgiving meal as best we can. I’ll miss the ham and the ham gravy, pretzel salad, my aunt’s dressing, and mom’s pies. But, oh well. I have much to be thankful for here.

Happy Thanksgiving to you! Eat an extra helping of your aunt’s dressing for me. Come see me,

-Kalli