Part 2: A New Normal

September 30, 2021

Choyghoria, Batiaghata,

District Khulna, Bangladesh

Imagine you are in your hometown. I don’t know where you live, but I think of Ronan, Ulysses, Charlo. These places have been my hometowns. Imagine yours. Now, think of every person you know. Think even of the people you ran into in town yesterday. They each have their own car, and they are all in your town. For every two cars, add one bus, absolutely packed to the brim and running over. For every one bus, add five rickshaws and five little green CNGs. Take out all but a few traffic lights, road signs, and awareness of any basic traffic laws. Now imagine that every person in every form of transportation has a mission in mind, and they must all accomplish theirs first. Smog hangs in the thick, muggy air. It smells of humans: of sweat, of the occasional whiff of cologne from the business man closely rushing by. It smells of machines: of beat up buses that look like they shouldn’t run another kilometer, of little green CNGs that beep and weave in and out of the bumper to bumper traffic. Stop for a minute and take in the noise. Try to number the blaring of horns in just one minute. Overhead, you catch a glimpse of a hulking black beast, a military helicopter lazily dragging across the sky. Suddenly, out of the chaos ascends the Muslim call to prayer, a mighty crescendo that grows and grows and bellows across the city. Soon, more join in from neighboring Mosques, each with its own mournful wail. It sounds like strange music. This is Dhaka, the capital city of Bangladesh.

Dhaka is a city of 8.9 million, and I’m pretty sure they are always in one place all at once. Upon my arrival in BD, I spent a little more than a week there. I wore my mask tightly in public, not to ward off the evil clutches of the vile disease, but simply to avoid any more bus breath (the term affectionately given to the traffic fumes which cause headaches, nasaua, and in extreme cases, claustrophobia.)

All things considered, Dhaka is a wonderful city. The food that comes out of its rugged streets is unrivaled. The smiles from its fruit vendors are some of the most beautiful things in the world, and you realize the old cliche is true: “Everyone smiles in the same language”. It is filled to the brim with its own charm.

I’d like to introduce you to my new family. They are amazing, and I could go on for hours, but I think I’ll save you the trouble. They are from Hawkeye, Iowa, and will be leaving BD for good in March. I’m already sad.

Papa Travis is a tall, skinny man with not very much brown hair. He calls his wife “Dear” and his boys “Son.” He is a good-humored, pleasant-natured man who talks to everyone he meets. What he lacks in hair, he makes up for in volume. I am still amazed at the amount of sound this skinny man can produce.

Mama Cheryl is just an all-around honey. She has medium blonde hair and makes good sausage and eggs. My personal interpreter, she sits next to me in church and translates the sermon from Bangla to English. She is also my Bangla teacher, and I admire anyone who has the patience to teach me anything.

Seth is 15 and just as tall as his dad. I told him the other night that I had always wanted a little brother, but since meeting him, I’m really glad I never had one. (I was KIDDING!) I am really glad to have him around. He is one of the smartest people I know and is always spouting facts nobody asked to hear. (Edit: Seth “stumbled upon” my letter when he borrowed my computer to write a funny poem. Well, he had no option other than to read it, and read it he did. He informed me that it’s far too sappy and that the things I wrote about him aren’t true. I let him know that they certainly are true so there. He said I must have written it one night when I was rather full of uncontained emotion. He’s probably right. It is nice to know that my facts are correct, because if they weren’t, I’m quite sure he would make it known.)

Timothy is in 7th grade. What a breath of fresh air. While Seth is one of the smartest people I know, Timmy may well be the funniest. He nearly killed me at supper tonight. He was making up stories and I nearly choked on my food and aspirated my water. I was in tears of laughter by the time he was finished. He has sandy blonde hair that almost touches his blue glasses, and I’m pretty sure that giggle could melt a million hearts of stone :)

Grace is in 5th grade. I have found someone who loves animals more than I do. I’m not kidding. I didn’t think it’d ever happen, and I had to come all the way to Bangladesh to find her, but it’s true! She has a pet goat named “Penny” that she’s already entrusted to me when they go home to America. She loves to pet all the wild dogs that live in the village. Every time we see a goat or cow out in the pasture, she trots over to it and makes a new friend.

Lauryn: my little squeeze toy:) She’ll be starting Kindergarten soon, and she’ll learn lots of new things. Hopefully she learns how to say her r’s:) She talks in a high pitched squeak and wears a little white hat with flowers on it. She has a stuffed koala named “Todd” and wants to be a doctor when she grows up.

Toby: I didn’t realize there was a dog. I was never informed of this glorious news. On the way to our house for the first time, I asked Seth if it would be possible to catch one of the street dogs and tame it for a pet. He squinted those brown eyes at me and said “We already have Toby, now why in the world would we need another one.” It seemed to me like he thought I should have been born knowing this news. My heart did leaps and bounds. “You have a dog?” I asked. I couldn’t wait to meet him, and even though they told me he was the stupidest dog in the country, I already loved him. I have come to find out that he is indeed the stupidest dog in the country, and possibly the world, but we are best friends. Every morning after I pour my coffee, I find Toby to tell him good morning. And he lifts his nose to the sky and howls in reply.

Monty and Morty: cats from the street. I used to think they were an eyesore, what with their pink eyes and huge ears and round bellies. Cheryl and I agree that they resemble mice more than cats. I used to make the awful social blunder of messing up their names, much to the children’s utter dismay and horror. But of course, I have fallen in love with them, and I finally know their names.

Now I am home in Khulna. Our house is down a horrible road that should be impassable by car, but this is Bangladesh, so it is made possible. Every time we drive down our road, Travis says “DEAR, I don't know if we are going to make it.” On one side, the yard is lined with tall palm trees. Cows, goats, wild dogs, and village people amble by our gate at their own leisure. Across the road from the house is a rice field, and beyond that, a muddy football field where Seth and village boys play every day. We have recess down there sometimes, too. I usually come back half dead from the heat. If I’m in the mood to get stared at, it’s only a short walk from our house through the village and to the river.

We hear the prayer calls, too. (Sometimes Toby howls along.) They aren’t as high quality as the ones in Dhaka, but they still sound five times a day. In fact, I’m listening to one now. This one’s system is going kapoot, but I suppose it still gets the point across. Today at story hour (we have story hour out on the balcony), we had quite the production. The men across the fence were working with their loud tools and Bengali music, passing motorcycles and rickshaw vans were blowing their horns, and the prayer call was sounding, all at the same time. I read louder and louder until finally I could produce no more noise. Curious thing, Bangladesh. Finally something exists in my life that is louder than I am.

I’m settling into life here. We start school at 9:00 in the morning and end at 1:00. Church is every Friday at 4:00. Every evening we go up to the balcony to sing. We read“The Scarlet Pimpernel” and eat uncooked spaghetti noodles. And suddenly, everything new isn’t so new anymore. They are normal things, and this is home.

“Thus ends my emotional, sappy, factually-correct letter.” Thanks for all the messages and emails! It’s nice to know the home folk haven’t forgotten me quite yet :)

ok see you love you byyyyyyeeeeeeeee.

-Kalli