Part 3: New Favorites

October 28, 2021

Choyghoria, Batiaghata,

District Khulna, Bangladesh

Morning dawns, and sleepy eyes open. Then, they shut again, because I don’t need to be downstairs for another hour. If you thought the mission would make me into a morning person, you’re wrong. I sit on the balcony sipping coffee from my Arkansas coffee cup. The sky overhead is covered in thick, low-hanging clouds that look as if they could overflow any second. The humidity is thick in the air. Across the rice field, a young Muslim mother floats across the brick path. Twin boys run ahead, eager to get to school. It begins to rain; first evident only by the tiny drops landing in little ripples on the pukar, and then, a sudden downpour. I have no big stories to tell; only lots of little ones. Here are a few: Some new things: Badminton: The evenings are getting cooler, and that means the family can finally play Badminton. They’ve been waiting for this all year. Well, I’ve only played Tennis. They say that helps me a lot, but Badminton is more like Tennis’ distant cousin across the village, not its twin. I’ve had a couple of painful evenings of teaching, but I’m beginning to get the hang of it. And folks, Badminton is the new Volleyball. Four square court: Travis, Timmy, and I painstakingly measured and painted a four-square court on our cement slab. It has been well-used by the entire family. We’ve even convinced Bishnu, the yardman, to play. Village boys will gather at the fence looking longingly in at us as we play. We’d like to invite them in, but that’s inviting a whole new can of worms, and we have plenty of cans of worms when it comes to the village boys. Bangla classes: Most people come early and hole up in Dhaka with a language teacher. Well, I am not most people, and I came late. This means my Bangla classes are taking place around our kitchen table, four evenings a week. I come down at 4:30, all prepared for the inevitable headache that always follows. At first, I was excited about them. Then, I got frustrated. But by now, I can tell I’m starting to make actual progress, and I’m excited again. Heat: Inescapable heat. The kitchen’s the worst. It’s really not as bad as it used to be. Maybe I’m getting used to it, or maybe it’s actually starting to get cooler just like they promised. Sometimes, I just wish I could be upstairs in my Montana bedroom, piled beneath feet of blankets, the window wide open to the winter outside. Suddenly, shoveling myself out of the yard in the morning doesn’t seem so bad. Once, I caught myself wishing I could drive on icy roads again, wondering if this will be the day I finally hit the ditch.

New Favorites: Shati’s cha: Before I tell you about this wonderful event, there are some things you must first understand: 1. Cha (hot tea) is a very important part of the culture. It is had twice a day; once in the morning and once in the afternoon. 2: Shanto and Shati: some of our members here in Khulna. They have 3 boys: Hridoy, 21, Antor, 14, and Spondon, 10. (Remember their names; they will likely come up in future

stories.) Shati loves her goats and geese. Shanto is a foreman for a construction company. Hridoy is a bit of a highlight in my life at the moment because he knows about as much English as I know Bangla. This has been cause for some very interesting and entertaining conversations, but I am glad I have someone I can at least attempt to talk to. I’m 17 days older than him, so he calls me “Didi” (big sister). Antor is a little quieter, and I feel I haven’t experienced his full potential quite yet. He has a very handsome and smart dog named “Blue”. Spondon is rather cute and I have to resist the urge to squish him every time I’m with them. 3. Church: We have church every Friday at 4:00 pm. Why Friday? Friday is the day of worship here. The weekend is Friday and Saturday, and Sunday is a normal day with normal goings-on. Why 4:00 pm? I cannot say. The church is a tin and bamboo building in front of Shanto’s house. The floor is cement, and a shoe has never entered therein. (Shoes do not enter thein into any houses or places of worship. Shoes do not even enter therein into some stores.) We set up chairs under the roaring fans, and open the windows. The north windows face towards the pukar (pond), and the south-facing windows open to a two-story chicken barn. To the west is a brick path through the palm trees that leads out to the road. Directly to the east is Shanto’s house. After church is finished and I sufficiently have a headache from trying to catch any part of the sermon, Shati invites us in for cha. (We have finally made it to the point of my story. (What a trip.) We all sit on the bed and chat while she prepares it. Gontu, the baby goat who lost its mother frolics around on our laps. Shati brings biscuits and then serves her wonderful cha: liquid happiness. I savor every drop, for too soon will come the day when I will drink my last cup of cha on this wooden bed. Too soon will come the day when there will be no goat curled up on my lap who may decide at any moment that this would be the perfect place to use for a bathroom. Once the sun has set, it's time to say goodbye and snag the first easy bike home. This is the story of Shati’s cha, my favorite cha I’ve had yet. The colors: So many colors, everywhere the eye can see. The rice fields are a rich bright green. The brick paths are red, a perfect contrast against the endless seas of green. Hindu women amble along the path in colorful sarees lined with golden borders. A peek inside the fabric dokan reveals rich yellows, reds, purples. The white cows traipsing by are close enough to reach out and touch. Everything seems to move slower here. The sky above suddenly swells with gray clouds and breaks, showering the green with generous drops of beautiful rain. Hindu meals: A funeral, a birthday party, and a celebration. We are served capacious amounts of rice, curry, and doi, my personal fave. We sit cross-legged on the floor, eating with our hands and talking with food in our mouths. Always, there is a group of people around, ready to serve more rice, vegetable, or water at the first inkling that we are running low. There is definitely no shortage of service. One evening during Durga Puja (the week of religious celebration for the Hindus), Hridoy decided I needed to eat some real Bangla street food. He adopted Cheryl and me for the evening and shepherded us around the village, stopping at various food trucks along the way. I was once again amazed at the number of people that can fit into one area. I was never out of an arm’s reach from another person. Simply to cross the street, one must wade through the endless sea of humans, dodging motorcycles and easy bikes and rickshaw vans. You wil touch strangers: many of them. You may get hit by something moving quickly, but that is normal, and I absolutely love it.

Singing: What a shocker, and not that new of a favorite, but I had to mention it. The Holdemans love to sing, and there is almost always a song being sung or a tune being whistled. Singing in church is fun too. Let’s just say I’m learning to sing “No, Not One” and “Jesus Loves Me” in Bangla. (Plus also many, many unique Bangla songs.) ...and a few more favorites that don’t require quite the epistle...

Big, brown eyes looking up at me on the pathway. A bottle of coke that tastes almost the same as coke back home. Understanding and actually having a mini conversation with a Bengali lady (all under Seth’s watchful eye, who is ready to swoop in and rescue me at the first signal of distress.) The paper doll family Grace made for me, complete with a dashing young husband and five whole children. Timmy’s sense of humor. Indoor football with Seth The piece of art Lauryn drew for me in Doctrine study. (It depicts two people facing each other, tied together at the neck by a spring. They are wearing glasses and sticking their tongues out. A cat is perched neatly upon each of their heads. I did the only sensible thing, and promptly hung it on my wall, which has become a bit of an art gallery of the kids’ finest works.) . ...and in the blink of an eye, the evening has come. The sun sets in a red blaze that colors the whole earth in pink. Tomorrow we will do it all over again, and the day after that, and the day after that. And with every day that comes and passes, I fall more and more in love with Bangladesh.