There have been certain significant moments here that have really shaped and affected my whole Bangladesh experience. There are two in particular I’ve been thinking about this morning. The first happened early in my time in Dhaka. I had just finished with the whole “wow I’m in a new place this is exciting and everything is fun and an adventure” stage and was at the point that things were beginning to settle down and get frustrating and difficult. And I went one afternoon to the Canadian High Commission to register and I got there just as they were closing. And the combination of seeing the Canadian flag and speaking English to other Canadians who were telling me that I could not go in to the High Commission was the last straw. I remember very little of those moments in front of the gate arguing with the Canadian officials and guards and shaking my passport at them and dangerously close to the edge of emotional stability. However, when I look back at that moment now I realize that was rock bottom. I mean, you can’t get more rock bottom than crying outside the Canadian High Commission in Dhaka shaking your passport at a guard who is afraid that you might not only be emotionally but mentally unstable as well. But I can see now that it was only after that rock bottom that I could actually collect myself and feel like really being here: to actually BE here.
Yesterday I went to Old Dhaka. I saw the fort, the pink palace, the star mosque, the old Armenian church and took a ride on the river. But the best part, by far, was strolling along Hindu Street. For those of you not traveling in overly populated places, you would see this street as being much more like an alley full of people and rickshaws you didn’t think could fit between the walls and smells and garbage and incense and people…so many people. But it was incredible. It is my favorite place in all of Dhaka. It kind of felt like I was a hippie in the 60’s wandering around India with the smells of sandlewood and earth and people all mixing together. I went in to little shops where craftsmen were making kali idols of clay and other shops where jewelers were carving bangles out of shells and where others were making drums and flutes and kites and everything. And I stood in the middle of the street looking at the sea of people and the noise and color and life and in that moment I felt, for the first time, that I really REALLY love this place. Not that I haven’t enjoyed my time here, but I haven’t ever lost my heart here. When I really fall in love with a place I leave a piece of myself there as much as I take the experience with me. There is a piece of my soul still in Honduras and it pulls at me and calls me back. And I know that there is a piece of my soul now in Hindu Street here in Dhaka that will tug at me when I go home and define much of my experiences here.
And when I think about it now, it was worth ever excruciating moment in front of the High Commission those months ago, trying to get myself back under control, feeling like all this was a mistake and all I wanted was tea and cake at home on a cool fall day…it was all worth it to stand in the middle of the river of people on Hindu Street and have the epiphany of Bangladesh wash over me. And though I’m excited for it, its hard to mix my excitement of going home in two and a half weeks with this feeling so fresh in me…I guess I’ll just have to resign myself to complete and utter emotional instability for the next while and just let myself be carried along by moments.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment