the lonely light of morning, the wound that would not heal...

I spent a good portion of my day reading Angelina Jolie's "Notes on my Travels". Its not an easy read. You can tell she's not a writer, but she cares passionately about what she's discussing and the people she has met. There is an honesty in her words that reveals her sincerity. What really struck me was the way in which she described some of the situations she encounters as a Goodwill ambassador for the UNHCR. There were moments that I was reading her words and I could see it, I could feel and smell and taste the poverty she was describing, and it came to me that it was Bangladesh. I could see the naked children running through the alleys filled with excrement. I could taste the dust of temporary housing on my tongue, dulling my taste, choking my throat. I could smell the well of contaminated water being pumped over clothing and cooking alike. I could hear the noise of vehicles and children and bartering in the markets. In Jolie's description of buying appropriate clothes in Pakistan, I saw myself 12 months ago standing in Mohammudpur bazzar. The beggars who press up against the windows, the gender barriers, the bright colors and strange foods, it all swept over me again in a wave of strange emotions. Most of the time, Dhaka sits in my brain barely covered by my conscious thought and in moments like today, I can still close my eyes and be back there in an instant. I'm still not sure what to make of Bangladesh. It was almost a year ago since I've been there, but I still cannot make sense of it. A year before then Honduras stole (and when I say stole, I mean I willingly gave it) a piece of my soul that will forever stay in Varsovia, but Bangladesh and I have been somewhat at odds since I arrived there. I would not exchange my experience there for the world, but while Honduras made me feel as though my heart expanded to encompass what was new, Dhaka ripped me open and left me raw to deal with adding this perspective. But I am coming around to believing there is power and passion in the violence by which Bangladesh impressed itself upon me.