The Littlest Sacrament Meeting

I am a Mormon. Oddly enough, it turns out there aren't a lot of Mormons in Bangladesh. In fact, in a country of 200 million people, there is one branch (congregation) and it is here in Dhaka. It took a little time when we first arrived in Bangladesh, but we found that little branch and we attended it. 

If you drive across town to a crowded market area in Farmgate and park at the end of a particular narrow, dirty road lined with tiny shops and walk down a couple of blocks, then turn left just after you pass the man butchering a cow and walk down an even narrower road and follow it until it dead ends, you will find a battered looking concrete apartment building on your right. Once you go inside the garage, you will find stairs with a surprisingly fancy stainless steel bannister. If you are still determined, you will climb six tall flights of very uneven stairs (there is no elevator) and at the very top you will find a small landing. On Friday morning that landing is filled with shoes, because we get to go barefoot at church here. It's one of the perks. Once inside, you'll find a room with dingy walls covered with tattered pictures of Christ and several people with beautiful, smiling faces. These beautiful and faithful members speak varying degrees of English but they speak smiles best. They are warm and welcoming and for many months we would journey there each Friday morning for church. Friday? You might as

Derek and his counselors w/
the India Mission President and his wife

A few of the members.

Our baptismal font on the roof

Because mosque is held on Friday, all churches observe church on Friday. Our work week is Sunday through Thursday. Anyway, ever Friday we would go and meet with our tiny branch. Some weeks there were maybe ten of us and other times up to thirty. Our meetings are very different from those we held in our large meeting house in the Midwest, but one thing was always the same; a coming together of people who share the same beliefs. An opportunity to perform ordinances that were important to us, like taking the sacrament as a renewal of our baptismal covenants.

My husband, Derek is the Branch President (Ecclesiastical leader) of this little group. I smile when I think about how much love I see in him towards the members and how much we have come to enjoy spending time with them but this post isn't about that wonderful little apartment. That, it turns out, was not the littlest sacrament meeting.

Because of the threat of terrorism that we are currently under, we are no longer allowed to meet with the local members in the little "church" in Farmgate. Derek continues to run the affairs of the branch from our home. Members come to visit with him here and he holds his presidency meetings here as well. The Mormon church is a church of order sprinkled liberally with love and compassion, so he meets with his presidency and they discuss the needs of the members, no matter how few our numbers are. For now, the western members of the branch meet separately, in our home. It changes frequently, but generally speaking. there are eight of us, including three children.

As you can image, a family going on vacation can dramatically reduce our numbers. Today the family with three kids are out of the country on vacation, and the guy who is here alone while his wife and daughter are in the states for maternity leave was working, so that left Derek and I.

Today, I saw Derek being the best Branch President I have ever known. Today we got up and showered and dressed. Derek put on his suit and tie and I put on a dress and we tidied and prepared for church. I played prelude music as Derek sat reverently. We sang an opening song and had an opening prayer. Then we sang a sacrament song and Derek performed the task of blessing and passing the sacrament. Chumleigh would have liked to participate, but he's not old enough. However, he was very reverent. After the sacrament, we watched a conference talk online, had a closing song and a closing prayer and then made blueberry pancakes for brunch.

A sacrament table for two

Why, you might ask, do we bother? Because it matters. It matters to us, and it matters to the Lord. It would be so easy here to take a vacation from religion. It would be so easy to say that as long as we believe in God we don't need religion. I'm not suggesting that you are wrong if that is how you feel. I'm just saying that I need the strength of those rituals, the renewal of our covenants, to keep centered in a chaotic world.I miss our big buildings and seeing all of the members come together to share their believes and to draw strength from one another, but even when those are not a possibility, I need to take that brief space of time each week to draw away from the problems of the world and draw closer to the savior. 

It's hard for a sacrament meeting to get smaller than two people and you might think it a silly thing, but my heart was filled as Derek reverently performed those priesthood ordinances for just two of us, because those are important ordinances for each of us even if no one else is there.

So like I said, I am a Mormon. Other people can believe however they choose, but I highly recommend that whatever you believe in, believe in it all the way, even when no one else is around and even when it's not popular or convenient. 

A New and Different Dhaka

It’s been a while since I’ve written in my blog. The truth is, circumstances of our life here in Dhaka have changed drastically and because of it, I felt that I didn’t have anything to say, but it just turns out that I have something different to write about.

I’ve already posted some thoughts on Facebook about this, but I still felt the need to put this somewhere more permanent. To show the people who aren’t here how resilient we can be.

Bangladesh is a predominantly Muslim country, but unlike what most Americans have come to believe, not all Muslims are the same. You wouldn’t condemn all Baptists because The Westborough Baptist Church exists would you?

I’ve written about my Muslim friends before and I stand by everything I have said. Bangladesh has enjoyed relative peace in their religion being more moderate Muslims. They have stayed off the radar so to speak but recently things have changed. ISIL has reared its ugly head and made a stand; first against the presence of western non-believers within Bangladesh’s borders and then against other Muslims who do not share their violent beliefs.

On September 28^th an Italian was murdered in cold blood on the street walking home from the gym. A week later a Japanese man was killed several miles from Dhaka in the same manner. The choice of victims was apparently random. You know what the really bad thing about random killings is? Everyone is a target. ISIL claimed responsibility for the murders. If you are confused by the term ISIL vs. ISIS, don’t be. It’s all semantics and politics. They are one and the same.

ISIL upped their game a short time later when they bombed a Shiite Muslim celebration, killing a teenage boy and injuring at least 80 more people. Even other Muslims are not safe from ISIL’s attempt at domination, but I’m not here to argue politics. I’m here to tell you that terrorism has changed our lives.

For months I’ve been blissfully wandering the streets of Dhaka taking it all in. The colors, the noise, the crowds. I am energized by its chaos and while I know that Bangladesh has a lot of growing to do, I have come to love it. I reveled in hauling tubs of food through the slums to deliver to school children there. We explored the rivers and the countryside and I adopted this slightly broken country with an open heart.

Then with the pull of a trigger, life as we have known if ceased for embassy personnel and other expats around Dhaka. As surely as if each of us had been hit by those bullets, our freedom to explore our host country and lead normal lives died with the last breath of an Italian project manager named Cesare Tavella.

Embassies were forced to restrict the movements of those they are here to protect. Virtually every activity that I have loved has been taken away.

Embassy families are forced to stay indoors, rickshaws sit unused on the streets, the drivers losing money each day that expats are not allowed to roam the streets in anything but their vehicles.

There has been an evolution. The original restrictions were suffocatingly strict. In the beginning we were only allowed to travel to very limited locations and only by armored car. Eventually we could travel in our private vehicles but still only to limited locations. Restrictions have relaxed slightly as time has passed, but I am still banned from my beloved slum schools.

The reality exists.The face of terrorism is random and unruly. Everyone is a victim.

What matters now though, is the incredible strength that has been displayed by our community and that is what I cling to and revel in. In the face of sending children to school on buses with armed police, having others run our errands for us and asking local shop keepers to bring their wares to us, we have rallied to support each other. The ambassador and her staff have shown tremendous empathy while still having to make tough decisions in order to protect us.

The community liaison office has worked tirelessly to provide activities to bring us together and let us get outside of our own heads and our worries for a little while. We have developed a sense of community stronger than I have seen almost anywhere. 

I have seen our community rise above this as they open their homes to each other. The fun part is the creativity. Enticing stores to bring their goods with them, we have shopping parties. A local artist came and taught us paper mache art. We've had story time at the American Club. People are holding all kinds of interesting get togethers.

  Apartment buildings organized trick or treating within the building. People gather for game nights and movie nights. Anything to bring a sense of normality to our lives. Even the ambassador has joined in for many of the activities and her support has made a huge impact.

We don’t know what will happen next. We will continue to make life feel as normal as possible, but living under the constant threat of terrorism is not normal. We refer to where we are now as the “New Normal”.

My take away from all of this is that people are just cool. When faced with trials these people that I am proud to call friends have become their best selves and I am proud to be one of them.

A Daring and Dashing Diplomutt Dog

I’m back to talk about Chumleigh. International diplomutt and dog about town. The longer we live in Bangladesh the bigger his head gets. I think he always suspected he was extra special, even before we came here, but the residents of Dhaka only add fuel to the fire.

We had to stop taking Chumleigh for walks in our neighborhood. Because of the lack of any kind of animal control the Dhaka dogs have pretty much taken over the city and whenever they see Chumleigh coming, their ears perk up, their eyes brighten, they start to salivate and I can actually hear them thinking “How nice! She’s brought us a snack!”

Chumleigh's reaction to hearing that other dogs see him as a snack.

Because I neither wish to watch my dog become lunch, nor do I wish to throw myself into harm’s way to defend him, we have taken to driving down to the river once a week to give him a bit of exercise.

It’s become a nice little family outing. Every Saturday evening, we climb into the elevator, hit the ground floor button and as the doors slide open into the garage, Chumleigh emerges like a Middle Eastern prince making a grand entrance at a State dinner. The guards leap forward to greet him. You may not know it, but in Bangladesh, his name has about twelve syllables. Ch-ummmmm-a-leigh. Okay maybe only four, but you get the point.

He is greeted with enthusiasm. The guards and the grounds keeper scurry over to pet him and laugh at his antics. He preens and shows off, basking in the glow of his absolute certainty that this is the life he was born for all along. Jasim will have pulled the car up directly in front of the elevator. Upon our arrival he leaps out of the car and holds the door open…for Chumleigh. I have to open my own door. Chumleigh gives him a regal nod of his head, we pile into our car, and Jasim drives us about a mile to the edge of town. This takes about half an hour. No…really.

Once the car is in motion, it is our duty to roll the window down so that Chumleigh may address his subjects. He perches on Derek’s thigh to give him extra height and without fail every person we pass on the street rushes forward to catch a glimpse of him. I suspect it is mostly so they may speculate on what species he actually is. There is pointing. There is shouting. There is excessive attention. There is probably a betting pool.

Traffic never moves quickly in Dhaka so there is plenty of time for his subjects to view him. This means that our car is frequently surrounded. Small brown eyed children point and yell “Beral”! That’s Bangla for cat. I roll my eyes and yell back, “Beral Nai! (not a cat) Chowto Kukur (little dog)”. They look confused, shake their heads and decide that clearly I am drunk. He has also been mistaken for a monkey and yes, once even a bird.

Yesterday, we once again piled into the car and headed to the river, only the landscape on the way to the dead end where we park had changed. Next week is Eid. Eid is the festival of sacrifice and thousands of cows, sheep and goats are brought into the city by meat merchants to sell. Then next week the animals will be sacrificed.

Where there had been only empty fields now there is a massive makeshift stockyards. I was fascinated by the spectacle and squealed at Jasim to stop so that I could take pictures. Derek announced that he would stay in the car with Chumleigh and I dashed away to explore. The locals were fascinated by the white lady hanging out in an Eid stockyard and were eager to show me the prize bull. A beast of an animal that Paul Bunyon would have fancied.

Once I finished taking pictures we headed back to the car and to my surprise, it was barely visible through the crowd. I was still trying to figure out why when Jasim belted out a laugh and yelled “Madam! They all must see Ch-ummmm-a-leigh”!

Sure enough a crowd surrounded the car at least four people deep on all sides pushing and craning their necks to be able to see Chumleigh, who was standing in the car window clearly thinking “Now THIS is how I should be treated”!

I climbed into the car, laughing my head off and snapped a few pictures of the crowd as they snapped pictures of us with their cell phones. Jasim pulled out, nearly running over people because they wouldn’t step back and we headed on to the river.

The crowds were much thicker than normal because of the holiday coming up. People lined the road all the way to the river.

As we parked the car and stepped out a little girl came running down the road yelling “Ch-ummmm-a-leigh!!!!” She followed us every step of our walk. Clearly we have been there too many times.

 

As we walked we continued to pick up more followers. It was starting to look like a parade. Each time Chumleigh stood up on his hind legs for attention his entourage went wild. People took pictures. Ma’am Chobi (picture)? Ma’am, selfie (yes. Selfie is universally understood)? The best part is, I love getting to visit with all his fans. They are warm and friendly and seem to appreciate it when we step into their world. They go wild when I try my Bangla on them. 

Eventually Chumleigh was spent. While he craves the attention, just like many celebrities, eventually he tires of it too. 

Amidst groans of disappointment from the crowd, we settled back into the car. He nestled down once again on Derek’s thigh, rested his chin against the window and breathed a sigh of either relief or satisfaction, I’m not sure which as he bade farewell to his throngs of followers, whom I am quite certainly, will be there waiting for him next week when we return.

The Rickshaw Men

It’s been an incredible week filled with opportunities for renewed hope in the local community. From access to free dental and health care at the shine clinic to a beautiful event this morning designed to provide opportunities to improve local rickshaw driver’s income.

In an event sponsored by Mohammad Ziad Hafiz, a generous benefactor with Mountain of Mercy who funded the event and came all the way out from London to participate in presenting 51 Rickshaws were presented to deserving local residents.

Imagine that you are a man with little or no education. You have a wife and a couple of kids and each day you go to work long, grueling hours to support that family, but never seem to get ahead. You having a physically exhausting job. Then imagine having to give up nearly half of your very meager income each month to pay for the equipment you need to do your job.

This is the plight of thousands of rickshaw drivers on the streets of Dhaka. For many Bangladeshi men, a lack of education severely limits their job options. The most available job for many of these men is Rickshaw wala (drivers).

Here’s how the system usually works. These men can’t afford to buy their own rickshaw, so they rent from rickshaw ‘companies’. They generally pay between 3,000 and 5,000 tk a month to use the rickshaw. The average monthly income for pullers is 6,500-12,000tk a month depending largely on how able they are to work longer hours. The job is grueling. I have seen drivers with as many as four people on their rickshaw at a time. What these numbers mean is that even if someone is a dynamo and manages to make 12,000tk a month, in reality he is making more like 8,000 after paying rent on his rickshaw. Do the conversion and that comes to about $102.80 a month.

This is where Shine comes in. Thanks to the efforts of Daniel, Emma, Asma and Sadia to name a few, Rickshaw wala are getting the break of a lifetime. At Thrive we bump into these busy folks a lot. We are all working to a common goal; to make the lives of families in the basti a little better. While Thrives focus is to provide nutritious food to children and teach hygiene, Shine strives to not only educate the children of the slums but to help their families as well. The children we feed are often the children of these rickshaw drivers and other low paid families. 

Sadia Moyeen is on Thrives board of directors, but her philanthropic efforts don’t stop there. The Rickshaw project was designed to provide an opportunity for wala or “pullers” to become self-sufficient. Through an exhaustive vetting process, Daniel searches for honest men with a strong character. Men who take good care of their families and treat their wives well. He visits with family, friends and neighbors to ensure that the most deserving receive their help. 

Through donations and fund raising (mostly donations), The Rickshaw Project buys used rickshaws and gifts them to these deserving souls. Even their licensing fees are paid by the project. This eliminates the need to pay rent. It’s inspirational what happens to a beaten man when he is given his own life. A used rickshaw costs 10,000 taka. Easy for many of us, but unattainable to others. When a driver has his own rickshaw it creates a sense of pride of ownership, independence and a burning desire to work even harder because he is invested.

The organization has discovered that once the drivers own their own rickshaws, their income increases often by a few thousand taka a month, not counting the 3,000-5,000 they are able to keep rather than pay rent.

As of today’s event, they have provided over 120 rickshaw to local drivers.

I am always in awe of what I see being accomplished by these dedicated people. Sometimes the plight of the people of Dhaka can feel insurmountable. If you look at too broad a picture of this vibrant city its chaos can drown you but these individuals that I am privileged to call my friends have a gift for focusing in on one issue at a time and saying “I can fix that”. And then they do.

Today 51 men have been given a greater means to provide for their families and with each of these big hearted people’s endeavors, Dhaka becomes a little big better.

I wish I had the room to put pictures of each and every driver
receiving his picture. You should have seen the smiles!

On a side note, the next time you get in a rickshaw, remind yourself that the difference between 50 or 100 taka for a rickshaw ride is probably insignificant to you but a pretty big deal to your driver.

Happy Teeth in Dhaka...

At 6'6", he's a tough guy to miss, but it isn't his height that is striking so much as the size of his heart. Daniel Norton is a familiar sight around the streets of Dhaka. You can see him often...in the slums.

I can't honestly say I know much else about Daniel except what I have seen through Thrive, and that is a lot. He works tirelessly as an advocate for the poorest of Dhaka. Especially the children. I know of at least two schools that he is greatly responsible for. Shine and Iqra.

Don't get me wrong. There are so many other people involved. At Shine he partners wit Asma and Emma to run this school that once simply met on the sidewalk. Now Shine has grown into a school educating some 240 students. Not only is Shine taking care of these students academic needs, they have taken things a step further and opened a free clinic.

Today that have once again expanded their efforts to include a beautiful new dental clinic. Don't let appearances deceive you. As you notice how cool it looks (they did an amazing job), don't forget to remember what the pictures of the outside look like.

This beautiful dental clinic is the result of donations and hard work. I would love to give a shout out to everyone involved, but there are too many. Suffice it to say that they are a lot of the same people who make so much more happen in Dhaka. 

Everywhere you see people struggling, you will see Daniel and a group of amazing people like Asma, Emma, Sadia, Amna, Samreen, Tanisha and so many more. It's interesting to note that all these tirelessly generous women are cousins (okay, related...I think they are all cousins). Day in and day out this group of people work hard to make life a little better for the poorer residents of Dhaka.

Thanks to Daniel, the families around our little part of Dhaka now have access to free health and dental care. They do whatever they can, but when more advanced medical efforts are required, not only to they transport residents to the hospital, they foot the bill. 

So today was the grand opening. I can only imagine how many people will benefit from the services that they offer. 

It is a privilege and an honor having so many opportunities to work with such amazing people!

I am attaching a link to a gallery on FB so you can see the festivities:-)

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.890466260990893.1073741980.459445137426343&type=3&uploaded=56

Singapore By Bus

Below is the link to the full album

https://www.facebook.com/leni.hester/media_set?set=a.10207513028805032.1073741851.1268439103&type=3&uploaded=91

It doesn’t matter how many times I board a plane; there is always a little thrill of excitement; kind of like stepping onto a transporter pad. I decided years ago to never become jaded and complacent about the opportunities I am given to see the world. My weakness is that I have always felt that if I didn’t need my passport, I haven’t gone far enough. Derek has chastised me about this philosophy and made it his mission to show me just how many wonders there are within the borders of the United States and he's done an admirable job…but still…my heart reaches out for borders beyond.

I’ll share a secret with you. Every time the plane takes off, I dedicate its departure to my mother. She had the travel bug as well and would get nearly giddy with excitement as we headed to each new destination. She died in 2007 and since then I pay silent homage to her each time we go wings up. “Here’s to you mom”.

So even though it was for mundane reasons that I was going, when the plane took off for Singapore I honored my little ritual and thought mom would approve of the ridiculousness of flying off to Singapore just for a doctor’s appointment.

One word struck me as I entered the gleaming Changi Airport. Clean. I love my little Bangladesh, but clean is the last word you could use to describe it. Singapore glistened. As I stepped outside, I saw no rickshaws or CNG’s. There was no honking, only an orderly line of passengers standing in a taxi queue quietly waiting as each pristine taxi moved forward for the next person.

Driving down the highway, there was absolute order. I was amazed that this had once been a third world country. I believe that some of the strategies for restructuring the country may have been harsh, but Singapore is a stunning city now. 

On the downside, one of the reasons for this orderly traffic environment is that it costs roughly $60,000 USD to procure permission to own a vehicle. The certificate is good for ten years and then you must renew. Needless to say, when your paying that much just for the luxury of owning a car, public transportation starts to look very enticing. The city has a fabulous structure of buses, trains and taxis.

The taxi driver delivered me to the luxurious Regent Four Seasons. The service probably deserves another post entirely, but I’m behind so we’ll skip most of it. Suffice it to say that the staff anticipated my every need, knew my name and called me Mrs. Hester the entire stay.

What matters is the city. There was a palpable sense of community pride for this beautiful metropolis. In the week I was there, I never saw a single piece of trash. Someone in Bangladesh needs to talk to someone in Singapore.

My mobility was limited during my stay, initially by my knee injury and eventually by my post-surgical recovery, but a very clever hostess in the Regent lounge told me about their open deck city tour buses. This was the perfect solution for a frustrated, mobility challenged photographer in a new city. Once I was released from the hospital I found the bus and off we went.

Each city I visit leaves a specific impression. In Colorado Springs it is the incredible landscape. In Dhaka it is the faces of smiling beautiful people (okay, yes…and garbage). In Singapore it was the buildings. The cityscape vibrated with energy and stunning examples of creative architecture reached towards the sky. You will probably notice that most of my pictures are of the buildings. Someday I’ll go back with Derek and we’ll explore so many more aspects of the city, but from my seat on the bus, with my knee propped up in front of me, I saw buildings. Buildings so beautiful they should have been in an art gallery.

I won’t go on here. But I encourage you to browse the pictures, understanding, of course, that they were taken from the roof of a moving bus;-)

I saw only the buildings, but next time I will see the museums, botanical gardens, zoos, harbor and so much more! If you ever have the chance, don’t miss the opportunity to explore it for yourself.

I am linking my blog to more pictures on facebook.