Looks Can Be Deceiving

There is no way to tell this in just a few words. I need to describe it so that you see it...feel it...because seeing it, you can never feel the same again. I found out that looks really can be deceiving. We had the honor recently of being invited into the homes of two of the students from the Piet Van School in the slums of Dhaka. 

To get to the school, Adele, another volunteer and I, had to drive down streets so narrow I didn't think the car would be able to get through. The streets were more a river than a road, swollen by the recent rains, and bicycle rickshaws squeezed past us so closely that I thought we would surely collide. 

At the school we met up with Kanwal, a local volunteer who would be translating for us. Also waiting at the school were two sweet girls both dressed neat as a pin in their crisp blue and white school uniforms. Their dark hair was pulled neatly back and to look at them, one could assume they were heading home from the finest prep school.

Rather than make the ten minute walk slogging through mud and over uneven surfaces, we suggested the girls ride to their homes in my car with us. They looked wide eyed and uncertain at first but finally agreed to climb into the back seat with me while Adele moved to the front. They smiled broadly and giggled as they entered the car. I suspect they have never been in a private care before. Both girls sat bolt upright, their backs never touching the seat as we made our way to their neighborhood.

As we pulled up beside what seemed to be piles of debris, we realized they were actually crooked, rickety buildings that looked too short to be homes. Bamboo poles, lashed together, formed an entrance to the housing where a narrow dirt path cut through crowded structures that looked as though they had been pieced together from whatever materials were available and were likely to fall over in a stiff wind. I looked at the girls again, realizing that their tidy, starched uniforms bore no resemblance to their reality.

For the most part, the houses were built of large tattered sheets of corrugated tin. It looked as though they were held together by string, scotch tape and bamboo. Each house had three main walls, with some having a shorter front wall with an open entrance. Other houses had makeshift doors but many had only fabric hanging across the opening. The roofs were made of many different materials though most were corrugated tin, but I also saw sheets of wood and even old sign boards being used as walls and rooftops. Bamboo was lashed together to hold it all.

The muddy path that wound between the dilapidated shacks was barely wide enough to walk single file and the buildings seemed to stretch on endlessly. Houses crowded together, leaning against each other in a tired fashion. The structures themselves could barely be called houses, but it was the people inside that turned them into homes. Women with soulful eyes emerged from their doorways to watch intently as we passed by, their brightly colored saris and Salwar Kameez a stark contrast to their drab surroundings.

Another couple of minutes walking and we came to a T intersection that dead ended off to the right. One of the girls scurried into the house ahead of us for a moment and then popped back out. Our interpreter indicated that this was the home of the younger girl, whose name I sadly, can’t pronounce. I was startled when a tiny woman in a well-worn sari, looking much older than I think she was, raced out of the house past us and was soon out of sight.

Pulling aside the fabric covering the doorway, I stepped over the threshold and asked if I could come in. The interior was dark and gloomy but I could just make out the outline of a little boy sitting by the door looking up at me. I looked through my camera lens and began adjusting the ISO to make up for the lack of light. As I hit 4000 ISO I jumped slightly at the sight of a man that I had not noticed before, sitting on the edge of a wooden bed, partially obscured by a pole. I lowered my camera onto its strap and tried to take in the scene. Their home was maybe 12 ft. square. The ceiling quite low.The walls and ceiling were a mix of metal sheets and sign boards. The front wall seemed to be covered mostly by fabric. Just to the right of the doorway stood a treadle sewing machine.

Most of the house was taken up by two bare wooden beds. Not the kind of bed you and I are used to but a rustic wooden bed with a headboard and wooden slats to lay on. The two beds sat side by side, a small one and a slightly larger one. There were no mattresses, just a thin-ish mat covering the wood. Kanwal informed us that this was the home of a family of seven. There was five children ranging from 4 to 15, and their parents. She told us that the 15 year old works as a housemaid. All seven of them
 share the two beds.

As I stood surveying their home the mother came back, out of breath from hurrying. In her hands she carried a bottle of coke and a packet of cookies. They were for us, her guests. Tears threatened to overflow. Her husband was a rickshaw driver. This was probably a couple of day’s wages but she had guests to care for. I smiled at her and said Dhonnobad (thank you).

As I continued taking pictures, the woman climbed on the bed and walking across it to the other side of the room, reached her hand up to whisk away a piece of cloth with a grand gesture. She smiled a beautiful smile that took ten years off her gaunt face as she proudly pointed to a small, old style television set on a shelf next to the ceiling; it was clearly her most cherished possession. I smiled back, saying, “You like to watch TV”? I got an even bigger smile and an effusive nod. I could understand the desire for a little escapism. I laughed and told her that I liked Geet. (a ridiculously corny show that I love and that fortunately has subtitles). She smiled and laughed, probably at the thought of the odd America woman watching one of their shows.

The children were clustered on the bed watching the spectacle. I felt voyeuristic invading their home and snapping away like they were a tourist attraction. The house was small, but very orderly. I suspected that each item was a hard earned treasure.

I looked up and could see light through the ceiling and wondered what it was like here during the rainy season. As we had entered the slum, I’d noticed that we stepped down several feet and thought how bad the flooding must be during monsoon season.

Notably absent was the presence of a kitchen or bathroom in the house. There was also no running water, though they must have had some sort of electricity in order to watch the TV. I questioned where they got drinking water and wondered whether it was safe.

Stepping back out into the light, I noticed a little makeshift oven on the ground next to the door, where they did their cooking. It was a sort of earthen oven/stove. Another oven across the way was just a piece of the ever present corrugated tin curved around a fire to contain the heat.  I could see other cooking areas and all of the fires were fueled by whatever they could burn, including garbage. I could smell burning plastic and cringed to think about the toxins being released at they cooked their food.

We were invited to enter a couple of other homes and found them all small but tidy. Everywhere, we encountered smiling faces and gracious hospitality.

We visited a little longer and eventually headed to the car. Back at the entrance to the housing, word had gotten out that we were there and a number of people had gathered. Out of all the people we encountered only one even suggested we give them money.

I felt a little relieved to be out of the claustrophobically close quarters and took a deep breath of fresh air. 


As we exited, we noticed a boy and a young man doing something across the lane. As we looked closer, we realized that they were killing and cleaning a Pidgeon, presumably for dinner.

Piling back into the car I looked once more towards the slum housing and took a moment to worry about its residents. One of the perils of living there is that they are doing so illegally. These neighborhoods are not sanctioned, they just sort of appear and the government can come in, literally at any time, and demolish all of it without notice.

We pulled away and headed back to the school. The teachers in these schools are beautiful, amazing, dedicated professionals. They love their students so much, but they have so little support. There was a boy who used to attend Piet Van. He’s no longer there because he had a learning disability and the schools have no accommodation for disability. There are no IEP’s or special programs. If you can’t keep up, the school doesn’t have the resources to help.

Back inside the school the children waved and hollered enthusiastically as we entered the classroom. The older children were eager to show off their English skills. A tall boy at the back of the class looked tired. He has been ill for quite some time and they suspect it’s his liver. A doctor has volunteered to go back with us to examine him in the hopes of being able to help him.

Mohini

We spoke to Mohini. an employee at the school with a smile that would chase away a monsoon. She tells us that someday she wants to go to America. Not to live but just for a visit.

Adele noticed a girl that was wearing one of the Thrive t-shirts we recently gave each of the children. I hope that the T-shirts serve to help remind them of the lessons that Thrive sets out to teach about hygiene and nutrition. A lot of suffering can be eliminated just by teaching the children to wash their hands.

I asked Adele, the other volunteer about the children’s crisp school uniforms and white tennis shoes. Generally parents are required to buy their children’s school uniform themselves but it seemed unlikely that these parents would be able to afford them. She explained that the uniforms, tennis shoes and backpacks the children wore had all been donated. I hope to never again look at someone’s appearance and be deceived into thinking that I know who they are or what their life is like.

I took so much away from this experience. It broke my heart and healed it all at the same time. The poverty was so complete and yet in the midst of it, a mother sacrificed precious earnings to give us a soda pop and cookies.