'Round and 'Round

The IRB came back with questions. Again. And Again. And again again. And I can’t start my project until they say “go” and then I have to submit it to the Bangladesh IRB. Which will take another few weeks. Although they are open to speedier turn around with some sweet lovin’. Unfortunately I don’t have any lovin’s to give. And all this waiting makes me feel like another white putz in a brown country without a purpose.

But secretly, the thing that really gets me: My project takes 5 months. And I haven’t even started yet. I was only supposed to be here until January. Now it’s looking like mid March. And who knows? I once knew a doctor who was supposed to be here for a year and stayed for 8. The fact that my plane ticket is “negotiable” scares me. Not in the melodramatic “will I ever leave this heart of darkness” type way but when it’s coming on Christmas and I’m not chopping down trees and instead I have 3+ months instead of the anticipated 1…

I called my mom to tell her of my frustrations and fears.

“I’m really frustrated ma,”
“Whaa?”
“It’s just I don’t like not knowing my future, it really scares me.”
“I can’t hear you. Speak Louder. You’re breaking up, some kind of background noise.”
“It’s just that—“ “WHAAA?!”
“Forget it ma.”

But for now I’m really enjoying it here. Muzi, Bulbul and I went up to the roof and split Chinese moon cakes and celebrated the full moon. I howled like a wolf. There was no reply.

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

Coffee's out. Pray for our souls.

We just ran out of coffee and mango season just ended.

Oh lord ya’ll. Shit’s about to get real.

p.s. I just wiped my face with a towel that had a large cockroach on it.

Getting Our Beauty Did

The IRB came back with 31 questions and comments for me to change and fix. Needless to say at the end of the week I was very ferklempt and pacacta and all those Yiddish phrases I am horribly misspelling.

Muzi and I decided to go to the Beauty Parlor down the block and become beautiful.

This is what a week of field work and paper pushing can do to two young women. It's a sin.

Muzi got her arms adorned with Henna art.

We both got 1/2 an hour massages. They dipped wash clothes in ice cubes and laid it on our backs. Then they rubbed us softly like they were petting a dog. A cold, wet, dog. It was unpleasant. Below are our massage tables.


I got my eyebrows threaded. Which means: a woman takes thread between her teeth and hands and pulls the thread tightly together around your hairs pulling them out of your head. This is the smile of a woman inpainbuttryingnottoshowitbecauseMuziistakingapicture.

Then we turned into Bangladeshi Princesses.

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea

The Field

I went into the field with a clipboard by my side, went into the field makin’ sure these babies don’t die.

The field was so hot that the cow dung sizzled and my eyes fried. Our day’s maps were shoddy and we looped around rice paddies where every cow and crow looked the same.

I stopped into a Jiva field meeting where there was a casual baby on the floor. I picked this baby up hugging her and kissing her like a goddamn loon.

My team was tired but we kept on going on going on. Our respite was under trees trying to sway in time with branches to remain in the shade.

This is the work we work for and school for. Walking through the numbers and seeing their face. And it’s all good. But it’s as romantic as vultures picking at the sunset dead.

Musings

I have so much time to think. In “real life” i.e. America, the thinking is scheduled and grouped into block times. And those deep thoughts remain on the periphery tapered by a quickened conclusion and resultant status update. But what do you in the thick heat of rural Bangladesh except think? It’s rich. I have come to the conclusion that I am loving the woman I am becoming. My life excites me and turns me on. How wonderful is that?

I went into the field and saw a very old man whose face was all cracks. He wore a shirt that said “You know you want me!”

Asalam Walaikum,
Chelsea

The Rangpur Cookbook

We basically have 6 ingredients in the kitchen: Egg, Sugar, condensed milk, bananas, flour, lemons. How do we satisfy all our cravings? Feast your eyes on our feasts. Presenting:

The Ranpur Cookbook

Crepes suzette with lemon garnish

Flour

· 2 Eggs

· Milk

· Make crepe batter thinner consistency than pancake batter

· Cook like pancake

· Sprinkle sugar, fold, squirt lemon juice

· Add lemon garnish when crepe is cooked

Banana cream cake/ with pinapple cookie crumble topping

· Mashed bananas

· Flour

· Baking powder

· Sugar

· Condensed milk

· Mix

· Crust: Butter, crumbled pinapple cookies, some bread

Hot pocket assortment of stuffing (cheese, spinach, and dal-chillies

· Dough with canned Kraft Cheese, Daal, Cooked Spinach or chillies

Beignets Banana

· Flour

· Mashed bananas

· Half teaspoon baking powder

· Couple tablespoons of sugar

· Egg or two

· Some milk

· Mix all together till globby not droopy

· If add too much water make funnel with plastic bag and make banana funnel cake

Rice Pudding

· Leftover cooked rice, add milk, condensed milk, vanilla, sugar and cook on medium heat for ½ an hour

Flapjacks with maple syrup with scrambled egg and caramelized bananas

· Eggs with milk

· Water, sugar, maple essence

· pancakes

· Caramelized Bananas: Oil, banana

Rangpur "Gin and Juice" with fresh pineapple-lemon juice

· Remainder of previous gin from duty free (Bangladesh is a dry country)

· Pineapple Lemon Juice

Hand-selected beef tenderloin in a rosemary cream reduction

· Go to butcher, cut off piece of meat you want from cow

· Make rue with flour and rosemary

Lemon Italian Ice (I was craving this for 2 days)

-Lemon, blended ice, sugar

And voila, you have all you could want to eat right here in rural Bangladesh.

H

Eid Muhbarak!

Tonight was Eid. The festival ending the month long fasting of Ramadan. You know it’s time for Eid when the first crescent after the new moon is shown in the sky. Ian and I waited for the moon as the sun set. And among the gold and pink we saw it. An eruption of music and car horns saw the moon as well marking the beginning of Eid.

The next day we got dressed up and went to Dr. Barka’s for lunch. His whole family greeted us and brought us to a lunch of beef, chicken, expensive fish, vegetables with flan and cake for dessert. Dr. L advised us all to take small portions at first because they would expect us to take many servings. After three servings I could confidently take Dr. Barka’s wife that no, I couldn’t eat any more, I had taken three servings!

The afternoon past in a food funk and next thing you know we were expected at Dr. Hasmot’s for dinner! Dinner was served on the rooftop and even more splendid and plentiful than lunch. The entire family stood over us watching to make sure we were comfortable and enjoying the food. It was very awkward.

I made sure to proclaim loudly, again and again, how good “bahlo” the food was. At one point I started to have a panic attack and didn’t think I could eat any more than the small portion on my plate. I looked at Ian for help but he, at 6’5” had no sympathy for my small appetite. I just kept eating. And somehow, my stomach stomached it.

Many of the children entertained us by singing and dancing during our meal. It was wonderful. Whenever the power would go out, we would take an eating break to look at the stars and point at constellations with Dr. L’s laser pointer.

I’m glad we have a large family here right now in Rangpur. It would’ve been very sad to leave that warm large family otherwise. In the car ride home we saw men with loudspeakers in the street dancing in the moonlight. It was very pagan in an urban kind of way.

We all went upstairs with drums and a guitar and joined the music of Rangpur with our own homeland tunes. “Country roads, take me home…”

Asalam Walaikum,

Chelsea