Village People

A couple weeks after arriving in Bangladesh, we got a call from Azad, the young, Bangladeshi consultant for UM who set up our work here. He knew we were getting Dhaka-fever (a combination of boredom, claustrophobia, and sensory overload) so he invited us to come out to Manikganj, a small village a few hours away, to see one of his other projects. Based on similar model to that of Heifer International, the program gives a milking cow to extremely poor women as a means of both generating income and empowering them in household decision-making. All of the recipient families lost their land 10-15 years ago because of river flooding and erosion. (Every year the monsoons bring vast floods which cause villages to be wiped out and the river to change their paths, drowning former farmland and displacing thousands of people.) These families have since struggled to earn a living and many have been forced to take their children out of school, as they can no longer afford essential supplies such as pencils and notebooks. This program, still in its pilot stage, selects motivated, responsible, entrepreneurial women and provides them with training on animal care and business management, as well as giving them the milking cow. They are encouraged to save half the milk for their children (and/or grandchildren) and sell the other half in the market. The women are also required to save 25% of all their earnings and attend monthly meetings on social empowerment issues, such as domestic violence prevention and the importance of educating female children.

On this occasion Azad was going to Manikganj to check on how the women were doing six months after receiving their cows. We set out from Dhaka with Azad and his niece at 11am for a"1 to 2 hour" car ride. The translation of "1 to 2

hours" turned out to be 3.5 hours, but it was a beautiful drive so we didn't mind. Beyond the chaotic "suburbs" of Dhaka the land is rich, lush, green. The scenery was a welcome change from the packed crowds and madness of Dhaka, the villages seemingly serene and quiet, and the brickfields offering the contrast of the deep red of the bricks and the verdant green of the rice paddies. Disrupting the tranquility was the honking of the trucks, cars, buses, rickshaws, and motorcycles as they came careening towards us, trying desperately to overtake another truck, car, bus, rickshaw or motorcycle. It was a road sorely in need of a median.

As we pulled off the main road and starting winding down the side streets barely wide enough for a single car, it became clear that we were in for a serious storm, the sky nearly black even though it was the middle of the day. In the quickly fading light the women standing along the side of the lane were bursts of color against the dark forest background, popping in their saris of saffron, turquoise, and violet; the men, clad in white lungis (sarongs) and button-downs glowed like skinny phantoms. As we went further into the villages, the low hanging trees became even lower and denser, forming an impenetrable canopy above us, blocking out the light, as well as the heavy rain which had begun to fall. In that moment a phrase came to mind usually reserved for another part of the developing world and I found myself thinking that we were entering "the heart of darkness," at least in a highly romanticized sense.

Finally, at 230pm we arrived in Manikganj and were quickly escorted in the downpour to a house formerly belonging to Azad's grandmother, a small three-room dwelling. The power was out so we toweled off in the dark and said hello to the family (distant relatives of Azad), including a 10-month old baby whom everyone swore never cried, a couple 9 year-olds as tall as I am, and assorted 20-something young women whose husbands had left for work in the city. We were

then presented a feast of a dozen dishes, most of which were made with seafood, including fish head curry, whole deep fried shrimp, and tiny sardine-like creatures in mixed vegetables. We ate by the light of gas lamps, adding to the haunting atmosphere created by the rain and our remote location. Of course, I ate everything--it was delicious.

After lunch we sat with the family until the light came back on, then started out on a walk to see

the seven women in this village who had received

cows, out of a total 15 participants at this stage. We attracted a crowd of shirtless children who followed us as we greeted the families. Each was exceptionally welcoming, and extremely proud of their cow and their resulting economic prosperity. All seven women had done very well for themselves, with all of them sending their kids to school again, some having saved enough to expand their farm to include chickens and others purchasing sewing machines with which to start a small tailoring business. One woman proudly told us how her new earnings has inspired her husband to stop drinking and working harder to match her income. All of them were extremely hard working and resourceful; one had found a farmer with fields in need of cutting so they had all starting working for him and taking the cut grass to feed their cows, a practice which had more than halved the costs of feeding their cows. Before we left one woman gave us a papaya she had just pulled from a tree in front of her house, the only one on the tree; another sent over a few litres of milk for Azad, even though he begged her to sell it in the market instead. The sense of pride and confidence among these women was palpable and the progress they had achieved in moving their families out of abject poverty was remarkable.

After a quick game of in the rain/mud soccer with the kids (all of whom were far better than us) we got back in the car for a harrowing ride home in the dark. It seems almost no one in Bangladesh has discovered headlights, or if they have, believe they are used solely for flashing frantically to tell oncoming traffic to get back on their side of the road. Despite the peril we reached home safely at 10pm, tired but inspired by the women of Bangladesh, and the village of Manikganj in particular.