Joy: The Rosey Foundation

In my first blog post, I mentioned the Rosey Foundation, a non-profit that I visited my second week here, but I have been trying to spend more time there. Now I am definitely not saying that I'm in any way a hard-working NGO advocate or volunteer getting my hands dirty in the work of Bangladeshi social services; there are thousands of people who do that every day and considering the vast array of needs that so many Bangladeshis have, and the integral roll that NGO's play here in serving Bangladeshis, I am daily dumbfounded by the kind of hard work, love and compassion it must take to serve in Bangladesh everyday. Instead, I am just a pampered, naive, bideshi visitor.

There is an aspect to my visits to the foundation that feels strange; as my previous posts have reflected, there is a sad, unjust, but very real, power that I have in Bangladesh. Its likely that every Bangladeshi in need knows that I have this power just by looking at me. I am clearly a foreigner, clearly well-to-do and, thus, clearly have both more means than ...well... I think ALL of the Bangladeshis I encounter on an everyday basis, AND the ability to give from those means. There is power in that ability and in my ability to choose to whom I give. Its a totally unearned power that I do honestly feel ashamed to have, knowing that there is no just reason for me to have extraordinary means and for so many to have nothing. Of course I say I am ashamed of it even as I myself reap the rewards of this truth everyday...so while I am ashamed of the injustice in which I take part, I am also very thankful that I don't have to worry about how to buy medicine, clean water or food.

So there is a way in which my relationships with the people I meet here that I want to give to, will be very superficial and very one-sided (the ol' white lady feels good about giving and then goes back home to her pampered life) unless we move past that initial exchange of capital to an actual relationship. I don't want to just come once and bring some money, buy some pretty things in the house upstairs and then leave. I'd like to actually get to know the women who work there and maybe even serve them in some non-financial way...at least that is my preliminary hope...its a hope that gets a bit muddier when I am fumbling through Bangla in my conversations with the women who work there. But my friend Tara and I are planning to go a couple times a week between now and when we leave so that we can begin to connect with them. I am certainly hoping to return next summer with Travis in tow and hopefully some sweeter Bangla skills. Last year a CLS'er with mad Bangla skills taught the women English during their daily class time. While my Bangla is barely beyond the level of cursory questions about one's life, maybe by next summer I would be able to help with a bit of English teaching.

With all that being said, to be totally honest, my visits are, in part, a selfish endeavor. The Rosey Foundation and the women who work there are going to be the topic of my final project for the program. I have been interviewing the women about their lives and am hoping to share their stories and the story of the Rosey Foundation in Bangla for my final project that I will present to the group on the last week of school. But the more often I come, the more I want to spend time there, just to be there. Tara and I went a couple of times last week to find out more about the foundation and to meet the women there.

The first day we just hung out with Dali and her family and I bought gifts for family and friends (Mom, Jill, Angelica, Meagan, Claire, Sarah and Kristin: expect some super sweet hand-crafted treats when I return). Dali told us that she employs about 25 women total but she has the capacity for 35. There are a few women who live in the downstairs area where there is a couple of bedrooms and a large room in which the women work together. I believe that these women stay here because they have no other family members to help support them; Dali hired a few women from the slums in Baridhara whose families were abusive. But leaving your family means leaving basically all social support so Dali acts a surrogate mom for them. The other women are coming from, if my Bangla translation is correct, mostly factories-I'm guessing clothing manufacturers, but another CLS'er told me that some women also left jobs at brick-making and hauling locations. Basically it is a better-paying alternative to hard-labor. The women are given lunch and work from 8-3, which is still, in my opinion, a long time to sit over detailed stitch or bead-work. Many of the women are unmarried and have children, so this is the only kind of work they would be able to do if they have no one else to help care for the children; its also very possible that some of these women's families are no longer supporting them. A child out of wed-lock can be a shameful thing and depending on the family its POSSIBLE, though certainly by no means inevitable, that family members would ostracize a daughter who became a mother without marrying. In brief, Dali provides an alternative to poorly-paid hard-labor and, for some women the only option to avoid homelessness and starvation. The women are paid 2,000 taka a month (equivalent to around $30) which is not alot, and knowing the price of rent in Dhaka (EXTREMELY high), I honestly don't know how someone would be able to pay rent and buy groceries, but its still better than the other salaries available to women at factories. Of course, as a super pampered and spoiled American I am paid a hefty 6,000 taka a week to pay for food and fun (and I have breakfast and dinner for free everyday!).

Tara and I returned just to hang out with the women a couple of days ago. It was a really beautiful sight: women sitting together, laughing and chitchatting and sewing, some of them with their kids sitting in their laps. It felt like a very comfortable, even familial environment to work. I was able to ask about their families and other really basic stuff (BAHHHH I wish my Bangla was better!) and I shared with them about my own family (family is ALWAYS the first topic of every conversation...as a lady the first question I am asked is always, "Apni bibahito?"- Are you married?). Then we talked a little about how difficult Bangla was and that English was much easier (we all thought this). Then they spoke super fast Bangla amongst each other, most of which flew right past me and Tara. Every now and then I would catch their conversation. They mentioned the size of my feet, which are quite large for Bangladeshi standards, the length of my hair, which is quite short for Bangladesh, and my shalowar kameej, of which they actually approved. Moyla, who is 19, has worked at the foundation for 5 years (I KNOW! that means she started when she was 14!), and lives in Dhaka, near the foundation, with her husband, who works in a brick factory, told me she couldn't believe I was married. Then she laughed and spoke really fast Bangla...I'm not quite sure what transpired, but that's cool. Its kinda fun to feel like the dumbass and just smile through their giggles. Then they spoke a bit more slowly and talked to me about Dhaka.

Lovely (Great name right?) stitching bead-work for a bag

Then Dali came in and urged them to sing a song. I can't tell you how often this happens. People sing alot in Bangladesh. Not just like on the street and while they are working, although that happens too, but like beautiful, performative singing, just in the middle of a conversation. I am learning that songs are very central to alot of social interaction here, which is bad for me because I am a terrible singer, but amazing to hear because everyone seems to know how to sing beautifully. So the women stood up in a circle and we stood with them and they taught us a Bangla song that had something to do with God loving everyone, above and below. There were sweet hand motions too. Then Dali asked us to sing a song. But, unlike what seems to the be prevailing practice in Bangladesh, we Americans are not someone you can rely on for a beautiful song. We fumbled through the first song that came to mind. Everyone looked...well...disappointed, but they politely clapped. Tara and I agreed that we needed to do some practicing before we left Bangladesh. They deserve better than our fumbling, single toned American voices.

We couldn't stay long that day but Tara and I are planning to return next week. I am hoping that this is the beginning of a longer relationship, but I will be honest that despite the joy and beauty of the day, as with any experience in a foreign language, it was exhausting and I can tell that even though I really love going, it takes a little bit of breaking out of my comfort zone each time I go...mostly its that "I don't feel like an idiot" comfort zone that you have to break past. Speaking a foreign language requires you to sound totally ridiculous for like three years of speaking it. I'm still on year 1 so I've got to get used to sounding stupid and just being cool with it. Still, its worth the frustration of fumbling through words to connect with another person. I don't know if my Bangla will improve enough in the next four weeks to have a deeper conversation with Moyla, Lovely or Hashi, but I am going to try. I think the next time we go, Tara and I are going to see if we can help with anything so we aren't just sitting and bothering the women while they could be chitchatting and working. We can't help with any handicrafts or even English classes, but maybe there will be something. I hope I have more stories to tell soon.

Lovely, Moyla and Hashi

The whole gang

Me, Dali, Dali's Sister, Margot, Martha and Audrey during last week's shopping spree

As we were leaving the electricity went off. The women moved outside to the breezy patio to do their work and I snapped the photo above. Dali has spraypainted the word "joy" throughout the foundation and though it sounds totally naive and cheesy, being that I don't have to go to work on handicrafts everyday just to make a 2,000 taka that I can barely life off of, there was still a good amount of joy in that space. The women help take care of each others' children and work with their own beside them. Not surprisingly, they consider each other to be sisters, not just in the colloquial sense of calling someone "Apa" (sister), but in a literal familial sense. And it definitely felt like walking into someone's home, and as with all other Bangalee homes I have entered, this one was just as hospitible. I hope, though, that I can serve this family in some manner before I leave.

I won't post for awhile as we are leaving tomorrow for a five-day trip to Chittagong, Rangamati and the Hill Tracts. It should be amazing and I'm sure I will have some beautiful pictures and stories regarding the often hilarious lack of communication that seems endemic to any field trip we take, so keep your eyes peeled next week.

Please do keep us in your prayers; field trips are always...uh...full of surprises, and we are all hoping that this trip's surprise is not diarrhea (especially on an 8-hour bus ride), but, as Andrew says with the greatest love for this country, "TIB" (this IS Bangladesh).

Thank you for your support, prayers and love.

With all my love from the city of mosques,
ashlee