Black Country Boy: The Bangladesh Diaries

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 10: Angel Drop

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 18:40:35 GMT

20 December 2006:

Woke late, absolute bliss. Enjoyed a very long and relaxing breakfast in the hotel restaurant with Aftab, Russell and Hannan; wonderful parathas, mixed vegetable and coffee. It was an oasis of tranquility amongst the humdrum of daily life in Bangladesh...until the rest of the lads descended at 10:30am.

Had a lazy morning. Showered, packed, read and did final exit interview with Russell on the camcorder. We should have some awesome video footage by the time this tour is complete.

Checked out and re-convened in the hotel lobby at mid-day. Russell had a series of player interviews still to complete so Aftab and I headed off to Angel Drop (a picturesque seafront cafe) for coffee and contemplation. Spent a really good two hours talking about the tour, friendship and politics. In the space of only eight months Aftab has become a very close and loyal friend. Incredible what avenues a change of job can open up.

Final lunch together at a nearby restaurant in the early afternoon. Ted was creeping around with the video camera so somewhere in the footage is proof of my newfound 'hand only' eating skills; in fact i'm on a par with some of the lads now I reckon! Quite chuffed that I have tried everything on offer over the past three weeks. Can't remember shirking any new experience.

After the meal we jumped on some rickshaws and headed back to the hotel lobby for a final team meeting, comments and reflection. To hear some of the younger lads' thoughts was actually quite moving. I have seen definite changes in them over the past few weeks.

Most of the lads opted for the long journey back to Sylhet so as to attend Bassit's brother's wedding. We waved them off at 4.30pm.

Russell, Aftab, Roqib and I spent the rest of the evening strolling along the beach, watching the sun set over the Bay of Bengal. Rounded off the evening with a return to the Angel Drop for coffee. I just sat there, closed my eyes, listened to the waves lapping under the cafe, and thought of home.

At 10:15pm we boarded a Volvo Shohagh coach back to Dhaka. I am now nearing the end of my incredible three week journey.

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 9: Chera Dwip

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 15:19:11 GMT

19 December 2006:

Woke at 7am for an early breakfast of paratha, mixed vegetable and daal; my staple diet for the past three weeks. Most of the lads opted for a lie-in instead.

Eight of us took a stroll to the small harbour and boarded a boat to Chera Dwip, a small unhabited, Robinson Crusoe-esque, coral island; the final frontier of southern Bangladesh. It was a serene and peaceful boat journey. Twenty metres or so from land, we boarded rowing boats which took us safely to the island.

Chera Dwip is an untouched coral island with beautiful, clear blue waters; the only commerical outlet involves a young lad selling fresh coconuts; the sweetest to date. On landing I was struck by the other visitors: 25+ young women dressed in the most vibrant coloured salwar kameez; obviously enjoying a leisurely day out from the mainland.

Enjoyed an hr+ walk around the island, took some photos and then clambered back aboard the rowing boats, and back to our main carrier boat. Aftab and Russell opted against the rowing boats and swam directly to the main boat; just a taster for what was to come later.

Some distance from land, Russell and Aftab announced their intention to swim back to dry land. And off they both dived. Aftab powered back to shore. Russell made more steady progress, floundered and then looked like he might sink. We turned the boat back to rescue him. Getting him back on-board was some task; plenty of bruises, scrapes and cuts to show for his enthusiasm.

Back at St. Martin's we took a stroll along the harbour-side beach and watched the fisherman slicing up their catch; including stringray. Wild rabid-looking dogs absolutely everywhere; think they would struggle to obtain a health and safety certificate in the UK. Poked our heads into one of the huts to find a chilled cabinet full of freshly caught lobster. Chose a juicy one for lunch. Felt slightly guilty. I am sure it was looking at me.

Ate lunch then headed back to the ferry. Spent much of the two-hour journey, dozing and reading; also, took solace (again) in my iPod. Another two hour coach journey back to Cox's Bazaar, where we relaxed in the relative luxury of our resort hotel. Dinner at 9:30pm. The cook had agreed to prepare our lobster, which he cooked to absolute perfection. Absolutely wonderful. Retired for an early night with ice-cream and coffee delivered via room service.

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 8: Cox's Bazaar and St. Martin's Island

Sat, 24 Mar 2007 19:29:27 GMT

17 December:

The overnight 12-hour journey from Sylhet to Cox's Bazaar was remarkably ok.

We had a decent quality coach for the 9hr drive to Chittagong. The iPod was invaluable. Managed to snatch a good few hours sleep which helped pass the time. En-route to Chittagong I woke to find the coach at a standstill surrounded by a few shady looking characters clutching Kalashnikov's. I thought that was the end. Apparently, they were local militia/police, protecting traffic convoys from ambush; the jungle can obviously be a dangerous place.

Arrived at Chittagong weary, but with another 3-4 journey ahead of us. I had hoped for a luxury coach. Instead, we ended up on the local service. Seriously, I had never seen a coach like. It looked like it was made out of papier mache. We squeezed on, much to the intrigue of the locals. It was overcrowded, filthy dirty and very, very dangerous. Again, I suffered a number of genuine near-death experiences en-route to our destination. Interestingly, an elderly gentleman parallel to me insisted on spitting on the floor and wiping his nose of the window curtains. Nice.

Finally, we arrived at the coastal resort of Cox's Bazaar at 9am.

Cox's Bazar in Bangladesh is one of the world's longest natural sea beach (120 km) including mud flats. It is located 150 km south of Chittagong. Cox’s Bazar is also known by the name “Panowa”, the literal translation of which means “yellow flower”. Its other old name was “Palongkee”. The modern Cox's Bazar derives its name from Lieutenant Cox (died 1798), an army officer serving in British India. It is also one of the fishing ports of Bangladesh.

Often termed as "World's longest beach", Cox's Bazar is yet to become a major tourist destination in Asia allegedly due to conservative attitude of local people.^[1]

Aftab had done well. We checked in to a genuine luxury hotel just off the seafront. Enjoyed a quick breakfast then retired to bed. We reconvened at 2.30pm and wandered the 100m to the sandy beach. After a quick bite to eat, the lads had a kick-a-round with some locals on the beach. I was still aching from yesterday's match (and the journey) so opted for a gentle stroll along the water's edge. After so much time spent in the city, it was wonderful to hear the sounds of the sea.

Aftab joined me for an extended walk, during which we witnessed magic hour again; this time watching the golden red sun set on the shimmering blue waters. A really odd thing to say perhaps, but it felt really weird being surrounded by asian's on a beach; a sight you rarely see in the UK or in Europe's premier 'sun' holiday destinations.

Later in the evening we jumped on a set of rickshaws for the 15-min ride to the Burmese markets. Incredibly, our driver managed to get himself lost. Anyway, it wasn't the most impressive of sights. A bustling market scene admittedly, but it stocked junk. The lads seemed keen though and came away with an array of knives (hmmm), clothing and naff accessories. Not really my scene. Oh, and the lads thought it funny to introduce Russell and I to the locals as two senior military officers from the UK. When a fight broke out in the market soon after, we made a quick exit.

After a good meal of chicken, prawn and beef at a nearby restaurant, Aftab, Hannan, Russell and I found a secluded beach-front cafe (Angel Drop), from which we watched the waves roll-in 'til late.

My mind is increasingly drifting to thoughts of home and loved ones.

Retired to bed in relative luxury.

18 December:

Woke at 6am for a supposed for a 6.30am departure to St. Martin's Island.

St. Martin's Island is a small island in the northeast part of the Bay of Bengal, about 9 km south of the tip of the Cox's Bazar-Teknaf peninsula, and forming the southernmost part of Bangladesh. It is about 8 km west of the northwest coast of Myanmar at the mouth of the Naf River. The local name of the island is "Narical Gingira".

Most of the lads were at least half an hour late; we didn't set off until nearer 7.30am. Their timekeeping is beginning to really grate on me.

Bit of a nightmare coach journey (yes, another one) to the ferry port; our driver was unnaturally aggressive and insisted on hammering his horn almost non-stop for the entire 2 hours. Again, the iPod proved a lifesaver. Witnessed yet another horrendous looking coach accident.

Finally boarded the mid-morning ferry, which looked less than sea-worthy. Suddenly, all those news stories of capsizing boats in Bangladesh came flooding back. I can't even swim. Accepting the futility of worry, I found a decent spot on deck and gazed out at beatifully calm blue waters. In the distance you can see the border of Myanmar (Burma); what must life be like for those people?

Arrived mid-day-ish and immediately you could sense the disappointment amongst the lads. I think they had been expecting an idyllic, blue-water paradise. It is a beautiful island but very similar to the rest of Bangladesh; just on a micro-scale and surrounded by water. The sights, smells, architecture and poverty are just the same as on the mainland. Tension was beginning to brew.

The hotel was very basic; quite a comedown from our luxury lodgings in Cox's Bazaar. The lads were distinctly unimpressed. Lunch was also disappointing; struggled to find much edible from the 'chicken' I was served. The mood in the camp was not good.

I didn't feel great after lunch (a combination of tiredness and the need for some 'me' time) so retired to bed. Woke later afternoon feeling groggy. Opted to stay put whilst the others lads explored the island.

Ate dinner in a very tense atmosphere. The lads were clearly unhappy. The food was ok (certainly an improvement on lunch) but getting fed up of rice with everything. Beginning to crave 'home' food and found myself hallucinating about a bacon sandwich.

The lads called a meeting after dinner; it had the potential to spill into something quite nasty. It was fractitous and at times, personal. I couldn't believe the amount of abuse Aftab was taking. I genuinely do not think they appreciate how much effort has made, on their behalf, to put this trip together. And I told them so. After two-hours of pulling teeth, concerns had been vented and the atmosphere calmed. It is not what I would describe as a conventional way of sorting out disputes and grumbles, but ultimately it seems to work for them. By the end of the night all had been forgotten and upset gave way to joviality.

We enjoyed an incredible outdoor fish-BBQ and then headed off towards the beach. Aftab and I managed to gather some driftwood and stoked a decent camp fire. Tales of witchcraft and voodoo followed, before an impromptu fire-breathing performance from a random local. Retired to bed much happier but longing for home.

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 9, will appear here shortly...

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 7: Yamaha Adventures and Independence Day

Fri, 16 Feb 2007 12:49:46 GMT

14 December 2006:

Couldn't check out of our 'hotel' early enough. I slept ok but Russell had a bad night. We dumped our bags at Aktar's and then joined the lads for breakfast at The Empire restaurant. I have been suffering from paratha-withdrawal symptoms for days now so the paratha, daal and vegetables went down a treat.

Then, the exciting part of the day. As many of the lads returned to their villages, Sufi once again became our host. This time, however, the journey to his in-laws was a little different. Yes, I was going by motorbike. I somewhat nervously jumped on the back of his cousin's Yamaha, and helmet-less, gripped on for dear life as we weaved in and out of the thrusting mid-day traffic. Nine days ago, being on board an armoured-tank would just about have reassured me on these roads. If I am honest I was scared shitless. Nevertheless, it was one almighty adrenalin-rush.

Sufi looked after us well again today. The endless cups of cha and biscuits were accompanied by tales of witchcraft, black magic and voodoo. I had always naively thought that such beliefs were the preserve of West Africa. Obviously not. I was quite taken aback as to how serious Sufi takes some of this stuff. He also talked of his childhood in Bangladesh and his desire to return one day (he seems quite unique amongst the lads in this sense).

I also succumbed to the lure of paan and betel nut. I did feel slightly guilty for trying it, but in this environment, something I just felt I ought to do. Nothing special and won't be chewing it again.

I hopped on the Yamaha again (this time a little more confidently), and we headed off for lunch at a 'proper' Thai/Chinese restuarant in Sylhet. The food was fantastic and I used a knife and fork again for the first time since leaving the UK. And then a mouse dashed across the floor right in front of me...

Spent late afternoon mooching around the electrical quarter in Sylhet, with a view to finding Russell a new camera.

Spent a restful night alone at Aktar's. Just me, my book and my iPod. Heaven.

15 December 2006:

Woke early after a pretty decent night's sleep. Nobody else had stirred however so returned to my bed and book. The lads finally began to surface from 9.30am. Sat around reading for a while before wandering downstairs with Ruhel, Shawki and Russell for breakfast - vegetable rolls, a chicken sandwich and western-style coffee. Tasted amazing. Treated myself to a kit-kat chunky too. Not a massive chocolate eater in the UK but suffering from serious withdrawal symptoms at the moment. More than that, I think I am suffering from cravings. Again, the lads refused to let me pay.

In an effort to give the lads a break from 'babysitting', and to enjoy a proper, quiet, relaxing night before we embark on the final week, Russell and I decided to book ourselves into a luxury hotel. One pathetic attempt at organising something for ourselves failed miserably. It seemed that the luxury hotel we spotted in a magazine didn't actually exist - or at least, our driver had never heard of the place and couldn't find it. Aktar et al saved the day again and booked us into a well-respected hotel situated high above the Sylheti tree plantations. The hotel was good by Bangla standards although the room we were offered initially was a little drab. A quick word, wink and taka exchange from Aktar to the hotel manager soon sorted stuff though. We were upgraded immediately; apparently to the room in which the Bangladesh Finance Minister had stayed during the previous week.

Had a slightly bizarre afternoon walk amongst the hills, which led me towards a slightly ramshackle fairground. Clearly, it was a gathering place for the Bangla elites, their families and well-to-do courting couples. I ended up as the primary source of interest and entertainment and within 15 minutes had featured in 20+ different family photographs; one involved me holding the family baby.

Enjoyed a really good evening meal in the hotel restaurant. Bottled water, 2 glasses of mango juice, rice, paratha and chicken bhuna - all for less than £2. Bargain.

Just settling down now for what I hope will be a really peaceful night's sleep.

16 December 2006:

Independence Day in Bangladesh. 35 years since the 1971 War of Independence. Full history: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bangladesh_Liberation_War

The Bangladesh Liberation War⁽ⁱ⁾ (Mukti Judhho in Bangla), incorporating the Indo-Pakistani War of 1971, was an armed conflict between West Pakistan (now Pakistan) and East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) that lasted for roughly nine months, from 26 March until 16 December 1971. The war resulted in Bangladesh's independence from Pakistan.

It is clearly a day of pride for the Bangladeshi people who seem to have adorned almost everything with the national flag. Incidentally, the colours of the national flag symbolise the fertility of the land (green) and the blood spilt during the Liberation War (red).

Had an ok night's sleep; not as restful as hoped. Kept awake at various times of the night by mosquitos and howling wolves. Up at 9am to find there was no hot water. Headed straight to breakfast instead - mango juice, omelette, paratha and coffee. Took a baby-taxi back to Garden Tower for 11am. Most of the lads had returned from their villages ahead of this afternoon's game in Sufi's village - the final match of the tour.

After a fascinating journey, (i saw another, beautiful side to Bangladesh) we arrived pitch-side ready for kick off. After another delay we kicked off amid a celebratory, carnival atmosphere. We were on a perfectly flat plain, interrupted only by the odd herd of cattle. Cast adrift from any shade, the mid-day heat was searing. It took its toll on me during the first half.

Nevertheless, it was good first half performance from the boys and importantly, it was a massive improvement on the Sylhet game; neat, passing, controlled football. Sufi was rarely troubled in goal. Lozells entered the break 1-0 to the good after a wonderful strike from Habij.

The second half proved more difficult as legs began to tire; for large periods, the defence was under siege. However, wave after wave of opposition attack failed to break the regimented back line and Lozells held on until the final whistle. The series had been levelled: UK 2 v 2 Bangladesh. It wasn't my greatest performance but at least we registered a clean sheet. Habij was deservedly awarded Man of the Match.

I got mobbed on the final whistle - jostled, touched, hugged, pulled and eventually lifted upon the shoulders of the crowd. This is the nearest I have ever got to those childhood dreams of football stardom. It was a wonderul feeling. How on earth will I cope being a nobody again in the UK?!

We freshened up and then ate at Sufi's uncle's before heading back to base. We have a long journey ahead of us tonight. 9 hours to Chittagong and a further 4.5hrs to Cox's Bazar.

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 6: My Cow, Sylhet Stadium and Room 101

Tue, 13 Feb 2007 21:12:28 GMT

13 December 2006:

Attempted another 6am start to marvel at the sunrise but was thwarted by the weather - it was a cold, misty morning; the ground heavy with dew. Sat outside under shelter and read my book for a while before returning to the warmth of my bed. Awoken shortly after by Aftab's niece calling us for breakfast. Tucked into a delicious feast of duck omelette, bananas and cha.

Took a mid-morning walk through the surrounding villages and was confronted with abject poverty. Desperately poor people living in desperate conditions. Wattle and daub style-housing, and no access to fresh running water. I still cannot get my head around how removed these conditions are compared to life in the UK. Tragic and unforgiveable really. Something in this world has gone terrible wrong as to deal these wonderful, welcoming people such a raw deal in life. Perhaps I should be careful not to make too many assumptions about their quality of life however; most seem content and happy.

Perhaps in an effort to alleviate some of the guilt we felt, Russell and I bought a cow between us for £70; a purchase well beyond most of the villagers. Quite a frisky young lady too. She will be donated to one of the poor families in the village. In keeping with tradition, her first born calf will become the property of the family; thereafter, each calf will be ours (but donated to other families). And so on. At least we are leaving behind something useful which will be of practical benefit to these people. Quite amusing that in the space of a week, I have met Russell, shared a bed with him and now, become an international business trader with him. The only downside of our business deal being that the young lad who reared the cow is inconsolable at his loss. Feel guilty.

The main project of the day was the ceremonial sinking of a tube well in the village which will provide local people with access to clean, arsenic-free water for the first time. We watched in amazement as a group of local men drilled the foundations with bamboo cane. Quite a sight. I presented a plaque to the villagers, on behalf of Birchfield School and Lozells Strikers which reads: 'This tube well was donated by Birchfield School and Lozells Strikers FC to provide clean and arsenic-free water to the people of Bangladesh'. A genuinely moving and sobering moment. As a thank you we were invited into one of the villagers' homes and enjoyed a cup of cha. I think there was also some piss taking in Sylheti about them trying to find me a Bengali wife.

One of the most surreal sights/sounds of the village is the mobile phone; widely used in this remote, poverty-stricken, destitute community. Provided and funded I imagine by wealthier British relatives, they provide the people with a critical lifeline to the outside world. It is very weird though. The nearest western analogy I can think of was the explosion of Sky satellite dishes on council housing estates in the 1980s.

After a spot of diary filming at Aftab's village we said our goodbyes and trudged off on the 20-minute walk to the riverside to board our boat, destination: Sylhet. Much to my horror Aftab directed us on to the top of boat but after a series of near-miss rockings we retired to the hull. Despite the roaring of the engine and the pungent diesel fumes I, in true Angus style, fell fast asleep for the remainder of the 1.5 hour boat journey. After a slightly hairy disembarkation, the three of us squeezed into a baby-taxi for the second leg of the journey. Whizzing through the outskirts of Sylhet, bags upon us, we must have been quite a sight. A number of near misses later we took a well-deserved pit-stop for some pre-match fuel - crisps, bananas and mango juice.

We arrived at the Sylhet Stadium with seconds to spare before kick off; the third high-profile match of the tour. After a slightly confusing 10-minute merry-go-round to find the entrance, we finally reached pitch-side. Quite an impressive site; a modern-ish stadium which holds 15,000. I scrambled into my kit and boots and managed to catch the end of the warm-up and pre-match pleasantries. With a 4hr boat/baby taxi journey behind me, little prep or warm-up and a bad knee and ankle this was unlikely to be my finest hour. And the match was being professionally filmed too; damn it. Miraculously, I put in one of my finest displays in a Lozells shirt. You know, one of those games where every ball seems to fall to you? Won everything in the air and nearly headed home off a corner in the first half. Sadly, one a beautiful pitch, we lost 1-0. The opposition were a tidy outfit but on a better today we would have beaten them. For some unknown reason, we failed to perform. There was no fight in the team and a few of the lads' temperaments got the better of them. It was not a memorable performance. Gutted; we are now 2-1 down in the series. Anyway, I was happy with my performance (bagged a second MOTM) and lapped up the post-match praise from the crowd. Spectators seem to infer (by sticking out their chests and flexing their muscles - in the absence of a shared language) that I am the Vinnie Jones, the 'big man' of the Lozells squad. This could take me a while to get used to. I have never been a 'hard man' and at 5'9" have traditionally been one of the smaller players on the pitch. It is a very weird feeling suddenly being one of the biggest lads among 22. Again, the highlights were beamed across tv sets in Bangladesh and the UK. Incredible how much publicity this tour has generated.

Desperate for a quiet, relaxing evening (and to give the lads a break from babysitting us) Russell and I thought it a good idea to book ourselves into a hotel (I use the word loosely), for the night. Opposite Garden Tower (Aktar's apartment) and with supposed hot water, it sounded ideal. Fawlty Towers had nothing on this place. Welcome to Room 101 - yes, literally. A quick room inspection uncovered an insect infestation in the bathroom, dirty linen, a faulty a/c unit and tv and yes, you guessed it, no hot water. But, we did seem to acquire the services of a dedicated room boy. After a slightly awkward conversation which involved lots of gesticulating, he grasped our central complaint regards a lack of hot water. After handing over some taka, he promised to return in 10 minutes with a solution. Neither of us could believe our eyes on his return. He had brought us a massive plastic tub of cold water and some very dodgy looking kettle-element-like contraption. A few minutes later and the device was hanging from a piece of old rope into the tub of water. Within seconds it blew a fuse. Another awkward conversation later and he had hooked up another extension cable. Russell was convinced it still wasn't working and somehow convinced me to put my finger in the tub to test it. I knew this defied everything I had ever been taught in science lessons but somehow I still did it. Russell told me it was safe. I nearly flew halfway across the room. I made him feel suitably guilty for the rest of the evening. It would have been a pitiful end to have come up a cropper in a ropey hotel in Bangladesh. We settled for a cold shower before taking to our (dirty and uncomfortable) beds.

Part 7 of the Bangladesh Diaries will appear here shortly...

EDM 602: Wages For Bangladeshi Clothing Workers

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 20:15:24 GMT

I know that a few of you Lozells boys are reading the blog now so thought this might interest you. My local MP, Rob Marris (Lab), has taken a genuine interest in my recent visit to Bangladesh and has recently signed the following Early Day Motion (EDM) in parliament. Perhaps something you can lobby your local MP to sign?

That this House is concerned that workers in Bangladesh are regularly working 80 hours a week for just 5 pence an hour in potential death trap factories to produce cheap clothes for British consumers of Primark, Tesco and Asda's `George' range; further notes that starting wages in the factories researched for War on Want's report were as little as £8 a month, barely a third of the living wage; further notes that even better-paid sewing machine operators receive only £16 a month, which equates to 5 pence an hour for the 80 hours they regularly have to work each week; further notes that in February and March 2006 garment factory collapses and fires in Bangladesh left almost 100 workers dead and many others injured; further notes that being locked in unsafe buildings has been a common complaint among Bangladeshi factory workers and that interviewees for War on Want's report stated that emergency exits are often kept locked in their workplaces; demands UK Government intervention with the exploiting companies to ensure a fairer deal for Bangladeshi workers even if that means higher prices for UK consumers; and further demands a readiness on the part of the Government to give the ethical trading initiative on www.ethicaltrade.org statutory force if the companies do not comply.

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 5: Village Life

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 18:20:39 GMT

Part 5: Village Life

11 December 2006:

Woke early in agony. Had an awful night's sleep with my ankle. The knock I took yesterday seems worse than first thought; at the very least, bad bruising or a nasty sprain. I could literally barely walk.

After breakfast I managed to hobble to the mini-bus for the next stage of our journey: Aftab's home village. The supposed 2 hour journey took nearer 4.5 hours but I expected nothing less! It proved an eventful journey. En-route we ran out of petrol, got stuck in two muddy ditches and encountered some of the roughest roads and bridges to-date. It was actually quite an adventure though. The Toyota was unable to cope with the increasingly swampy terrain so we trooped the final mile to the village. Still amazed it got us as far as it did. Quite literally, this was one of the most remote places you can possibly imagine. Until 12 months ago it was only accessible by boat. It is surrounded by mass water plains, paddy fields and jungle-like fora. Banana, coconut, papaya and mango trees everywhere.

Although Aftab's house is impressive compared to what is around it, it is not on the scale of what we have seen to-date. Most people in the village are exceptionally poor. There is no electricity and in most places, no running water. Aftab is lucky; he has a single solar panel, which provides limited lighting in the evenings. Many of the surrounding houses (more aptly described as huts) are still constructed from wattle and daub type materials. Very basic indeed.

It became immediately clear that our visit was of some significance; the last white people to set foot in the village, did so over ten years ago. And they had been the first. For many people, especially the children this was the first time they had ever seen a white face. Unsurprisingly, Russell and I found ourselves on the end of a lot of [good natured] staring...again. As we walked through the local bazaar we began to draw quite an impressive crowd of onlookers.

On arrival at Aftab's house (or bari), we were greeted warmly by his extended family. After a quick guided tour, I settled down with a cup of chai to watch Tarzan (the pet monkey - ok, i have some animal welfare issues with this but love monkeys and to have a pet monkey for three days was just cool) tussle with the family puppy. Very amusing.

In the afternoon Aftab took us on a walk through the nearby paddy fields to witness 'magic hour', or sunset, in rural Bangladesh. The sights were wonderful: men at work cultivating the rice, cattle roaming freely, children playing etc. After a half hour walk we took a deserved break on the bank of the nearby river. Within a matter of seconds we surrounded by a crowd of 20, mesmerised by the digital cameras and camcorder. Russell and I obliged for a while, taking photos on request and playing back old footage for them, but then needed an escape. So, we took a short but peaceful boat ride, in the hazy late-afternoon sun, between banks. So tranquil and so different to the UK. It genuinely felt like a different world. Took some beautiful photos.

After dinner we spent the evening chatting (slightly awkwardly because of the language barrier) to family and a steady stream of visiting neighbours. At some point I think I mistakenly gave the impression that I was a world class chess player (I last played at primary school chess club) and to the delight of the local headteacher was challenged to a game. Oops. Thankfully it never materialised. Tarzan's antics kept us amused throughout the evening. Already, he has taken a special liking to Russell (more of that later...).

Enjoyed a late night walk around the village and was introduced to more extended family members and neighbours, all of whom have been so welcoming. I am even becoming a little more confident with my Bengali and managed a few basic, broken conversations. Stopped for a while alongside the nearby 'pond' and star-gazed. Stunning.

At some late hour, Russell and I decided bed was a good option; we both planned to be up early in the morning to marvel at the sunrise. Anyway, we retired to our bedroom (a very basic but homely concrete/brick out-house), flicked on the gas lamp and I FREAKED. Above my bed was the biggest spider you have seen in your life (yes, bigger than one from the 'horror night'). Aftab told me there were no spiders in Bangladesh when convincing me to sign up. I will kill him. Anyway, I knew it was big because Russell looked pretty peturbed and he's not even frightened of spiders. There was simply no way I could sleep with that above my head. What if it nestled down next to me, or even worse, crawled on to my face? Somewhat embarrassingly had to trudge back to the main house and ask if someone could remove it/kill it for me. A friend of the family obliged with a very large broom...and laughed at me. Silly English boy he probably thought. Don't blame him. Think I definitely need to seek some kind of help/therapy on my return.

12 December 2006:

My plan for a 6am wake up to watch the sunrise failed miserably. I did wake at 6am but had a stinging sore throat so thought 'sod this' and duly fell back to sleep (after a quick torch check on the walls for spiders). My only consolation being that Aftab and Russell missed sunrise too; it was a murky and misty start to the day and the sun was nowhere to be seen.

Enjoyed a late breakfast of spiced noodles (didn't expect noodles in Bangladesh), bananas and chai before retiring to the tranquility of the roof garden (well, the top of the roof anyway). Sat for a good two hours, reading and soaking up the peace and quiet. It was absolute bliss and the sights and sounds spectacular. I can so understand why Aftab loves this place so much. Rusell joined me and soon-after we were both joined by our little monkey friend. Now, how can I put this? No point beating around the bush is there? Russell got sexually assaulted by a monkey this afternoon. Soooooooooooo funny. Russell didn't see the funny side.

Shortly after mid-day we strolled through the local bazaar, to the waterside, to meet Ted, Shawkat and Hannan. They had been forced to make the final twenty minutes of the journey by boat; the weather and conditions had finally beaten our trusty Toyota.

Headed off to the local school for one of our key projects. We were greeted by the headteacher (kept my head down as this was the guy who challenged me to that game of chess) in a 1940s style staff room which, interestingly, was adorned with fading posters depicting the anatomy of a cockroach. Nice. Shawkat and Ted then delivered an excellent class to the kids on the water cycle; which complemented a piece of work they had been doing with their kids in Birmingham. The children were fascinated and in an interactive session learned the key differences between how drinking water is accessed in their village and in the UK.

After a delicious lunch, cooked and served by a group of female pupils we took to the school playing field for a kick-a-round with the school football team. Unfortunately, I had to sit this one out because of my troublesome ankle. Felt guilty but desperately didn't want to miss tomorrow's big match at the Sylhet Stadium. It was a fun game and the kids seemed to enjoy it. Man of the match should have been awarded to the 'water boy' - the youngest lad at the school who dived into the surrounding river and 'pond' every time the ball ended up in the water (pretty frequently). Russell also succeeded in attracting his biggest crowd to-date - must have been at least 50 of them following his every step. He is beginning to resemble the Pied Piper.

After the match we gathered with the kids for a formal presentation; we had donated 2 cricket sets, new school chairs and desks and (thanks to my mum) a stack of stationery - think we made some of the kids' year. Some of them will probably never forget this visit.

The experiences of the past week are definitely beginning to put my own life, and associated luxuries, into some sort of perspective.

Wandered back to Aftab's, via Kutub's (Aftab's cousin) chicken farm, and enjoyed a light dinner in the company of Tarzan. After dinner the lads headed back to the boat for the return journey to Sylhet.

We had a fairly quiet evening: a walk to Kutub's for chai and chat and then bed at 10.30pm. Oh, and the father of last night's murdered spider decided to join me. Again, he was dismissed. Still, I was quite brave and managed to use the toilet (in the pitch black), surrounded by more of the damn things. Aaaargh.

Part 6 of the Bangladesh Diaries: My Cow, Sylhet Stadium and Room 101, will follow here shortly...

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 4: The British Council and Tajpur FC

Sat, 06 Jan 2007 18:21:37 GMT

Part 4: The British Council and Tajpur FC

10 December 2006:

Woke early to find a small crowd of onlookers gathered at the foot of my bed. As usual, they simply wanted to say hello, practice some English with me...and stare. Ever so gradually becoming accustomed to my new found stardom.

Russell looked decidedly unwell this morning; the dreaded diarrhea had finally taken its first official victim. Felt really sorry for him, this is exactly what we had both been dreading. Nevertheless, he made an heroic effort of the day ahead...

Enjoyed a hearty breakfast (Russell opted out), before heading back into the centre of Sylhet to meet Akhtar et al for our next official visit of the tour: The British Council. An internationally operating UK-based charity, The British Council operates in 109 countries and states its purpose as:

Our purpose is to build mutually beneficial relationships between people in the UK and other countries and to increase appreciation of the UK’s creative ideas and achievements.

This work is driven by our strong belief in internationalism, a commitment to professionalism and an enthusiasm for creativity. These qualities, coupled with our integrity and our conviction that cultural relations can help individuals and the world community to thrive, make the British Council a good partner and a special place to work.

The Sylhet Office (which is very small compared to its Dhaka counterpart), proudly supports Bangladeshi students through an array of English language based qualifications, including the internationally recognised GCSE and 'A' Level. Many then go on to study at UK and Australian universities.

It was a really interesting visit, despite the small premises. Our guide spoke in detail of the Council's mission, purpose and activities, introduced us to a selection of students and gave us a tour of the building. Although it was no more than a fact-finding visit on our part, our hosts seemed to welcome the opportunity to meet and greet a delegation from the UK (especially since our moment of fame on Bangladeshi TV). I sensed an air of disappointment amongst some of our the lads though. I think they had been banking on another high-profile, glitz and glamour visit akin to our meeting with Anwar Choudhury. Certainly worthwhile I thought.

I became increasingly concerned about Russell as the visit drew to a close, he looked absolutely awful. By the time we had got back to Hannan's house, he looked even worse and sensibly retired to bed. He spent the remainder of the day flat-out but was cared for diligently by Hannan's family.

Soon after, the rest of the lads joined us; an en masse gathering in advance of our high-profile match v local village outfit, Tajpur FC. On their arrival the squad was treated to a pre-match feast of fresh coconut; plucked from the tree before our very eyes. I had never tried fresh coconut (very different to the over-ripe coconut we are used to in the UK) before; absolutely out of this world. I managed to take some decent photos but in Russell's absence, soon became the the focus of an overbearing level of attention from the kids.

The afternoon match versus Tajpur was expected to be the highlight of the tour. Three of the lads' families live in the surrounding area and had vowed to turn out in force to support us. In fact, trucks had been hired to ship-in supporters from across the area. The lads were desperate to put in a good performance; a serious amount of pride was a stake. The pressure was well and truly on.

A quick pitch inspection on arrival confirmed the worst. It was by far and away the worst playing surface I have ever seen. Only marginally more play-able than the moon in fact. The goalposts consisted of wooden poles and old rope, line markings were replaced with trenches, and the pitch was littered with concrete, rocks, potholes and sand...oh, and goats. Still, the caretaker's face was a joy to behold. He was hosting a team from England, a major, major event in this small village on the outskirts of Sylhet city.

After emerging from the 'changing rooms' (an old school classroom) I was stunned to see the size of the gathering crowd. I had been told to expect a good turnout but this was something else; literally hundreds were flooding on to the touchline to grab a pitch side 'seat'. Others made do with a birds-eye-view from the top of surrounding buildings. The match had been promoted in the local media and via a series of loudspeaker announcements. Neveretheless, I had not been prepared for the level of interest that our visit had quite clearly generated. I was about to play in front of the biggest crowd of my life. We were even, courtesy of a loudspeaker in the VIP area, provided with a running match commentary. Intriguingly, some 90% of the 800+ crowd were vocally backing the boys from Birmingham.

After a series of protracted niceties and speeches from local dignitaries (including the local MP, who had only the day before survived an assassination attempt), the match finally kicked off.

Tajpur were not a bad outfit but certainly not comparable to our more illustrious opposition in Dhaka. Nevertheless, they were bursting with energy and commitment and were clearly intent on 'roughing up' their UK visitors. A serious of dubious early challenges (including one on me) was testament to that fact. However, Lozells soon began to assert their authority and looked the more composed side. Thankfully my knee (heavily strapped) held out; but, thanks to a pot-hole on the edge of our 25yd box I managed to collect a badly bruised hip and twisted/sprained ankle. Most importantly, a scrappy affair ended in a 3-0 victory for Lozells Strikers. A brace from Ruhel and another goal from Hannan (which earned the 'local boy' the biggest cheer of the day) made up for our disappointing defeat in Dhaka. Moreoveer, it ensured that Egg, Hannan, and Sufi could hold their heads high for the next 30 years when visiting the family!

A jubilant crowd when wild at the final whistle and flooded on to the pitch the congratulate the lads from Lozells. We quite literally got mobbed. I could definitely get used to this. I felt on top of the world.

Rubel was awarded man of the match but seemed less than impressed with his prize...a bar of soap.

We were treated to a post-match burger (of some description) with the local dignitaries. I fear this could rebound on me tomorrow. Immodium tablets have been put within easy-reach.

Returned to Hannan's for the night and enjoyed my first hot 'shower' since I departed from the UK. Admittedly, it consisted of a jug and bucket of hot water but it felt amazing. Made me genuinely appreciate the basic things we so often take for granted i.e. access to running hot water on demand.

Took an evening walk around the village, which included a quick tour of the new house Hannan (and family) are building/financing for the family in Bangladesh. An impressive and imposing 10-bed, three-floor mansion; and all for just £70k. It would most probably fetch £750k in the UK. It just demonstrates what can be achieved through cooperative principles and strong family ties.

En-route back we stopped for a moment, switched off our torches and stargazed. Incredible. I have never seen the stars with such clarity. It was a tranquil, beautiful and emotional (I always think of my late grandparents when gazing at the stars) moment.

Returned to find Russell tired, but in much better shape. He should be ok by the morning.

In bed for 10.30pm. Drifted off to sleep recounting my newfound football stardom - something I have dreamed off since the age of 6.

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 5: Village Life, will appear here shortly...

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 3: Sylhet Bound

Wed, 03 Jan 2007 12:13:01 GMT

Part 3: Sylhet Bound:

7 December 2006

Still exhausted from yesterday's travelling, we treated ourselves to a lie in this morning; 'til 8.30am anyway. After the usual breakfast of paratha, daal and vegetables we split into a couple of groups for a 'quiet' day in Dhaka. One group headed for the shops; we went in search of a cyber cafe to contact friends and relatives and to upload some images of the welfare trust visit to send back to one of our supporting schools in Birmingham.

The traffic and pollution in Dhaka seemed worse than ever; it must have taken us 45 minutes to travel just one mile. We finally arrived at Dhaka national stadium which sits aside a thriving market scene. Our guide seemed to think that this was the most likely area in which we would find a cyber cafe. How wrong he was. After a very fruitless walk around the market area we pretty much gave up hope of finding a PC let alone an internet connection. Bizarrely, the market area seemed to consist almost entirely of mobile phone shops.

A quick rickshaw ride and some expert guidance meant we eventually stumbled on a small print shop, which happened to have a PC. Despite a 30 minute upload time, Ted finally managed to get a selection of photos sent home to Birmingham. I attempted to send a few e-mails but the connection was just too slow; and I was beginning to attract too much attention over my shoulder. Still finding the whole 'staring thing' really unnerving. After another nightmare mini-bus journey (I am rapidly tiring of Dhaka) we arrived back at the hostel to pack.

We boarded a luxury Volvo coach at 6.30pm for the next stage of our journey: Sylhet. The Sylhet Division is 'home' to the majority of the Bangladeshi community in the UK. Looking forward to Sylhet. Dhaka is becoming very stressful. The lads will feel much more comfortable in Sylhet and have a much better grasp of the language (very different to that spoken in Dhaka). You can sense that at times they have felt decidedly uneasy and edgy in Dhaka.

After finally negotiating our way out of Dhaka we hit the newly constructed Dhaka-Syhlet highway; a luxury in Bangladesh.The 6 hour journey flew. Slept for half of the journey and spent some time reading; finally a bit of 'me' time. The iPod is also rapidly becoming my saviour; it means I can take a bit of 'home' with me wherever I go. And believe me, you sometimes need it. Call it escapism if you like. Stormed through the greatest hits of Presley and Dylan before relaxing to 'This Sceptred Isle' and Blackadder I.

Finally arrived, tired, in Sylhet at 12:30am. Most of the lads headed to Akhtar's apartment. Aftab, Russell and myself were instead taken by 'baby taxi' to the middle-class home of Sufi's in-laws. The welcome extended to us was wondrous. Again, I felt humbled and slightly awkward. We had just disturbed these strangers at 1:30am. Yet, after a much needed cup of chai, we sat down to an incredible spread of home-made food: kebab, chicken, lamb, daal, rice, fish, vegetable, paratha etc. Spectacular food. Also, becoming quite a master eating with my hands.

Finally retired to bed at 2.30am. Shared a double bed with Russell. Slept ok.

8 December 2006

Woke at 8.30am and treated to a breakfast of kebab, daal and paratha, washed down with sweet chai. Left our bags and headed into the centre of Sylhet city to meet up with the lads. Aktar's apartment is impressive. Four double beds and even the occasional hot water. A bargain at £30k.

Jumped into the mini-bus for the short ride to the Shahjalal Mosque. Few of the lads adhere to the strict demands of Islam but most wanted to attend Friday prayers. It was a bustling atmosphere en-route to the mosque; and the poverty was deeply distressing. For days I had been quietly worrying about not feeling any genuine pangs of emotion at the street poverty I had witnessed in Dhaka. Perhaps it was because it was so impersonal and 'less in your face'. Moreover, after a government clamp-down, there are fewer beggars in Dhaka. In Sylhet, it felt deeply personal. The road to the mosque was lined with the most desperate-looking people I have ever seen. Amputees and cripples writhing on the floor, cravenly begging for the odd spare Taka. I found it moving, upsetting and deeply distressing. How can people still have to live like this in 2006?

Bought myself a tupi (Islamic hat) from a street-seller to wear at the mosque. Looked quite fetching.

The mosque itself was quite imposing and is one of the largest in Bangladesh. Security was tight after an assassination attempt last year bit it felt safe and welcoming. As the lads lined up amongst the other 1500+ to pray, Russell and I stood at the back soaking up the atmosphere. Staring was common (nothing unusual there then) but mostly out of a genuine wish to engage with us. Bangladeshis seem such proud, inquisitive people, they want to know everything about you.

For those of you who are regular readers of my blog, you will know that I was quite apprehensive about this Bangladesh visit. Quite aside from the fact that Bangladesh is 95% Muslim (think current world poltical climate and Iraq), I was unsure how the British would be perceived in a post colonial land which suffered terribly during and after partition. Moreover, it is estimated that over 5 million died in the 1943 Bengal Famine; in part due to the failed British response to the tragedy. Anyway, to-date, I couldn't have wished for a more hospitable and genuinely friendly welcome from the people of Bangladesh. I would go so far to say that Russell and I have been treated like near royalty; something that I am struggling to come to terms with. It feels like a very weird post-imperial hangover. We are frequently served first in cafes and restaurants, the police in halt the traffic to allow us to cross, government officials, including the army, salute us, and we get waved through political demontrations and blockades with ease. Thankfully, the lads find it amusing; I find it awkward and rather embarrassing. Still, it is a relief to feel such comforst amongst strangers. Despite the legacy of Empire, there quite clearly remains a deep affection for Britain and the British people, something I genuinely was not expecting.

Anyway, back to the mosque. One lad diligently looked after us throughout, glowed when I congratulated him on his English and in a moment of friendship and respect, bestowed me with an honorary Islamic name. So, Ian James Angus AKA Arafat Ashad. Not quite sure whether it suits...

The mosque was a sight to behold; a rhythmic sea of vivid colour rising and sinking to prayer. A scene that even I could appreciate as a devout atheist.

The walk or 'struggle' back to the mini-buses was equally distressing - amputees, the elderly, children, and women with babes in arms, clutching at your trousers and shirt, desperate for a spare taka. My heart strings were not just being pulled they were being yanked damn hard. However, you just cannot give. If you did, you would get mobbed and quite possibly injured. Tragic and desperately upsetting. Interestingly (and even more tragically) the lads tell me that many of these poor people are in the pay of local gangmasters who control individual streets and their begging activities. Some of the amputees are likely to have actually had their limbs hacked off by their gangmaster simply to generate more sympathy and more money. An experience so remote from anything I have witnessed before. Finally board the mini-bus, feeling quite shaken and very reflective.

Had a late afternoon training session in Sylhet on a pitch riddled with concrete, pot holes, goats and cows. Not ideal for a man with notoriously dodgy knees. Still struggling with the injury picked up in Sylhet so manage my way through the fitness training but opt to sit out of the training match. Really concerned that this knee injury could keep me out for the rest of the tour. Gutted.

In the evening we moved on experience the delights of 'village' life for the first time. Again, Sufi's extended family were the hosts. Another extremely warm welcome; chai, biscuits and a late night feast of rice, meat and fish. The house or 'bari' was set in impressive grounds, surrounded by bamboo and banana trees. For the first time, I glanced upwards and saw a beautifully clear sky, shimmering full of stars; perfect tranquility. I just wish the night had ended there and then; the rest turned into a scene from a horror movie.

I decided on a short midnight walk but in the light of the moon caught a glimpse of the biggest spider I have seen in my life (even the lads were shocked by the size of it), hanging across branches directly above my head. I froze on the spot, terrified and seriously freaked. I must get over this phobia when I return to the UK, it is beginning to affect what I can do and where I can go.

Then there was bed time...

Russell and I found ourselves to bed partners again. It proved to be the most terrifying night of my life. The lights went out shortly after 1am. Within seconds, a loud scratching sound from beneath the sideboard brought us both upright with a bolt. This was soon accompanied by the frantic scurrying of something under the bed and a manic flapping sound in the roof. Our shared terror was further compounded by a wild scratching at the door. I was beginning to prepare myself for a very nasty end. The lads' tales of witchcraft, black magic and voodoo were playing havoc with my mind. The pair of us lay their for near two and half hours utterly petrified, afraid to move. My palpitations heightened when I spotted a huge lizard-shaped shadow on the wall. At that point, totally freaked and unable to take any more, Russell made a brave dash to the light switch. Thankfully, although somewhat embarassingly, it was only a wall ornament. It was a tortuous night. Finally fell asleep at 4ish. We were up again at 6am. Felt awful.

9 December 2006

Turns out that the insane scratching noise from last night was a wild cat desperate to share our bedroom. I am convinced that the other intrudors included a rat (at least one), a bat and a handful of geckos. And that was just the stuff we could hear...

Packed our bags (rather rapidly) and headed back into the centre of Sylhet for a 7am training session. I felt terrible; sleep deprived and very moody. Reluctantly did the fitness training and ball skills work but again opted out of the 5-a-side match; party due to my knee injury but more to do with my mood and tiredness.

The rest of the day was a non-entity; spent it waiting around for others. Grumpy, angry, ratty and for the first time, homesick. I just wanted to go home. The constant staring, the lads' bickering and the absolute absence of any privacy is driving me mad. I hate being so reliant on the lads for everything; espeically with their awful timekeeping. I can't even wander to the local store for an apple without one of the lads minding me for fear of being ripped off. I am tiring of Bangladesh very rapidly.

In the evening, we drove to Hannan's village. His family were so welcoming but the staring and excessive interest was too much; I just wanted to sleep. And so I did, with my second bed partner of the trip: Aftab. Had a restful night's sleep, despite the fluctuating crowd at the bottom of the bed...

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 4: The British Council and Tajpur FC, to follow shortly...

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 2: Jamalpur and Jamuna Bridge

Sun, 31 Dec 2006 11:25:34 GMT

Part 2: Jamalpur and Jamuna Bridge:

6 December 2006

Today would prove a humbling experience for us all: a visit to a welfare and health clinic in Jamalpur, established by the Sircer Pasha Welfare Trust.

Woke at 5.30am for a 6am start. Naturally, the Bangla boys were late so eventually hit the road at 7am in our trusty 1980s Toyota. Roqib and I made the fatal mistake of occupying the back seats; a serious error of judgement in a van with no suspension in Bangladesh. For three of the four and a half hour journey the roads were horrendous; must have smacked my head on the roof of the van on at least five occasions. Oh, and I experienced 10+ near death experiences on the outward journey to Jamalpur alone. The standard of driving in this country is utterly frightening.

Finally arrived at Jamalpur shortly before mid-day after a slightly edgy final half hour drive - we hit a blockade en-route, formed after a local political activist had been killed in nearby political demonstrations. After some frantic diplomatic efforts we eventually sailed through, with a motorcycle motorcade.

On arrival at the welfare centre/clinic we were greeted by a procession of young ladies carrying bouqets of flowers for us all; unexpected and quite touching. After a short tree and flower planting ceremony we were taken on a guided tour of the project which included a clinic/GP practice, school-room, and a skills/training room for women. I was quite choked by the enthusiasm of the young children, whose passion for learning puts some of our own to shame; and these children are desperately poor; they quite literally have nothing bar this basic education. It might not sound much to us but believe me, in this remote pocket of Bangladesh, this project is quite literally life saving. And without doing a disservice to the trustees and wonderful volunteers, the project is the work of one incredible lady. Fondly known simply as 'Aunty', this former UK public servant and resident of Birmingham, ploughed her full pension pot into making this project work, thus helping some of Bangladesh's poorest people. Since inception the project has gained full charitable status in the UK and has received support and funding from DFID; a simple testimony to its incredible work. Set amongst the towering fruit trees of the banana, papaya, coconut, mango and lemon, it was a truly serene place. I was instantly taken aback by the hard work, commitment and pride displayed the project's array of local volunteers.

We drove a short distance to one of the nearby villages; one of the many now served by the welfare trust. As the mini-buses drew into the village, we were greeted by a frenzied welcome; the arrival of 17 UK visitors is clearly not a common sight. Moreover, I suspect that for many of the residents, this was the first time they had ever seen a white face. Naturally, Russell and I drew significant personal followings throughout. People just wanted to look at us, touch us and ask us a series of questions, which I suspect we will become quite accustomed to by the end of the tour:

1. What is your name?

2. What is your father's name?

3. What is your country?

4. What is your profession?

5. What is your qualification?

Quite incredible that people (most of whom i assume are illiterate), display such a keen interest in one's academic qualifications. Perhaps indicative of the absolute importance that Bengalis appear to attach to education? Clearly, they are very proud people.

After a short walk we arrived in the centre of the village. I was instantly choked. Here we are in 2006, yet this was a scene reminiscent of the Dark Ages. Desperately poor people living and working to survive: a genuine hand-to-mouth existence.

The local people listended intently as Ruhel (a dentist by profession in the UK) delivered an excellent workshop on oral cancer and dental care. Oral cancer is a particular problem in Bangladesh (and indeed, amongst the Bengali community in the UK) largely because of the chewing of Pan, a type of snack, usually consisting betel nut and tobacco. Unfortunately, the children's interest did wane towards the end; subsumed by the novelty of two white men in the village...and more importantly their digital cameras! Their fascination with the cameras and camcorder was a joy to watch, especially when we showed them the photos of themselves on screen. I think it blew their minds. It's just quite sad that we couldn't leave them copies.

These people have nothing yet they displayed heart-rendering warmth, hospitality and friendship towards us. Those who could, desperately tried to practice their English on us, those who couldn't communicated by handshake and gesture. Incredible how much a simple smile can cement an instant bond between people, something we are prone to forget in the UK.

The visit had left me touched, deeply humbled and at one point, quite upset. It certainly puts our 'stressful' western lives into some sort of perspective.

Returned to the welfare centre for a wonderful lunch, which for the first time tested my ability to eat in true Bengali style; with my hands. Passed admirably I think, although for someone with a definite touch of OCD, it could take some getting used to! We spent the final couple of hours wandering around the grounds, chatting to staff and taking photographs. At 5pm, after a presentation session and a final goodbye, we boarded our buses for the return journey to Dhaka.

We stopped en-route to catch a glimpse of Jamuna Bridge, the 12th longest bridge in the world and a source of great pride to Bengali people. Sadly, we could see little because of the dark. After another hair-raising drive (I have now taken to trying to close my eyes for the entire journey) we finally arrived back in Dhaka at 10.30pm. We stopped at a very basic roadside eatery (incomparable to anything you can possible imagine in the UK), for paratha, daal and mixed vegetable. 8 of us fed for about £1.

The Bangladesh Diaries, Part 3: 'Sylhet Bound', to follow shortly...