After three months in Bangladesh it’s time to get out, take a break and come back ready to knuckle down. So this time next week I’ll be on a plane to China, to see Pi, travel to Xi’An and around the Yunnan Province with Emma, enjoy some wine, great food, shopping and fabulous conversation. I almost can’t imagine how luxurious it all will be.
Yesterday I went south-east to a town called Noakali to meet some of UNICEF’s child journalists. They are a great bunch of kids, and it’s an amazing project. The children (aged 13 – 18) receive journalism training and the support of a team leader to write a report every other month about child rights violations in their district. Free from the political motivations of adult journalists and understanding of the plight of other children, these child journalists are writing objective reports that are taken seriously, even by government. And, to be selfish about it, it’s nice to meet some children who have happy, prosperous lives ahead of them.
Noakali itself is beautiful and green and peaceful, and even has a Ghandi Tribute Museum that we stopped at on our way back to Dhaka.
The things I see here on a daily basis are cause for much reflection. I don’t want to become accustomed to the staring or the begging or the poverty that surrounds me. At the same time, if I let it affect me, it’s hard to survive.
It’s funny to think it’s possible to travel across the world to discover what it is in life you DON’T want.
Perhaps it’s more a sign that my generation, with our endless opportunities and the world at our feet, is hard to please. Never happy with what we have. Thinking the grass is always greener.
But if nothing else, this year seems to be showing me what is important in life. Namely, having the people you love around...because what good is a life full of adventure, travel and amazing experiences if you don’t have someone to share them with?
And it’s quite possible that I’ve come all this way to realise that, actually, what I want I had all along. And there are things I have lost now by coming here, but I suppose it’s all in the name of becoming a better person. So it’s hard to regret that at least.
Happy Birthday Vin.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Ooooh nice...the object of sexual objectification
One of the first things I noticed here and one of the hardest things to cope with due to its unrelenting persistence is the staring. Now, it’s one thing to stare at me because I’m white (that’s the curious stare), but it’s another to stare at me because I’m a white woman (that’s the perverted stare).
Gender relations in Bangladesh leaves something to be desired. It’s ok for you to stare at my chest, but it’s not okay for me to hug my male friend...please explain? Apart from a few ‘out there’ young couples, there is a distinct lack of public affection between the sexes. Even an innocent pat on the back (or butt slap...go figure) is inappropriate.
I know it doesn’t sound like something that would cause great anxiety, but actually after a stressful day a hug (or butt slap) may be required. Also we all know self control isn’t my strong point. Can’t have something? Sorry, what? All I can see is this huge red flag...
Don’t get me wrong, not all affection is forbidden. In fact, it is very common to see men holding hands, and occasionally women, but male-female touching is strictly out of bounds.
If staring were an Olympic sport, Bangladesh would take gold. And I’m not just talking about the staring at bideshi’s...but staring at anything of the remotest interest. Laying a driveway? Changing a tyre? I’m gonna stick around and watch for awhile.
This isn’t a massive problem for me, because as any of my exes will testify, I have an uncanny ability to block out or ignore things (sometimes even whole conversations). It’s when the staring turns into blatantly sexual observation that I have a problem.
“Oooh nice” is a phrase I hear often. This comment, unlike many of the others (“hey baby/sexy”, etc) which are said quietly in passing, is blatant in its directness...usually said as he is approaching and has had a chance to give you a full look over. Should I be honoured that he really thinks so?
The jeering combined with the staring and occasional ass grabbing is too much some days. And it makes me think that sexual repression has a lot of answer for.
Sexuality is such a different kettle of fish here. In western cultures we revel in revealing womanly curves in a subtle way (ok, ok and sometimes not so subtly). Here, every curve is observed, almost because of attempts to cover them up. The salwar (pants) is high waisted and long legged (to hide those sexy ankles), the kameez (top) is long to prevent the showing of flesh and the orna (scarf) should be worn across the chest to hide womanly contours. Still, they look.
I’ve never felt more observed in my life.
But it is something that you learn to accept and surely part of the reason we are here is to gain a deeper cultural understanding and build relationships to further cultural exchange. As much as there is to be saddened by the traditional and often horrific gender abuses in Bangladesh, you can see things are changing (however slowly) and that, in most part, there is a recognition of this need.
Gender relations in Bangladesh leaves something to be desired. It’s ok for you to stare at my chest, but it’s not okay for me to hug my male friend...please explain? Apart from a few ‘out there’ young couples, there is a distinct lack of public affection between the sexes. Even an innocent pat on the back (or butt slap...go figure) is inappropriate.
I know it doesn’t sound like something that would cause great anxiety, but actually after a stressful day a hug (or butt slap) may be required. Also we all know self control isn’t my strong point. Can’t have something? Sorry, what? All I can see is this huge red flag...
Don’t get me wrong, not all affection is forbidden. In fact, it is very common to see men holding hands, and occasionally women, but male-female touching is strictly out of bounds.
If staring were an Olympic sport, Bangladesh would take gold. And I’m not just talking about the staring at bideshi’s...but staring at anything of the remotest interest. Laying a driveway? Changing a tyre? I’m gonna stick around and watch for awhile.
This isn’t a massive problem for me, because as any of my exes will testify, I have an uncanny ability to block out or ignore things (sometimes even whole conversations). It’s when the staring turns into blatantly sexual observation that I have a problem.
“Oooh nice” is a phrase I hear often. This comment, unlike many of the others (“hey baby/sexy”, etc) which are said quietly in passing, is blatant in its directness...usually said as he is approaching and has had a chance to give you a full look over. Should I be honoured that he really thinks so?
The jeering combined with the staring and occasional ass grabbing is too much some days. And it makes me think that sexual repression has a lot of answer for.
Sexuality is such a different kettle of fish here. In western cultures we revel in revealing womanly curves in a subtle way (ok, ok and sometimes not so subtly). Here, every curve is observed, almost because of attempts to cover them up. The salwar (pants) is high waisted and long legged (to hide those sexy ankles), the kameez (top) is long to prevent the showing of flesh and the orna (scarf) should be worn across the chest to hide womanly contours. Still, they look.
I’ve never felt more observed in my life.
But it is something that you learn to accept and surely part of the reason we are here is to gain a deeper cultural understanding and build relationships to further cultural exchange. As much as there is to be saddened by the traditional and often horrific gender abuses in Bangladesh, you can see things are changing (however slowly) and that, in most part, there is a recognition of this need.
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