Focus. Focus on the Monkeys

January 21, 2015April 12, 2021 / johnstanlake / 5 Comments

Before I begin this anecdotal blog, let me first say a very belated happy new year and all the best for 2015. Also, many apologies for the lack of updates over the past couple of months. The trials and tribulations of obtaining a new Bangladesh visa (which entailed a trip to India) in addition to end of term work pressure, locating homes for puppies, fun times in the UK over Christmas, and of course the usual lack of writing inspiration all conspired to keep me anywhere but on my blog.

However, inspiration always lurks ominously around a shadowy, unassuming corner, ready to pounce, and my recent decision to get a haircut proved to be all the inspiration I needed. I’ll set the scene for you if I may. The barber shop is directly across from my apartment building here on a narrow and often dim street in Chittagong.

It’s a small, notably local establishment, and it seems to do okay for business. On the walls there are posters of ‘stylish’ men all with various levels of cutting edge/absurd hairstyles. One section is reserved for celebrities, who also offer an equitable level of absurdity.

Upon entering the shop you pass through a curtain and if you’re lucky, on the other side you’ll find a half naked man having oil rubbed into his back and in the middle of an evidently rigorous massage. If only one barber is working at that time, the rest of the long-haired men with tight shoulders wait patiently for the current customer’s knots to be worked out. This can take anywhere between 5 – 15 minutes, depending on the size of his shoulders and the severity of his knots of course.

On this particular day my luck was in (or out I suppose, depending on if you enjoy sitting through another man’s massage). My usual barber was stood outside and informed me the shop was currently empty, so taking opportunity of this, I entered. The television was on, and I was pleased to find that he was in the middle of watching Animal Planet and a fascinating documentary about monkeys. Jackpot.

I settled into the chair and uttered the usual instruction of “medium please bhaiya.” He has cut my hair sufficient times now to know this means a classic short back and sides. A regulation haircut the fashion hungry men on the wall would no doubt scoff at. However, I’m a teacher and I already wear ‘gap yah’ bands on my wrist, so a radical haircut would be excessive and detract from the content of the class.

Things were going well. The scissors snipped at a productive and efficient speed, I inquired about his family, he asked me if I was married yet, and then we relaxed back into our shared mutual acknowledgment of the very evident language barrier. The monkeys on the television continued to display their humorous behavior, and the documentary outlined their mischievous ways in the dusty city of Jaipur, India. Sufficient entertainment for one and all.

My barber’s colleague had re-entered the establishment by this point and was joined by another man who came and perched himself on the seat in the waiting area. He didn’t appear to want a cut, but was happy enough sheltering from the winter cold (comfortable temperature as I call it) outside, and his eyes were immediately glued to Animal Planet.

The man had a sweater wrapped around his head and a heavy shawl around his shoulders. He’s largely irrelevant to the story, but I like the fact he seems to use the shop as a source of television. I presume this is the case as he uttered neither a single word to any of us, nor changed facial expression the entire time I was there.

Now, back to the tale. It was about at this time that events turned, and not for the better I should add. The cutting of the hair came to an efficient end. My barber performed a light trim of the beard, and as usual applied a razor to the lower back of the neck area to sharpen up the border.

Great, well I’ll be off I presumed. A dangerous presumption it turned out as he proceeded to remove the lid from a small tub on the counter and placed a generous amount of an unmarked, bright green cream to his fingers. Without any word of warning he then applied this liberally across my face. I shut my eyes and cursed myself for not protesting sooner, but it was too late now.

The green cream was there and he subsequently spent around five (it felt like twenty five…) minutes rubbing it vigorously over every area of my face. No nook or cranny was untouched. Now, I have a terrible habit of finding these types of procedure awkward, and when I feel awkward I tend to break out in uncontrollably awkward grins. This is precisely what occurred once the cream rubbing became too much.

Eventually he told me to bend towards the sink and washed off the cream. Relief abound, I again foolishly presumed the procedure was over. He made elaborate work of drying off my face and then kindly rubbed cologne over my freshly shaven neck. Well, I will at least walk out of here feeling quite refreshed and smelling good I thought.

I was mistaken about the walking out part. The fun had apparently only just begun. Once again without giving any indication or warning he sprayed water onto my hair and then proceeded to massage my head, twisting and pulling at my hair quite aggressively and then pressing his fingers into my forehead and eye sockets.

At that point I kind of wished I was one of those monkeys on the television at the temple in India. Freely jumping from wall to wall, stealing sandwiches and harassing tourists, but alas, I was sat here in a chair, a prisoner to this man’s grand ambitions of a full upper body massage. A massage that I had certainly not requested or envisaged only a few minutes prior.

He worked the face, and paid significant attention to my eyelids. Focus on the monkeys I thought. He stretched out my arms and clicked each of my fingers. Then he went for the sides of my torso and pressed and prodded. I squirmed due to the ticklish nature of the procedure, but he carried on regardless. By this point I’d gone. The situation was too much and my subtle grins stretched painfully to a resigned broad smile followed by very obvious laughter.

He glanced at me in the mirror and we shared a knowing grin. I think it was finally at this point he realized and acknowledged my comedic discomfort, and I presume this prompted him to abandon the next stage of the process. Thankfully the bottle of massage oil stayed firmly on the counter and I was permitted to exit the chair and make my way to the door.

This was however not before he’d charged me four times the usual price! We debated about this for a while and then came to an agreement, which included a categorical promise that next time I’d come solely for a haircut and entertaining television.

As I left the shop that evening I felt like I’d learned a valuable lesson. I’m still not entirely sure what that lesson is, but I learned it all the same. I bid my farewells to the barber, his colleague and the stranger, and as the door slid shut I heard the rampant screams of the monkeys from Jaipur continuing with their reign of terror at the temple….

Here are two photos (in no way related to the story in this blog) that I took here in Bangladesh, which do show a fairly typical barber shop.

Heigh-Ho!

October 31, 2014March 18, 2018 / johnstanlake / 6 Comments

In my previous blog I presented the photographic evidence of copious tea shop visits and interactions with the owners and clientele. During those photo walks I also captured a few images of people at work.

I found that it was quite fascinating to sit and photograph people going about their daily work and trades. I wanted to post this blog simply to present the images that reflect daily life here as I see it through my lens.

This is what I enjoy most about engaging in one of my favourite hobbies here in Chittagong. Through photography I extract so much joy from being able to view and explore this fascinating city and country and to view sights that perhaps seem ordinary or even mundane to one set of eyes, yet to others tell a story.

So, here are the results. Some of the photos were taken some months/years ago, but all are from Bangladesh. Also you may notice that there are few women featured. This was obviously not a conscious decision of mine, but rather reflective of the trades I photographed, and crucially, my location.

The Welders

IMG_1654a

The CNG driver

The Rickshawalah

Rickshawalahs

The man who fixes the rickshawalah’s wheels…

The Boatmen

The Tailors

The Fishermen

Bangladesh faces

…and the man who transports their catch to market

to the man who sells them at the market…

The Farmer

The Produce Sellers

The Butcher

The Ice Cream Man

The Jeweller

The Carpenter

The Cooks

IMG_6113 copy

Bangladesh faces

The Load Carriers and Goods Transporters

IMG_5942 copy

And finally, the metalsmith

All images © John Stanlake

Bhaiya, Cha Khaben?

September 30, 2014February 20, 2025 / johnstanlake / 12 Comments

Tea Shops of Chittagong

It’s probably no secret that one of my favourite activities in Chittagong is drinking tea. You may be thinking well, he’s British, so it kind of figures. Along with queuing and in depth discussions about the weather, we Brits love nothing more than a hot brew. Drinking tea; It’s what we do. When we’re upset, confused, nervous, celebrating, commiserating, pontificating, procrastinating, gossiping, etc, etc….we put the kettle on, and we go straight for the teabags.

Well, here in Chittagong there seems to be a similar culture. One of the main differences being however, that tea drinking is a far more public event. Groups of men and women (but usually men) can be found far and wide across the city (and the country of course) sipping on hot, sweet tea, and I often end up becoming a member of one of these groups. In all honesty it’s not so much the tea that draws me in, but rather the experience that surrounds it.

I love the scene and the way life is played out over cups of tea. The comings and goings, the cross section of diverse characters, the energy, the humour, the mystery, and the undulating pace of each individual experience. The tea stalls/shops come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, and it’s incredible just how many exist here. I could go on and on trying to describe it in words, but recently I decided it would be far easier, and probably a much greater sensory experience to present Chittagong’s tea drinking through a series of images.

Thus, in the past two weeks I have wandered around the city visiting a vast array of Cha-er dokan (tea shops) and here are the photos I captured. It’s safe to say that in excess of twenty cups of tea were consumed in the process. I should also state that whilst in some photos the people do not look overly happy about the image being taken, I always make a point of checking with people (often 2-3 times) that they are ok for me to take the photo. From my experience it is very common for the people I’ve met to switch to their most serious expression when the photo is taken.

A common scene found across the city and country

‘Adda’ – informal conversations on a quiet day

A variety of snacks to accompany your tea

This shop is as wide and as deep as the photo suggests

The roadside tea shop

Bananas, bread and tea

Beside the rail tracks, the tea shack – a community centre

Learning the trade early

One of the noisier tea shops – located by the side of a frequently congested main road

TMT – a larger establishment with a reputation for fine tea

One of the many tea sellers who populate this city

A bustling tea/food shop

The rickshawallah’s break

Discussing the day over early evening cha

The hub of a road or area

A common snack here in Chittagong

Evening entertainment at the tea shop

No finer way to spend 10 minutes

The essentials

Watching the world go by

A small cup of tea and condensed milk greatness

Tea shop faces

The mobile teawallah

And finally in an ode to tea drinking here is a song from one of my favourite bands, Kula Shaker, who have captured the magic of a nice cup of tea magically. Enjoy!

Drink Tea for the Love of God

All photos © John Stanlake

Green Grass of Home

August 31, 2014October 5, 2019 / johnstanlake / 6 Comments

The summer just passed brought about a number of reunions with good friends, familiar faces, and people who have defined recent phases of my life.

It began with a slight diversion to my usual route home from Bangladesh to the UK. A night spent sprawled out on a metal bench in an eerily quiet terminal building at Dubai Airport preceded a feeling of deja vu – boarding a Rwandair flight through to Kigali. The airport in Dubai felt disorientating as I contemplated a journey that began in Chittagong and would end in Kigali.

As I read ‘Inzozi’ the Rwandair inflight magazine, some very familiar emotions hit me. Upon landing and disembarking the plane, I would once again set foot on the continent of Afica and more specifically Rwanda, the country that taught me so much in such a short space of time.

Four years previously I landed in Kigali, and I had little idea if I’m honest of quite what the following ten months had in store for me. I needn’t have worried. Things have a way of working out and overall 2010 was a year that will undoubtedly stick in my mind for many positive reasons.

Before returning home to the UK for a few weeks this summer I spent 10 days back in Rwanda. Many people have since asked me how it felt to return to the country and quite frankly the only response I’ve been able to provide is, “Great…it was great.”

Not particularly inspring, or informative I’m well aware, yet that’s exactly how it felt. It was emotional too of course as I met with former students who are continuing to carve their own successful paths in life.

So, as in previous instances of being stuck for the right words, I will resort to images. Below is a selection of photos which sum up a summer of green hills, friendly faces, and of course…familiar homes both in Rwanda and the UK.

Rwanda

National Art Gallery, Nyanza

South Rwanda countryside

Sunset over Nyanza hills

Sunset over Nyanza hills

With former students

Kigali city outskirts

With former students

Devon

Devon hills

Dartmoor

Dartmoor

Dartmoor road

Boats at Shaldon

Sunset over Torbay

The best walking partner

Woodland walk in Lustleigh

Teignmouth Pier

All photos © John Stanlake

Learning To Learn Again

July 31, 2014July 31, 2014 / johnstanlake / 3 Comments

Some weeks ago I contributed a post to the Asian University for Women’s Center for Teaching and Scholarships blog. It is a space for teachers and professors to reflect upon their experiences as educators. I thought I’d share this post on my personal blog also, as it seems like an appropriate time. The current school year has recently come to an end and I’m feeling proud of the students I taught this year, as they have now successfully graduated from the one year Access Academy course and will move on to the full undergraduate program in August.

One of the most rewarding aspects of this job is the influence you can have on the education of your students. It sounds obvious of course, but well-planned lessons, engaging subjects, and interactive instruction is the catalyst for an effective learning environment. There may be times when you reflect on a specific class you have taught, or a topic you have covered with your students, and wonder if they gained as much from it as you had hoped. However, overall your support, guidance, and enthusiasm have the ability to direct your students on the path to independent and inquisitive discovery both inside and outside of the classroom.

Personally though, I have become aware during the past five years of incredibly varied teaching roles that it’s not solely my students who (hopefully) have this opportunity. From preparing lessons, teaching classes, facilitating discussion, and, crucially, from listening to my own students, I too have learned so much, and in many ways it has significantly reignited my individual desire for learning.

Upon completion of my Masters Degree, and prior to embarking on my life as a teacher, I spent 18 months working in an office. The job was fine enough and helped to clear some mounting post-university debts whilst introducing me to the day to day responsibilities of paid employment. However, it led to a noticeable stagnation of my motivation to seek out new knowledge. This may very well have been a consequence of my own personal misguided path, but the nine to five routine left me demotivated in other aspects of my life, and whilst I didn’t recognise it at the time, I needed something to change.

In hindsight I did learn tangible lessons from my first ‘proper’ job. It clarified in my head that having progressed somewhat zombie-like straight from school to university, I now needed to explore beyond that particular bubble. At this point I didn’t really know quite where that would take me, but as I reflect on the places I’ve lived, worked, and visited since that fork in the road, I feel pretty satisfied with the choices I made.

It began with an important and life-changing decision to rectify the dissatisfaction of 18 months behind a computer screen, and it was at this juncture I travelled to Rwanda as a volunteer teacher in a rural secondary school. It was a challenging year, but also highly rewarding. One of the main reasons for this was my assignment to teach Entrepreneurship.

My initial reaction was to panic and focus entirely on the fact that I considered myself to be the least entrepreneurial person I knew, most probably due to my cautious and frugal nature; two qualities that no career entrepreneur would ever claim to possess. However, once I set about building a syllabus, seeking out resources, discussing ideas with my peers, and thinking logically about how I could best guide my expectant students, it became something of a new and exciting challenge.

Entrepreneurship requires a great deal of “out of the box” thinking – something many of my students were not accustomed to. Therefore, in order to teach the students before me, I had to learn, and I had to learn fast. I recall sleepless nights, confused faces, and undoubtedly one or two lesson plans that in hindsight may not have been the most effective. Yet, by the end of the year this experience had taken me back to the period prior to my office job. I was driven to learn once again.

At AUW this experience has been no different. Teaching ‘Interpreting Texts’ in the Access Academy has provided me with broad scope to develop a course that covers a range of topics and utilizes a variety of sources and authors. This past year we studied issues relating to identity and gender. We debated the merits of anthropological research and scrutinized the influence of modern media on our lives. We investigated how fear and stigma perpetuates the global HIV crisis, and we spent time reading about the intricacies of a divided Sudan. We read textbooks, journals, academic texts, editorials, blogs, and even found time to analyze the lyrics of Simon & Garfunkel, The Beatles, and The Kinks.

Each week I feel I learn just as much as my students, and of course lesson preparation and in class instruction account for the bulk of this. What should not be underestimated though, and is a factor that has become abundantly clear during my time at AUW thus far is the knowledge I gain from my students.

We’re from contrasting regions of the world and they have faced significantly different journeys to my own, so whenever we discuss a topic in class or they write a response, I am exposed to new thinking and new perspectives I may have otherwise failed to consider. The wonderful consequence of this is that unlike my previous non-teaching job, which at times left me feeling uninspired and lacking direction, I now have no option but to learn and grow as both a teacher and a person, and to strive to consider the world around me. It is thanks to this job and my inspiring students that I am able to experience these opportunities.

English Football – Observations from Bangladesh

June 19, 2014October 5, 2019 / johnstanlake / 6 Comments

Reflections on the state of English football

With the opening stages of the 2014 football world cup well underway, thoughts once again turn to pride and prestige as many of us across the globe hope to witness our team get their hands on one of sport’s most sought after trophies. The media in England has no doubt been awash with confusing contradictions of expectant hope, yet inevitable resignation to disappointment and failure.

Retired players fill the BBC and ITV studios spouting clichés and stating the obvious (and if you’re poor old Phil Neville, boring the socks off viewers!), whilst certain tabloid newspapers call on football fans to summon that ‘bulldog spirit’ and wave the St George’s cross with pride and vigour. Baddiel and Skinner fill the airwaves, and we find ourselves staying up until the early hours to see how the clash between Iran vs. Nigeria ends.

I write this with a certain pomposity but also hypocrisy, as deep down I love this four week period. There is something magically compelling about the football world cup, and if truth be told, I have found myself googling facts about the Bosnia manager, statistics about Honduras’ previous world cup appearances, and the national anthem of Switzerland.

On Saturday evening I set my alarm for 3.45am so that I could wake to watch England’s opening game with Italy, which kicked off at 4.00am here in Bangladesh. Earlier that day I pinned my flag of St George to the bars on my small balcony, which overlooks the narrow street below, in anticipation for the chance to erase the memories of being sat in a cramped bar in Rwanda and witnessing England capitulate against Germany in 2010.

However, in the days leading up to the start of the tournament one question consumed my thoughts. It wasn’t who I supposed Roy Hodgson would select for the right back position, or which player would belt out the national anthem with the most exuberance. No, I was a little confused by the implications of a rapidly transformed Bangladesh.

Over the course of a few days prior to the opening game, the streets became a festival of colours with flags hanging from windows, painted on walls and pinned to car bonnets, and also commonly attached to rickshaws. As I looked around and began to notice more and more flags, it dawned on me that my red and white cross of England was quite unique.

Chittagong and Dhaka are overwhelmed by the distinctive blue and white of Argentina and the trademark yellow and green of Brazil. German flags also feature prominently, whilst Spain, Italy, Portugal and France have their fair share of fans. Yet, England is strikingly underrepresented. It may sound arrogant and presumptuous, but I have been left a little puzzled by this.

Having witnessed many enthusiastic responses to England’s cricket team from Bangladeshis, I assumed football would be no different. In a country where the English Premier League is so revered, and the replica shirts of England’s domestic teams dominate the markets, I couldn’t help but wonder just why the England national team doesn’t command a similar level of support. After reflecting upon this, and also having sought the views of friends and students, I have concluded that it represents something of a worrying indication of the state of English football.

The reasons offered by my Bangladeshi students and friends when I posed this question made a lot of sense. Football is unquestionably popular here, yet the national team is currently ranked 35th in Asia and 167th in the FIFA world rankings. Therefore realistically it seems unlikely at this point that a first ever World Cup finals appearance for Bangladesh is imminent, and so to engage with the big stage events such as the World Cup, people choose an adopted country to support.

As one of my students put it, “By supporting a team and hoisting their flag, we just want to be part of the greatest show on earth.” It is on these occasions that people get the chance to connect with the sport on a whole new level. So why do Argentina and Brazil dominate people’s affections here?

Well, everyone likes a winner. It’s the reason the sight of a Manchester City shirt has become far more common in the past year or so here in Bangladesh. It also explains why I receive blank looks when I tell people I support Plymouth Argyle. Brazil have lifted the World Cup five times and Argentina are a consistent performer. Germany and Italy also both have a reputation for success when it matters, and the emergence of the Spanish flag is no coincidence given their consecutive triumphs at the 2010 World Cup and 2012 European Championships.

Naturally many people here don’t remember, or are unaware of Geoff Hurst’s hatrick at Wembley in 1966, or our countless penalty heartaches, and thus we (England) have built a reputation of being distinctly average.

The style of football is also important. The samba skills of South America are a major factor. There is passion and art, with crisp, short, sharp passing, mazy runs, cheeky dinks and thunderous shots on goal. This is what people want to see when they tune in to see the stars of the world stage. They don’t want to spend 90 minutes witnessing teams hoofing a football 80 yards, or scoring and then positioning all ten players behind the ball. People want to see pace and skill and this is why Bangladeshis have taken South American teams to their hearts.

The continent is home to two of football’s biggest legends – Messrs Pele and Maradona. Their fame is felt here in Bangladesh too, and as one friend explained in reference to the ‘Hand of God,’

“Some Bangladeshis have a crazy kind of infatuation with him. His cocaine induced antics plus his blatant disregard for the laws of the game and some serious skills too, won millions of hearts.”

Maradona’s legacy clearly lives on, but in addition Argentina and the world (including Bangladesh) now have a new legend to worship – Lionel Messi. Undoubtedly close to cementing himself into football folklore, Messi has given people here even more reason to back the Argentinians.

Market in Dhaka

England have fallen behind in the global popularity stakes. We just don’t have a genuine global star anymore; a player that excites fans across the globe and creates anticipation and expectation when the ball is at his feet. Argentina has Messi, Brazil has Neymar, Portugal has Ronaldo, Uruguay has Suarez, Italy has Pirlo, Spain has Iniesta, and the Dutch have Van Persie. We have Rooney. As much as we may want to believe otherwise, Rooney is not a global superstar. David Beckham is the last player to represent the England national team who captured the imagination of fans right across the globe, and even then I’m inclined to say it wasn’t solely due to his performances on the pitch.

“The English Premier League is the best in the world.”

These are the words that echo through the corridors of the FA Headquarters in London as executives pat themselves on the back whilst watching the global sponsorship deals roll in. TV broadcasting contracts have completely changed the face of English football, yet as I walked the streets of Chittagong and Dhaka this past week, it became apparent in my mind at least that this has had little effect on our national team.

The Premier League is, and consistently has been a veritable feast of footballing talent. Drogba, Henry, Bergkamp, Vieira, Van Nistelrooy, Suarez, Zola, Toure, Torres, Silva, Aguero, etc, etc. As spectators we have been thoroughly spoilt. Yet, where are the home grown players stamping their authority on the international scene? The Premier League is undoubtedly a phenomenal importer of global talent, but when it comes to exports we are a long way behind. In my mind this is reflected in our performances at international level, and thus, as a result we lack success, we lack entertainment, and we lack appeal.

Am I denying the English Premier League has revolutionised the game of football for the better in many ways? No. And has it pushed the limits and the levels of performance from players and teams to a new level? In many ways, Yes. However, somehow in England, where many of us follow our domestic and national teams avidly, we have been left behind. We need to find a way to catch up, and we need to catch up fast.

Do I want the England flag to be flown all across Bangladesh during the next cup? No, I don’t, for many reasons, and some of which are more obvious than others. That’s not the point of this blog post. I would just like our FA to recognise and acknowledge that whilst the Premier League is of course a mechanism for so much development, it is also imposing a stranglehold on the development of our young home grown talent that if not loosened will be felt for many years to come.

I’m posting this just hours before England’s crucial group clash with Uruguay, and therefore by the time you read it the national team will either be preparing for the next crucial encounter (against Costa Rica), or we will be lamenting another disappointing exit from a major tournament. I would really love the England team to shine in this world cup and to make me reconsider everything I’ve just written, and I would love to be able to support a team that entertains, inspires, and captures the imagination of football fans right across the world.

However, as Bangladesh has shown me, unless we change our game right from the grassroots and start focusing on more than simply how much money our top teams can make, we will continue to slip down the international ladder.

Enjoy the rest of the tournament!

All photos © John Stanlake

Brishti Hobe – A Day in Bangladesh

May 25, 2014August 27, 2020 / johnstanlake / 4 Comments

Despite the backpack I carry on my shoulders each day, which commonly provokes sniggers, I am not Bangladeshi. It’s obvious of course, but sometimes I receive very clear reminders. I experienced one such reminder this past Saturday, and having not written anything for a while on this blog I thought I’d share my story of one fine day (as a foreigner) in Bangladesh.

It all started at 7.30am on a grey, but uncomfortably humid morning. The mission was to escape Chittagong armed only with a bottle of water, a camera, and a resolute willingness to explore. Thus, after a quick coffee and a piece of bread, a fairly random ‘plan’ was hatched. Essentially it entailed buying a bus ticket, boarding the vehicle, riding it for an unspecified amount of time, and ultimately jumping off when our gut feeling signalled it was time. A foolproof plan of that there’s no doubt…

On a basic level the plan worked. We bought bus tickets to Cox’s Bazar, a coastal town roughly four hours south of Chittagong. There was never any intention of a day by the sea though, and three hours into the journey we decided this would be a suitable time to abandon ship, which turned out to be easier said than done. Explaining to the driver and his assistant that we’d gone far enough at this point turned into a 5 minute to and fro. A vigorous debate ensued between us all, prolonged of course by the language barrier. When we finally convinced our hosts to stop and let us off, we left a bus full of confused and concerned faces all wondering just why these two strange foreigners were stood by the side of the road, marooned in the middle of nowhere, and 60 kilometres from the final destination stated on their tickets.

Not our bus, but impressive nonetheless

It is true, we had no idea where we were, but as always here in Bangladesh it doesn’t take long for someone to offer a friendly smile and an inquisitive hello. On this day it took little under two minutes and we were soon summoned over to a group of men, sat down in plastic chairs and swiftly offered a cup of tea. For me no day out in Bangladesh is complete without an obligatory cup of tea surrounded by interesting new faces. So, given that this condition had been met within moments of us setting foot off the bus, I concluded that whatever happened from this point onwards, it would end well.

Our mission for the day was photography and we were exactly where we wanted to be – out of the city and surrounded by flat, green, rural Bangladesh. Our location was perfect, now all we needed was the photographs. Unfortunately this is where our plan faltered a little. The aim had been to spend the day wandering, perhaps aimlessly, but with the very definite purpose of capturing scenes of rice paddies, local people going about their daily lives, sunlight hitting the various ponds dotted across the landscape, and finally an epic sunset that would make the early start and the bus trip worth it. It didn’t quite pan out this way.

Within five minutes of bidding our tea hosts farewell, the skies darkened ominously, and it was not long before a man from the group of tea drinkers came up behind us with a concerned look on his face and exclaimed “brishti hobe!” – rain is coming! He was correct, and so very kindly invited us to shelter in his home until the shower passed. An hour later we were still there, but it didn’t matter, he and his family made us typically welcome and we had as much fun sat there getting to know his relatives as we would have had exploring the area.

Our host had two children. He also lived with his wife, mother, father and sister who brought us juice and biscuits and seemed concerned that we politely refused the offer of rice several times. His father sat in a separate room and with a warm but somewhat confused look on his face (probably in response to the mystery of how two foreigners had ended up stranded in his house and disrupting the usual equilibrium) invited us to sit. He stared at me intently and then proceeded to ask me a series of quick-fire questions in Bangla. Now, I can respond to several basic questions and even respond with questions of my own, but once the introductions are complete and the comments about how hot it is are over, I’m stumped. This didn’t deter our host though – the questions came thick and fast, much to the amusement of his wife who was peeling lentils outside in a corridor, and sniggering heartily. The more inquisitive he became, the more confused I sounded.

Our host’s wife and daughter

Our host’s neighbour

Outside the rain continued to pour down and our hopes of photography faded. No matter though; we were walked over to a neighbour’s house and once again the introductions began. A jovial man welcomed us and we got the sense he was perhaps a central figure in the community. Insisting we sit for a while and drink some famous Sylheti green tea, he proceeded to call his son….and then hand me the phone. I chatted to his son for a while, who was as hospitable as his father and invited me to stay in his home in Srimangal. It is unlikely that such an invitation would be extended to a stranger you had never met before in the UK, but here in Bangladesh it is commonplace.

Finally the rain did ease, and as a glimpse of sunlight began to poke its way through the clouds we thanked our new friends who had provided shelter, tea and kind hospitality. At this point we headed up the road, once again completely aimlessly. We were lucky enough to capture some images of the surrounding countryside (and unfortunately a forlorn bus, which was the latest victim of Bangladesh’s unpredictable highways), but overall the main highlights of the day had been the people we met and the experiences we shared.

Another day in Bangladesh.

Unfortunately not an untypical scene

Here are some further images from the day

In the Full Blossomed Paddy Fields…

March 26, 2014August 26, 2020 / johnstanlake / 8 Comments

Pronounced ‘Shon-deep’ (or Shun-deef depending on who you talk to) the island of Sandwip sits at an estuary of the Meghna River on the Bay of Bengal. Open precariously to the elements, the residents of the island are no strangers to the carnage and chaos extreme weather can bring. On April 29, 1991 it is estimated that 40,000 people were killed by an unforgiving cyclone that tore through the island leaving thousands dead and even more homeless.

Almost 23 years on from that day, the island was a perfect picture of calm and serenity when I visited last week to spend a couple of days with a colleague who was born and raised on Sandwip, and whose family still reside there. The memories of that fateful day in 1991 still haunt people though, and as my colleague introduced me to one family member the immediate response was to enquire somewhat confusedly as to why I had come, and was I not scared of the threat of a cyclone? The fear still grips residents of this community and as water levels rise, shores slowly creep towards homes, and extreme weather becomes even more unpredictable, it’s easy to understand why.

However, apart from one short, sharp thunder storm my visit was largely undramatic in terms of weather. The rumbles of thunder and the patter of raindrops on the tin roofs only added to the charm of this place. You see Sandwip proved to be an experience of some contrast to my regular, everyday experience of Bangladesh. In Chittagong (my home for the entire two year duration of my life here so far) the noise of trucks, buses, cars, and CNGs penetrates and pollutes the air almost everywhere you go. It’s a city of 6 million people and thus it is hard to find a place to escape that hustle. I appreciate Chittagong for so many reasons, but the noise can take its toll at times.

When I returned from Sandwip I told a friend quite proudly and perhaps even a little smugly that I had seen only one lone car during my time on the island. His response was to point out that I had in fact been rather unfortunate as most visitors don’t see any!

Without wanting to sound patronising or to belittle Sandwip in any way, I would sum up my time there as taking a step back in time. I mean this in the most positive way. At night the stars filled the sky and were as bright as I’d ever seen them. In the day the local market bustled with traders and large numbers of cattle ready to be sold.

Agriculture drives the local economy it seems and manual labour appears to be the catalyst for this. There are countless tea shops, and each and every one seemed to be the centre of discussion and socialising amongst the islanders.

There are few roads on Sandwip. In more developed areas paved paths allow bicycles and rickshaws to pass easily, and if you go ‘off road’ you will find more basic, dusty paths that make it more complex for anything on wheels to pass. Bathing is also a distinctly communal affair for many.

I bathed in the pond close to the house where I was staying. This essentially entailed tying a lunghi around my waist and diving into the pond. It all went fine until I dropped the soap and it sank beneath the murky water, causing much amusement to the onlookers who had gathered to watch me bathe. Sandwip does not receive a vast number of foreign visitors, so my half naked presence in the pond drew a crowd!

Life is visibly tough though for many people here, and it was evident everywhere I visited on the island. Manual labour dominates as I mentioned, and this comes in a variety of forms. For example, as we left the island to return to the urban sprawl of Chittagong, we had to board a speedboat. At the time we and around ten other people wished to travel, the tide was out and thus the channel sat far out in the distance, and before us lay a mass of deep, dense, and unsympathetic wet sand. The solution was to herd us into a nearby wooden boat, and it soon became apparent that 10 men would drag us out to where the speedboat was waiting.

For the next 25 minutes they heaved and used every muscle in their bodies to get us to the water. When the boat became trapped assigned men would leap into action and strategically dig away the offending sand and we’d continue on our way. At some points they would chant in unison to motivate each other and it was apparent that teamwork was paramount. We arrived at the speedboat and 25 minutes later we were back on mainland Bangladesh. Well, not quite. The process was repeated and once again we were dragged across the sand. By the end I felt incredibly lucky to be able to teach.

My time in Sandwip was short, but I caught a glimpse of something I felt it was possible for me to connect with. Of course life on the island is very different to my previous personal life experiences, but there is something about rural Bangladesh which intrigues me. The people were so welcoming and despite my still very limited Bangla skills, I was able to converse and bond with a number of people. My colleague and his family were the perfect hosts and I am already planning on when I can return for a longer visit.

For my full album of photos from Sandwip follow the link below;

Sandwip photo gallery

Finally, the title of this blog post is the English translation of a lyric from the national anthem of Bangladesh, Amar Sonar Bangla, by Rabrindranath Tagore. Today marks Bangladesh’s 43rd year of independence. Here is a wonderful rendition of the song,

Amar Sonar Bangla

Images of South East Asia

February 28, 2014October 5, 2019 / johnstanlake / 8 Comments

I’ve neglected this blog so far in 2014. A combination of work, misguided priorities, and the fact I’ve been slightly daunted by the task of describing a one month tour of South East Asia through words, which will almost certainly not do it justice.

So, for now I’ve decided that I’ll let images tell the story. I took many, but here are 15 of my favourites and a selection which I hope do the places most justice. I chose five photos from Myanmar, Cambodia and Vietnam.

For a more comprehensive album of photos from the trip please follow this link;

http://www.flickr.com/photos/106865437@N03/sets/72157641803829505/

Myanmar

Shwedagon Pagoda, Yangon

Floating village community, Inle Lake

Roadside tea shop, Yangon

Sunrise and hot air balloon rides over Bagan

Kandawgyi Lake, Yangon

Cambodia

A quiet village road, just outside of Siem Reap

Sunrise over Angkor Wat, Siem Reap

One of the many faces of Angkor Wat, Siem Reap

Village home, Siem Reap

Choeung Ek Genocide Memorial Site, Phnom Penh

(This is the main memorial to mark the genocide that took place in Cambodia during the late 1970s. It is also a burial site for thousands of Cambodians who were victims of Pol Pot’s brutal Khymer Rouge regime, executed here at just one of the many sites across the country, which became known as the ‘Killing Fields’.)

Vietnam

Ho Chi Minh City

Da Lat hills, in the southern highlands.

Village road outside Thai Nguyen, northern Vietnam

Ho Chi Minh mausoleum, Hanoi

The northern hills of Tam Dao

It was an incredibly diverse and eye-opening trip. Once again South Asia completely failed to disappoint, and armed with a camera I feel like I saw so much in such a short space of time.

Here is a larger set of photos from the trip;

http://www.flickr.com/photos/106865437@N03/sets/72157641803829505/

A Strangely Calm Ambulance Journey…

December 31, 2013February 12, 2021 / johnstanlake / 6 Comments

They arrived one after the other. As regular and as frequent as the cha served in the roadside tea stands that line the road. Ambulance after ambulance pulled up to the airport entrance, and for the uninformed you could easily be mistaken into assuming that a major crisis was unfolding before your eyes. In some respects you would be correct, but not at the airport, which was in actual fact a haven of calm and general inactivity. Other areas of Chittagong were not so lucky.

In the past few weeks Bangladesh has revealed a side I have not observed before in my two years so far at least. Nationwide protests and blockades have become the norm, travelling across certain areas of the city has become an event of some caution, political manoeuvrings affect the core of daily life, and if some rumours are to be believed, the military are waiting in the wings to take over, even if just for an interim period whilst a semblance of calm is sought.

Matters reached a head at 10.01pm on Thursday, 12^th December as Abdul Kader Mullah, a senior political figure from the Jamaat-e-Islami party, charged and sentenced to death for war crimes dating from Bangladesh’s struggle for independence (or Liberation War) from 1971, was executed . For many Bangladeshis who had waited patiently and hopefully for 42 years, this was a moment of triumph, relief and crucially, justice. For ardent supporters of Jamaat-e-Islami, it was a significant attack on their identity. They have since promised to seek revenge for his death. The streets of Chittagong were eerily quiet that night. The roads were vacant of the usual mass of vehicles and people, and as I walked past the tea shop I was advised to go straight home.

Often referred to as the ‘Butcher of Mirpur’, Mullah is held directly responsible for a large number of killings during the three month Liberation War. His execution was controversial in the international arena, as his trial was accused of not adhering to UN codes of human rights. I’m not here to comment on that as I don’t have the background knowledge. I will however attempt to provide a very, very brief and basic description of what happened in 1971 and how this is shaping events today from what I have learned during my time in Bangladesh.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-25356034

Upon gaining independence in 1947, India was split in two, well three really – the predominantly Hindu state of India and the majority Islamic states of West Pakistan and East Pakistan (now Bangladesh). However, tensions between East and West Pakistan were a constant as the majority of power and wealth lay in the West and governance was concentrated here. Language also played a prominent role as the mainly West Pakistani language of Urdu was imposed across both states. In the eyes of the East Bengalis this was just one further example of significant and imposing restrictions upon their liberty and individual identity and as such they fought hard to preserve their use of Bangla. Having only just gained their long awaited independence from British colonialism, the people of East Pakistan were once again left to fight and struggle for some of the most basic human rights.

As movements for independence came to a prominent level in 1971, West Pakistan initiated a severe and violent crackdown with journalists, scholars, and students targeted and executed in high numbers. Over the course of the East Bengal liberation movement it is claimed that as many as three million people were killed and the word genocide has been attached to the actions of West Pakistan military and their supporters in East Bengal at the time, who tried in vain to crush the popular uprising. Abdul Kader Mullah was accused of collaborating with these forces, and as such, forty-two years on he faced trial, was found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged – rightly or wrongly depending on who you speak to in Bangladesh.

East Pakistan eventually gained its official independence by the end of 1971, and a new state was born. Bangladesh – a nation proud of its identity, proud of its language, proud of its people, and proud of its hard fought independence. December 16^th is Victory Day in the country, the annual day dedicated to marking the sacrifice and honour of those who gave their lives during 1971 – the freedom fighters as they are widely known.

On January 5^th 2014, parliamentary elections are due to take place, and in the run up to these old wounds have been reopened to some extent. It seems that whilst forty-two years is a significant period of time, the events of ’71 remain very firmly in the minds of the people, and this is understandable. For many Bangladeshis the murder and rape of loved ones, the injustice, and the horrors of war are memories that sit fresh in the mind. The Awami League are the current ruling party and they have pushed through the war crime trials during their recent term in office. The Bangladesh National Party (BNP) is the main opposition and has some connections with Jamaat-e-Islami. They claim the war crime trials are politically motivated and the division is both fraught and debilitating and still influenced by the events of 1971.

As such, the country is in a state of transition, and from speaking to Bangladeshi friends, colleagues, and tea house clientele, there is a degree of uncertainty about how the next few weeks/months may play out. The opposition party led strikes and blockades continue on a weekly basis and serve only to cripple the country’s economy from what I can tell.

It also appears that as in many situations of a similar nature, it is the ordinary people on the street who suffer most. People trying to go about their daily lives and earn enough money to feed their families who are forced to risk their safety just to open their fruit stand or shop. The rickshaw, CNG, and bus drivers take to the roads each day not knowing if their vehicle will be struck by a Molotov cocktail hurled by a protesting mob. There have already been deaths and there is a high chance of more as the election approaches.

Hence the ambulances I mentioned at the beginning of this post. You see, if you need to get somewhere and you have enough money, hiring a private ambulance is the best plan. I, like the many others who arrived at the airport that day, took this option, and I’m lucky to have this choice. Yet, despite this turmoil there is great hope pinned upon the nation’s youth. They have already organised themselves in large numbers to unite in peaceful solutions.

I am currently on winter vacation and outside of Bangladesh. However, the situation often crosses my mind. I am lucky to have had the opportunity to travel at this point, but the safety of Bangladeshi friends, colleagues, and of course the students are a concern. The question of what I will find when I land back in Chittagong on January 15^th is also one that occupies my thoughts and how the election result will be received by the people is a cause of great intrigue and apprehension.

So, as I post this on the final day of 2013, my hope for 2014 is that Bangladesh can find a peaceful solution and a political compromise driven by understanding, cooperation and humility. The past year was a testing one for this country with the Rana Plaza building collapse disaster, the garment factory fires and workers protests, and of course the ongoing political disturbances and violence. However, I have faith that once again the people of Bangladesh will come through this and demonstrate the resilience and strength demonstrated by the people on the streets each and every day.

So, from a cafe in Ho Chi Minh city, Vietnam, let me take this opportunity to wish you a Happy New Year and all the very best for 2014. I’ve enjoyed keeping this blog updated during 2013 and I will endeavour to do the same in the coming twelve months.

UNDER ONE SUN

stories and photos from a life of travel

Author: johnstanlake

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In the Full Blossomed Paddy Fields…