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International Mother Language Day

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In 1999 UNESCO officially declared that International Mother Language Day will be marked on 21st February each year.  I have to admit, prior to coming to Bangladesh I was totally unaware of this, but the origins of the annual observance lie very firmly and significantly in the history of this country.

For some, the day perhaps offers an opportunity to celebrate cultural expression, and  acknowledge the work of notable writers, poets, playwrights, etc. However, for Bangladeshis this day respectfully marks a period of their history in which lives were sacrificed and foundations put in place for an ultimately successful, but severely painful independence movement.


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The partition of India in 1947, resulted in the region of Bengal being split in two with West Bengal remaining part of India and East Bengal becoming a province in the newly created, Pakistan. Some years later East Bengal was renamed East Pakistan.

In 1948 however, the new government of Pakistan, whose administrative center lay in the Urdu speaking, western part of the country (almost 2,000 kilometers from Dhaka in the eastern part of the geographically divided state), declared Urdu the official language of the country to be used in schools and for all official purposes. Forty-four million Bengali speakers in East Bengal now faced the prospect of being denied their basic language rights with the outlawing of their mother tongue.

Prominent Bengali speakers attempted to negotiate this discriminatory language policy, but after four years, and with no sign of  a compromise, students and political activists launched protests. This symbolized the beginning of the now famous language movement, and the first protest took place on February 21st, 1952, leading to the loss of life of several students.

Their legacy lives on though, as their actions became the catalyst for a continued, organised campaign, which forced the Pakistan government to relent on its refusal to recognize Bengali as an official language. Those who gave their lives for the cause are referred to as the language martyrs because of their sacrifice in the fight to preserve their mother tongue, and thus each year on 21st February Bangladesh commemorates their memory.


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In a poignant show of respect and gratitude for the language martyrs, crowds of people, young and old, fill the streets and march in long lines towards the Shaheed Minars (‘Martyr Monuments’), on which they place flowers.

The language movement became all the more significant for Bangladeshis in the years proceeding 1952, as the population fought to achieve their independence from the West Pakistan government, which (aside from just language) had consistently denied the basic rights of its Bengali speaking people in the east. Having previously suffered years and years of violent and stifling oppression during British rule (prior to 1947), the people of East Bengal were understandably yearning for freedom and the realization of some of the most basic of human rights.


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In 1971 the people of East Pakistan declared their autonomy from Pakistan and after a bloody and brutal war (known as the Liberation War), Bangladesh was born. The seeds of this independence movement were sown in 1952 however, with the language martyrs and their actions.

So that is a brief explanation as to why 21st February has been designated globally as International Mother Language Day. In a TED talk by Suzanne Talhouk, she raises the point that the ‘best’ way to kill a nation is to kill its language. The language martyrs knew this, so they were willing to lay down their lives in order to save their language, their culture, and their identity for generations to come. It is somewhat fitting then that their enduring sacrifice is not only marked within Bangladesh, but globally and on an annual basis.


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This year I visited the main Shaheed Minar here in Chittagong early in the morning and below are some of the images I captured.


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All images © John Stanlake

Heigh-Ho!


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

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The CNG driver

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The Rickshawalah

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Rickshawalahs


The man who fixes the rickshawalah’s wheels…

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The Boatmen

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The Tailors

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The Fishermen

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Bangladesh faces


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…and the man who transports their catch to market

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to the man who sells them at the market…


The Farmer

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The Produce Sellers

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The Butcher


The Ice Cream Man

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The Jeweller


The Carpenter

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The Cooks

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Bangladesh faces


The Load Carriers and Goods Transporters

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And finally, the metalsmith

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All images © John Stanlake

 

Brishti Hobe – A Day in Bangladesh


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.


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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.


Who needs a complete bus?

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 wife and daughter

Our host's neighbour

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

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The view as we stepped off the bus



All images © John Stanlake

 

In the Full Blossomed Paddy Fields…


Sandwip


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.


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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.


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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.


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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.


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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!


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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.


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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


Sandwip


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


All images © John Stanlake

A Strangely Calm Ambulance Journey…


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, 12th 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.


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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 16th 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.


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On January 5th 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 15th 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.