thoughts in May

I've never really thought of Mumbai as a clean and orderly city, but arriving from Dhaka, it was a liberating experience. Wearing jeans, having drinks, going out dancing, and not being stared at just for being a woman - what fun. Alas, it was short lived. After some fun and family time, and two nights out living the high life care of a native who is in the scene, I returned to Dhaka to wrap things up.

Considering the fact that I have had to leave the country each month due to my retarded visa, it was incredibly ironic that upon my return to Dhaka, the customs officer chose to only speak to me in Bangla, and told me that I didn't even need a visa. He figured I was coming to visit my family or something, and my poor Bangla could be explained by my American passport.

American or not, being brown has made my experience in Bangladesh very different from any other foreigner. For one thing, I am not continually hounded by beggars, who flock to the white skinned like moths to light. Men, for the most part, do not try their luck with me, since being brown, I am clearly not a part of the "free sex" culture that characterizes all foreigners in Bangladesh. And by and large, I think I can bargain effectively.

All that aside, my trip would not be complete without some final adventures. In this last week, I have been given the opportunity to nap at someone's house after lunch (is this normal? do you go to lunch at someone's house, and then proceed to nap afterwards? It seemed highly suspect to me). When I didn't take up the offer, the brother of my host thought that he might like to talk to me about Islam. This is ironic, because he was a strict religious guy, who did not look at women (except his mother and sister) in the eye. But I was not privy to such treatment. I don't know whether to be flattered that I could be considered his equal, or offended that he didn't consider me woman enough to pose him temptation...but whatever it was, he did try to convert me. This type of muslim - the one who goes around to people's houses and tries to get them to go to the mosque, and be more religious, is apparently called a 'talib'. hmmm...

I had to start seriously screening my phone calls, because boys were calling me and texting me for no good reason. One of them I knew, and he just didn't get the message that I was not going to hang out with him. The others got my number from who knows where. They would just call. When I asked them if I knew them, they said no. Why would I talk to random people I don't know?

A pretty naive young woman who worked for my contractor professed her love for me. Her colleagues and I had a lot of fun, because as women, we could make jokes with vague sexual connotations (think middle school) and have a good laugh. But she would be shocked at each occurrence of this - such as when they told me that on my next visit I must come with my husband, and I replied that I'd just rent one, if necessary. But, at least someone loves me.

I got some interesting gifts upon leaving. Such as a little clay box, with a bride and groom teddy bear on top. And a mug, with all of the names of the family members where I was dining written on it. I politely declined that one. And I hid the box in my apartment. Sorry Becky!

As amusing as my time was, it was more than just a barrel of laughs. It was an opportunity to learn a new language, to see, first hand, the life of an expat - a life that I may have de facto chosen for myself. It is a lonely life, and although I think that people should do their best to mix with the local culture, it is very difficult. The bad rep that Americans get when living abroad...well some of it, of course, is earned. But a great deal of it - the isolation, the journeys to McDonalds, may be a result of the excessive attention they get whenever they leave their home.

I felt guilty when people asked me if I drank. Why should I feel guilty? It is legal, acceptable, and I imbibe with control. Yet, when asked by a person who views drinking as a sin, it made me feel as though I was committing the sin as well. One cannot live like this for long. Similarly with the lack of outlets for socializing, exercising, and enjoying open spaces without being bothered. This was possible at the American Club, so elitist though it may be, I found myself there a fair amount. It is good to be able to have a conversation with some guy without it eventually turning to the fact that American is a 'free sex' country.

Alas, this is the end of unequal treatment for now. No more separate frisking booths for women, separate lines for women, and deferrential treatment as a single woman travelling alone. Alas - I suppose, i will survive.