On the Right Side of the Tracts
on From Banglatown to Bangladesh (Bangladesh), 10/Jan/2009 17:57, 34 days ago
It is now about eight weeks since I made my first journey from Dhaka to Khagrachari, the site of my placement. Since then, I have made the bus journey (which so far has lasted from seven to twelve hours) an additional three times and so I’m beginning to know it well. Despite the differences in length, each journey is pretty similar: an hour or two to crawl through the Dhaka traffic and smog; a few hours flying down the flat, straight roads of the plainlands, narrowly avoiding buses, trucks, people, cars and cows; a stop at a bizarrely large resort in the middle of nowhere for lunch. Eventually there is a fork in the road: one road goes to Chittagong, Bangladesh’s second city, and the other to Khagrachari, in the Chittagong Hill Tracts (CHT).The hills of the CHT start suddenly, and steeply. They’re green, lush, and strangely small, even compared to the vast flatness of the rest of the country. Nevertheless, they’re a very physical sign of the distinct nature of the CHT compared to the rest of Bangladesh. Home to 11 different groups of indigenous peoples – as well as increasing numbers of Bengalis – the CHT is definitely unique. Its indigenous peoples have socio-political histories and linguistic, cultural and religious practices distinct from those of the plainlands. The history of the region is decidedly marked by conflict between the Bangladeshi military and indigenousgroups. And despite the signing of a Peace Accord in 1997, this is still a post-conflict area in which there is a significant military presence and disadvantage, discrimination and human rights abuses continue.After about three hours of climbing up and down the hills, the Dhaka bus descends to an area of relative flatness and reaches an army checkpoint: the point of entry into Khagrachari, and where I and my fellow bideshis sign in and out every time we enter or leave. The majority of the town’s 40,000ish population are from Chakma, Marma and Tripura indigenous groups. Here, mosques and the Muslim call to prayer so ubiquitous in the rest of Bangladesh are replaced by Buddhist temples and chanting at sunset. Although Bangla is still the common language, added to the polyglot are Chakma, Marma and Tripura languages. Rice is still the staple and eaten three times a day, but is accompanied by local wild vegetables and dried fish: the speciality dish of the area and with a smell so pungent you can catch it from the bus. And even though saris and salwar kameez are still common, there’s a whole new world of indigenous dresses and fabrics to discover (although salwar kameez is still my favoured option so far; my first attempts at indigenous dress made me look like a bright blue shoebox).Continuing further into the main roads of Khagrachari, there’s a large market area, shops and government offices. In the market different types of goods are granted their own selling spaces; there are separate streets for fruit, vegetables, meat, spices, clothes, timber, shiny silver pots and pans. I am yet to discover anywhere to buy cheese or an ironing board, but I have found pasta, peanut butter and – which I’m saving for the day that things get really tough – Hershey’s chocolate syrup. Although there are almost no cars, there are plenty of motorbikes and cycle rickshaws, as well as smaller numbers of buses, trucks and army vehicles.Right now the town’s dusty, but outside of the main roads it’s green, golden, and a lot of fields. Even outside the main streets, the town is full of people, animals, noise and activity: women laying out rice to dry, kids running around, teenagers playing volleyball, men on motorbikes, cows, chickens, goats and ducks wandering.Houses are mostly made from bamboo, which means that the four-storey building holding my flat is a landmark itself. Just as noticeable is the sight of a bideshi: I am not the only foreigner in town, but there’s few enough of us here that we definitely stand out. Calls of ‘bideshi, bideshi’ from across a street or a field are common, as are children running to shake my hand, and curious faces peeking around the side of a rickshaw after it has rolled past. It's a strange feeling hearing information about myself whispered amongst strangers as I walk to the market: ‘VSO’, the name of the NGO I work for, and the name of the area and building where I live. Despite earlier descriptions of the attention received in Dhaka (see below), the city now feels like a haven of anonymity in comparisonto here in the hills.Like everywhere in Bangladesh so far, Khagrachari seems complicated and contradictory. It's Bangladeshi but not Bengali; rural but densely populated; a town but full of fields; beautiful but dusty, dirty and lined with litter. It is not an idyllic tribute to the‘traditional’, but there is a distinct sense of place and history to try to understand and negotiate. It is both familiar, and still very alien. The added twist for 2009 is that the contradictions of Khagrachari aren't something for me to learn about from a distance. The challenge is to findways to place myself within the town's many layers, to build relationships, to learn from within, and to make it – for this year at least – my home.