Celebrity or 5-year-old child?

First off - I am really enjoying being in Bangladesh.  The country is beautiful (once you're out of Dhaka), the people are so friendly and hospitable, the mangoes are cheap and bloody good.  And, while I could happily burn all my ornas, I actually quite like the salwar kameez and find it really comfortable to work in.  The food is often great, although I've cut down my rice-based meals to one per day.  I'm operating outside my comfort zone on a daily basis and love that I now think of zip-lock bags and pesto as "luxuries".

BUT...

I am bloody sick of being treated like a princess.  My colleagues are amazed that I hand wash my own clothes, am able to cook and - most recently - managed to use my brain by putting the fruit I'd cut up in the fridge overnight.  (Mind you, they didn't believe me until I opened the fridge door to show them.  "Oh!  You are a smart girl," they told me.  No, just not as stupid as you seem to think I am.)

It's really a fine line between being treated like the ultimate celebrity guest, where everyone is trying super hard to ensure my comfort and well-being at all times (including security escort EVERYWHERE) and being treated like a 5-year-old child.  Where are you going?  Who are you going with?  What did you buy?  How much did it cost?  Eat more food!  Close your windows!  No, you can't have a key for the front gate!  (Shock horror, that might mean that I'd actually be able to go out without anyone knowing.)  Make sure you get an early bus back from Dhaka, otherwise it will be dark!

The people at my work are the ultimate dibber-dobbers, too.  One night when I did return from Dhaka at 10:30pm, the only person who saw me coming in was the security guy.  But the next morning at 9am, my supervisor was asking why I got home so late.  Another time, I told one colleague that I'd gone to an area of Bangladesh that is technically out of bounds for Australian volunteers... with strict instructions not to tell my supervisor.  She didn't tell my supervisor, but by dinner time I was being hassled by another colleague for not telling them I was going.  Last week when getting the bus to Chittagong after work on a Thursday with another colleague, he asked me if I'd let my supervisor know I was going.  No, I said, but I'd told the security guy and the cook.  I offered to text my supervisor after we arrived in Chittagong, and this guy replied that he'd already rung my supervisor to tell him.  Bloody hell!

I am slowly getting better at telling people to bugger off (really - I told 2 of my male colleagues to "bugger off" after they didn't listen to me asking them to go away when cooking one night) and I think they are slowly getting the idea that I want a bit of privacy.  But it will be an ongoing battle and I wouldn't be surprised if I get calls on my return to Australia checking up on me!