This morning I woke up at 6am because I was staying at Carly and Tania's house in Chittagong, and wanted to get my bike back to Sitakunda. The plan was to ride it the 5km or so to the bus station in the early hours before the traffic (and consequent staring) got too bad. From there, I'd get the bus guys to stick it on the roof of the bus and arrive in Sitakunda with my new set of wheels.
Clearly, I'm not learning any lessons about life in Bangladesh - i.e. that there is no point making plans because they'll probably fall through for one reason or another. This morning's problem was the rain - it was pissing down at 6am. Admittedly, I didn't need much convincing to reset the alarm for 7:30 and get a bit of extra shut-eye.
Thus I arrived in Sitakunda bike-less for another week.
My small friend next door, Momu, came upstairs with me when I dumped my bags and was so excited to see me that she pissed on the floor in my room. It's still kind of cute when a 20-month-old girl does it, even if it is whilst wearing my thongs (which can be washed) and standing on top of some patient details. Oops. That'll teach me for leaving them lying around. There is no medical records department full of snooty people here, but that's no excuse for my lack of order. Although some documentation (even if it will smell of urine) is better than none. But I digress...
Momu and I made our way downstairs for some breakfast, when one of my colleagues who'd arrived early for work asked me why I hadn't called to let everybody know that I was okay on my holiday. Ummm... because I was ON HOLIDAYS! That implies a BREAK... from YOU. But of course I didn't say any of this, just gritted my teeth and smiled sweetly.
After breakfast, I re-entered the office and some more colleagues had arrived. "Hello Monica, you have so much sweat on your face!" says one. "And spots!" points out another. "Dirty!" notes someone else, pointing to the small area of mud on my kameez from when I was carrying a dirty shoe-wearing Momu. Welcome back - you sweat like a pig, you've got pimples and you look like a hobo. But we're glad to see you.
I've just come back from buying my vegetables for dinner at the market here. I'd forgotten what a full-on experience it is... a total assault on the senses. The overwhelming fish smell, the stalls and stalls full of vegetables I don't know, hearing roosters and people calling out, feeling the wetness on my feet as I walk through the fish section, almost tasting the spices as they're measured out for customers. Not to mention the constant staring, pointing, questioning etc.
Welcome back to rural Bangladesh. Crash-landing back down to earth after the holidays!
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