Carly came to visit on Friday. After giving her instructions on how to take a local bus from Chittagong to Sitakunda, she managed to make it here in one piece. For some inexplicable reason, the bus didn't drop her off at the usual spot. Hence I was riding around in a CNG for about 20 minutes trying to find her. At one point while passing the village where Moriam (the cook at work) lives, people started waving me over telling me my friend was there. I asked, "Bideshi friend?" Yes, yes! Turns out this "bideshi" was in fact Moriam's 11-year-old daughter Sheuli, who is remarkably Bangladeshi-looking for a bideshi. So Sheuli agreed to jump in the CNG with me, even though I was unable to tell her where we were going or what we were doing. Surprisingly, this time was not because of the language barrier but because I really did have no bloody idea where Carly could be.
After I managed to locate her, we had a lovely day. Carly has already written a good account so I can't be arsed doing it again but will instead attempt to put in a link to her blog here. (If it's underlined and a different colour, it means I succeeded. If not, go to http://oneyearinbangers.blogspot.com and try your luck at finding it.) I feel her account of our train adventure home was somewhat lacking in detail, however, but again I can't be arsed right now. Save that for another rainy day.
This morning I woke early and hopped into a CNG with my new bike! (The exclamation mark was hardly warranted there, but whenever I talk about my new bike I just get so excited and a full stop didn't seem to convey this excitement effectively enough.) I ended up making the whole journey in the CNG, which cost 10 times as much as the bus fare but in keeping with the general theme of this post, I couldn't be arsed getting out of the CNG, arguing with the bus people over (a) the fare and (b) the logistics of getting my bike on and off the roof of the bus.
The bike has seriously improved my street cred rating with the 10- to 15-year-old boys in Sitakunda. Well (that's a bit of a sweeping generalisation), with Rohman (Moriam's 13-year-old son) and the little boy who lives across the lane (as opposed to the beneficiary of Baa Baa Black Sheep's 3rd bag full of wool, the little boy who lives DOWN the lane) whose name I can never remember.
Rohman always says hello and is very polite to me, but has thus far not displayed the same amount of interest or affection as his sisters or mother. But today, he was all smiles and proudly told me he was able to ride a bike (a surprisingly rare skill here). He took me to the rickshaw repair shop to get the tyres pumped up, ran after me when I took it for a test ride and nearly fell over with excitement when I asked him if he wanted to have a go. This reaction confirmed that Rohman will be the person who inherits my bike after I leave. I'm so tempted to buy a bike for him now though, (a) cos I know he'll love it and (b) cos it means I'll have someone with a bit of local knowledge who doesn't give me the creeps or the shits to go cycling with.
The little boy who lives across the lane normally runs away from me when I say hello, so for him to approach me and ask about the bike was really brave. He also nearly fell over when I said he could have a go on the bike. He again narrowly escaped falling over, this time when he was riding the bike which is really far too big for him. Unable to reach the ground, he had to mount and dismount next to some steps which probably looked more hairy than it actually was. I didn't want to be responsible for any injuries in the bike's first 24 hours in Sitakunda!
I've been quite jealous since seeing a Bangladeshi woman on a motorbike in town the other day, so I think the bike might just restore me to "coolest woman in Sitakunda" status.
2 comments:
Hi Monica, You're coping with Funny/Sad, I can cope with a little "Language" Take care on that bike. Kerry.
You're right about my half arsed encapsulation of the train ride back. But by the time I got to that point, I was so stuffed from the actual journey, that I couldn't write about it!
Post a Comment