Cox's Bazaar Day 2 & 3

Tuesday morning and the conference started at 9am. At 9am I was still in bed sleeping and enjoying my life of pure bliss. This period of my life will never repeat so I shall make the most of everything I have and just chiiiiiiil. I finally awoke from the giant sleep at 11am and I then strolled the 5 minute walk to the conference walking along the road that is parallel to the shore and telling every rickshaw driver I do not need to use them. At 11.45, I slipped into the conference room right in the middle of when my boss was giving a speech. I don’t think she recognised it was me because like me, she is short sighted so I was in luck.

Anyways, the day was not that fantastic, it was the same stuff as Tuesday but however, the twist was that in the evening the FPAB team at cox’s bazaar had organised a cultural evening. Cultural you ask… well, this meant, some traditional Burmese dancing and the bangla singers lightning up the room and people dancing. I myself also bopped on the dance floor, but instead of 50cent, it was some bangla song. It was really cool. There were about 30 people, all above the age of 30 except myself dancing. I have never seen Bangladeshis dancing, as it is frowned upon and regarded as haram. However, as I learn more and more about the culture, I can see the reasons why over here in Bangladesh nobody is bothered at the hesitancies the Bangladesh community in the UK have. People have to remember, that many of this people were in the country when they shed blood to save the language. God was not available that night when all the scholars at Dhaka University were murdered. The culture therefore now celebrates music, and singing and poetry, and seeing all these people come together that night, I felt proud as a Bengali, and being grabbed hold of by the people to dance with them made me feel even more proud because I am now beginning to feel I am a member of this race.

After all the serious conference speeches, we were treated to Burmese dancing. There were four really adorable doll like girls who have grown up in Chittagong brought to entertain us. This was the first time I had ever seen anything like this and I have to admit, I really enjoyed the show. The music, the dancing with candles and umbrellas was really cool. Next time I am in Chittagong I am going to have to see a show like this again. After the girls had done their dance, I chased after them, not because I have yellow fever but because I wanted that exclusive photo. The weird thing was that they were so fluent in bangla, but the other weird thing about this is the stark contrast in physical features between Bangladeshis and the Burmese in such a short distance on both sides of the borders. People either look Bengali or Burmese, no in between. If you know what I mean.

After the Burmese dance, was the Bengali band. There were three singers, 2 girls and one bloke whose picture I didn’t want to take. But in between the dance and music from the band, the people of FPAB wanted an encore, so guess who took the mic and started to sing, my boss!!! She is so brave, such a cool brave, such a cool modern Bengali woman. I wish many more Bengali women would be like her. She is 50 years old but she won’t let anything stop her in her ambition whether it is educating about sexual reproductive health or wanting to sing for a crowd. She did two numbers, and I have recorded one of them on my camera, but until I can figure out how to upload them to this site, they will just remain on my hardrive. The band then arrived in typical Bangladesh timing fashion, but they did sing for 2 hours, it was good. Like I said earlier, people got up and danced.

After the dancing, the night was over and everybody went home. I was starving and I did the easy thing which was order room service. The milkshake at coral reef aint bad.

On the third day, which was now Thursday, my typical day pattern did not follow. I woke up at 10 this time, but instead of heading off to the conference immediately, I went to this most delightful and charming café/snack bar which is built on stilts and sits on the beach. When it is high tide, I am told the place is one of the best places to be in Bangladesh and maybe in the world. The name angel drop is quite fitting, and I hope this place remains forever and that the effect of globalisation doesn’t destroy it.

For my breakkie, I had a cup of tea, typically loaded full of sugar and a biscuit, I didn’t order much partly for the reason they don’t really have much on the menu. But it was good never the less. One striking thing about Cox’s bazaar is the noise the Bay of Bengal produces. The waves crash with such volume that they are a formidable opponent for the central line.

Today was the last day of the annual project review (AGM) so I should really have been there much earlier and stay all day. I did the latter which was ok. It was the same old stuff again. speeches, but this time the critiscm and reviews were handed out to people and the different districts were told where they were going wrong and how to improve.

The day finished early, around 3pm. But in the afternoon, there was a debating competition, 10 regional finalists came to cox’s bazaar to battle out who is the best. The subject was sexual reproductive health, gender based violence and all the trimmings that went along with it. The competition was interesting, the one thing I had learnt from Bangladeshis when it came to debating is that it is all about voice projection and copying what the politicians do. People don’t use wit here, they shout, and bang fists and this is what the crowd like. It gives a buzz and to see teenagers doing is quite remarkable. In the UK everyone is a bit more relaxed, the content of what they say uses humour and intelligence, but it was interesting to see the contrast.

After the debate, and the prizes handed out, FPAB then staged a little natok. The drama is typical of what the volunteers do for FPAB. Educating is more effective in staging the message rather than handing out leaflets so it was nice to get an insight into this. The story was, a pregnant wife beaten by the husband and then given shit by the mother in law. FPAB then comes to the rescue to teach the family why they should not be doing what they are doing and so on.

The sad thing about Bengali culture in the village is that pregnant women have it hard. This needs to change, obvious statement I know, but this culture is centuries old, so the task is hard.

After the day ended, I treated the guys I made friends with to the cheapest meal ever. 4 peeps ate for less than 70 pence. Hail the strength of the pound and my time in cox’s bazaar.

I went to bed early because the day after, I was headed off to St Martins!! Woo hoo!!!!