I Have A Dog

“I once had a dog,

Or should I say,

He once had me.”

With apologies to John Lennon but I could not resist opening with that paraphrase which neatly sums up my situation at the moment here at LAMB.

Bardy is a stray dog who, for some reason known only to him, has decided that our home and family are to be his home and family. This decision of his has not come without problems as well as joys and has left me ruminating over the meaning of pets and the relationship of animals with Bangladeshis.

Bardy himself is something of an unwanted dog. Even his name is not right. Apparently it was said to be his name as a joke by a kid from the school who actually gave another kid’s nickname. Somehow the word got around and it stuck. He is just the most incredibly affectionate and friendly dog who loves the kids at the school and is really pleased to see anyone. Unfortunately, he also goes where there is food and that means hospital areas and the school at snack break time. Though Bardy himself is as soft as anything, where there is one stray dog others are sure to follow and they certainly do.

Bardy’s friendliness to humans becomes submission to other dogs and as a result he gets ‘chewed out’ literally and this means a lot of barking, fighting, growling and teeth baring that scares children and adults alike. And that’s where it all goes wrong and gets confused. Scared people means complaints, complaints mean there is a problem and where there is a problem – at least as far as strays are concerned – it means removal by the only means likely to work. As a dog-lover that scenario upsets me. Bardy is, in a very real sense, living on Death Row. He doesn’t know it, but he could find that one day he wakes up and it is his last - well before his time.

Of course, that is a last resort but the clock is ticking as options continue to run out. No one wants to do the job of getting rid of the strays but at the same time most people want ‘someone’ to do it. As long as it is not them. So I continue to feed Bardy, give him limited shelter if he wants it in the form of our porch which I keep open at night so he can sleep safely, I keep other dogs away and I train him in the hope that deshis here will see that these animals are intelligent and capable. But he is not mine and I can’t protect him all the time. Sometimes, he has turned up bleeding all over from wounds inflicted by other dogs or by men who have beaten him.

I saw him kicked the other day before I could tell the person to stop because he was ‘my dog’ (To say the truth, that I belong to the dog, would just be way too confusing). Interestingly, Bardy barely moved. Didn’t growl, didn’t run away. He just acknowledged he had been kicked and carried on barking at the stray dog that had appeared in the noisy manner that had elicited the kicking in the first place. I found myself comparing this to the lot of many women here – especially the poor ones – who are often beaten, punished, scolded, starved or otherwise harmed by husbands or (as often as not) mothers-in-law. Usually the response, when asked why they put up with it, is the same. “Why would I not? I am poor. I am a woman. This is what happens.” Bardy seemed to say the same thing. “I am kicked. I am a dog. This happens.”

You may well be upset that I have just compared women to dogs but please don’t misunderstand me. Very often the value of a woman is about the same as a dog and certainly less than the value of a cow. A cow for a village man produces milk and meat that can be sold or used by the family. A woman produces nothing. In our first day of living in Bangladesh we were taken to the Language school in Banani where we would spend 3 months learning the language. The woman who was the head there led us into her office. As we spoke I noticed the poster behind her on the wall. In Bangla it said “My wife does nothing” and the picture was of a traditionally dressed married woman with around 20 arms coming out of her, each doing a different task – cooking, cleaning, washing children, milking the cow, cutting corn in the field and so on. But she does nothing. A far cry from the men we often see huddled together by the bank of a river playing cards and gossiping for hours on end.

Our own ayah (who is, in my opinion, one of the most important women I have ever had the honour of knowing and learning from), works with incredible efficiency and speed in our house, often second-guessing what we are thinking of when we forget to actually ask her for some lunch and so on. She goes home after a full day’s work and then does all the work for her own house. On her day off, she tells us she does even more work there and that, in some ways, coming to our house to work is more like a chuti (holiday). We have been to her house many times and it is beautifully kept and maintained despite the difficulties of living in a house made of mud and a country that is wet for most of the time. But I digress.

Life, as you may imagine, out in Dinajpur (in the Northwest of Bangladesh) can be pretty hard for all – man or woman – and working in a hospital environment where people often only come as a last resort (and therefore dying), means that we see it at its worst. Many of the Bideshis (foreigners) here struggle with what they see, working all hours and emotionally being drained of energy. But we only see it and get involved in trying to help. It is the deshis who actually suffer the diseases, the poverty, the malnutrition and the abuse. They do so, usually, stoically and with great honour and though I can never empathise with their plight (to suggest I could would be an insult), I feel proud to have served these amazing people.

Yet, (and please read what I have written again to weigh what I say next properly) of all the things we have seen in two years, all the pain as well as joy, the one image that sticks in my mind and heart is not one of people. This article is about dogs remember.

Whilst still in our 3 months training in Dhaka, my wife and I were walking to the Language school one early morning as the dokanders were setting up their shops on the streets. Suddenly we heard a yapping from the other side of a street. This cute little puppy was waddling around obviously excited by everything it was seeing and running up to anyone who came near the stall that had been set up. We assumed the puppy belonged to the dokander as it seemed very healthy and not mangy and thin like strays normally look here. I can only describe it as looking and acting like the Andrex puppy off the adverts back in the UK. We carried on walking but we were both moved (in truth, Vikki had melted). A little further on we turned back to look at the little thing waddling across the street to a nicely dressed man on the other side who was passing by.

“I wonder if it belongs to anyone” Said Vikki “it’s so cute”.

I thought it must have belonged to someone – the stall owner at least – but we never found out. At that point, the well dressed man, who was grinning but obviously irritated by the animal, started to kick it gently and push it back into the street with his foot. At just that moment a car drove slowly by and he pushed the puppy with his foot straight under the car’s front wheel. Time seemed to freeze as we watched, horrified as the body lay motionless after the car had passed. There was no commotion. Just the young man kicked the body with his foot to make sure it was dead and carried on with his walk to work. I don’t think he had intended to kill the animal, just get rid of it. He still grinned but now with a sheepish “oops” kind of a look.  But he didn’t care either way and nor did any of the dozen or so people milling around at the time who saw what happened. We, however, felt sick in the stomach and though we went to the school for our studies, we could not concentrate. Even now, I feel ill to remember what happened.

When I see Bardy (or any animal) I am reminded of that incident and the strange relationship that Bangladeshis have with animals. Cows and chickens, of course, have great value along with many other animals that provide meat, milk and hide that can be used. Cats and dogs tend not to be valued, but even here in Dinajpur, many poor people keep both and look after them with care and attention. We were once told that Bangladeshis hate cats and certainly one of our friends is terrified of them. But the person who told us was a Bideshi who doesn’t like animals themselves and we have quickly realised that in this country you see what you want to see and you interpret things according to your own values. I’ve heard a lot of rubbish from NGO workers here. The ones I trust, ones who have been here for many, many years and are almost more Bangladeshi than of their own country – they are the ones who will tell you more truthfully that the longer they live here the less they know with certainty. It’s a complex place.

So I can’t tell you if Bangladeshis love animals as pets or not. Some do, some don’t. Some at LAMB are terrified of them and complain asking for them to be ‘got rid of’ in some unspoken manner. Others tell us that they think the Bideshi way of treating them is inhumane and immoral. “They are a life.” one deshi told me “how can I destroy a life?” In an environment set up to save and support life I am surprised more don’t agree. But then I am British. I am an animal lover. Pets are part of my life and always have been. That’s probably why I was so affected by that puppy. It’s probably why Bardy has had such an affect on me here. I left my own dog back in the UK to come here and he was, in some ways, the hardest sacrifice despite leaving home, comfort, family, money, friends and a 100 other things. I left a life behind. I am not sure I can leave this one defenceless.

Bardy, of course, is totally oblivious to all of this and can cause trouble. Another stray dog attempted to get into the church building just before the service a few days ago and, for once, Bardy went crazy. The two bawling animals literally fell into the church causing screams from children, women and men alike. Neither dog was hurt and neither attempted any violence towards a human being but, as the expression goes, the bark was worse than the bite and people were scared. Bardy fully focussed on the other dog who was, without doubt, the enemy. In the end, I went and sorted it out, without violence, with a bucket of water. It is my usual weapon against dogs and always works in driving them from my home, the school and now the church. My hope is that people come to realise that you can get them to go away without hurting them at all. But Bardy’s unusual anger has not helped his own plight.

“Stupid dog” I said to him as I locked up for the night leaving him sleeping on the veranda. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

And then, proving who really is the more stupid, I turned, smiled at him and patted him on the head.

“Goodnight Pal.” I said “See you in the morning. I hope.”

7 things the British ought to know about Bangladesh

For those of you who like lists, here are some facts about the country I live in now comparing them to the country I lived in then. For those who like something meatier, read on – I get a bit controversial towards the end…

1)      Bangladesh is the 7^th biggest country in the world but they hide it well! Statistically speaking, 1 in every 50 people you will ever meet around the world will be Bangladeshi. At just over 164 million people it is the seventh largest country in the world in terms of population. China, India and the USA are bigger but then so are their land sizes. Bangladesh is tiny (144 sq km compared to the UK’s 245 sq km) so that is an awful lot of people to cram into a small area! Ignoring countries with less than 15 million people in it, Bangladesh is the world’s most densely populated country with 1069 people per sq. km. The UK, by comparison, has just 255 people. I laughed when I read Bill Byson’s otherwise fantastic and well recommended book Notes from a Big Country and he said that Britain was very overpopulated. Oh no it’s not…

2)      The Great British Takeaway – the Indian Curry – is probably Bangladeshi. That is, the ‘Indian’ restaurant down your street is probably run by Bangladeshis. 65% of all Curry house in Britain are from Bangladesh, largely from the area in the Northeast of the country called Sylhet. This region is also well known for growing tea leaves! So have a cuppa with your curry next time, they should go together well!

3)      The language is Bangla. Well, no surprises there then! Except that it is, in one sense, only a few years old. What used to be known as Bengali which was the language of the whole area of Bengal from the days of the British Raj is, of course, much, much older. When Britain left in 1947 the Bengal area was split into India and East Pakistan until East Pakistan gained its own independence from West Pakistan in 1971. It was then that it became Bangladesh and Bangla became internationally recognized. It came at a terrible price though with a war that cost (depending on whose sources you believe) up to 3 million lives at a time when the population was just 75 million. Just think about this for a moment. At the end of the second World War, Britain had lost less than 450,000 people out of a population of 48 million (I’ll let you do the maths) yet ‘every town and village lost a son to the war’. How more so was this amazing land ravaged by this war? The issue that led to the war was the suppression of Bangla in 1948 when Urdu was declared to be the only permissible language. In 1952 on the 21^st February, several students were shot dead protesting this suppression of the language spoken by most of the country. This date is now the International Mother Language Day in memory of this event. Can you imagine having to fight just to be allowed to speak your own language?

4)      Bangladesh doesn’t exist. Well, you would think so from the way some people seem to think about it. I know some who still insist on calling the place India despite that not being the case for well over 60 years! But actually, in one sense, the land Bangladesh doesn’t exist because it is actually one big delta. In fact, it is the biggest one in the world. This is because just above it runs the 3^rd largest mountain range in the world – the Himalayas - and all the water from those mountains (including Everest) runs into Bangladesh. This means that most of the country is flat, flat as the proverbial pancake and is pretty much just mud (or silt if you prefer). Basically the people are living on a marsh. Problem is, if the sea level rises just half a meter, around 6 million people will lose their homes and if global warming causes more snow to melt off the mountains, unbelievably severe flooding will occur. This, in a country that already deals with dangerous floods every year as it is.

5)      You are more likely to die in the UK than in Bangladesh…just. This might come as a shock to many especially those who know this country well but, according to Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_death_rate), the crude death rate in the UK is 10 in every 1000 people, whereas in Bangladesh it is between 7.5 and 9.3. So, come over to Bangladesh and live more safely then, yes? Not quite. The percentages may be similar but the reasons for death are very different. The vast majority of deaths in the UK are caused by problems related to old age and most deaths are of the elderly. In Bangladesh, according to which statistics you use, one in ten children born will die before they are five. Others die through heart disease, diarrhea, road and other accidents or even suicide. Death prefers the old in the UK but here in Bangladesh he comes to all ages and especially loves the young.

6)      Bangladeshis are amazingly friendly. Sometimes a little overly so it can feel if you are British and not used to the Asian manner. It can be disconcerting to stand waiting for a train with your family and have a crowd of around 40 men, women and children just standing and staring at you. The idea of personal space is very different too and claustrophobia soon kicks in. Likewise, you can feel a little cheated by the Rickshaw driver who smiles so nicely, works so hard and asks for such a small amount which you gladly pay when you find out later that he fleeced you for 10 times the actual rate that should be paid.

This raises one of the dichotomies of being here. Do you let the driver and the shopkeeper cheat you and demand much more money despite it being wrong and encouraging corruption (something this country suffers from in all the wrong places)or do you refuse and give only the correct amount knowing that these people earn less than a dollar a day and often are starving or close to it? And are they wrong to try? “We would be crazy not to” was the reply of one Rickshaw driver to a friend of ours. When you are the poorest of the poor and you know the white guy you are ferrying earns more in a week than you do in a year, is it wrong to expect him to pay more? 

But I digress. Once you have settled in and know just what you should be paying for things, then you get to see the truly friendly side of Bangladeshis. The people here are so warm and welcoming and make every effort to meet whatever needs you have when you are a guest in their home. From the poorest to the richest, according to their means, you will be offered the best and will be served the most delicious food heaped on your plate again and again until you cannot eat another mouthful and they will be delighted. This is no sycophantic attempt to get on your right side. This is a genuine desire to treat a guest (whatever their nationality including Bangladesh itself) with the greatest honour and deepest respect. How we have lost this aspect of our British culture. We became so obsessed with the task of weeding out corruption, injustice and inequality that we threw out honour and respect at the same time. Ironically, we still suffer from corruption, injustice and inequality in the UK, only it is better hidden and wrapped up in clever legislation.

7)      The British and other Westerners are still colonial in thinking about Bangladesh, only the poles have reversed. Ok, soapbox time. If there is one thing the Brits are good at, it is self-loathing. We’ve spent decades pulling our own society apart and denouncing old ways. And often, it must be said, this is entirely justified. But such is our horror of our colonial past that now we seem to think it necessary to ‘save’ places like Bangladesh by giving as much as possible of our own, advanced culture to bring them up to our level. Actually, isn’t this just colonialism all over again? Only this time, instead of stealing all this land’s riches for ourselves, we want to make them into mirror images of our own culture under the mistaken idea that somehow it is better than theirs.

Well, you know, its not. They don’t need our greedy business structures, our nanny state, our alcoholism, our broken relationships, our cynicism, our materialism or a host of other things I could mention. Bangladesh could, in many ways, do well without us – especially if this is all we offer. Don’t get me wrong. This is an impoverished country working hard to recover from centuries of abuse and war and doing a pretty damned good job of it. They need the good stuff as much as we – medicines, education, Energy supply and so on – but what they don’t need is the attitude that somehow they are inferior and can’t manage without us. The history of Bangladesh shows they most certainly can. I cringe when I see Western fashion increasingly paraded down the streets of Dhaka. I struggle with Bangladeshi youth desiring to learn Western Rock music instead of appreciating the depth of their own. I worry at the increasing number of homes with a television here, able to watch 24/7 American movies, soaps and chat shows. The West’s problems are increasingly become Bangladesh’s.

So why am I here if such influence is so bad?

I came here to help not because I was British, qualified, rich, from the West or in any way better than any Bangladeshi. I came here as a fellow human being because there is a need here I can fill as a person and for as long as my brother or my sister wants me here to work alongside them I will do my best to meet that need until my time is up. I am not throwing my money at the problems, I am not saving the world with my amazing powers. I am entering into a relationship with other people to stand with them as they continue to deal with their struggles. When I am gone, they will carry on without me and I will undoubtedly leave no mark, no tribute to me to stand the test of time and this is entirely right. But in the time I am here I will do my utmost to show, in my way, according to my own British culture, the same level of friendship, love, care, honour and respect that Bangladeshis have shown me.

I doubt I will succeed and I am sure I am getting it wrong. But, like Bangladesh itself, I keeping trying.