blondefish.blogspot.com: November 2010

1st of December

Advent from the Latin word adventus, meaning 'coming', is a time of expectant waiting and preparation for the celebration of the Nativity of Jesus (the story of his birth) at Christmas. It is the beginning of the Western liturgical year and commences on Advent Sunday, which was actually last Sunday - the fourth Sunday before December 25th.

Growing up we always celebrated the advent season, lighting candles each night at home, singing Christmas carols and fighting over who would get the chocolate from the Advent Calendar. I love Christmas and the period leading up to it is a special and anticipatory time, normally aided by rehearsals for carol concerts, temperature swings between the cold outdoors and boiling hot shop queues, trying to locate the Christmas decorations again and sweeping up needles from the Christmas tree. Here in Bangladesh, where there is little in the way of Christmas reminders and definitely no snow, I forgot that last Sunday was the First Sunday in Advent.

On the other hand, I am eagerly anticipating another celebration of sorts...my very own adventus back to Europe. One week to go!

Happy St Andrews Day

It's been a long time since I celebrated St Andrews Day in St Andrews, and there's not been many other countries in which I've celebrated it since...except for, oddly, Bangladesh. I haven't spotted a rousing Scottish community here, so I take it that it's just another excuse for a huge party, but this time with the addition of a ceilidh, haggisneepsn'tatties and unsightly tartan.

Andrew is the patron saint of Scotland, but also of the Ukraine, Russia, Prussia, Romania, Patras in Greece, Amalfi in Italy, Luqa in Malta and Esgueira in Portugal. The guy has travelled more than I have.

The flag of Scotland and consequently the Union flag which features on the flags of Australia, New Zealand and Nova Scotia amongst others, is St Andrew's saltire cross. The saltire is also the flag of Tenerife, Galicia and the naval flag of Russia.

Of course, it's only us that makes his day our national day, to be celebrated with excessive feasting, drinking and shaving. The latter is a more modern tradition in response to the end of 'Movember' (as in 'moustache' + 'November') - an annual month-long event originally begun in Australia in 1999, during which moustaches are grown by those with the ability to do so, in order to raise awareness and funds for men's health issues.

A fish oil capsule a day...

Many of you know that I don't much care for fish, well, the ones that arrive on a dinner plate at least, unless they've come off the back of a boat in Peterhead or wrapped in newspaper with chips (which in Scotland means it's come off the back of a boat in Peterhead).

But I do believe in the benefits of fish oils - pretty much ever since I listened to the brother of noted chef Rick Stein, a professor at Oxford, talk at an event I organised at the Royal Institute in London on fish during my time there, about a study he did on Dyslexia and the benefits of fish oils in 'oiling' the pathways in the brain that aid learning. It apparently also oils the joints, the eyes (improves night vision) and has all sorts of other benefits (consult a doctor before taking them if you are pregnant).

I was recommended healthspan by a friend at Cambridge when I went on to study there and required all the learning-aid I could get. They are also one of the few companies that provide vegetarian capsules, sustainably-sourced fish oils, and competitively priced per capsule (because you buy 6 months or a year supply at a time). The website also provides some useful information on getting the balance right between omega-3, 6 and 9.

Of course, everything in moderation, which is a personal policy that is easy to live by at the moment. The high humidity has got into the bottle and the water content in the air has started to degrade the capsules, producing a very pungent whiff before I can get them down my throat (and a nasty backburp). Now if only they made a pill for concentration.

Hash

No, I wasn't smoking it, but I did run it.

Huh?

The Hash House Harriers, sometimes simply called 'hashing', is an international group of non-competitive running, social and drinking clubs, with an emphasis on the drinking, as it turns out. An event organised by the club is called a Hash run, with participants calling themselves 'hashers'.

It started out in 1938 in Kuala Lumpur, when a group of British colonial officers and expats began meeting on a Monday to rid themselves of the excesses of the previous weekend. After meetings for some months they were informed by the Registrar of Societies that as a 'group', they would require a constitution and an official name. 'Hash House' is where the men were billeted and the constitution set the club's aims as:

- promoting physical fitness among members

- getting rid of weekend hangovers

- acquiring a good thirst and satisfying it in beer

- persuading the older members that they are not as old as they feel.

There are more than 1 700 'chapters' globally today, and most major cities are home to at least one chapter. A chapter's management is typically known as the MisManagement.

At a hash, one or more members lays a trail (the 'hares') using paper, chalk and sand depending on the environment and weather, which is followed by the rest of the group (the 'hounds'). The trail often includes false trails, short cuts, dead ends and split trails, designed to keep the pack together regardless of fitness level or running speed as the front-runners are forced to find the 'true trail', allowing the stragglers to catch up. Trails may pass through alleyways, residential areas, forests, swamps and even shopping malls. Most hash events end with a group gathering known as the 'Circle', where new members are initiated and given a hash name, drinking songs are sung, punishments (doused in ice cold water from the beer bucket) and fines (skulling) handed out for cheating (such as taking excessive shortcuts). Members often describe their club as 'a drinking club with a running problem' and the social element is as important, if not more so, than the athletics.

A large number of Australian expats in Dhaka are hash members, and as I'm staying with one, I decided to give it a go. It's basically one great big social event, but with the added bonus of some exercise, seeing a little bit more of the area around Dhaka, meeting new people, and being with a pack of 80 people as you pass by staring villagers. And that's all I'm saying about it.

Here is a photo I snapped on the way of pipes carrying sand and water to reclaim land. I was scrutinised by two sweaty security guards when I stopped and pulled out my camera. The American Ambassador is a hasher and every week faithfully completes his run, which forces his personal protection detail to run alongside him with suspicious minds and guns down their trousers. He travels to and from the hash in his bullet-proof car with police jeep outriders; one vehicle in front and the other behind with the police lights flashing and horns blaring. If you can nip in behind them you can be home in half the time.

The Party Dr.

"Treat the PhD as just another job". It was great advice that I got when I first made the switch to academia, but I suspect the only people who would ever say that are those who haven't done one. The PhD, the research, the concepts, the thinking...it takes over your life. I think I better understand the sentiment "it feels like you are married to your PhD", which I had also been told at the start, but which I didn't like the sound of quite so much.

This thought-train struck me as I was standing in borrowed heels, with champagne coursing through my veins and heavy Latino beats in the background (life in Dhaka is very different to the rural areas) and posing the question "so what are the effects of the current rising cotton prices on your margins"?

It was my night off, but it's amazing how my work and particularly the distribution of value in supply chains can be incorporated into just about any conversation...mostly because I find it very interesting. I suppose that in this regard, I know I am doing the right PhD for me.

I was chatting with the expat* manager of a clothing company that supplies the likes of George (for Asda), Tesco, Primark etc. Global cotton prices have risen by around 60% in the past year or so, mostly due to floods in Pakistan and the failure of cotton crops in other locations for various reasons. This puts substantial pressure on textile manufacturers, particularly the providers of cheap cotton to European consumers. What I found out is that brands such as George sell their jeans for, let's say, £3 a pair. Their market is people such as electricians and builders who race through pairs of jeans, buy in bulk, and don't want to spend a lot of money. In fact, George sells £3 jeans at a loss. They do this because once you are in the store and buying your pair of jeans, you are far more likely to purchase other products found in an Asda store. In this way, it's worth losing a little bit of jeans money and making it up a few-fold elsewhere.

But Primark, for example, doesn't have the luxury of a number of other products to sell in their stores. So they can't sell the same jeans at a loss and therefore charge £8-£9. In fact, selling at a loss is subject to heavy fines in the EuroZone as it undermines independent retailers and is likely to force them out of business. That's why you have massive one-stop-shop retailers in the UK, and lots of little boutiques in, say, France.

Here's the inside scoop: retailers are currently conducting a staring contest to see who will be the first to crack and raise the prices of textiles such as clothes and bed sheets to a price that will make a profit. Naturally, the largest companies can probably hold out the longest. But the spring-summer collection shipped a few months ago at the higher cotton price and the autumn-winter collection - currently in production - will be even higher prices. So get shopping now if you are still looking for cheaper clothing!

I also spoke with the Quality Controler of a well-known European furniture supplier (at the same party). According to him, Bangladesh is the cheapest location for the production of textiles at the moment and they supply 80% of their textiles from Bangladesh. Even China is more expensive than Bangladesh as it attempts to reposition itself in the 'green' market. The company I was now sharing the white bubbly with is also currently absorbing the costs of rising cotton prices, mostly because they want to continue to sell at low prices for as long as possible. Why? Because consumers want cheap things. That always comes at a cost but it's mostly someone else who pays. But he was also quick to tell me (unprompted) of the ethical standards employed throughout their supply chain. I suspect a company selling at a loss is likely to need them to stop all corners being cut.

Anyway, it reminded me how easy it is to play 'the dumb blonde' and learn all sorts of insider secrets, how much I am interested in learning about how these big companies actually work, how much I am convinced that consumers have purchasing power if only they care, and how difficult it is to balance in heels after a couple of glasses of champagne.

* An expatriate (expat) is a person permanently or temporarily residing in a country or culture that is other to that of the person's upbringing or legal residence.

Ahoy there!

Most ships have a lifespan of a few decades. Once refitting becomes uneconomical, ships are sent to be broken up (ship breaking) for scrap recycling. Until the late 20th century, ship breaking took place in industrialised countries. Today, most ship breaking yards are in developing countries, particularly India, Turkey, Pakistan and, you guessed it, Bangladesh, thanks to lower labour costs and less stringent environmental regulations.

There are serious issues surrounding ship breaking, particularly the disposal of toxic materials and its effects on humans, wildlife and the environment (incidentally, Green Ship Recycling facilities do exist, but not in this part of the world).

Of course, Bangladesh is now also a leader in antique ship parts. Many of the brass and steel fittings are stamped with ports in Norway and Scotland. Many of the 'acquired' pieces (really, you can't trust how anything is come by in this place) are really quite beautiful and all extraordinarily heavy, restricting my shopping to that of the window kind.

Family Resemblance

Is this a photo of my nieces Toots and Tiger taken just under a couple of years ago?

Well, it almost looks like it could be, but it was actually taken exactly 30 years ago and that's their mummy sleeping peacefully and her proud big sister (me).

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Der German Klub

Sorry about the dark photo!

Clubbing and Corruption

Life in Dhaka is a club-life. No heavy-disco beats but there is a plentiful bar in each one. Admittance to clubs is according to nationality, so Brits have the right to join the British club, Australians the Aussie club and apparently anyone that's blonde can get into the Nordic club. Well, I look more Nordic than the, er, Nords, and once I paid my £1 guest-entry fee, no-one asked any questions.

Inside there is a book library, DVD library, gym, pool, coffee, not-bad food, a spa, and in the Nordic club only so far, plentiful cool Nordic style.

The problems start as soon as you leave the place. Well, that's not true. Life is a lot easier here than in the rural areas. And I really can't complain because the lady I am staying with has a car and driver, which is conveniently mine during the day. It's just that I was faced with a developing-country dilemma earlier today - a guy offered to subtantially reduce my costs of shipping some purchases back to the UK via a crafty little trick. My problem is that it's essentially corruption. And I have just been writing in my report about its pervasiveness in society here, the constraints it imposes on development and the impact it has on delivering basic public services to the poor. Transparency International has successively rated Bangladesh at the bottom of its corruption perception index. Bangladesh ranked 110 out of 117 countries in the 2005-2006 World Economic Forum Global Competitiveness report. The World Bank Development Report shows low scores for Bangladesh against all the main governance indicators and the local business community regards corruption as the second most important impediment to growth after poor electricity supply.

Everyone here has a story about corruption. One person mentioned to me how donor money for rebuilding embankments after Cyclone Sidr in 2007 simply disappeared, leaving the embankments low and aiding the terrible destruction inflicted by Cyclone Ayla in 2009 on the already poor and impoverished. Another person declared the Prime Minister a professional prostitute, dragging her begging bowl around the world for development funding, which Bangladesh gets, without the development. Or take stalking, a real problem in Bangladesh. A woman may be pressured by a man to marry him and if she refuses, she may risk threats, harrassment and being beaten up. In one such case, a woman was obliged to attend local community mediation with her stalker, where she had to admit it had been her fault. I'm also told that Government Ministers won't come to workshops or meetings unless paid, with one person telling me that the Minister chased her for his 300 TK (£3) payment. Attendees to a workshop also may call the catering company and demand extra lunch boxes so that the whole family can benefit from the free lunch (these are not poor people that come to Workshops).

The clubs in that sense are Bangladesh With Borders, where you get a break from constantly having to keep your wits about you. Although the break really only gives you an opportunity to recharge the batteries that you will need from the moment you set-foot out the door: you are more likely to be robbed in the club-area than anywhere else in the city.

Treasures of the Mall

Last night I stayed at a hotel before moving into my fifth and final place/palace of residence in Bangladesh. At the hotel I met a Canadian headmaster, desperate for someone to chat to in English after the hotel emptied of paying guests for the six days of the Eid festival.

We chatted at the gym (where we met), over dinner last night and also bumped into each other at breakfast this morning, and I learned a lot about New BrunswickCanada (he always ran the words together), the educational system in New BrunswickCanada, and how in six years' time, 250 students will have graduated from the high school system of New BrunswickCanada by attending his new school in Dhaka.

This morning, he was waiting for a call to inform him that he could go back to supervise the building of the school and I was waiting for a call to inform me of the address of my new abode. So, together we did the only thing we could think of and that his over-cautious desire for cleanliness would allow: shopping.

So off we went to the nearest big mall, him yacking away the whole time and me quietly taking photos of more beautiful and interesting things.

Until we found this pirated DVD of 'Love in the Time of Cholera'. Someone had clearly cut and paste a review from the internet, without having a clue what it meant. So the back cover said things like 'I'm not a fan of the book Love in the Time of Cholera..but the adaptation of that book for the big screen lacks two important elements. First, in the movie everything happens very fast and it has not got a good development of characters. Also, the film did not provoke me even one emotion. The performances are mostly pathetic. Javier Bardem is a brilliant actor but his performance here is laughable.....All his scenes provoked me unintentional laugh'.

I bought Nowhere Boy instead.

Holiday Snaps

Believe it or not, these snaps were all taken with the iphone. Although it's done me well, I really regretted not having a mega-camera, at least to compete with all the 'my lens is bigger than yours' chat coming from the Y-chromosones.

It must have been the most peaceful, tranquil and blood-free place in the whole of Bangladesh last week. But it was really the people - the new friends - that made the trip. And possibly the wine they brought too. We've all found each other on facebook, and more importantly, the British Club in Dhaka, so we really must be friends.

Approaching Dhaka and my final 2 weeks...

Life through the Lens of Perspective

You see, I thought I'd had it hard. You know, the staring, the pointing, the being followed around; watched by everyone whenever I set foot out of the house. People stoping in mid-stride just to stare.

But then I met Peter.

Peter is 24 and four years ago he came off his motorbike in the Lake District into a heavy goods vehicle and broke his back, leaving him paralysed from the waist down. He's been in Bangladesh for the past 3 months working with a Rehabilitation Centre near Dhaka for people with spinal injuries, teaching them wheelchair motor skills, offering counselling, and generally reminding people that 'Yes, you can'.

Peter practices what he preaches. He gives everything his best shot. He wasn't able to complete every task that the Eid-trip threw at him, such as travelling 2km through fields and soft sand to get to the beach and the Bay of Bengal. But he tried. He suffered a couple of tumbles but he just got right back up and tried again until the sun, the heat and terrain overwhelmed even him. But he didn't sulk back to the boat. He was proud he got as far as he did. In general, he made use of his enormous upper body strength to haul himself up and down the stairs between the decks (someone else then brought the wheel chair) or off and on the boat whenever he wanted a swim. He also endured the stares of almost everyone while negotiating ramps, doing simple things such as getting himself a cup of tea (not easy in a wheelchair on a boat) or heaving himself into the speedboat or shower, and all with enormous humility. He never got stressed, never looked embarassed. He simply got on with the job in hand. It must have taken tremendous physical and mental courage, and patience. We had to wait for him a couple of times, but the amount of times we didn't is credit to his determination.

He was inspiring. And not just in his physical abilities, but in his attitude to his injury, limitations and the resolve to not let them stop him seeing and experiencing the world. He exposed my grumbling for what it was; not appreciating that I can walk down the street and easily jump on a rickshaw when required and be gone. Not Peter.

Instead, he's contemplating the return trip to the UK next spring...overland. Talk about Perspective.

Short Stories

It's always a little bit tricky, leaving a place of comfort and 'starting out' again with new people and the hello-how-are-you-what-do-you-do-how-long-have-you-been-here that form the apperitif of the friendship menu. But once again, it led to great food and great times.

I think I mentioned once before on this blog that different nationalities seem to be attracted to different countries, and it's often possible to find a dominant tourist group in a place visited. Well, in this case, of the 40 or so people on board, at least 15 were Swiss. They were all connected to the Swiss government or a Swiss government-funded NGO, so they all knew each other in some form. Apart from them, the rest of us were a diverse group of Americans, 4 Brits, a couple of Dutch, a Chilean, a couple of Indians, some upper-class Bangladeshis, and age ranges spanning from about 3 to 60-something.

Although bird-watching was the morning's first activity after travelling south all night, it was actually people-watching that took most of my time and interest. People-watching in the sense of learning people's backgrounds, what brought them to Bangladesh, what they think of the place and so on. There are not many tourists in Bangladesh so everyone is here for a reason, and normally that reason is pretty interesting. There's the MSF doctors who met in Darfur - she Belgian, he from Hong Kong and this is their meet-in-the-middle holiday, or the Ethiopian value chain analyst (got some top tips there) who went to Canada for his PhD and is now a naturalised Japanese, or the American wife who runs an NGO for education in Bangladesh and has the 2 kids while the husband divides his time between Ottawa and Dhaka, or the Dutch woman who met her Swiss-German husband in India (they speak English together) and had one child there and one in Tanzania, or the Chilean woman married to another Swiss-German and who speaks French, German and Spanish but no English, or the half-Nepalese Swiss who is married to an Austrian and they live in Dehli (and speak hoch-Deutsch together). You see? There was enough on the boat to keep me riveted for days.

But the scenery was also astounding. Such peace and tranquility in marked contrast to the past nine weeks. Everyone commented that it was the only time and place that Bangladesh has offered them these sought-after qualities. Swimming, jungle treks and even the bird-watching were the dessert to the people met.

Guide Tours

For the Eid holiday, people tend to return to their home villages and take between 3 and 10 days off. Including my translator. The shops are also shut and most of the movement is undertaken by meat, being shared between family, friends and the poor. My home village is a little far from here but I decided to take a break anyway. As I didn't want this lost tourist to be mistaken for an Eid sacrifice, I booked a 5-day trip with Guide Tours.

I leave tonight for the Sundarbans, the world's largest mangrove forest, which stretches across West Bengal in India and Bangladesh. It's home to around 450-500 Bengal tigers, the highest concentration in the world. The tigers don't have easy lives and face cyclones, large variations in tidal water levels, tidal surges and a high amount of saltwater, just like the villagers who live in the area. Sometimes tigers eat villagers who stray too far into the forest searching for honey, and sometimes villagers eat tigers who stray too far onto farmland. But we will be travelling by ancient paddle steamer and row-boat, so am hoping we can keep our distance from both.

The area has been a forest reserve since 1875, thanks to the East India Company, of all people. The mangrove forest is full of creeks, rivers and channels through which we will navigate. There's a hike planned (presumably on solid ground), an early morning bird-watching tour and possibly even the promise of a beach somewhere.

It takes around one day to travel right to the south of Bangladesh and two days to make the return trip to Dhaka, so we have been advised to bring books, board games and not much luggage. Splutter splutter.

Eid Mubarak! (Happy Eid)

zzzz

zzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzz....

Deep sigh, scuffle scuffle...light switches on.

Nothing.

Light off.

*pause*

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Light straight on. Nothing. Not a thing.

Wait. Squint. Wait.

Nothing.

Light off.

*longer pause*

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

And that, is how I ended up with a mosquito net. Thankfully, because I hate mosquitoes. I hate that zzzzzzzz of them dive-bombing and it's even worse when everything goes quiet because then you know they've actually struck. Actually, this time it was quite funny because after having switched on the light a couple more times and chased the thing around the room, eventually the zzzzzzzzzz stopped and I fell asleep. Only next morning did I see the dried blood splodge on the sheets where it must have been biting me and I rolled on to it.

So my German hosts have supplied me with a mosquito net for my remaining nights here (not many). It was one of the latest of a series of really nice things they have done for me, and I will be sorry to say goodbye to them. I was made to feel part of the family, I had extremely comfortable living and working conditions, good food and lovely company. It's really helped the last 5 weeks go by and I am very grateful.

But, it's time to move on again. And I have cheered myself up with a new outfit Bangla-style.

The Khulna Club

So, the Khulna Club has been disbanded.

It was short but sweet - only 3 meetings, but in the first week we were 3, then 4 and then 5. So who knows - maybe if we had kept meeting we woud have found ALL of the expats in Khulna.

It was my one-night-a-week social life, my 'coping mechanism', and one which brought good food, good (read 'the only') gin and good company. Two of the three founding members will leave Khulna within the next week (including me), and we have done our best to help the surviving member, well, survive. Everyone has given him the movies they have on their hard-drives, the German bread-makers have been put in touch, and he's making sure he returns frequently to Dhaka for some R&R (for what it is).

While we are de-grouping, the cows all over the place just keep coming. Here is the local paper's photo:

Yeah, sorry it's sideyways. But can you see the cows?

Slumdog Soundtrack

"There will be a strike tomorrow"

Blimey, I thought. I didn't expect the French and Bangladeshis to have THAT in common.

"You'd better not leave the house".

Well, I thought, that is certainly a bit extreme. After all, there was a bus strike in the local Khulna area just on Wednesday. We found out about that particular strike when we hailed a tuk-tuk to take the survey team-leader and some of the team to the bus stop (dropping me off on the way) in order to catch the bus back to the north of Bangladesh, for which they had a ticket, a booking..you know, they'd paid money, had reservations, that sort of thing.

"No no" said the tuk-tuk driver. "Yes yes" said the team leader. "Really no no" said the tuk-tuk driver "due to strike".

"Ah" we all said, although I didn't see, because frankly, he was a tuk-tuk driver and they all believed him with no verification and they had tickets and reservations and everything and surely the bus company would have a) informed them b) made alternative arrangements?

But of course this is Bangladesh. And you trust your tuk-tuk driver who knows everything about everyone. And within 30 minutes we were all climbing into a hastily procured hire car-with-driver who would ferry the survey team outside the district, where they could pick up a still-going bus.

My western-mindset failed me yet again when I heard about tomorrow's strike. I mean, I hadn't planned on leaving the house anyway (more writing and calculating), but I didn't really understand why a strike would stop me, there being non-striking rickshaws and tuk-tuks, surely?

And then I saw on the evening news what they meant by "strike". This is an approximate representation:

Yes, the opposition party chairman has been 'forcibly evicted' from her home (despite 18 months' notice) and was seen blubbering during a hastily arranged chaotic press conference about how she had been 'very afraid' when men had 'beaten down her bedroom door' (but definitely not her), and how she was 'voluntarily leaving now to ensure peace'. This is because her fans had demonstrated in protest in the centre of Dhaka during the day, burnt a few buses for good measure and had a tear-gas tug-of-war very close to some Embassies.

Well, peace of a different kind has been scheduled for tomorrow as her party has now called for a dawn-to-dusk "strike", which here means that if you are found on the streets, you will be beaten up and your car burned. Everyone now has to stay home, which is bad news for all those cow sellers, bad news for my hosts who were due to drive to Dhaka tomorrow and bad news for everyone else except possibly tear-gas traders and bored youths.

Actually, could do with a bit of a self-enforced strike myself. It's so boring reading your own writing ten times.

Boo-moo

The 11th of November is the day that we remember the sacrifice of many. It's normally something that I try to do. Remember. And I was usually helped by the 11th of November holiday in France. Although, in the context of my new surroundings I learned that the 11th of November is an altogether different holiday in Germany - something to do with St Martin.

Today, I couldn't help thinking about the future sacrifice of a few thousand cows. You can't escape the coming slaughter in the sense that the roads are full of farmers walking their beasts in one direction only: the nearest market. There are fat ones, thin ones, tall ones, short ones, bony ones, plump ones, young ones, old ones, black ones, brown ones, grey ones and white ones. Every kind of cow that might exist was viewed on those roads today. And all with rope halters on, innocently following their leader, or being beaten into following their leader, or trying to hump their leader.

The market itself was row upon row of cows, standing in their dung while potential buyers attempted to pinch some flesh, where there was any, to gauge future religous favour according to the size of sacrifice.

Sacrificing my Sleep

Every morning I am worken up horribly bright and early by a cacophony of sounds. This is always extremely annoying as it's often around 30 degrees when I go to bed and sleep doesn't come easily.

The noise includes the morning calls of ravens, which I have come to hate. They sit in the branches of the trees just outside my window and craaaw craaaaw all morning. I am lucky I have branches at all outside my window, but the noise goes right into your head and I could really through something at them.

Then there's the workmen in the plot diagonally opposite, adding a third layer to a two-storey house. They bang and chisel and drill from the second it gets light. And they play wailing Indian music to keep them company.

Then of course there are the infernal beeps from the traffic, and the cries of the morning sellers who pass by the worksites offering breakfast. The man always sounds like he's shouting 'I'm coming iiii-in'.

Anyway, this morning, the bleat of a baby goat was added to the mix. While it was perpetually bleating, I was trying to work out why there might be a baby goat in the vicinity. New house pet? Future investment?

It eventually struck me that Eid al-Adha begins on Wednesday. If it's not the Hindus celebrating then it's the Muslims. This Eid is the 'Festival of Sacrifice', an important religious holiday celebrated by Muslims worldwide to celebrate the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice his son Ishmael (in the Bible this is Isaac) as an act of obedience to God, before God provided a ram instead. The festival is also known as the Slaughter-Livestock Festival in Chinese, and well, you can kind of guess the fate of the little goat.

All around Bangladesh and the Muslim world, livestock are being sold for the sacrifice, which takes place, which start just after the Hajj finishes (the annual pilgrimage to Mecca which is going on at the moment). The animals have to meet a certain age and quality standard. One third of the meat will be eaten by the family, one third will go to friend, relatives and neighbours, and one third to the poor.

Interestingly, while Eid al-Adha is on the same day of the Islamic calendar, the date on the Gregorian calendar varies from year to year. This is because the Islamic calendar is a lunar calendar and therefore 11 days shorter than the Gregorian solar calendar. Each year, Eid al-Adha falls on one of two different Gregorian dates in different parts of the world, as moon-crescent visibility is different from that of the international date line.

I have booked a 5-day trip over Eid to the Sundarbans National Park in the south of Bangladesh. So, while I will be far away from the bleating and the blood this Eid, I will be closer to the cyclones and the tigers.

Hey ho hey ho it's off to work we go

I suppose the 'advantage' of starting on my final report now is that I spot the silly mistakes, and, as it turns out, the great big glaring data gaps.

*sigh*

It's back to the field I go hey ho.

Your Chosen Topic: Service in Developing Countries

My internet credit ran out after only one week instead of the usual one-month. It could be partly due to this write-up period that requires surfing and downloading documents from the internet to create pretty tables and graphs..and the essential blog, facebook, oh and the odd downloaded movie or two..

So I convinced my hosts to drive me to the nearest internet-topup shop while they got their own computer fixed. This time I decided to buy unlimited download, which according to 'Bangladesh regulations' means 'normal' (ie slow) speed until 5 GB download and 'slower' (ie deathly low) thereafter.

The bill came to 988 TK (we're talking almost 10 quid here) and she asked me to pay 1 000 TK.

Why? said I, when the bill is only 988? (true Scot).

Because I don't have any change, said she.

Well why don't you ask your colleagues for change from their tills?

Ah, but none of us have change madam, as we only sell packages that end in a zero.

Yes, said I, but clearly, with tax, we now get a package price like 988.

Yes, yes, but you have to pay 1 000 as I have no change.

You mean that your company, the largest internet provider in Bangladesh, just takes extra Taka from people because you don't have change?

*blank look*

---

So, what do you do? Conform, because the difference is less than a penny in £ terms? But what about others where 12 TK is a rickshaw ride, a meal, a bus fare? What about the rich phone company robbing the poor? What about learning that service means providing change? What about the different rules in a developing country? What about the Principle Of The Thing?

What do you do? What do you do?

Write-up

It's write-up time, so all a bit quiet (and boring) at the mo'...

But I still make sure I get up on to the roof for my daily 'constitutional'. Today I managed to prise the hose out of the cleaner's hand and water the plants myself in order to give me an excuse to stay up there, but she followed me around as I did it anyway.

Remember Remember...

Well yes, today is the 5th of November, but all those fireworks and festivities feel a long way from here. Still, I forgot a little celebration of my own last month...a whole year completed of the PhD. Whomever said it was like a job was lying...it's the most all-consuming work I've ever done.

Still, the nights have become markedly cooler: I sleep better, and last night I even used a top sheet. Truly heading to winter!