Resolution... make this year better than last. This shouldn't be too hard since last year was shit.
I'd like to sum up the past 12 months in a best and worst of list:
January: Injured hip (can't play sports)
February: Dealt with sexual harassment and overall awfulness at job
March: Unemployed
April: Turn 26
May: Start hating new minimum wage job
June: Car air conditioner breaks
July: Applied for food stamps
August: Still hate job
September: Adopted brother passes away
October: Hip is still broken, replacing muscle with fat, and 50% of paycheck is going trying to fix it
November: Broke and holidays are here and no car heater
December: 2 year anniversary since I've moved home with parents
Now there are people that have it worse than I do so this is not a competition... well unless I thought I was gonna win, but I'm not... right?
I know I shouldn't start the year being a downer so that's why I'm starting this blog. I need to start being inspired. Take my life into my own hands. If I can complain it's because I know the solution. Not true but it sounded good the first time I heard it. I don't know the answer and I will still continue to complain. Even though I don't fully comprehend how I'll make this year better I am going to start taking steps to better myself. First thing, blog. Blog every day... well as much as I can. NO every day! Ok #2 I'm a photographer with a degree for goodness sakes so next thing is to start taking pictures... every day? So far this is doable right? I keep looking at the clock cause I have 48 minutes to finish this blog or I already fail my resolution. With the time in mind I'll stop there. Damn I forgot the 2011 best of list. This shouldn't take long.
1.... umm... got a puppy (more broke)
2. and a boyfriend (this can go on both lists... I kid... only cause he'll prob read this... kisses?)
3. oh ya that dumb ass broke as shit hate my life f*&#ing year is over!
Breathe. Only positive thoughts. Ok 2012 let's do this!
January 1, 2012 and I have successfully gone through one day of the new year without breaking my resolutions. Blog done with 32 minutes to spare... 31.
Picture of the day: Roarrior the Catzilla reminding me that holidays are over.
I only said a picture every day... never that it was going to be a great one... 29 min.
The
Brown girls are embarking on a huge adventure that we have never done
before.... we are going to Chicago for Jesus! We went to a conference a
couple months back and heard about a bigger conference in Chicago and
felt lead to go. Now we need God to send us there financially because we
are all struggling but through one of the ways is help from our
friends.
We decided we are going to put on a yard/art sale to help raise money for the trip.... traveling cost, housing, and food. There are a few ways that you can help
1. Donating anything that you don't want for the yard sale. We will take furniture, clothes, jewlery, etc
2.
We invite our friends to set up their own art to help themselves raise
money. I will use Meegan for example (she makes hats and she sold some
lovely hats at the last yart sale) So if you have any sell-able art then
please come and set up.
3. Simply donating
We want to
make this kind of a modern type yard sale party. We will have music,
BBQ, , sweets, art tables etc.... kinda like a bloc party. Please let me
know if you are interested in doing anything or have any questions and
we shall converse. Thanks so much!
It all started with a conference my mom wanted me and my sister to go to. It was called "Jesus Culture". Now don't get me wrong, I love Jesus, I love me a lot of Jesus, but I feel like I have heard of "Jesus" conferences and I either end up trying to sleep in a uncomfy chair, or end up setting there fuming because of some comment someone made about all women needed to procreate or something. But my mom is really good at guilt tripping sooooo, we went.
Now first off the worship just made you crave for more Jesus, you could feel the spirit so heavy in the room that you wanted to be a part of the movement. It was elevating. The worship went on for over an hour, normally I would have sat down and be done with it already, but when it ended it was almost sad. My spirit was unsatisfied, I wanted more.
The speakers came out and were all awesome. They all talked about their personal journeys with God and the power of the spirit. It was truly inspiring. I would go into more detail but we just dont have that kind of time today.
During the course of the 3 day conference they kept mentioning a bigger conference in Chicago. I kinda brushed it off because, oh I donno, its in CHICAGO. I mean I would love to go, but because of everyones current financial situations, ahem, my parents, lets be honest they pay for a lot, it just never occurred to me to ever consider it. A few days went by and my mom said that she really felt it in her heart that we were supposed to go to the conference. I kinda laughed because I felt it in my heart but I figured that was because I just want to go to Chicago. Well when the weeks continued of wanting to be a part of this movement in Chicago we finally decided as the Brown Family Girls, that we were going to embark on this adventure.
Then comes the fund raising. See, im the fun one, not the "lets sit down and figure this out" one. So, although I am on board to help, it wasn't ever really a motivation. UNTIL, I saw the movie Source Code. They panned over this magical city right in the beginning of the movie, I thought it was a made up set or something because I have never seen anything like it, nope, wasn't made up, it was CHICAGO. Thats when I started my motivation. I am so excited to start this adventure to go to Chicago with my sister and mom. We have always been girls to take a city by storm and I have the faith that God will get us there one way or another. If that means hitchhiking by an airport, so be it. Im in.
It seems that the Brown Girls adventures have always been pretty split up, we have had great adventures but not really as all three. This time we will leave with sparkles in our eyes, more in love with Jesus, and memories that we will be able to share forever.
Thank you Jesus for this opportunity. Thank you for being the best lover that we will ever find, and thank you for sweeping us off our feet daily and soon sweeping us over to Chicago.
Also, thank you ahead of time for those who are keeping us in your prayers and supporting us in any ways you can.
We will continue to update this blog throughout this adventure and do our best to bring you along
"Non-fat, no water, no foam, extra hot chai, please." Mmmm. My liquid love. Yes I am one of those. The kind that knows what they want. I am a person who enjoys trying new things and experimenting, but when it comes to Starbucks I rarely waver. It is the only place, other than the gym, where I've been considered a "regular". The barista could start making my drink when I walk through the door. Starbucks is the only social meeting place open late in my home town, or really any other town I've been to... well, other than fast food and bars. My parents would go to Starbucks in the morning to get away from us kids and me and my sis would go in the evening to get away from the parents. When I was in college, I went to Starbucks to aid and distract me in my studies. Now I go to Starbucks because it reminds me of home. In Europe, Starbucks isn't on every corner. So when I would see a Starbucks, my heart would skip and my mouth would start to water because amongst the new and exciting, I would crave something familiar.
I used to feel bad not supporting the local trendy indie coffee shops or European cafes when Starbucks dominates the brewing world, but they all had their chance. When I explored out of my comfort zone, I'd be disappointed when the chai would be made with powder instead of syrup, or water instead of milk, or it would be too sweet, or not sweet enough. The worst part of all my trials and errors with the locals is that it wasn't any cheaper than Starbucks. So I had to suffer through all of the less than adequate chais without any relief to my wallet. I don't know why, but Starbucks just does it the best... with my alterations, of course. I always return a little ashamed I ever abandoned my first love and it's true about never forgetting those... It was a cold winter evening back when I was 16 years old and my friend recommended this hot tea that she promised tasted like pumpkin pie. I've been in love ever since.
If anyone needed a favor from me the magic words were, "I'll get you a chai... from Starbucks of course." Every time it was worth it... well except for that one time when my sister and mom wanted me to be my sister's "subject" in her cinema make-up school final project. I objected until they told me they would add some mullah on my sb (yep I shorthand Starbucks) card. Some might think "Oh how nice that your sister wants you to be her subject. You should be flattered, not bribed". Ya well you get in a swimsuit in front of wanna be models (with real portfolios), get lathered up in grease, walk in 6 in. heels, eyebrows plucked until bleeding point, and then have your sister say, "my model won't quit eating" just because you were the only one who was enjoying the free lunch platter, then go on the subway still covered in grease and glitter and 2 cans of hairspray keeping up your Mohawk, and then wonder how you'll ever get your self-esteem back. So, that was the one time chai wasn't worth it.
Anywho back on subject. The reason I dedicated a whole blog to Starbucks is because not only does it satisfy my sweet, warm, spicy cravings, Starbucks cafes transport me to a familiar, safe, comfortable haven. No matter if I'm at home trying to escape family drama or in Istanbul, Turkey sightseeing on a 4 hour layover, it is the same low light warm tone ambiance that brings me in. Also, a "grande chai" is the same in German, Bulgarian, Arabic, etc. So no matter how far away I am, how foreign I might feel once I walk through Starbucks' door I feel a little bit of home and I know what to expect when I order. There isn't anything or anywhere else that I've discovered that brings such an instant feeling of comfort and belonging. Right now I am writing this in my comfort zone with my liquid love's warm touch near by. Even when home doesn't feel likes home Starbucks is always there as my home away from home away from home.
I had less than 1 month left before my contract ended and I wanted to end with something amazing. I chose to do a video for NYI (Nazarene Youth International) as my last project. Since this is for youth, I thought I could be a little more unique and creative. I quickly realized that a promo video for the youth of Eursia was a broad concept and complex project. So after a lot of brainstorming... and delays... and more brainstorming, we finally figured out what to do.... stop-motion.
Stop-motion: a style of animation that sounds like a great idea until you start working on it.
Academic definition of stop motion: is an animation technique to make a physically manipulated object appear to move on its own. The object is moved in small increments between individually photographed frames, creating the illusion of movement when the series of frames is played as a continuous sequence.
So this is some insight into my last few weeks.
Thursday: brain storm.... "We'll have a map, then paint each field, then have landmarks pop-up like: Eiffel tower, Taj Mahal, temples. Ya ya. Then we'll have painted hands show info about the field... yes yes yes... We've got it!" Friday: make a list of what we need: paint, markers, people for the hands
Monday: get paint, markers, sheet, letters, project map onto the sheet, sketch map Tuesday: paint, paint, paint, pic, pic, pic Wednesday: paint, paint, paint (russia is ginormous and my back is starting to hurt) pic, pic, pic Thursday: finalize script, cut out landmarks, import 1,000 pix, edit, find music Friday: have a headache, neck spasm, regret doing stop-motion
Monday: pick song, take 3 hours to fix one picture in photoshop Tuesday: paint hands, pic, pic, pic, import, edit Wednesday: edit every frame to music (24 frames in a second) Thursday: keep timing music to video Friday: can't stand to hear the song or watch the video ever again
Monday: final edits Tuesday: make a vow to never do stop-motion again Wednesday: finished
click below to see some of my blood, sweat, and tears... in motion.
Katmandu, I love you. God, how did I get so lucky? Those were my thoughts as I looked out over the Himalayas at the top of Mt. Nagarkot. I had just been running through the mountains (well hills compared to my surroundings) to get to the highest point, which ended up being a helicopter-landing pad. I was all alone soaking in the wonderment surrounding me. I just couldn’t believe I was here. How did I get here?
Well you might be asking the same question right now. After my team’s trip to Bangladesh, we flew to Nepal to capture the progress being made with the showing of the Jesus Film and other compassionate ministries, along with teaching a communication class. Well, they don’t have any ministries in Nagarkot, but our host thought it would be nice to catch the sunrise over Mt. Everest. What a great idea! So from Kathmandu we hopped in a taxi and headed to the top of this mountain. I think I only anticipated death once or twice, I’m must be getting used to the extreme sport of South Asia driving. Once we got to our hotel, we didn’t waste any time, we grabbed our equipment and walked around to grab more b-roll (secondary footage that is intercut with the main footage). I was amazed at everyone’s friendliness, greeting us with a “nameste” (blessings in Nepali, yes like in yoga). When we stopped for some chai (tea), I saw some military men running for a training regimen. That inspired me. I had brought my running shoes, but had yet to use them... until then. Within the first 5 minutes, I noticed that the altitude added an extra burn in my lungs, but I loved it. I wanted to go as high as I could get. I got weird stares from other tourists and the locals, but I was still greeted with a “nameste”, and I wheezed back a “naahmseh” between my gulping breaths. I stumbled onto a sign that pointed to a tower. I thought, “hmm towers are high”, so off I went into the woods losing sight of the last trekker. I knew that if anything happened to me, no one would ever find me, but what a way to go out. I’m not a huge risk taker. I don’t go base-jumping or swim with sharks, but there are just some things where I can’t let fear take over.
When I got to the top, it was worth it; the burning lungs and legs, fear of being lost or worse. The view was majestic. I couldn’t see all the mountains due to the haze, but no tree was blocking my 360-degree view; I was in awe. All I could hear was the zephyr and a few chirps. I was completely alone and on top of the world. However, darkness was creeping in and since there aren’t any streetlights to guide me back I picked up my pace. I arrived 6 minutes too early for my hour run, so I found a plateau with another incredible view. Once again I was speechless. I just couldn’t believe I was at the top of a mountain in Nepal. I was overcome with gratitude; I was surprised to feel tears stream down my face. I’m rarely moved with emotion in this way. I know it sounds corny, it felt a little strange and cheesy. It was a new experience to be surrounded by such greatness and wonder. I felt so alive, like nothing would ever match this feeling. I was overwhelmed with marvel that I was thrown to my knees thanking God for this world, this opportunity, my life. I wondered what could I do to get this feeling again? What would it feel like at the top of Mt. Everest? I never wanted to leave. I then realized that greatness is all around me at every moment; everywhere I go. For me, I felt the majesty of God so strongly at the top of this mountain, but others might feel it when they stick their feet in the warm sand of the California beaches. What greatness have I seen, but not realized? It’s everywhere.
The swirling wind warned me of an approaching storm so I hurried back. If I was not amazed by the glory and power I’d seen during my run, I was even more captivated later that night. Around midnight, Simone and I were startled by a loud crash outside our windows. Not long after came the blinding flash of lightning. That night we stayed up to watch what felt like a battle between the gods. We got out of bed and went to the top level of our hotel to watch the scene. I’ve never seen such a storm. The lightning lit up the sky with only seconds between them. It reminded me of bombs going off in war movies or the flashing lights of the paparazzi. If there was a trailer to a movie I think it would go like this, (with that guy narrating that has the deep action movie voice) "The dark clouds shouted bursts of anger that scattered through the sky. The lightning tried to escape the stifling dominance of the clouds embrace. The rumble of its resistance screamed in our ears. The battle was won when lightning pierced through the cloud's skin and touched down to earth. Tears streamed down the clouds for the loss of its power no longer hidden within. While the clouds cried and the lightning gloated, the dry earth rejoiced for the comfort of its long lost love". Well, I celebrated with the lightning until 2:30am.
Two hours later, I woke up regretting last night's party as I have many times before. I gathered up my equipment to catch the no longer "much anticipated" sunrise. We set up the camera in the direction we thought the sun would rise, but we slowly realized we were wrong. Due to the clouds and haze our 4:30 am sunrise turned into only a 10 minutes glimpse of a hazy sun. By 6:00 am the sun was up, but still hidden by clouds, which were obviously getting revenge because I cheered for the lightning the night before. So we packed up our stuff and accepted the temptress sun and grabbed another hour of sleep before heading back down the mountain.
We picked up Dilli (Nazarene Compassionate Ministries Coordinator) along the way to visit a ministry center and get another interview. I wandered around the village taking pictures while Steve and Simone filmed the interview. It didn’t take long before a crowd of kids surrounded me, soon followed by their parents. One of the little girls, around 9 years old, spoke a little English. She became my interpreter to the crowd. She was definitely a leader, and everyone knew it. Everyone listened to her and she always seemed to find herself in the focal point of my camera.
While I had been in South Asia, I had never thought that the women I met were strong and independent, I mean I didn't think they were weak or subservient. When I think of independent women, they are in power suits motivated by the rights they’ve earned through women’s liberation. I realized that just because women wear traditional clothes, work in the field, and cook, doesn’t mean that they don’t have a voice in their community. Now women’s rights in South Asia still need improvement, but they are making progress. Even the church is helping women provide a second income for their family, self-help groups that allow women to brainstorm about ways to help their community and protect each other from injustice.
So I realized that I had met many strong, self-reliant women. For example, 2 nights before, we went to a village outside of Kathmandu to interview Sarita, a woman impacted by the Jesus Film. Her house was in complete darkness, and I had to feel my way to a wooden ladder to climb to the second floor, the only source of light was from one bulb hanging in the corner and the last rays of the setting sun through a hole in the wall. We sat on the dirt floor and interviewed this woman while she was surrounded by her family. She told us about how she came to know Christ through the Jesus Film Ministry. She is one of the only Christians in her village, but hopes to bring the truth of Jesus to everyone she knows. The most memorable part of her interview was when she said, “If I don’t eat for two or three days that is fine, but if I don't attend a Bible study I feel so unsatisfied". The Jesus Film was being shown outside her house. There was no DVD player on a HD TV; the film was projected onto a white sheet that was taped to the side of one of the houses. It didn’t take long for the whole village to gather to watch the film. The children sat on the ground while their parents stood in the back. Sarita invited us into her house for dinner, rice. It was cooked in a way I’ve never had before. It was like it was fried with water instead of oil; very chewy. As I ate I remembered what Sarita had said just an hour before and wondered, “How many days would she go hungry for hosting us?” I no longer wanted to eat. I have enough to eat. I never have to experience hunger, painful, gripping hunger. So why should I be so honored to take food away from her? I wanted to give her back her food, but I knew she would take it as an insult.
When we left, one of the men we came with traded his spot in the car for a woman so she didn’t have to walk back. It would now take him an hour to walk home. No one seemed to think that this was a great deal except for me, “Oh its fine, it’s only an hour.” I guess in the land of trekking anything under a week isn’t very long.
On our last day we stopped at the Monkey Temple, named from its immense monkey residence. At the top of the temple was a hazy view of Kathmandu. I really like that name, Kathmandu. This was a Buddhist temple; the eyes give it away, and in one of the sanctuaries I was surprised by the friendly welcoming Buddhist monks who let me sightsee while others monks were chanting. I felt like an intruder, but none of the other tourists inside seemed to be disturbed by it. I guess like many other historical European churches, the donations of tourists are a big part of the their funding.
As soon as we made our way down the temple, we were off the next one; a Hindu temple. At this temple I had one of my most memorable connection with another religion. I was a little more surprised than I should have been to see people using religion for a personal gain. For example, there were Hindu “priests” or “holy men” dressed up in traditional clothing charging tourists for pictures with them.
Now I have never met a priest, pope, or pastor that had a photo booth, but I have found Disneyland-like coin machines inside Notre Dame. Anyways, what really struck me was the funeral process we witnessed. There were two going on simultaneously. Like most tourists, I was intrigued, but it quickly didn't feel right to take pictures, even though they do the ceremony out in the open for all to see. To start off the ceremony, the deceased are wrapped in cloth and covered with flowers and laid down by a river (dirtiest water I’ve seen since Mexico). Then holy men come and perform certain ceremonial preparations such as prayers with incense, as family members throw coins and flowers on their loved one's body. The deceased is then placed on a pile of wood and lit on fire. Then their ashes are thrown into the stream. One of the most difficult parts of the ceremony to endure was seeing young boys scrounge the smoldering remains for small treasures like change, jewelry, and watches. It was unsettling to watch women, mothers, daughters weep for their loss, while kids ravaged their loved one's body that had just been dumped in the murky water. I wouldn’t want my body laid out in public for tourist passersby, and then looted before my ashes cool. What would be even worse is while mourning, seeing the person I loved defiled and disrespected. I just couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to partake in this kind of ritual. I just couldn’t understand or relate. However, when I looked at the mourners, I realized that it didn’t matter one's religion or traditions, the pain of loss love is still there and that sadness is the same everywhere I go. No matter what one believes happens after death, losing someone you love hurts, a lot. We are all human. I felt honored to be apart of this intimate moment, but ashamed to be a tourist taking pictures of someone’s suffering. If someone walked into a funeral back home to gawk and take pictures of my rituals, how would they be received? Not well. I wonder as Christians if the suffering is any less because we believe we will see our loved ones again some day. Does this hope take away some of the pain? I wondered what hope this Hindu mother had, reincarnation? I don’t know, but I’m thankful for my hope.
Our next stop was to Thamal a busy shopping district. Pashmina (cashmere) are Nepal specialties, but with the heat I couldn’t muster the energy to try anything on. By this time it was already 5pm and we were having dinner at our host's house for our last meal of traditional Nepali food. It was one of the best meals of our whole South Asia trip. There were at least ten different dishes and out of courtesy, of course, I tried every single one. Delicious. When I couldn’t fit in another grain of rice, our host brought out a plate of fresh mangos. I ate two whole mangos and later discovered that this would be my demise.
The next day started off smoothly. We flew back into Dhaka where we had a couple hours to wait for our flight home. I was starting to feel a little queasy, nothing too unusual for this trip. Our next flight was to Dubai where we had an 8-hour layover 1am to 9am, plenty of time to explore the sleeping city. We grabbed a taxi and got a tour of what appeared to be the next bigger and better Las Vegas, which is incredible because our taxi driver said it all used to be desert a couple years ago. There were ginormous skyscrapers, mile-long shopping districts, extravagant hotels like a 7 star hotel (looked like a spaceship). I don’t know what makes it 7 stars, but the rumor is gold flatware (just learned that "goldware" is not a word) and a tennis court on the 20th level. Soon our adventurous eyes were red and puffy, so we headed back to the airport where we all slept in a coffee shop.
Our final flight from Dubai to Zurich was the worst traveling experience of my life. My queasiness hadn’t gone away and it was getting rapidly worse. I didn’t eat much that day, but just drank some ginger ale. That did the trick… and I mean trick. I rushed to the bathroom and rid myself of what used to be my favorite meal. I went back to my seat assuming a fast recovery. Oh wishes. On my last trip to the bathroom an angry woman harassed me. As I was kneeling on the disgusting airplane bathroom floor someone knocked on the door. I opened the door and this is how it went, “I’m sorry, but I’m getting sick.” You would think that would be enough said and someone would leave you alone. I quit assuming after that. The lady said, “Well this is not your personal bathroom you can get a bag if you are sick.” Now this wasn’t a prop plane with maybe two bathrooms, this plane was huge; it sat 3, 5, 3 across with first and business class as well. So out of 10 bathrooms in sight, why did she have to be at mine? It is amazing how quickly grace leaves me. What I wanted to do was throw up all over her. If had a spew trigger I would have used it.I wished I could say that I turned the other cheek, because that is what it says to do in the Bible, but the truth was I didn’t have the energy to fight back. If I could have transmitted my sickness to her just to repeat her own phrase, I would have. So I grabbed a hurl bag and carried it with me all the way home, where I curled up in the fetal position for the rest of the week sick with a parasite. Stupid mangos.
Not the best ending to my trip, but as I laid in anguish or what I thought was my deathbed, and I was too tired to read, not committed enough for a movie, and not strong enough to sit up to use the computer, I thanked God for podcasts… and more importantly friends. My bunk bed was turned into an easy access ground bunker, soup happened to find itself at my side, and a certain um sample got to the doctor… that is true friendship. So in my “last” moments I was thankful, even though till this day I have lost my appetite for soup… and mangos.
Below is the video of Sarita
A little slideshow below
Here is nice song for you... song+slideshow=less boring slideshow.
Bangladesh… Where do I start? After 21 hours of traveling, we left the Dhaka airport and stepped outside into the bright sun and sauna of South Asia. The heat wasn’t overwhelming but the humidity added a level of discomfort that I knew I needed to get used to, if at all possible. We met our host, Vanu, and were escorted to the regional office to meet the district superintendent and the rest of the team. After we all got acquainted, we took a nap to recharge our depleted selves, but after 24 hours without sleep, a 2 hour tease ended up doing more damage than good. Nonetheless, we went over everything we would do that week. It was then I discovered how intense this trip was going to be. We had multiple reasons to go on this trip; we were getting footage for a video about the Jesus Film ministry and a video about church planting along with some testimonies from people affected and/or involved in either.
We drove into the city center to get some b-roll (supplemental footage that is intercut with the main footage in an interview or documentary) and I soon discovered the art and craft of driving in South Asia. Basically, if there was space you drove, if not you still drove and honked to let others know you are coming. This type of driving would never work in America since most Bangladeshis don’t have insurance; everyone is at a loss if there is an accident. There is a mutual respect because both drivers know that there will be no point in blaming because no authority will come to solve the matter. Also, the unceasing honking isn’t done out of anger or frustration as much as a preliminary caution and notification. There are traffic lights and road lanes but they must have been installed to humor foreigners, but the Bangladeshis are the only ones laughing as most newcomers sit in the back seat, white-knuckled, braced for an inevitable accident. I believed that with the precision and split second decision-making, that South Asian drivers are the best drivers in the world. I wondered how they would do on the racetrack. Maybe this place could be the new training grounds for NASCAR or stunt driving. I wasn’t afraid of this style of driving, but intrigued. I felt like I was on a Disneyland ride like Indiana Jones, but instead of a huge stones rolling down, it was oncoming cars in your lane, or rickshaws carrying stacks of hay. We stopped to look at the parliament, which had one of the most fascinating architectures I’ve ever seen, especially for a government building. It was remarkably geometric with huge triangle shaped windows and the residents apartments were zigzagged in and out along the Buriganga river.
Our next stop gave me an insight on how my experience with the locals was going to be on the rest of my trip. I was worried that I was going to stand out and it was recommended that maybe I should dye my hair. I quickly realized that there is nothing wrong with being different and the people I encountered were politely intrigued. I received lots of stares, none were menacing, but merely curious. We went into a market and I never know how people are going to react to me taking pictures so I always try to be aware and sensitive of my surroundings and people’s reactions. Well I quickly learned that Bangladeshis love to have their pictures taken. Not just kids, but adults would ask me to take a picture of them or their friends and then show it to everyone afterward. It was great to have everyone excited that we were there and I didn’t get the usual eye-roll of “tourists”. However, being a novelty made it hard to leave without being followed by a bunch of kids out to the van as they all pushed and shoved to get their faces in line with the lens of my camera. We left back for the center and I was excited for these upcoming weeks. All the friendly faces and welcoming people had given me a new motivation and passion to capture the openness and loveliness that I had just witnessed.
That night I enjoyed a room to myself with refreshing air-conditioning and a bathtub. I was grateful yet tormented by these luxuries, as I would not experience them again until much later. That morning I was awakened by a knock on my door at 5am, but when I opened it no one was there. Later I heard another tap, but I realized that it wasn’t coming from the door but the window of my four-story room. I opened my windows and couldn’t find what annoying bird was interrupting my much longed for slumber. Whatever it was (I loathed its existence) persisted until I finally gave up on any more precious sleep. I later discovered that the high-pitched tap on glass sound wasn’t coming from outside my room but inside from a little dig-diggi (lizard). The cute little lizard I had welcomed into my room last night to eat all the bugs was making me pay the price for his labor. Later that week, I would have endured all the screeching from a 100 dig-diggi if they provided me with the service I needed, exterminator.
We hit the road that morning with a long 6 hour journey ahead of us to the north of Bangladesh (opposite directions of the tigers) where most of the ministry centers are set up. We stopped for dinner and I had the spiciest curry I’ve ever experienced. My lips never felt such rage. Well I guess as expected, I woke up during the night with my first South Asian sickness. During my sickness, the electricity went out which means not only the lights are off but also the fan. So Simone and I laid in our beds with sweat starting to gather like a small silhouette on our sheets. The mugginess made it so hard to breath that we decided to open the window and face the bugs that may wander our way. It seemed like the lesser of two evils at the time. Well my sickness continued through the night and as I used my phone as a light to guide me, I noticed the time and date 2am on the 23rd of April and thought, “It is my birthday. So God why am I here suffering in Bangladesh in this village on a day that should be spent with family and friends? I hope that what I do makes a difference. I hope this is worth it.” At that same moment, I realized that it was worth it. I thought about my last birthday and couldn’t really remember much about it; not what I did, who was there, or the gifts I received. I knew that I would remember this birthday. It was then that I thanked God for this amazing opportunity and that I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else; maybe in better physical condition, but I was where I wanted to be, out in the world trying to make a difference.
That morning I was still sick, but now with 30 bug bites just on one leg. Where are you dig-diggi?
Due to my condition, I stayed behind on the first outing and went back to bed until the electricity went off again. When I got up I felt much better so I decided to just explore. I didn’t get far because out the front door I met 2 little girls that were living at the ministry center. I took an immediate liking to them and based on the rest of the afternoon I guessed they did the same. We took pictures of each other, played with play-doh, colored, danced, and let them do my hair. When the rest of the team returned at lunchtime, I had a bindi (South Asian forehead decoration, not to be confused with a tilaka, hindu marking) dot on my forehead and my hair was done up in two very high pokeman like pigtails. The girls squealed in delight as they showed me off to everyone and my team gave me the usual “silly Amy” look as we all sat down to eat. No curry that meal.
We took off for another village where they had currently showed the Jesus Film and it was part of the Jesus Film Team project to go back where they showed the film for a follow-up. When we arrived, everyone was sitting on the ground waiting for us. In each village, we received the same curiosity and excitement. It was a weird feeling having everyone treat us like we were some novelty. All the children would show no passivity as they approached us and shoved in front of each other to have their picture taken. What really surprised me was that the elders did the same, but with more politeness and courtesy towards each other. I wouldn’t be surprised if most people there had never had their picture taken. So for them it was a momentous ordeal. Sometimes I’m uncomfortable photographing people I don’t know for fear of being invasive or rude, but there I felt it was rude to not take a picture of someone. If someone stood in front of my camera, I couldn’t turn him or her down.
Our next stop was to a church planting mission where people were listening to a sermon and worshiping together. I felt awkward interrupting their service, but they didn’t seem to mind at all. The next stop was at an organized church then next to a Jesus Film showing. I was amazed by the openness people had to having strangers come into their village and document them and the work the church has done in those areas. I wondered if I would be so welcoming and excited if strangers from a distant land came and took my picture. Would I be flattered or offended? Would I think I was special or some kind of exhibit? I know I wouldn’t run in front of their camera or give them my smile or adoration. Why would they deserve it? Why do I deserve it? That is what I didn’t understand. I don’t deserve their kindness. I haven’t done anything for them. I had no idea about the work going on in Bangladesh before I arrived there only 2 days before. I am merely an observer and a transferer of information from them to the outside world. Nonetheless, I selfishly enjoyed their love and affection.
When we arrived back at the mission where we were lodging, my new friends greeted me with a “Happy Birthday” and a flower. I wondered, “How did they know?” Our host brought me into the back room where they handed me a beautiful bouquet of Rajangandha, a flower with a scent sweeter than honeysuckle, and also there was a lovely birthday cake sitting on the table that read, “Happy Birthday Amy.” I couldn’t believe it. I thought, “When did they do this? I was with them the whole time. They even put my name on it.” They told me there was a local who specialized in cakes, which is rare since cakes aren’t very popular there. Then everyone joined in to sing “Happy Birthday”. As the lights were turned off and the candles were lit, Vanu said, “We are all family here and I hope this makes you feel a little more like home.” Strangely it did. Out in the most rural of villages in Bangladesh I was home, surrounded by my family. It was by far one of my most memorable birthdays.
The next day we headed out to more villages that have been impacted by the Jesus Film and other related ministries. Our first stop was to a village where there was a woman’s self-help group who gathered together once a week to find ways to help their village. They all pulled their money together and then loaned it out to others in the village or surrounding villages. With the profits they made from the loan service charges they put it back into their community by buying cows, making latrines, or giving out bigger loans. We interviewed two people who took out loans that were then able to open up restaurants to support themselves and their family. We went to these restaurants and tried their specialties. One was a deep-fried honeycomb sweet and another was rice fried in sand, which tasted like rice cakes but looked like rice crispies. I was amazed at these women’s business skills.
Our next stop was to a children self-help group where they say a song for us and asked for one in return. Steve and Simone did a wonderful job with the “Noah’s Ark” song and I made sure to do a wonderful job capturing it on film. Even though the children didn’t know the words, they were still delighted.
So far I had taken more portraits on this trip than I had done in my entire photography career (can you call it a career if you don't get paid?). Portraits aren’t my favorite because I’ve never been good at them and to be honest it never really interested me. However, while out in the villages amongst the locals dressed in their traditional garb and stoic postures, I couldn’t resist. So often when someone would look at me they wouldn’t smile or look away, but just stare into my lens as if challenging me, “I’m ready. Show me what you can do.” With the click of my shutter their stoic faces would fade into a bashful smile as I showed my subjects what I could do. Most people, no matter their age, were tickled to see their picture on my little LCD screen. They would gather together and their friends would point and laugh at the still image of themselves. The children loved the whole process, pose, click, check. It almost became impossible to take pictures of anything else because they would run and position themselves in any direction my lens was pointed. Nonetheless, it was a photographer’s paradise because I felt so encouraged to take pictures that otherwise I would be too nervous or cautious to take. I don’t speak Bengali, obviously, but I don’t think anyone said, “Please no pictures, I’m not wearing any make-up today, my hair looks funky, I look tired.” Why is that Americans have such a hard time accepting how they look? We always need to look better. Why? What does looking good have to do with anything? Who are we looking good for, friends, spouses, potential spouses… ourselves?
Our next stop was to a clinic, which is rare out in the villages because it’s hard to find doctors that prefer to work close to free (hard to believe). The doctor at this clinic only comes by twice a week and the rest of the week the nurses help the patients. The nurses were so delightful. They were just as enthusiastic as the children, gathering in groups wanting their picture taken. One young woman who spoke English well asked us all if we were married. She was shocked to find out we weren’t and asked what we are waiting for. I guess Nazarenes ask the same questions every where in the world. I really enjoyed this woman’s frankness and curiosity. She was lovely and had a smile that made me automatically like her.
We got back to the center at 5pm, 2 hours behind schedule, but enough time to drink some chai (tea) and head on out to visit a Hindu temple. The temple had one of the most intrinsic designs I had ever seen. All along the walls there was detailed carving depicting life during the era of construction.
Afterward, we went to the market to buy salwar kameez (traditional dress). The small shop had hundreds of different colors and designs. I found a pink ornate one for my grandma and a cute purple one for me. I was surprised that there only appeared to be one size. I didn’t realize it until now that all the women were about the same size, short and lean. Since a salwar kameez is just pajama-like pants (salwar), a long shirt (kameez), and a long shall (dupatta) it fits most Bangladeshi women fine. Well I’m not Bangladeshi so it was a little more snug in the arms and shorter than others. A salwar kameez needs to be washed before wearing to get rid of all the dye and chemicals, but since there was no washing machine I was bathing in the purple rain... purple rain.... uhhh I mean shower.
The next day I was dressed in my new salwar and walked out feeling a little silly and awkward, until my little friend Shara told me, “very nice”. I no longer felt like a poser, but instead felt appreciated for my efforts to embrace the culture. After chai and breakfast, I had to say goodbye to my little friends because we were headed back to Dhaka that night. I wish that I had something nice to give them, but all I had was a few Rappen (Swiss coins). They didn’t complain.
Our first stop that day was to another ministry center, which welcomed us with more chai. Then we were off to another self-help center that just replaced their unsanitary well with a new water faucet, which they showed off proudly. When we left that village and walked to the next one we were followed by a posse. A man asked me for some takas (Bengali currency) and food for the baby he was holding. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any takas and tried to communicate this to him. I don’t know what he understood from my sign language but the next thing I new I was holding his adorable baby. Then some one gave me a flower and I handed it to the baby. This seemed to please and entertain the crowd along with me as well. The baby was so cute and squishy that I didn’t want to give it back right away, but I was falling behind, as usual, and needed to catch up. As I walked away, the crowd did not disperse, but continued with me. One of the young men walking with his friends with an umbrella sacrificed his friend’s shade to shield me from the blazing heat. My salwar, while light, its looseness meant I could feel a sweat bead travel from my neck down to my toes. So, therefore, I was more than grateful from the break of torment that the umbrella provided along with feeling like royalty. However, nothing in life is free since my shade-man then took a rubber-band from my wrist and put it on his. I thought, "Oh great that probably means now we're married." Luckily, he gave it back after our little stroll, guess I wasn't his type. This experience was definitely a highlight. I was really starting to love this country (except for the heat and being rejected).
When we went back to the ministry center, we had more chai, of course, which is supposed to help cool down the body, not so sure about that. We also grabbed some footage of a women self-help sewing group that got together in order to provide a second income for their family.
Our next stop was to a school where the children greeted us with painted faces singing, dancing, and throwing flower petals at us. It was incredible to feel that welcomed along with giving us an insight into their culture. Once inside the school we were given more flowers, dancing performances, and pictures the children drew for us. I couldn’t stop smiling it was all so spectacular.
After some more chai and a few more interviews we headed back to Dhaka. We arrived around midnight and I thanked Jesus for air-conditioning again. The next day we grabbed the last interviews then headed back into the city this time on our own leisure. A friend that I had met in Ukraine had grown up in Bangladesh and his father founded a store that sold crafts from local artists. Well Simone and I had to check it out and, of course, support the local artists. We then spent our last evening in Bangladesh downloading pictures and preparing for our next trip to Nepal.
The next morning I headed outside to grab a few more pictures before heading to the airport. I didn’t get far before one of the ministry team members came running out to accompany me. I guess walking out alone wasn’t the greatest idea. My “bodyguard” knew some of the locals so we were welcomed into people's huts for chai, but was chai’d out and I knew it was getting close to departure time so we headed back.
At the airport, we said our goodbyes with some final group pictures and hugs. I knew I would miss the people I had met and their hospitality. I didn’t know what to expect coming to Bangladesh, but I left feeling so blessed to have been welcomed into this country. I would love to come back, but next time I’m going to see some tigers. Rawr.
If you want to watch the video click below
If you want to check out more pictures click below.
Since I’ve been back there have been terrible floods killing hundreds of people in Bangladesh along with destroying ministry centers and schools. So please keep them in your prayers.
I'd like to leave you with "Bangla Desh" a lovely song by George Harrison released as a charity single.
