SLOPB/Patuakhali
11 December 2007 - Tuesday
Today was an amazing day. We left Barisal for Patuakhali, another heavily damaged district in the south. I called another NGO rep from Mohon's list, an Ismael Shakir from SLOPB. Was curious about the NGO name. We arrived at noon and met Mr. Shakir, who gave us an overview of SLOPB's programs and history with impeccable English.
SLOPB, or Stichting Land Ontwikkelings Project Bangladesh, has a pretty interesting story. The founder was born in Bangladesh to a family that couldn't support him; he ran away from home at age 6, lived as a street boy in Dhaka, and then was adopted by a Dutch family. He grew up in the Netherlands, and returned to Bangladesh in the 90's to search for his biological family. Upon finding them (and with the encouragement of friends who believed in his capacity to do something like this), he started SLOPB, to improve the lives of the community he was from. Makes me feel like I've been rolling around on pillows all my life. SLOPB has an impressive list of active projects, including water and sanitation work, community health and education, two orphanages, and small-scale livelihood programs.
Mr. Shakir gave us an overview of severely affected but underserved areas of Patuakhali, and we set off to visit the first community. This group of 300 families lives on an island that emerged from the river about seven years ago. People began to cultivate rice paddies on it (the silt from the river that floods over Bangladesh is what gives the land its fertility, imagine what could grow out of a pure mound of the stuff), and began to live here one year ago.
As the island pulled into view, I could make out tiny shack houses on an otherwise electric sliver of green. Because the island is so new there are few trees, and those that are there are quite small. The landless people who moved to this island built homes with wood and metal sheets, but they were cleanly swept away in the storm. The makeshift houses that have sprung up utilize a variety of salvaged mats, plastic, bedding, and saris. (I do wonder what the people here would make emergency shelters with if their women didn't wear such fantastically long sarongs.) There is basically nothing else on the island. I want to plant trees!
After a brief tour of the island (pretty easy, at only 1,300 acres with no trees, you need only rotate your head 45 degrees to the left and right), we headed back to the launch against a sunset backdrop. Of course the boat motor broke. As we bobbed in the water while our boatman tried to get the engine started, we flagged down a fishing boat that was passing by, and hitched a ride with them instead.
And so we chugged upstream, the river reflecting the swirls of peach, pink, and yellow that smoldered above. It was quiet, peaceful, beautiful. I thought about how crazy, how lucky, how strange, that in one year I could be in both the mountains of Tibet, source of the Ganges and Brahmaputra rivers and in the deltas of Bangladesh, where those very waters spill into the Bay of Bengal. I didn't expect either. I will treasure both.
That would have been a satisfying enough day in itself, but on the way back to SLOPB's center, we stopped by one of their projects, a community drama educating about hygiene and health. The power had gone our right before we arrived and light from a hundred phones and flashlights darted about the field. When a stray light would illuminate us here or there, the kids would get quite riled up to see foreigners. It sounded like 300 kids shrieking in the dark. Unfortunately we didn't get to stay for the performance; we visited SLOPB's girls' orphanage. The 20 girls who live here (aged 5 to 15) are incredibly intelligent, charming, and poised. I felt a little awkward imposing on them, but they all introduced themselves in English, recited poems and sang songs for us, and served us milk fresh from the cow they keep at their center! I don't think I've ever had milk straight from a cow before.
Then the girls asked us questions, culminating in an invitation for me to sing a song. Ugh. I needed something short and with hand motions (better than standing there with arms awkwardly splayed), and all I could think of was this little Chinese ditty about meeting and making friends. Well, they were polite enough to act like they enjoyed it. After some more questions, it was time to go.
Today was an amazing day. We left Barisal for Patuakhali, another heavily damaged district in the south. I called another NGO rep from Mohon's list, an Ismael Shakir from SLOPB. Was curious about the NGO name. We arrived at noon and met Mr. Shakir, who gave us an overview of SLOPB's programs and history with impeccable English.
SLOPB, or Stichting Land Ontwikkelings Project Bangladesh, has a pretty interesting story. The founder was born in Bangladesh to a family that couldn't support him; he ran away from home at age 6, lived as a street boy in Dhaka, and then was adopted by a Dutch family. He grew up in the Netherlands, and returned to Bangladesh in the 90's to search for his biological family. Upon finding them (and with the encouragement of friends who believed in his capacity to do something like this), he started SLOPB, to improve the lives of the community he was from. Makes me feel like I've been rolling around on pillows all my life. SLOPB has an impressive list of active projects, including water and sanitation work, community health and education, two orphanages, and small-scale livelihood programs.
Mr. Shakir gave us an overview of severely affected but underserved areas of Patuakhali, and we set off to visit the first community. This group of 300 families lives on an island that emerged from the river about seven years ago. People began to cultivate rice paddies on it (the silt from the river that floods over Bangladesh is what gives the land its fertility, imagine what could grow out of a pure mound of the stuff), and began to live here one year ago.
As the island pulled into view, I could make out tiny shack houses on an otherwise electric sliver of green. Because the island is so new there are few trees, and those that are there are quite small. The landless people who moved to this island built homes with wood and metal sheets, but they were cleanly swept away in the storm. The makeshift houses that have sprung up utilize a variety of salvaged mats, plastic, bedding, and saris. (I do wonder what the people here would make emergency shelters with if their women didn't wear such fantastically long sarongs.) There is basically nothing else on the island. I want to plant trees!
After a brief tour of the island (pretty easy, at only 1,300 acres with no trees, you need only rotate your head 45 degrees to the left and right), we headed back to the launch against a sunset backdrop. Of course the boat motor broke. As we bobbed in the water while our boatman tried to get the engine started, we flagged down a fishing boat that was passing by, and hitched a ride with them instead.
And so we chugged upstream, the river reflecting the swirls of peach, pink, and yellow that smoldered above. It was quiet, peaceful, beautiful. I thought about how crazy, how lucky, how strange, that in one year I could be in both the mountains of Tibet, source of the Ganges and Brahmaputra rivers and in the deltas of Bangladesh, where those very waters spill into the Bay of Bengal. I didn't expect either. I will treasure both.
That would have been a satisfying enough day in itself, but on the way back to SLOPB's center, we stopped by one of their projects, a community drama educating about hygiene and health. The power had gone our right before we arrived and light from a hundred phones and flashlights darted about the field. When a stray light would illuminate us here or there, the kids would get quite riled up to see foreigners. It sounded like 300 kids shrieking in the dark. Unfortunately we didn't get to stay for the performance; we visited SLOPB's girls' orphanage. The 20 girls who live here (aged 5 to 15) are incredibly intelligent, charming, and poised. I felt a little awkward imposing on them, but they all introduced themselves in English, recited poems and sang songs for us, and served us milk fresh from the cow they keep at their center! I don't think I've ever had milk straight from a cow before.
Then the girls asked us questions, culminating in an invitation for me to sing a song. Ugh. I needed something short and with hand motions (better than standing there with arms awkwardly splayed), and all I could think of was this little Chinese ditty about meeting and making friends. Well, they were polite enough to act like they enjoyed it. After some more questions, it was time to go.
posted by Stefanie at 2:17 AM
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