fear NOT!

I sit here in the middle of the night reflecting on a recent event. Such an event, I am becoming more familiar with, than I would like.

I question my reaction but continually conclude there is no rational answer. Such fears show no discrimination, and logic is replaced by instinct in my plight of fight or flight.

I sometimes look at myself and wonder why I would place myself in situations where an illogical fear takes over and I am debilitated from making any rational judgements or control the sense of intense fear I feel, and at the end of an episode, I feel like I am left with a heart beat similar to that of a marathon runner. My plight has meant, my body goes in to over drive and it seems to prepare for the fastest and longest run it can possibly do in the event of this being the last resort.

Contemplating the safety of the crossing

I begin to examine my reasoning, and speak to God in prayer more and more about this. I am reassured His promise to protect and comfort me is certain, His promise of escape in these situations are possible and His promise to keep me from harm is sure. Time after time in these episodes He has proved faithful.

I do hope and pray these fears will leave me but in the mean time, I will try not to let them dominate my actions especially those in response to calling /vocation from the Lord. “For Obedience is better than Sacrifice” (1 Samuel 15:22)

An extract from a prayer dialogue recounted to Archbishop Ferdinand Perier in 1947, quotes Mother Teresa as hearing from God, “You are I know the most incapable person — weak and sinful but just because you are that — I want to use You for My glory. Wilt thou refuse?” A Hard pill to sometimes swallow.

  

It is difficult, it is hard, it is downright terrifying most of the times when faced with this fear/phobia, and the only glimpse of rationality that comes through is, God will keep me because this is HIS promise to me.

Do not let what you IMAGINE to be the future prognosis, stop you from taking the job you should take, going to the University you should go to, marry the man/woman whom God has betroved you to, or any other plan of the devil to sabotage your purpose, whether momentarily or long term. 

Surrender in your weakness to Christ, and know, “He is able to do far beyond all that we ask or think” (Ephesians 3:20). He has promised in our weakness, HE IS STRONG and “ therefore I am content with weaknesses, with insults, with troubles, with persecutions and difficulties for the sake of Christ, for whenever I am weak, then I am strong”( 2 Corinthians 12:10).

Let God’s promises influence where and how you tread. It is His purpose for your life, which will yield the ultimate reward in His kingdom. “Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own”. (Matthew 6:33-34)

I write this as an encouragement to myself and to anyone who needs encouraging in this area of their life. Do not let irrational fear dictate where you go, how you go, and what happens when you are there. Do not let irrational fear be a debilitating factor that you sit on your vocation or God’s Will because of the False Evidence Appearing Real. “Feel the fear and do it anyway”.

Be motivated by the Lord who calls you, and promises to keep you. OUR GOD is able. I can testify to this time and time again. I find it difficult to understand how I am not scared of entering a slum ridden with diseases and other situations where my physical life is at risk, but the things I fear the most, many do not notice their existence much, nor can they rationalize the intensity of my fear when it is played out around them.

“I am shaken, but NOT crushed!

I am persecuted but NOT abandoned!

Pressed down but NOT destroyed!”

(2Corinthians 4:8-9)

This they struggle to understand is the same person who God has given these other gifts to share with HIS people, and when in these roles and away from the fear/phobia appear competent and confident in those scenarios. This is certainly because I can accomplish nothing apart from Him. “Jesus is the vine and we are the branches. The one who remains in Him bears much fruit, because apart from Him we can accomplish nothing” (John 15:5).

In one of my roles in Bangladesh............A few Students from the English Class I teach!

These are all aspects of me, and I believe at this stage in my life they play a balancing act with each other. Man can sometimes esteem man to too high a position, so though embarrassing and difficult, I am pleased these fears in action are witnessed by others. My weakness is as much on show as my strengths. Leaving me vulnerable to negative criticism/snide comments/ pity/ and a roar of laughter at times. But it’s OK because God is strong!

 Hopefully, this will translate to me not being perceived as a person who is expected to be “perfect” in others imagination/perception. This sort of pressure / bordering idolatry would create too much room for me to fall off a man made pedestal.

I will probably find myself standing on a chair, screaming with a fast pulsating heart beat or in another situation which causes me to fear in the not to distant future, desperately seeking a way out, but the reality is, I would much rather do these things and be walking in the will and purpose of God. 

With the help of God, I will continue to wrestle and not be overcome by my imagination and "bound/secured" in my comfort zone.

  

There is a season for everything under the sun and as much as I look forward to the day when the things that cause me to fear are no more an issue in my life, with equal measure I say, to God be the glory. God’s goodness is constant and does not depend on whether I am healed from this on this earth or not. GOD IS GOOD ALL THE TIME, whether I am in a state of fear or calm! And because of His Goodness, it is well whether I perceive it or not! 

CUP ladies TRANSITIONING to a new phase

It has being a really honour to come along side the ladies and their children at CUP. http://www.childrensupliftprogramme.org/p/home.html

 They didn’t hesitate to be-friend me and to show me kindness. I walk in to the room where they sit together and sew the Kanthas. I am greeted with beaming smiles and a warm retort of “SalamALEkum Appa”, “Walekum Salam” I would say. There is one particular lady who calls me her “Bandoubi”, meaning friend and would give me a warm hand shake and remind the others I am HER friend.

Infact, I would like to say I am a friend to all of them but this would not be true, I see myself as a figure in the background not really knowing what I am doing to support them but try whatever I can to aid when I am needed. It never feels like I can do enough, when it feels like they do so much for me.  

When I am not with the children in an activity, or working on a document. I am often seen flitering around with the camera, recording “special moments”, births, group photos, individual photos, family photos but most curious to them were my photos of the Kanthas. They stared at me like a crazy person and some sniggered wondering why anybody would take photos of cloth? Why would they put the cloth in different poses? But on the grapevine, I have heard they accept that the people in “the west” are a little eccentric and like looking at photos of cloth when choosing there items. Satisfied with this reasoning they continue to sew, but think it is a bit strange.

CUP moved in to a new phase on May 1^st 2011. Twenty four women joined the training programme 2 years ago .  Fourteen of the women are now employed by Hand &Cloth Bangladesh  and one woman has a job somewhere else, and the others will remain in the training programme at CUP for the time being until they are ready to be transitioned. The children whose mothers were in the CUP’s training programme will remain with CUP for the next few weeks as Hand and Cloth completes its recruitment for suitable “iyahs” to look after the children.

The women will continue to make Kanthas for an  international market at Hand and Cloth. They also have aspirations to work on new patents to make other sort after items in the international market. This includes bags made from jute and other locally sourced items. I have seen the samples and already tempted to place an order. This will be done with fair trade values and the women will be encouraged to take ownership in the cooperation in the future through many different aspects. See the Hand and Cloth website for more details. http://www.handandcloth.org/about

This is a real achievement for the ladies who are now employees of Hand and Cloth Bangladesh.  All at CUP were already pleased with their progress, as they journeyed with these ladies and witnessed them leave behind chaotic lifestyles and slowly embraced a life of positive prospect with a renewed mind, and skills which will last them beyond Hand and Cloth if they choose to do so in the future. “Just a year ago all these women had lived on the streets surviving through begging for money or selling sex. Many had been trafficked, abandoned by their husbands, suffered violence and exploitation. All were sexually exploited or at high risk of being so. All are mothers of young children whose futures looked bleak. A year later and these women’s lives have been transformed. They are now confident mothers, living in homes and ready for this new challenge.”

Hand and Cloth will continue with the literacy programme, and offering emotional stability through counseling and a family planning worker. These we believe are imperative integral parts of their progress for themselves and their families.

CUP will maintain strong ties with Hand and Cloth. This CUP hopes will reassure the ladies as they enter this new phase. Hand and Cloth’s office and workshop is one floor up in the same building as CUP, so we will also see them regularly enough.

A new set of women are now about to join CUP’s training programme. They were all brought to CUP by the outreach worker who risks her own reputation to go to the various places to speak to women in sex work, and offering them the chance to reform there lives with the support of CUP.

 Some are already here and for the month of April the CUP building has felt very full, but this overlap is necessary to reassure all the women of their new beginnings. We will also find more women join the training programme through-out the year. CUP looks forward to the year ahead, as they set to prepare these new women for brighter horizons. And positively anticipate the futures of the women who have now transitioned to Hand and Cloth.

The Photos here were taken at the leaving ceremony. CUP staff recognised the achievement of these ladies then the ladies spoke of how being at CUP has helped to transform theirs and their childrens lives and encouraged the new ladies who were joining to complete the course. They stood as living examples of what can happen when you decide to make a positive change for the future. These first set of ladies to transition from CUP had no examples to follow, but they had the support and the promise of the CUP staff that they will venture with them. AND THE PICTURES HERE SHOW THAT DAY HAS SURELY COME!

Tears in Transition

Shaing a meal

Staff Celebrating with the ladies

Wiping away their tears of Joy

A Hug of reassurance

Floods of Tears into her Urna

Prayer time

Prayer of Thanksgiving

C.U.P. - Never a dull Moment!

Being part of such a changeable environment  has its highs and lows, and most days are highs for me.

I continue to see hope and progress when I go to CUP. Especially, as I admire the commitment and hard work put in by all members of staff to benefit the service users at CUP.

I love seeing the children smile and making them laugh. Not even the current lice in my hair, which I caught off one of the children at CUP, can quell my enthusiasm to smile when I see the kids at CUP and desire to do an activity with them.

Most days at CUP has some sort of dramatic moment and I have seeing my fair share since arriving through its doors 3 months ago.

From the pretend mother who wants to snatch back her “child” to sell in to prostitution, to threatening behavior by clients to other clients, and children who at most misunderstandings choose to smack each other without any talking. And the dramas go on and on.

Today however, was no different except, for it felt like there was an extra little dose of more drama than most days.

After an interesting morning doing play therapy with the children and other various activities.

I went to see the senior members of staff. It was explained to me that the lady who we found dying at the side of the road nearly ayear ago, And who was then told by doctors that she would not survive more than a month because she was too weak  and would die once the chemotherapy treatment was administered.

Who then later defied the odds, by surviving three rounds of chemotherapy and had started to gain good health again, was last week given the prognosis of imminent death. 

The doctors have now said there is nothing more they can do for her.

This comes as a bit of a shock because as far as the doctors and CUP staff were concerned all the cancer was removed; she was looking good and feeling better these days. Even to the point she was dancing with me and the children 3 weeks ago.

 She was now just waiting to start radiotherapy treatment as a completion to hopefully stop any cancer cells from returning.

 The sudden turn of events happened whilst we holidayed/visa run in Nepal last week, she had taken a turn for the worst, and her mouth abscess swelled up, and began to stink so bad the other ladies staying in the emergency night shelter could not stay in the same room as her because the uncontrollable smell from her mouth abscess was so revolting.

 It was then she was taken to the doctors by CUP staff and given the life changing prognosis of imminent death.

When asked by CUP staff what she would like to do next, she requested to go to her village outside of Dhaka and die there with her family. Her estranged family agreed and came to CUP’s night shelter to pick her up. She decided she would only take along her older child who is now 3 years old and abandoned her baby of 9 months at CUP’s night shelter. It was no surprise to the staff that she chooses to abandon the baby as she has never shown much interest in the baby. She had also already offered to give the baby away to a member of staff at CUP. 

The baby’s mothering has consequently come from CUP’s staff. Her detachment to this baby was partly created by a pregnancy and birth which happened at the peak of her cancer battle. She was too weak to look after the baby when he was born and she was too caught up in her illness to pay any attention to her growing baby inside of her when she was pregnant.

Whereas, she had already established some sort of relationship with her older son.

The family in the village has made it clear that they would grant her, her wish to die at home with them but after her death, they will return her 3 year old boy to CUP.

 I really pray this little boy is not too scared by all this rejection and abandonment he could go through very soon. It is my hope the family becomes attached to the little boy and they want to raise him as part of the family.

The baby will probably not have all the mental scaring the older child may develop.  He may have other questions when he gets older but he is too young to remember his mother and her rejection of him, and the hard times his mother went through because of her battle with cancer. I do hope some where etched in his memory; he will remember the warmth and love of the staff, other clients, and children at CUP. He is known as CUP’s baby but this will probably change in the near future when long term plans for his life is put in place. This truth is more prominent in my mind on reflection of one person’s comment today “He is cute and adorable, but a baby cannot be raised by an NGO.”

I am hopeful for a miraculous healing and these boys can grow up with their mother, and over the years she is given the appropriate support from CUP to help her to be a good mother and to establish herself in the community. Please remember them in payer.

The next thing I heard today also prompted me to get it down on paper to help me to process it. I met this beautiful young dark skinned Bengali lady at CUP nearly two months ago; she was heavily pregnant and no older than 18 years old.

From what we know of her she has a “husband” but currently begs on the street. The reality is though; most of the girls who come to CUP has lead a life of some form of chaos which usually involves prostitution as a survival method to feed themselves and their family if they are not estranged from them. They sometimes form loose relationships with one or two of their customers, and it is one of these men who would father a child with them “accidentally”. But due to the shame such a lifestyle carries, most of the ladies invent “husbands” to come across as somewhat “respectable” in there society.

This was the case of this young lady I had met.

 I went to photograph her and her newborn the morning after her birth 3 weeks ago. We chatted about what she could name the baby. A few days later she came up with a pretty Bengali name. I would go up and see her and the baby most days when I was in the shelter, and it would make me smile to look at the way she interacted with her newborn. She was a natural and I could see how much she doated over the baby. She would wrap her up and unwrap her. Lye next to her for all the time we were in the room, and spend time cleaning her baby when necessary.

I was so pleased to see the way she took care of the baby, and herself. She followed a routine and was especially considerate to her baby, this is a really achievement in such a short time especially looking at the chaotic lifestyle she had just left behind.

Today, I was very sad to hear she had given her baby away at the local Mazar. Mazar attracts all aspects of society at its practice of Islam includes suffi, (similar to a new age approach). And there is a real underground life at the Mazar. Most of the women at CUP were found at this Mazar.  

She told the staff she gave her baby to a couple who had being trying to conceive their own child for 13 years and were having trouble getting pregnant. We are unclear whether she was given money for the exchange of her baby, though in many of these situations, it is common for money to be exchanged.

When asked by CUP staff why she gave her baby away, she said she had spoken to her “husband” and he denied fathering the baby. He also refused to have any involvement with the baby or her.  She said the difficulties; pressures and shame of being a single parent in this society forced her to feel like she had no other choice but to give her baby away.

When asked what she will now do for work and shelter. She explained she has gone into a garments factory to work.

The garments factory is another overused guise by women who go back in to prostitution or who are prostitutes to get themselves some respectably from society. We fear her real destiny is back on the streets in to prostitution. A trade she probably knows well and is confident in doing. Only to possibly begin another cycle of disparity.

 Most women in CUP have their own stories. Jelera* a women in her early thirties who currently has liver disease and lives in the night shelter at CUP, has given up 6 of her 7 children away. Four of them she sold at separate times, whilst in the cycle of disparity, two of them she left with some family member, and currently she has a baby with her.

I pray this young lady does not end up on a similar cycle to Jelera* and instead she returns to CUP and choose a life of recovery, with support along the way to help her into accommodation and a stable and sustainable employment. All this to cull the stem of producing babies to sell or give away and prostitution, which will only wound her self esteem and self worth.

Though, it is Glorious to see the recent and consistent change in Jelera*over the past month. After, 3 years of being at CUP and being one of the most contentious, foulmouthed, fight picking, and trouble making woman something has changing dramatically in her. She now spends most days sitting and reading song books, smiling, and speaking to the other women about making peace instead of fighting, offering advice on the best ways to positive solutions. It seems the ghost of her past life is no longer haunting her and she has come to find some peace and reconciliation with GOD.

Even knowing this, the young girl who recently gave her baby away at the Mazar may not have this “happy story ending” like Jelera.

 Jelera* is not the actual name of the lady, but the story is factual

Please pray for the staff at CUP and for these two ladies and there chidlren. Also pray for the 3 ladies at CUP who are due to have a baby in the next month.

The Unexpected Wind of Sadness :-(

Today is Sheikh Mujibur’s birthday. He is the “Father of the nation of Bangladesh” and founder of Bangladesh. He along with all of his family were murdered in 1975 with the exception of two of his daughters who were studying in Germany at the time. One of his daughters is  the Prime Minister of Bangladesh today.

  

Dhaka is in a sombre mood as this public holiday takes place, getting around today was such a breeze and it all happened so quickly, with very little traffic on the road there was no stress to get to my destinations. The rickshawallahs didn’t have to fight for space with cars and all other manner of transportation who all bully each other on the road most days causing horrific traffic jams for miles.

Typical dhaka traffic Jam 

I am feeling a bit sad though, on my way back from my language lesson I saw something which I didn’t expect, just as I was near home. I first noticed RAB-1 in there white pickup truck.  (Rapid Action Battalion are a special branch of police who are meant to be uncorrupt and are there to protect the people. They were trained by the British government. There have being many deaths in “cross-fire” by RAB which have brought there use of force under question.) 

RAB dressed in there usual menacing attire of all black outfits and a black mask covering there face with only a little of there eyes on show all holding there big guns. They were parked just near the lake which backs on to our house. 

I then looked onto the pavement a few feet a way from the parked pick up truck.

Lying on the pavement was a young boy, probably early teens. His wet body and posture indicated the unexpected. I suspect, he had recently drowned in the pond nearby. I recognised the old lady who stooped at his feet.  She is a very fragile looking lady who treats her cows better than she does her self because selling there milk is her source of income. 

The spolit cows.Eating chopped up vegetables

The old lady's residence. Open plan living I guess!

The other four people who stood and stooped near him I did not recognise.

It is common here for people to sleep where ever. Literally where ever! Whether it is the middle of the road, on the pavement, on a river bank, on there rickshaws, you name it, if they are tired, they sleep

rickshawwallah grab an afternoon nap

girl asleep in the rubbish

fisherman on the way to market

shopkeeper take a nap on the counter

.

I took another look at his life less body, hoping I was just imaging again, especially as there are two previous occasions where I had thought someone was dead and they were just asleep, in the most unusual of places of course.  And the floating body I witnessed in the water, turned out to be a shop manikin that was thrown into the lake. I was very relieved at this finding.

The difference is this time. It was no imagination or mistaken plastic identity. I was looking at the life less body of a young boy who had probably drowned. His eyes were rolled back in his head, he laid without movement on his back, in his soaking wet loongi and t-shirt, with his arms still by his side, his head propped up with two bricks from the near-by pile, and the people who looked stark at him, had faces which displayed emotions of sadness. How I wish I could understand there lost?

I imagine many thoughts were going through there mind as they grieve there loss, reminiscing on the life he has lived and wishful thoughts about his life ahead of him and maybe also a few thoughts of what economically his departure would mean for there family. Men are expected to be the breadwinners, his departure probably means they will have even less taka (money) to feed them selves. Boys that age in such poor families would have joined the work force by that age helping to support there families. The sadness of someone dying tends to be a sour taste in the mouth; I pray there sour taste has aspects of sweetness as they can see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Boy sifting through rubbish to find things to sell

Child at work in the brick industry

These people are part of the most vulnerable in society, the really poor who until recently lived in sheds by the lake but now find them self sleeping in the open air at night since the “government clean-up” began 2 months ago in preparation for  Bangladesh to host the cricket world cup. They sent the army and the police to break down the sheds in the name of beautification to impress there guests and create a false sense of prosperity. They instructed these people to move on. But where do you go when the shed is all you have and your daily living is dependant on the mercy of “Allah”.

But I guess such disparity and disastrous and chaotic lives are reaped by the poor in a third world country where corruption rules and the poor are trampled further and further on.

NOT AS PLANNED! BUT JUST THE WAY IT SHOULD BE!

Febuary 8^th 2011

I am well rested and ready to take on another week, I am really pleased all the drama at the India visa office is over and Marquel and I were able to get to India on Saturday to uphold the conditions of our visa. We stayed in Calcutta (Kolkata) until Monday, when we returned to Bangladesh. 

 There was a Hartal (public Strike day ) in progress on the day of our return. This  meant all business were forced to close and all transport must cease from travelling for the duration of the Hartal, as observance of a unified front for the Hartal which was called because of proposals to move Dhaka’s international airport from  it’s current location to 2 hours south of the city, and also a demonstration about rising food prices.

Though a few taxi’s, CNG’s, Rickshaws, and buses would run the risk of getting there transport set on fire by travelling during the Hartal. And for Marquel and I this then presented a very interesting situation, trying to get from the airport to the house.

The army and the navy stood guard outside of the airport to keep the peace and to prevent the general public from accessing the airport, unless they were departing.  It is an everyday occurrence to find large groups of spectators at the airport, some are there just to “sight see”, who gets on and off the plane, and others are there to beg amongst other things.

As we couldn’t be picked up in the family car, the only viable option we had, was to go out on to the main road in the hope that some CNG’s and Taxi’s were not in observance and we could get one for hire to get home.

A CNG

 We walked through the exit doors of the airport. I notice my plan may be slightly flawed!

  

I first had to negotiate the crowd of people who came to sight see and beg, which would probably mean we would get mobbed, especially because we were foreigners. And as all eyes were on us as we exited the door “Plan B” quickly came to mind; Approach one of the army guys with his big riffle in toe to see if he could help in any way!

 With my very limited bangla and his non existant English I some how managed to explain I needed a CNG from the main road. He shook his head and signalled me to wait behind him. I was standing there whilst it seemed he was chatting to his colleague so I thought maybe I read his sign wrong and he didn’t quite understand what I said, so I proceeded to walk past him. OK, He understood! He order me to stand behind him again, staring at the big riffle and desperate to get home, I stood there, then a Taxi came along. 

The Army guy spoke to the Taxi who could see I was “Bdeshi” (foreigner), who then came out with the most ridiculous price, 1000 Taka! He exclaimed.  I then remembered where I was, of course he is going to try and rip me off, ten fold. This journey should cost no more than 100 Taka! But on a Hartal day I was willing to pay more, 300 Taka, tripling the actual price, He refused, and suddenly a sense of justice came over me , in my very desperate state. I WILL NOT PAY HIM 1000 TAKA, even if it meant I stood here all day until the Hartal is over.  Then we can get a CNG or  Taxi at the right price. 

I was being so stubborn. The big riffle didn’t scare me anymore and the army man’s plea to get into the taxi fell on deaf ears. The soldier  then tried to get the driver to be a little more reasonable and got the price down to 800 TAKA. It was still a ridiculous amount of money I thought,  and Marquel didn’t seem distressed with my plan to wait it out. BUT God had mercy on us, along came another Taxi, I proposed 300 Taka and asked him if he would take me, and with out any questioning or hesitation, He took us. Praise God we didn’t have to stay there all day.

When we got home. I began to reflect on my very own personal Hartal. Why would I in such a vulnerable and  desperate situation not just go along with the 1000 TAKA?  Surely, it is more important to get home safely and quickly? Espeically, with my choices seeming non existant. Through my own questioning I began to realise I had started to grow weary of being ripped off regularly and I just snapped, (not the best time or place to snap I admit).

And even with this realisation, the following day on my way home from my language lesson I ended up walking for 1 hour in the hot sun because Rickshaw wallah , after Rickshaw wallah kept trying to rip me off, some prices were ridiculous but others were just double the real price. The bags of shopping I was carrying didn’t feel heavy as I was determined to walk home instead of being ripped off. By the time I got home I was weary and ended up falling asleep.

Again, I question myself. Why did I subject myself to this and not simply pay? After all, I have known for the past month i was being overcharged by the different CNG drivers and rickshaw wallahs, but just carried on, and paid for the sake of getting to my journey quickly. What caused such burning passion in me to erupt over this cause?

The answer came swiftly to me, as sudden realisation dawned on me! My stand offs were not just about me! Nor were they about the specific situations that had occured on these two days.

I was mad yes about what was happening to me, but I was already frustrated by poor infrastructure which threw the vulnerable people out to the vultures. I had grown infuriated with a great deal of social injustices, including all the money that has being poured into the public hospitals here from abroad, many levels of corruption meant people couldn’t fully access the “free” service which is for them effectiviely. It is ludicrous, when someone is sick in hospital, they are expected to  pay bribes to get things done. To get a necessary  injection the paitient must bribe the nurse to administer it, when this is her job which she is being paid for. The nurse will then defend her actions by explaining she does not get paid merely enough to live on, and being disheartened with her job, and the need to feed her family the only way to make enough money is to extract money from paitients .

It is well known that this goes on in the hospitals, but nothing is done about it. This is not an attack on nurses, as this culture of bribery is used by the porter, doctors, administrator, x-ray department, and others within the institution. If you want to be moved from the trolley onto the bed after your operation, you better pay the porter a bribe for them to move you.

What I have described is merely the tip of the iceberg of corruption. A distasteful aspect of this society, which seeps into layer after layer of infrastructure and cultural attitudes.

March 7^th 2011

I wrote all of the above 1 month ago with the intention of completing it and posting it. I stalled from posting for a few reasons including power cuts which would interrupt the modem and my pc being a pain in the neck recently , choosing when it would work and when it wouldn’t,  and  my commitments here.  Though mainly, it was because at the time I was writing I was on a spiral of bottled up passion which quickly turned to anger and frustration.  

  I had to decide not to write anymore until I got a grip of my emotions and can pursue a sensible way forward.  There was no physical action I could pursue, I couldn’t write a letter to an organisation, phone a call centre or speak or pursue any physical solutions. I then realised my safety net to pray whilst pursuing a physical solution was not going to work as there were no avenues I could pursue. NONE! IT FELT LIKE NO ONE WOULD LISTEN AND I would here the statement again, “IT IS CULTURAL!” which is all the more maddening because my view is, it may be cultural but it is NOT JUST, ITS NOT OK, AND IT NEEDS TO BE ADDRESSED!!!!!!!!!!!

I have heard the phrase, “in space nobody can hear you scream”.  This was how I felt AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ,I would scream inside.

It was at this point I came to the end of myself, and could truly hand it over to GOD, within the first day of doing so I could feel a huge difference. The situations have not changed, but my peace was returning.  I have had the most beautiful prayer life in the last month and can truly testify to the power of prayer. If you had asked me in London, do you pray? I would say yes , conversing with God throughout my day and at night time was a regular pattern since Christ called me his daughter 8 years ago.

The last month I have prayed in a way I have never prayed before, if things were terrible in London there was always someone to at least speak to about it if I choose to do so, God would let me know He is there and the impossible would sometimes become possible and even when all the doors would seem closed I could keep pursuing and something could change in my endurance and research for a solution, or even look like there is a possibility of change even if one was yet to be found.

At once, ALL OF MY SAFETY BLANKETS WERE PULLED FROM ME.  ALL OF THEM! I began to worry. I may have finally bitten off more than I can chew. And on top of it all I was worried that I may be spiralling into a silent depression.

The one thing that kept me going was knowing in the core of my being that God wanted me in Bangladesh, and if He wants me Here, I know He will make a way.  SIMPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!

Through my tears, I found myself praying and praying and praying. Today, I can say I have never felt this alive, from such a dark place to where I am on this day is truly a testament to the power of prayer, I did nothing physically, the situations I was mad about have not changed, but “behold, God has begun a new thing in me”.

HOPE- How sweet the fragrance!!!!!!!

After a lovely night out to see Invictus at a house group (The story of Nelson Mandela's hope in south african rugby team to win but most importantly to bring reconciliation, forgiveness and the nation togther). I am seeing this thread of HOPE! I have being thinking about HOPE in God. What it really means in a practical sense and how it can encourage, influence and open doors for a more positive outcome . Especially, so in the last two weeks.

I dont know if it is just me or if its really happpening but it seems most places I go there is a theme of HOPE. And tonight once again confirmed this.

I walked into CUP (Children's Uplift Programme) on Monday, and Beth showed me around, I could here her talking but in my head I was having a conversation with myself, as I looked at the women, sew the sari blankets, the ladies look after ther children, the ladies in the night shelter looking after one another and  in the office staff members working diligently to support the ladies who acces the center.

There in my head was the conversation: WHAT KEPT THESE LADIES COMING BACK DAY AFTER DAY? WHAT INSPIRED THERE REQUEST TO WORK AN EXTRA DAY? Increasing there 5 day week, to a 6 day week. Especially, when it is probrable the general consesus of London would vote in favour of working one less day.

I believe the answer to be HOPE!   Hope that tommorow will be brighter, Hope that if they work together something positive will happen. Hope that there children too can be somebody because of the steps they are taking today.

They've now seen some evidence of there hope manifesting into a reality. Seeing CUP change offices, get more staff, facilitate an emergency night shlelter, orders from foreign people creeping in. All in aid of supporting them. The dream in there hearts takes up deeper roots, as small acorns grow. Here they experience acceptance for who they are, and see they have worth, value and necessary ideas. They know they are good at making something that people want to buy, and they no longer have to support them selves or there families by selling sex. Hope inspires them to soldier on, hope for there furture and disregard of the unnecessary evils of there past.

On the first day I visited the Children's Uplift Programme (CUP) , they had just recieved great news. Four of there children who were with out parents, passed the test and got into mainstream school. The place was buzzing with excitement and it's hope, defiance, and blessings of a loving God who opened this door for these children. And it is the same hope that would encourage CUP staff to put them selves at risk to see these children and there mothers supported.

My first day at CUP was interesting, Amongst other things, I witnessed a pimp harrasing and threathening behaviour towards CUP staff and her own children. She threathened to strangle her younger child, if the child she wanted to pimp out, who was now with CUP did not return with her. I thought this was extreme behaviour and no mother would do such a thing, but I was surprised to hear she had already tried strangling her own child but thanks to intervention was unsuccessfull.

This woman is desperate for money to feed her family and sees CUP as intervening in her access to bread and butter. This little girl sold in to prostitution is her Hope for everyday survival. The little girl in question is 9 years old, but looks more like 7 years old, she is a smart beautiful little girl who was trying to teach me Bangla that morning before the incident happened, but she has decided to hold on to hope. She decided not to return with her pimp because she hopes for a better furture. She is one of the children who got in to school. May school be the first step towards the future God has laid up for her, and the good plans he has for her comes to pass. Praise God she, was snatched from the dark world of prostitution and she no longer has to be groomed for this line of work.

I witnessed hope again, that afternoon in a childrens club in one of  Dhaka's slums. Here I found a lovely lady from the western world who was determined to support children to get an education in the slum. I visited on the day of the boys club, This was the tiniest room, not much bigger than an average London bathroom, but unbelievably over 40 boys attended all squashed in with there legs folded sitting on the floor. This was there class room, and it was there first day back to school. She called the roll and I photographed each child.

I use the term child loosely as this class consisted of boys from age 5 up to age 14 all learning the same thing, and showing respect for each other. A common goal was shared, getting an education could mean something better than there current life is possible. They listened attentively and sang together. I looked at the older boys and wonder why at 14 they were happy to sit in a class with 5 year olds and learn the same thing, and displaying the same enthusiasm, and not being rude or any of the "normal" behaviour westerners expect from teenage boys. Again, there it came, These boys had HOPE planted in there heart. There was a time they were illiterate but now they have varied levels of literacy. These boys are roses who are begining to spring from concrete. And I am looking forward to working with them over the next few months.

Hope being the open door for inspiration, new ideas, possibilities, the silver lining in the grey cloud! Hold on to Hope. It abounds in the heart and reflects in actions. Hope In CHRIST!

The Honeymoon!- Well Sort of- Welcome to Dhaka

I had imagined my first writing in Bangladesh to be filled with these interesting and emotional facts, but I mostly find my self amused by a culture I thought i could see from a distance but soon realised I did not have the foggiest idea as I tried and failed to analyse with my western mentality and ideology pre arrival.

We have being here 8 days now and it feels like a month has gone by, each day has being actioned pack and filled with so much. Slum school, church, CUP, orientation, Meetings, school, Bangla lessons, teaching english, nerts (ask Hannah she is totally obsessed and drawing me in slowly) , socials, socials, rickshaws, food, food, poverty, begging, cricket, and the list goes on and on...................................

It really hit me that life was about to change, when boarding the plane from Dubai to Dhaka. People showed no regard for each other or for children. It seemed like a race of, the survival of the fittest. Marquel fell over as he pulled the hand luggage in the queue. I turn around to help him up, but had a brief few moments of fighting to get to him as the people behind him stepped over him, and over him, until I asserted myself to get to him, so I could pick him up, whilst I was picking him up, it soon became apparent this was an opportunity for as many people who were behind us in the queue to push forward and climb over us.

WOW! WOW! I tried to convince myself of this being a one off occurrence but my hopes were soon to be dashed when I boarded the plane, and on arrival in Dhaka. I have never seen such anarchy on a flight, especially on landing, cabin crew " waved,signalled and shouted for people to sit down, whilst the plane came into land, the fasten your seat belt sign was on, but people just ignored it and proceeded to open over head lockers and completely ignore the instructions of the cabin crew and later the captain. I was later to find out this anarchy was a regular occurrence on flights in to Dhaka. I could keep going about self centred attitudes towards each other within the airport but I shall swiftly move on.

After negotiating the traffic of airport road (please note NEGOTIATING is the key word here, it was a game of dodgems, just the way people drive here, the rule is keep going, and be the first infront of everybody else , come what may, but maybe give a little way to a vehicle bigger than yourself if you really must and you are sure they are about to run you off the road).

For the purpose of honouring my host country and visa regulations, I must refrain from placing names and being too specific about companies, etc. Hopefully, my writings will be transparent whilst abiding to the rules.

Dhaka- I have named it the city of Contrasts, with an unusual charm! :-) 
I continually find things to chuckle about.For Example, after a week of observing I soon noticed a trend. Ear muffs are in! Serious fashion statement, especially the leopard print and plaid ones. I am yet to go outside and not continuously see people wearing them, BUT with T-shirts and sandals! WHY? I dont get it, if your ears are cold, surely your body is too right?

Then there are these spoilt cows, who have the vegetables cut up for them in huge bowls, the area they sleep swept to perfection, and get this, a fleece blanket over there bodies, along with a plastic coat over the fleece blanket to protect it from the rain, whilst its owner lives in a shack next to the smelly lake, with very little cover or any real clothing. I have concluded, in Dhaka, I would much rather be a poor cow, than a poor human! Here, Here!

What I am sure you all want to know really is how we are doing? Well, it is truly hard to sum this up in a concise statement. Everything is so different, the langalanguage food , the people, my clothes, church, mannerisms, etc etc. I am currently just taking it all in and trying not to mess up too much , I have already occasionally forgotten to take my shoes off at the door and twice passed something with my left hand and touched food with my left hand. These gestures are offencive. I find myself trying to constantly remember  what I can and can't do.

Though the native people are not excluded from reminding themselves of  what they can and cant do. Prime Example, On my first independant ride to my orientation meeting, my CNG (a motorbike taxi) travelled on the wrong side of the road into oncoming traffic, to help us get out of traffic and hurry to my destination.I didn't get too anxious as I had noted driving here is chaotic and there isn't much discipline. That was until, I noticed he and few other dirvers did the same thing outside of the police training academy and out came the police with there sticks poking into the CNG's and threatening drivers. Thankfully my CNG was cramped inbetween others, so my driver didnot feel the brunt of the stick.

I am slowly adjusting to what seems like excessive noise levels. If it isnt the sound of constant traffic and beeping, its people talking loudly. And next door there are some construction works going on. Ear plugs are doing little to stem this constant noise.

Quel has started school and loves the princely treatment he recievereceivesA stark contrast to children we see as we go around Dhakaon a rickshaw. Families living at the side of the road, children begging, many dirty and without shoes. The streets are about to be cleaned up though, as there is a current goverment initiative starting in a few days to move all the beggars before the cricket world cup, that is to take place here. This will be another interuption in these peoples lives who live on the edge of society and are fighting for there everyday survival. They will be displaced in another area, away from the watchfull eye of the tourists, but not given any housing or support. A problem to be hidden and not addressed. I do understand this is a city of 12 million people and it is a 1/3 the size of london with mass infrastructure problems, but surely it would be better to address the problems rather than hid them away.

In this city I have also seen some of the Grandest houses, I have ever laid eyes on. Huge mansions, and top range vehicles to match. Oppulent restaurants and lots of beauty to be seen. This is truly the city of Contrasts!

Over the next week I will begin to become more independant, so far I have had some help to travel most places and to cross the road. And my orientation has tried to prepare me for some of this new life.

I will post some photos once I sort out my camera.

Blessings to you all!