Pictures! And an update

Here is the link to my Picasa web album:
http://picasaweb.google.com/klg7808
I've uploaded the first 181 pictures and it took forever! There are over 500 total, so I'm not sure when I'll have a chance to upload the rest. We're headed to the village tomorrow, and then to another village further down (or possibly up or over, I don't really have any idea). We're going to Gulpalganj, where Protul and Putul's daughter lives, and will be there Sunday night to Monday.

Yesterday, Deborah and I went to Hope House, in a town called Kessapur. Hope House is a girls' orphanage, but the girls aren't necessarily completely orphaned. They're orphans in the sense that their parent(s) can't afford to raise them or educate them. There are 37 living there now. Deborah goes to teach them English. The director, David, used to have problems with the families taking the girls out of the orphanage before finishing high school, so that they could marry the girls off. After 15-year-old twins left to get married, David told the families, "Come and get your daughters now if you want to marry them off young; otherwise no one leaves until they graduate." A few left, but now the girls can at least have freedom until 18.

I only heard the story of two sisters who live there. It's an awful story, but such is life for some here: The girls' father was both a preacher and a police officer. One day, a fellow policeman asked him a few questions about what he did. The father was cautious because of the other man's beliefs, but he did say a little. The next day, a group of m's came to the door and asked for the father. With the whole family watching from the doorway, the man was taken outside and beheaded.

On a little happier note, I'll tell you about the two young gentlemen Deborah and I encountered on the way home. When we got back to Khulna, we took a "van" from the bus station to our neighborhood. First of all, a van is a tricycle with a wood plank over the back two wheels. It's used for transporting goods or up to 6 or so passengers. Deborah and I were traveling alone, though, until two guys who were originally heading away from Boyra suddenly decided they needed to join us and head towards Boyra. Following is a rough sketch of the dialogue, a good example of a typical conversation with a random Bengali practicing English. B is for the Bengali, D is for Deborah.

B: Are you a foreigner?
D: Yes.
B: From which country?
D: America.
B: Name, please.
D: Well, my middle name is Ann.
B: Who is she?
D: My sister.
B: Is she a foreigner too?
D: Yes. (It's very hard not to laugh at them, but it gets better!)
B: Can I have your contact number?
D: No, my father told me not to give it to anyone.
B: Oh, that's difficult.
D: Yes, it is.
B: Do you know some Bangla?
D: A little.
B: Do you think Bangla language is broad or short?
D: It's hard to say.
B: Where did you go this morning?
D: To a village.
B: We saw you leave and wondered where you were going.

Talking to or knowing foreigners is a really big deal here. They are always really giggly and enthusiastic, even if all they said was, "Hello, how are you?". One guy, after such an encounter, declared he was "gladly happy" to have talked to us. Deborah says, "I don't think I've ever made anyone gladly happy before!". While it seems obvious that, if Deborah is a foreigner, then I (as her sister) am as well, there are two reasons where this is a reasonable question. First, 'sister' is a common term for a friend or acquaintance. That's what the neighbor children say when they peer in our windows at night: "Sister! Sister! How are you?" The other part is, he may have thought I looked Bengali, as many here do. Sometimes on the street, people will try to talk to me and are quite confused when Adele or Deborah has to answer for me. Nevertheless, one of the first Bangla words I learned was "badeshi," foreigner. People occasionally use that as a name: "Hey, badeshi!" I also frequently pick it out of a conversation between people on the street.

Before I wrap this up for tonight, I thought I'd share a tidbit (one of my favorite words!) from the newspaper. There was a story about an elderly woman who was hit by a bus. That's no surprise, considering the way they drive here. I'm not really sure why they bother to draw lines on the road. They don't stay between them at all, but drive right down the center unless something bigger comes along in the opposite direction. I'm getting sidetracked. The end of the article states this "elderly" woman's age: 55. I wonder how many 55-year-olds in the U.S. would appreciate that distinctive term! But here, she could easily be a great-grandmother, and probably is at the end of her life.

Well, I must get some things done, then go to bed, but I have started a list of things I don't want to forget to tell you all. Interesting facts and observations and such.