Closing Time

It's generally agreed upon here that if you drink milk after eating pineapple, you will die. Not making that up.

Eid: The Muslim Christmas, more or less. You get dressed up and go visiting and eating more or less all day. It ends their month of fasting--rather bulimic (sp) holiday, that. Except for the vomiting part. Not at all unlike Christmas time in the states. On Eid morning, there was a large gathering at the local Central-Park-sorta-place. About 5000 Muslim men and boys all in Panjabis (those long robelike things) and tupis (the white muslim hats shaped like the lid for your Brita), praying at the same time. It reminded me of Promise Keepers, except for the Muslim instead of Christian part. It's also customary to kiss the feet of an elder and then allow them to give you some money. People give a lot of money to beggars on Eid. And a friend of mine made out with 540 taka from her host family and friends -- which buys roughly the equivalent of $30 of this and that. I was mad, cuz I got jack.

Then there was the swearing-in weekend in Dhaka. Since we have finished training, we are now real-live Peace Corps Volunteers--after we go to the embassy for a ceremony in which we "swear in." The oath reads as follows: "I do solemnly swear or affirm that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, domestic and foreign, that I take this obligation freely and without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge my duties in the Peace Corps by working with the people of (country) as partners in friendship and in peace."

. . . Many of us collectively decided to say it with a Texan accent. A thick Texan accent. It put some slightly cynical joy into an otherwise drab and somewhat 1984-ian occasion. But it's cool to be a real volunteer now. No more training; now comes the real thing.

After the ceremony there was, of course, two days of partying, Peace Corps style. Those of you who think that PCV's drink like fish and then do things they later regret are absolutely spot on. All of that pent-up culture shock, lack of physical touch, and alcohol deprivation come thundering out in a liberating and confusing weekend of hookups and hangovers.

The families really do love each other here. I haven't been a particularly model "son" to my host family--I stay out late sometimes and don't converse with them as much as I should--but they're already talking about how much they'll miss me. I fell kind of bad because the fact is . . I won't really miss them that much in return. What a turd. And of course I don't tell them I won't really miss them. Naturally I make something up, do the chicken imitation, and bring the conversation back to their favorite topic: who I'm going to marry, when and how and yes, of course I'll invite you.

A few of you know about my ideas on loving your fellow man: I think it's hard, if not impossible, to truly love selflessly. I'm kind of going off of a passage from a book (brothers karamazov) in which an elder makes a recommendation to a woman struggling with her faith. He tells her that the best way to proceed is to make every effort to actively, selflessly love others--and the point at which she realizes that she is completely unable to do this, that is the point at which she will rediscover her faith. That's a gross simplification, but you get the gist. So I figure here I am, a real volunteer, and it's now or never. I'm going to try and love some of these people, whatever that may mean. I've got no excuses left (my career, schooling, etc.). It's now more or less my JOB to try and do what's best for Bangladesh and not for me. Thus begins the experiment.

In 1 day I leave for Khulna, where I will spend the remaining 24 of these 27 months. Goodbye Gazipur.

NO BIRD FLU! I do not wanna get sent home on account of a bunch of chickens who don't wash their hands before eating and after blowing their noses.