A German joins the ranks

Ingo is a German who is now staying at my house (or, my host family's house, if you prefer. And I think you do.)

Ingo was walking downtown, on a stopover from India on his way to the capital city, when who should accost him and demand that he have tea/"gossip"/life-story-exchange, but Shamol, my rather overbearing host brother. Adam receives a call (Adam is at the time in Jessore, a nearby town) on his cell phone.
"Hello."
"Hello, Adam."
"Yes, Shamol, hi. What's up?"
"Oh, fine. I have German man to talk to you."
"What?"
"Ingo is German man, he is visiting Khulna. Staying at my house. He speak with you."
"Um, okay."
--it should be noted that since the advent of mobile technology, Bangladeshis love the things and frequently have short conversations on them. They also tend to put their favorite guests on the phone, impromptu, to talk to their friend or cousin or whatever. I could tangibly feel poor Ingo's awkwardness as Shamol handed him the phone. I've been in his schoonen before and didn't like it.
"Yeah hi?"
"Hi. Ingo?"
"Yeah. Hi."
"Okay so you're visiting Khulna?"
"Yeah. Yeah I'm visiting."
" . . . . . cool."
" . . . . . yeah."
"So . . . . "
"Yeah . . . "
"Hm."
"Yeah."
"You'll be there when I get back?"
"I think so, it sounds like Shamol has invited me to stay at his house."
--great. Probably a mass murderer. Freakin' Germans.
"Cool. Great. I'm sure you're not a mass murderer. I love Germans."
"You didn't really say that to me."
"I know, but I figured it would sound more interesting than the actual conversation."
"Mkay. Dude you're weird."
"I know."
"And you totally stole this literary device from Dave Eggers."
"Dude, shut up!"
"Can I go now?"
"Fine, go."

So last night, as we were conversing, Ingo sez (for real now):
"Yeah, you probably always have to field the question of why people hate America, just like I always have to argue with people about why they love Hitler."
"Yeah, totally, I--wait. What was that?"
"It's true. People in this part of the world (meaning India and Bangladesh), they love Hitler."
"You're kidding."
"No, ask Shamol."
"Shamol. What do you think of Hitler."
"Oh, very fine man. Great Statesman."
(Ingo)"Even though he murdered millions of people."
"Oh yes. Very strong man."
--and I proceed to froth at the mouth and get a little bit out of control in conveying to Shamol that he may have committed a slight error in judgement on this one. Shamol is one of the most reasonable, honorable Bangladeshis I've met--outside of the overbearing thing. It's all about misinformation, really. They're taught this crap, and local newspapers are a bit corrupt.

Dangit. I always end up saying something negative about the country and skimping on the positive. It's addictive, this third-world-country-bashing.

The positive thing is, every person with whom I have exchanged any amount words will have my back in just about any situation. After you've been here for about a year, if someone starts giving you crap, most of the time there's someone you've met (who usually thereby loves you dearly) who will step in and diffuse almost any situation. It's happened before where someone gives a PCV some flak, and as a result gets beaten to a pulp by various in-swooping community members. Not that I want the guy who tried to steal my bag to get beaten to a pulp, but . . . maybe that part of me that smiles smugly when the American swimmer who's already won 47 gold medals beats out the Cameroonian underdog who's been training his whole life for this--that part of me probably does. But he's pretty much a jerk.