Eid, poisoned fish, and stolen cows

Yesterday was Eid al-Adha, the feast of sacrifice. I woke up to a commotion over by the village pond. It was full of people and nets, pulling out fish of all sizes ...and all rather limp. Someone had poisoned the pond during the night with pesticide, so this was the rush to get them to the fishmonger's cold storage as soon as possible. The owner sent off at least eight 3-wheeler tempos before the remaining dead fish were left for whoever wanted to dive for them. This picture was taken today, when there were just a few kids left hoping to get lucky.


One proud fisherman with his catch. (As to whether the pesticide-killed fish would be eaten, there was no question.)


Through the bamboo grove behind the boy, our neighbour family had lost 3 cows just a couple nights before. Thieves had broken in during the night to steal them and sell them at the inflated Eid prices. The chance of these thieves or the fish poisoners being brought to justice is pretty much nil. Like Isaiah 1, Eid at Nondokul this year was lots of sacrifice, but not much justice.

Hiking

With the Eid and Durga Puja holidays falling close together this year, everything was shut down for about a week. Together with my house-mates, I headed across the border to India, up to Darjeeling for the week. From there we set out hiking up to Sandakphu (3600 m, 12,000 ft). Behind Nate and Phil is Kachenjunga, third highest peak in the world.

Here it is again with our trekker's hut in the foreground.


Looking the other way is our trek for the next day, following the ridge that divides India and Nepal. Everest and the Annapurna range are in the background.


We didn't meet many people that day of hiking -- just a few Nepali boys out taking care of their sheep and yak ...or playing football (soccer). Here's one of their fields, with the Nepal/India border stone in front. What you don't see in the picture are the thousand meter drop-offs on either side of the field.


Looking back on the day's trail and down on our second night's stop, the trekker's hut at Phalut. Sandakphu is the last bluish hill in the distance. That day along the ridge is certainly one of the most beautiful walks I've ever done.

The fall

By now most have heard about my fall. The panel broke under me and I ended up unconscious on the floor with a fractured wrist, cracked rib, and lots of other bruises and scrapes. It was over 4 m down, so it certainly could have been a lot worse. I'm thanking God I came through as well as I did.


I'm told I was only unconscious for less than 5 min, but I don't remember anything for about 6 hours of last Monday. One of the mysteries the memory loss left me with is how I decided to go up on the roof in the first place. I had been looking at it for the last week, but never was planning to go up myself. The last I remember is being anxious to get to lunch, waiting around for a colleague to finish mixing some roof repair cement for the carpenters.

About 1 mile from our project site is the Bogra medical university hospital, with a nice new CT scanner. So they had my brain scanned within about half an hour. Evidently things looked ok there. I'm still having some headaches, but I guess that is normal.

Monsoon

We've finally gotten some real monsoon weather. A slow start and very little rain in July had people worrried and set the rice planting back. But now it has been raining all week. Today it let up some after lunch, so Nathan, Rana, & I headed out to our project site:


In the flooded sections of town the roads looked like canals and bikes and rickshaws owned them.

Solar eclipse

I was all ready for this once-a-century eclipse at 6:58 a.m. But the time came and went with nothing but a little dimple of shadow in the sun. After I gave up and was getting breakfast around 8, it suddenly darkened to a yellowish glow. ...and yes, I should have guess it. It was then 6:58 a.m. of the old, non-daylight-savings time.

Bangladesh introduced daylight savings time for the first time a couple months ago, and it has largely been a fiasco. Most people still seem to operate on the old 'actual' time, rather than new 'digital' time. (Phone companies cooperated with the government, so everyone's cell phone did switch over.) Universities protested and refused to switch time. The eclipse is not the first scheduling mishap it has caused.

The picture is bbc's -- but that is somewhat like what I saw at 7 a.m. digital time.

Cry, the beloved country

Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that is gone. Aye, and cry aloud for the man who is dead, for the woman and children bereaved. Cry the beloved country, these things are not yet at an end. The sun pours down on the earth, on the lovely land that man cannot enjoy. He knows only the fear of his heart. (Chap 11, p. 74)

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much. (Chap 12, p. 80)

I finished reading this novel of Alan Paton last night, and it is the best I have read in a long time. Set in South Africa in the '40s, the story is full of this fear. Fear threatens to overwhelm all the characters, but they respond so differently to it. Some run from it, try to block it out, or overpower it. And a few struggle to love despite it, and overcome it with love, not fear or hate. For the black main characters, this love must deal with the injustice that has broken their tribe and land, yet as one says:

I have one great fear in my heart, that one day when they turn to loving they will find that we are turned to hating. (Chap 36, p 276).

The introduction quotes a speech by Paton which ends with his belief that a solution to his country's profound problems will come, not in the use of power, but in the the "weak thing, tender thing" love. This was a conclusion that came out of a life dedicated to working with the prison system and with those hardest to love, and probably also a reflection on 1 Jn 4:18.

Maia, 6 weeks

The smile is definitely coming. She gave me a couple fleeting ones, but not for long enough to get a picture.

Jackfruit

Here's another fruit post. The jackfruit (কাঠাল, kathal in Bangla) is an incredible fruit -- it grows right off the trunk of the tree and can get up to 80 lb.


I have lots of good memories of jackfruit eating contests, but the season has been overshadowed by the mango season, so I only bought my first one yesterday. Here my roomate Nathan and I are finishing up the dissection....


I haven't been buying jackfruit because they come in XXL & up; not in convenient one-snack-size packages like most fruit. Fortunately both my roommates enjoy jackfruit, so this small was finished off in one day. Many foreigners, and quite a few Bengalis, are put off by the smell or consistancy. But it has an important place in Bengali culture -- even getting the spot as 'national fruit.' I've just been learning the dozen or so different names for the soft and firm varieties.



Everything on the jackfruit is used -- the seeds are great in curry, and cows eat the outer skin.

Mango season

I'm in Rajshahi during mango season, and there's no better place for mango. Rajshahi is the the big division (state) capitol, where my parents and brother's family live. It is also at the hub for the mango growing region -- and any Bengali will tell you that the best mangos come from here.

So this morning my nephew Elias and I walked over to the nearest mango market. For over 50 meters on either side of this road there are unbroken lines of mango sellers -- and this is only one of several mango centers in town.

I restrained myself after filling a couple grocery bags, as I'll need to carry them back with me to Bogra. At Tk. 35/kg (about 25 cents/lb), even a MCC food budget allows for a lot of mango.


With mango in cereal, in salads, in smoothies, in popsicles, and after every meal, our garbage usually ends up looking like this:

Maia Jubilee Thomas

My new niece, born June 5 at 1 a.m.

Maia timed her coming nicely. I was just finishing up Bangla classes for the week when my brother Jacob called with the news that she was on her way out. They were staying near a hospital just a few hours north of Bogra, so I was able to jump on a bus that afternoon, and made it up there just before they went in to the hospital. I got to take care of Elias then and the next day while Jacob & Hosanna recovered.

Here she is a few days later with her older brother Elias. He likes to kiss Maia, but his tricycle and balls are still more interesting than a sleeping sister.