Letter 45. A beautiful foot.
30th September 2005
Dear friends,
Having more time than I expected, I want to describe some of my experiences from the last days. I arrived the airport in Dhaka on Sunday, excited to go to the YWCA on my own for the first time. I started to argue with a taxi-driver about the price, and when we didn’t agree, I prepared to find a bus to take me to the city. Suddenly I saw the driver from YWCA, and then one of the staff. She had waved and tried to get contact with me when I came out from the airport. But as I was ready to go on my own, I went directly out to find a taxi, not turning my head to see if there might be anybody I knew there. They had waited for me for four hours! I had only told the date, not the time of my arrival, and so they expected me to come with British Airways early in the morning, while I expected them not to pick me up. How could I expect my didis (older sisters) not to pick me up? I should know them well enough to know that they would do anything to give me the best welcome. Now I remember their nature.
Arriving YWCA gave me another warm welcome. An average Norwegian girl without any knowledge about Bengali culture might find the comment rather offending, but understanding the meaning, these words are quite sweet: “Hanne, you look more beautiful now! Hmm, what has changed? May be you are a bit more fat?” If I get the same comment when I leave in two months, I know that their hospitality has been successful!
The reason that I have more time to write than I expected, is that I have “a more beautiful foot”. Nobody, except I, has actually said this, but if “more fat” means “more beautiful”, my foot is so. To get the chance to visit Palestine in December in the cheapest way, I bought a bit complicated air tickets. My travel from London started Friday, having transits in Frankfurt, Amman and Dubai, I arrived here on Sunday. My feet were a bit swollen, but I thought it was normal after four flights. My right foot recovered quite well while my left foot got worse. When it started to look like my Prague-foot in 2003, I found it a bit funny again to have “sand allergy” as they called it then. Later having pain when walking, not fitting into my sandal was not that fun though. I went to a doctor and was told to take rest, put my foot up and avoid heat. Flying, not resting, being tall and coming to a hot country was not a good combination. So here I am, lying in my bed, hoping to be able to accompany the Norwegian group coming tomorrow and later volunteer with the Missionaries of Charity.
Keka didi, knowing that I won’t always give myself what I need to recover, told about Mother Teresa: In the beginning they ate very simple food, in solidarity with the people they served. One of the Sisters got sick, and eventually she died from malnutrition. Then Mother understood that to be able to serve those who have no food, you need to eat properly. To serve those without legs, you need to take proper care of your own legs. I think this is quite essential, but it is an aspect of the religious life I struggle with. I found the communities I visited in England not radical enough in their practice of the vow of poverty. I have to work on this, finding out what it means to live in solidarity with the poor, being able to serve them at the same time.
My foot is recovering It is “less beautiful” than it was, less red, but a bit more blue. I get good treatment. It is like a good hospital with very kind nurses serving the meals in my room. Visitors also come to see if the beautiful foot gets more normal. It feels a bit silly being “sick” when only this foot is bad. The rest of me is quite fine. It is a bit boring, but I won’t complain. I am glad I don’t have dihorrea yet. But I would really have liked to take part in the celebration of the first communion (confirmation) of the younger son of on of the staff here, as I was invited to. Anyway, they will continue the party here later today.
One of my frequent visitors is Maria who is the Norwegian GoCY Intern here this year. Before I had to lie down, I joined her Bengali class for two days. It was good to give some system to the few words I knew. As I used to think of Bengali words in Palestine, I now think of Arabic words, -and then I have to remember Bible Hebrew from January –poor little brain. It is wonderful to be here with Maria. I have met other Norwegians whose attitudes are not the best, so having company with a person with common values is something to appreciate. She is more “dushtu” (naughty, in a positive way), while I am described as “bhalo” (good, which I think is a bit boring). The combination is good, as our “mashis” (aunts) and “dadas” (brothers) can teach us bad words, and then make sure I will not say them…
Warm greetings from Hanne.
Dear friends,
Having more time than I expected, I want to describe some of my experiences from the last days. I arrived the airport in Dhaka on Sunday, excited to go to the YWCA on my own for the first time. I started to argue with a taxi-driver about the price, and when we didn’t agree, I prepared to find a bus to take me to the city. Suddenly I saw the driver from YWCA, and then one of the staff. She had waved and tried to get contact with me when I came out from the airport. But as I was ready to go on my own, I went directly out to find a taxi, not turning my head to see if there might be anybody I knew there. They had waited for me for four hours! I had only told the date, not the time of my arrival, and so they expected me to come with British Airways early in the morning, while I expected them not to pick me up. How could I expect my didis (older sisters) not to pick me up? I should know them well enough to know that they would do anything to give me the best welcome. Now I remember their nature.
Arriving YWCA gave me another warm welcome. An average Norwegian girl without any knowledge about Bengali culture might find the comment rather offending, but understanding the meaning, these words are quite sweet: “Hanne, you look more beautiful now! Hmm, what has changed? May be you are a bit more fat?” If I get the same comment when I leave in two months, I know that their hospitality has been successful!
The reason that I have more time to write than I expected, is that I have “a more beautiful foot”. Nobody, except I, has actually said this, but if “more fat” means “more beautiful”, my foot is so. To get the chance to visit Palestine in December in the cheapest way, I bought a bit complicated air tickets. My travel from London started Friday, having transits in Frankfurt, Amman and Dubai, I arrived here on Sunday. My feet were a bit swollen, but I thought it was normal after four flights. My right foot recovered quite well while my left foot got worse. When it started to look like my Prague-foot in 2003, I found it a bit funny again to have “sand allergy” as they called it then. Later having pain when walking, not fitting into my sandal was not that fun though. I went to a doctor and was told to take rest, put my foot up and avoid heat. Flying, not resting, being tall and coming to a hot country was not a good combination. So here I am, lying in my bed, hoping to be able to accompany the Norwegian group coming tomorrow and later volunteer with the Missionaries of Charity.
Keka didi, knowing that I won’t always give myself what I need to recover, told about Mother Teresa: In the beginning they ate very simple food, in solidarity with the people they served. One of the Sisters got sick, and eventually she died from malnutrition. Then Mother understood that to be able to serve those who have no food, you need to eat properly. To serve those without legs, you need to take proper care of your own legs. I think this is quite essential, but it is an aspect of the religious life I struggle with. I found the communities I visited in England not radical enough in their practice of the vow of poverty. I have to work on this, finding out what it means to live in solidarity with the poor, being able to serve them at the same time.
My foot is recovering It is “less beautiful” than it was, less red, but a bit more blue. I get good treatment. It is like a good hospital with very kind nurses serving the meals in my room. Visitors also come to see if the beautiful foot gets more normal. It feels a bit silly being “sick” when only this foot is bad. The rest of me is quite fine. It is a bit boring, but I won’t complain. I am glad I don’t have dihorrea yet. But I would really have liked to take part in the celebration of the first communion (confirmation) of the younger son of on of the staff here, as I was invited to. Anyway, they will continue the party here later today.
One of my frequent visitors is Maria who is the Norwegian GoCY Intern here this year. Before I had to lie down, I joined her Bengali class for two days. It was good to give some system to the few words I knew. As I used to think of Bengali words in Palestine, I now think of Arabic words, -and then I have to remember Bible Hebrew from January –poor little brain. It is wonderful to be here with Maria. I have met other Norwegians whose attitudes are not the best, so having company with a person with common values is something to appreciate. She is more “dushtu” (naughty, in a positive way), while I am described as “bhalo” (good, which I think is a bit boring). The combination is good, as our “mashis” (aunts) and “dadas” (brothers) can teach us bad words, and then make sure I will not say them…
Warm greetings from Hanne.
posted by Hanne at 1:43 AM
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