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On our first morning our guide, Zia gave us our suggested itinerary for the few days we would be spending with him but added that we, “Could stop anywhere, take photos of anything. The people are very, very friendly.” I remember thinking, “Yea, right” about the photographing anybody part. It is challenging to take good people shots. Most people don’t want a camera pointed at them without their permission and in the developing world, many want compensation when they do agree. And rightfully so. I always struggle with my desire to photograph what I see, with being respectful. I have long suspected that taking really good people photos requires that the photographer be a bit of a jerk. I think of myself as many things but generally not a jerk, hence a dilemma for me each time I carry a camera. To point and click and risk epithets being hurled my way, or not, and regret forever the shot that was missed?
From the instant we got in the van in Dhaka and headed out, Kevin and I were a constant, “Did you see that?” followed usually by a, “Oh my God!”. Zia would respond almost as regularly with, “Would you like us to stop to take photos?” to which we collectively answered, “No”. Largely, we were overwhelmed by what we were seeing. We needed to get our Bangladeshi legs under us first. About two hours out of Dhaka though we just couldn’t contain ourselves any longer and asked Zia to stop the van.
Stepping out of the van was almost as dangerous as riding in the van. The driver assumed that as a tourist (and maybe female tourist – he wasn’t quite as protective of Kevin), I would step blindly out of the van into the traffic mayhem and be killed. Pretty good assumption really. He always slid the van door open and then stood slightly in front of me with both arms out, protecting me from certain death. I came to appreciate this man very much over the next few days.
Our first stop was along the highway where villagers were tending roadside stands. As I stepped out of the van, Zia , said, smiling, “You will grow a tail”. When I looked at him quizzically, he told me, “Wait and see”.
There are NGO’s all over Bangladesh with foreigners from every developed country in the world attempting to alleviate the suffering here. Certainly, every village must have had some pale skinned, blue eyed, blond woman visit. Yet from that very first morning when we ventured out of the van, we drew a crowd of people around us each and every time. While Kevin was of some interest, it was me they were most curious about. It was as if they had never seen the likes of someone like me. I can only imagine their conversations later that day, “Did you see her drab clothing? She had nothing with any color!” Or, “She had no gold, poor woman”. Even the poorest of women wear gold jewelry.
Our “tail” would first start with a few kids and teenage boys following close behind but soon there would be a gathering of old and young, male and female alike. Over and over again, I would turn around and the 5 to 10 people who had followed us at the beginning had grown to 20 and then to 30. I can’t quite explain what it was like to have so many people gathered around, staring. Fortunately, they were as Zia said they would be, warm and friendly. We touched hundreds of hands and smiled until our faces hurt. More, they all wanted their photos taken! Imagine that!
As I lifted my camera, everyone would crowd into the shot. Afterwards I would show everyone the photo. Those who had had their photo taken would go get friends and relatives to have their photos taken. There was a constant tugging on my sleeve to take so and so’s photo. Eventually Zia would gently shepherd us to the van with me muttering, “Just one more” and we would drive away, waving goodbyes out the window. Next time—should there ever be a next Bangladesh-like time—I will bring a Polaroid camera and leave people with something.
We visited three villages in our time with Zia; just stopping the van and walking through, smiling, greeting people and taking photos. While we will never understand what it is like to live in a village in Bangladesh, Zia provided us a window into a world completely and entirely different from our own. That is certainly the treasure we bring home with us.
