NOTE: The images of the submerged village and the rice paddies are not mine.
Traveling along the highway outside Dhaka, we passed mile after mile of waterlogged land. Now that the monsoon season has begun, the land will stay wet for months. Much of it will dry once the monsoons are over, but some will simply disappear, either washed away by a storm or permanently submerged. The streets of Dhaka and Chittagong are full of village refugees who simply have no land to live on any longer. The delta countryside is marked by plots of cultivated land, crisscrossed by higher earthworks shaped by people to delineate field boundaries and to traverse an otherwise waterlogged landscape.
In the rural areas, anywhere there is a natural rise in the ground, a shelter has been built. In the absence of higher ground, earth has been piled up to make dry areas for housing. Where the water is too deep or the land too low, they have built bamboo bridges. Houses are a hodgepodge of mostly corrugated-tin panels and bamboo, lashed together to form shelters. Each field appears to have a cluster of these set up on the drier ground. Some of them are perched precariously on very small parcels of land or hung over the edge, threatening to slip into the water below with the next storm.
Whole areas are underwater by 1 or 2 feet, so it looks like there are hundreds, if not thousands, of swimming holes across the country. People bathe, and children play in these pools. Fishing nets are set everywhere, supported by elaborate, elegant bamboo structures that hold them in place. Much of these waterways is choked with hyacinth plants. Villagers actually bind them together in clumps and use them as floating gardens to plant squash and other food crops.
Seemingly, everything is done by hand – at least in the countryside. The landscape is notable for the absence of heavy equipment. Instead, workers with shovels and hoes dig, chop, and move earth from one place to another, or build structures or repair bridges. Everything is moved in jute baskets. Whole roads are built one basketful of dirt at a time. In the mornings, there is an army of small boys with wooden carts heading somewhere, to do something.
