Steven Sibley from Bangladesh - Sept. 16, 2008

NOTE: MTSU student Steve Sibley is in Bangladesh to learn microfinance, a humanitarian empowerment of the poor, from its pioneer, Nobel Prize-winner and former MTSU professor Muhammad Yunus.

Sibley is the recipient of the Kawahito Scholarship for Experiential World Poverty Studies. For more information, contact Dr. Kiyoshi Kawahito at 615-898-5751.kawahito@mtsu.edu

I finally arrived in Dhaka, Bangladesh this morning at 8:50 Dhaka time. After about 30 hours in transit, the descent into Dhaka promised an end to what seemed like an endless day. The heat that I met upon disembarking from the plane was unlike any that I had ever felt. As I waited, and waited, and waited for my luggage to arrive on the conveyor belt, I began to accept that it might have gotten lost. Sure enough, it had gotten misplaced somewhere along the way.
After filing a report with the airport and heading outside, I was met with a great number of young boys, none appearing to be any older than 10, who tried to arrange a cab ride for me, for a small fee of course. One in particular, spoke surprisingly good English. The youngest of the group, probably about 5 or 6, was not trying to arrange a ride, but was instead begging for a meal. The desperation in his eyes as he held out one hand while rubbing his stomach with the other told me that he was not lying about his hunger. As the cab drove off, this young boy held onto the door and ran alongside the cab for several hundred feet. I could not turn him down. I handed him a $1 bill, which I knew, if it had any effect at all, would only stave off hunger for a day or so.
As the cab driver took me into the city, the traffic was unlike any I had ever seen. I didn't know that it was physically possible for five lanes of traffic to occupy four lanes. The constant din of honking was somewhat unnerving, but had much less effect on me than what I was about to see. Traffic ground to a halt. Beggars approached cars (and particularly my cab) from all sides.
One man was showing the gnarled black infection on his ankle; another had legs so skinny and useless that he was only able to beg in traffic by walking on his arms. Women with small babies clinging tightly to their necks had that same look of desperate hunger worn on the face of the young boy at the airport. It quickly became apparent that handing out money to all of these desperate people was not only impossible due to my meager funds, but also futile. Certainly, the relatively large number of beggars on this one road into Dhaka was a small number when compared to the number of poor, starved souls begging for sustenance throughout the city.
Had I not been so dehydrated from the constant sweating, I would have been weeping. Unable to afford the moisture for tears and exhausted by my travels, I was able to maintain my composure, but I was on the verge of a breakdown. Finally, after an hour and a half of breathing diesel fumes and dust on the road to the hotel, I arrived, drenched in sweat and light-headed due to thirst and exhaustion.
Getting out of the cab, I was struck by the putrid smell of rotting food, diesel, urine, and god knows what else. The stench was intense and the filth unlike any I had ever seen. There was a three-foot tall pile of trash, from which the rotting food smell was likely emanating A young boy of approximately ten years of age was sifting through this pile of rotting trash in search of food or anything else of value.
I checked into the hotel, and immediately ordered two liters of water from room service. The bottles were labeled "Acme Premium Drinking Water: Free from Arsenic." The fact that it is necessary for a manufacturer to advertise that its water is free from arsenic indicates exactly how difficult it is to find clean, safe drinking water here. After a small lunch, I bought some clothes, showered, and headed to Grameen Bank.
On the five minute walk to the bank, I saw men urinating in the gutter, more young boys sifting through garbage, and more men with legs skinnier than my wrists either walking on their hands or pushing themselves along on makeshift carts. People were performing all sorts of jobs on the side of the street. I saw a teenage boy underneath a car with a welding torch. Many people were cooking and selling food, while others were hocking bananas. A boy no older than four was begging alongside an elderly blind woman. The plight of the Bangladeshi people is immense.
Arriving at the Grameen Bank headquarters, I was thrilled to be off of the streets. The staff there was excited to see me. They each knew my name and were aware that I was coming. They hugged me despite my sweat-drenched clothes. I was relieved to find that I will have such supportive, kind, and generous people helping me. After introductions and a brief meeting with Babor, my internship coordinator, I headed back to my hotel to take a brief nap before dinner.
I'm not sure if my current exhaustion is the result of jet lag and lost luggage or of such an extremely emotional day of seeing so many who are so poor. As a compassionate person, I want to help, but I don't see how anything can alleviate the extreme poverty that I witnessed today. Typing this now brings me to the verge of tears. I hope that Grameen demonstrates that it is possible to help and that progress can be made.