Dhaa

I visited Bangladesh in 2017, which is the only visit there that I remember. As we drove from the airport to the house, I looked out into the dusty street; vendors selling clothes and food, cattle freely roaming the streets, and rickshaws swerving through the traffic. Nothing there felt familiar. When we finally arrived at the house, I felt some familiarity since my family doesn’t live in the village anymore. There were couches and a dining table, and even a small aquarium. Even then, the house was very different from an American house; and I was shocked to see my family has maids. I had thought that my family lives in poverty in Bangladesh, and by American standards, they do. However, witnessing the scale of poverty that exists in Bangladesh revealed a reality worse than I imagined. Most people are poor, but even then there exists rigid class structures with a hard line between business and land-owners and service-workers. In America, my dad is a service worker. Through a 13 hour flight, I had suddenly upgraded 10 social classes. The maids asked me what they could do for me, what I wanted to eat, where to put my things, and that made me feel more out of place than the cattle. I walked into the kitchen to help prepare food, something I always have done with my mom in America. They ushered me out, but the dhaa caught my eye. It was a large, curved, sharp, dangerous-looking tool on the floor. I watched one of the maids, a young teen girl, swiftly slicing cucumbers on the giant blade. I was eager to try it out, and after some begging, they agreed to train me. I stayed for over a month in Bangladesh, and left skilled with the dhaa, and as a friend to the maids.