Go Beyond

Bangladesh | From Dhaka to Dinajpur | 05 August 2010

Traveling from anywhere to anywhere in Bangladesh is an adventure. This morning we hired a driver to take us from Dhaka to our guesthouse in Dinajpur — a city located less than one-hundred miles from the Himalayas. The distance is not long by Texas standards. However, getting from one place to another in this tiny country is a slow process. No matter where you go, drivers compete against one another to gain any advantage on narrow and congested roads. Traveling on these roads involves knowing how to play the game of chicken with on-coming traffic. The only rule is that drivers must default to their left — something they usually do at the last possible second. But somehow, the chaos works out with only occasional fender-benders. Our journey to Dinajpur took nine hours, including a short break for lunch followed by a lemon-flavored popsicle-type treat that was as green as the algae-covered pond next to the restaurant.

I have crisscrossed Bangladesh many times before but I never get tired of the scenery. And, although I am still jet-lagging a bit from my recent trip to India followed by the quick turn-around to Bangladesh, I did manage to stay awake for much of this road trip. The passing scenes are all very familiar to me – vistas of people working in rice fields, people hanging jute out to dry, goods and animals being transported on big trucks and bicycle rickshaws, markets choked with people purchasing ingredients for their next meal, busses and trains packed with passengers inside and out, and more. Bangladesh seems to always be in motion, like a giant ant hill or bee hive. The lack of so many creature comforts keeps people here on their toes. The ceaseless activity of Bangladesh is all about survival. In this country if you don’t work you are not likely to eat.

I still have a difficult time with the beggars and those whose physical deformities or illnesses have consigned them to living on the streets. When we stopped for fuel along the way, five beggars appeared out of nowhere. One young man approached us, pointed to his withered leg, and then stuck out his open hand with an expectant, almost entitled expression on his face. Over the years of traveling in South Asia I have heard all sorts of advice about what to do when approached by beggars. But, my heart tells me to look for Jesus in the distressing disguises of these broken human beings and then do something to help, even if I just offer a single taka (the name of Bangladesh’s currency). And, if I get it wrong some of the time, that’s ok. I would rather err on the side of helping. The answers are never black and white when you look into the eyes of the poor. I don’t live in their world and cannot comprehend the difference a few taka might make.

Finally, as the sun was rushing off to meet the distant horizon, we arrived at our guesthouse. Tired and hot, we unpacked our gear and went to our rooms. I spend lots of time living out of a suitcase and spend many nights in dingy and lonely little rooms in some of the most off-the-beaten-path kind of places on the planet. But for me, there is something strangely comforting about being able to settle in for the night in my corner of a room. I see these places as my temporary little pieces of home as I work to do my part to advance God’s purposes in the world. Today I feel fortunate that my corner of the room is in a guesthouse operated by Christians. Gil, my friend who is traveling with me, commented on how meeting Christians in other parts of the world can make any place feel more like home. He is right. Tonight we are staying with family members we have met for the first time in a guesthouse somewhere outside of Dinajpur.