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Bangladesh
Wednesday the 26-03-08
Land of the Bengali, where 83 % of the population are Muslim, where 56 % of all Banglas know to read and write and even less of the
female population. When in 1947 Pakistan was separated from India, the today Bangladesh known as East Pakistan. In 1971
due to economic neglect and frustrated by West Pakistan, they declared Independence and succeeded with India's and the Soviet
Unions help.
Who will be on the helm of this new country was always a matter of arguments, fights and military coups. Sometime emergency laws
rule the nation as since 11 January 2007,to disappear hopefully after the election, promised for December this year. The flat and fertile
land, the dominant Ganges Brahmaputra delta although flooding sometimes, is the rice bowl of the nation. And we predict Oil and gas
there, as discovered in all deltas throughout the world. Egypt, Nigeria, Angola, Amazonas, Baram, and so forth. It is only natural that
debris of a million years settle where ancient rivers flowed.
Maybe one day soon the Bengali will take a solar shower in it is own house, ride a car and just be rich compared to others around.
There are 140 million of them which would welcome a financial injection. Bangladesh is the 8th most populous country on earth. The
Bengalis are hoping for better times.
Bengal (Bangladesh) has a 4000 years history. Everywhere we drove through, kingdoms rose and were gone again.
The Hindu, then with Sufi missionaries came Islam, Sultans ruled.
Then, for 200 year until 1947,the mighty British empire stretched from stony Baluchistan until today Myanmar.
From Kashmir down south to the tip of the Indian subcontinent.
The British East Indian Company was master of all, authorized by the crown to be the sole trader and tax collector, suppressor and
exploiter as long as they make profit. Business with greed; - and guns if needed, as the population resisted several times in
uprisings and wars.
But times of British Glory are gone, the world moves on and Bangladesh came into existence.
 
The border post lorries blocked the road completely
"Where you come from?" a civilian with dark sunglasses asked us on the border. "From there" Harun pointed behind him to the Indian
side. "Where you go?" his voice had a commanding undertone. "To there" Harun show him the road ahead. "But sorry, who are you?"
Although we knew he was from state security, as all these fellows wear sunglasses. Be it in Bushman's Africa, in Arabic Nations or
here.
We wonder how he show a promotion? Maybe then he wear two sunglasses at a time. "This European did not get scared". he was
now irritated. Harun laid his arm around the man's shoulder and said " My brother. come I show you from where we came" and directed
him to a map on JAMBO. "Your Bangladesh is country number thirty". A few more friendly words from our side, a bit of listening to
him and his authority was no more "You see and he gestured to bystanders, we are very poor". When we left the border he waved.
All border control offices are in village huts. The Indian officers had a passport control machine to detect fakes. Every Bangla
entering was asked: "Where are you born? When?" . To compare his statement with the passport he was holding. "Many fakes come
to your table?" asked Harun. The officer nodded.
The road south build on a dam leads through countryside's, rice fields upon rice fields.Women break boulders by hand to widen
the road, gravel is scares here. A farmer irrigates his field with a genius feet pump. He pushes alternate the bamboo down and pumps
water from the well up.
 
for very little money they break and sieve stones the one man powered irrigation pump
Passing through a village we were held up by a group of young men surrounding what it seemed to be three status which they pushed
along the village track. Coming closer we noticed these were young boys with dirt and red color on their body. Motionless they
represented their heroes of the Independence war. Serious they looked indeed..
 
the three Bangla heroes heavily wounded, but victorious double function of the road separating grain with tires
 
the health conscious and the tiered rischka driver
The Taxi of villages or towns is the Rischka bicycle. Up to 5 people sit on one, pedaled often by a man worn out from miles and
hard life.
And there is one more thing we realized. Poor people smile from the heart. You noticed it dear reader? Money brings greed and
perverts the soul. The poor man has nothing to take from him. In general, (with excemptions) the moneyman is worried to loose
what he gathered.
That someone try to take from his wealth, people are only friendly because of his money. He feels like a victim. That closes his heart.
Unable to smile from it, he becomes often arrogant too, especially when coupled with a low IQ,
You do not find this attitude among a poor men, He could also waste, a cup of rice for instance. But he appreciate the value, no matter
how small.
 
the bicycle transporter with a corrugated roof and six pretty Bangladesh girls, riding a taxi for a token.
Then on it was a long and slowly drive. The road is build on dams, on both sides swampy rice fields in deep green, in short intervals
villages. We do not know their names, just driving through on our way to Dhaka. Wherever we stopped, people gathered to look.
 
here we refill from our jerry cans in the hut I try to phone our High Commission, 50 people came to look
It was national independence day and holiday, our High Commission was closed which we only learned the next day. We tried several
times but only reached a machine telling me to "dial 04" but no one picked up.
Reaching Dhaka at night we went to our High Commission and soon later a Bangla employee came to direct us to a hotel in the
vicinity. It was US$ 50.-/night.
Thursday 27-3-08
The morning belonged to JAMBO and a service. Changing of oils and greasing, a seal had to be replaced. By 3:00 pm was the photo
session and afterwards we drove with a vehicle from the High Commission a few km around. The day was gone in no time.
At his point we deeply apologize to His Excellency Dato Hj Abd Rahman and the staff, for our intrusion. We had not planned to come
to Bangladesh otherwise we would have informed you well in advance. It was a sort of surprise for them to see us. Moreover they never
heard of our year long travel in distant lands to make Brunei known to the world and invite Tourists to come. Therefore we appreciate
they found time for a short meeting and a photos session for Rampai Pagi. We sincerely hope we did not disturb their important work
too much.
 
Our Brunei High Commission His Excellency Dato Hj Abd Rahman, and all who represent Brunei Darussalam
Mr Hj Razak Hussaini and Mr Ahmad Nokman.
In Dhaka we shot these pictures within the vicinity of the Embassies belt. Water is ever-present.
 
Water taxi in Gulishan Lake
What a good childhood they have, playing and swimming and knowing nothing else. When they grew up, will they live in shanty huts or
concrete buildings? Educated, with a profession like a mechanic or as a barefoot helper in a restaurant?
"The answer my friend is blown with the wind..." goes a song. The future winds will tell. Lets hope these will not become poor mans
cyclone one day, sweeping over the land.
 
Dakha high risers and water villages on stilts
At a roadside restaurant we met these two ladies. Shanta and Noreth. See the smile form the heart open and free? Poor they are yes,
but honest personalities. It is always great for me to meet such people.
 
 
two opposite opinions Dhaka traffic, note the damaged buses
 
he sell cloth by the kilo transporting through traffic a half ton iron is no easy task
 
the ever-present rischka Siddiki Jame Mosque, North Badda
Friday 28-3-08
From the breakfast room in our hotel I could see the 8 room villa opposite, rented by our government for one of the officers.
We remembered Oman, and Hjh Ida Fauzana the second secretary, her and heir husbands kindness. We stay in her house for several
days. I remember the "Brunei Petroleum Development Oman Boy's", the dinner we had twice with them, all bright Bruneians full of
spirit and enthusiasm, I remember the Great Hj Harun, Consul General and surely a rising star, his deep love for our Nation, reflected in
our RTB 24 hours Sat TV permanent on the screen.
Biting here in my toast, while thinking of the best Soto of my life in Jeddah, the best of Saudi Arabia or even Middle east! And the
Umrah we could perform thanks to Hj Harun.
In the UAE, we were driven for hours around and taken care off, again saving our own funds by sleeping in the house of the
First Secretary Hjh Noraini . "What else can we do to help in your task?" They asked. Devoted Bruenian!
In Tehran, we were invited to the "National Day" celebrations, by his Excellency Pengiran Haji Sahari, we the simple people, Harun in
his African outfit.
We remember our High Commission in India the great help we received, the kindness again, but also the pollution they have to endure
daily. Never open a window! What a hard live it is for them.
And no commercial activity out of Brunei! I wonder there are over a 1000 million Indians and we never have seen a Malays' delegation
to make some business contacts. When we are back I will ask the Malay chamber about that. There should be business opportunities
for sure.
And last not least the High Commission in Islamabad. Believe me dear reader, when you leave a place with tears in your eyes as we
did, part of your heart remains behind. Their devotion to our beloved Brunei which we share, the appreciation of our efforts, the smiles
and financial helps, was more than our travel-troubled heart could take. His Excellency Pehin Datu Panglima Col(rtd) Hj Abd Jalil,
Dayang Norahsikin, Ak Suphian you make us humble. All these are great people, not by training but by character. The true
Ambassadors of our small, but great Nation, of which our Ministry should take note.
These are all young people, devoted and in love with their work and ready to give for the sake of our beloved home, Brunei Darussalam.
We had the honor to experience all this gratefully and love you all.
Sitting and sipping on my tea, we discussed the day. Not much is going to happen. We do not like to drive around with JAMBO, as
hungry people are impatient especially town bus drivers, one can see that on the scrap they drive, vehicles without windows, break
lights or trafficators. Dear reader we cannot nourish you with nice architecture which must be surely present. It is just too risky driving
with JAMBO in this traffic. And so we wait out the day, at least we have shown our flag, saw with our own eyes what life the
Bangladeshi has.
However there is good news. The hotel manager gave us another US$ 5.- rebate in appreciation of our overland journey of now approx
43.000 km. "You do a great thing" he said and smiled.
Jambo at The Asia Pacific Hotel in Dhaka
We took JAMBO for a short refueling ride into the town. People gathered and starred at us and the vehicle. JAMBO loaded with diesel
and stuffed with crackers and bottled water was now ready for another sector. 100 liters diesel for 4000 rupee, the one month salary
of a worker.
I wonder what one or the other might have thought when we paid in front of them. They are so humble and patient. We are early
tomorrow morning out of town before the traffic rises. On our way to southeast and the border to India, for the third and final time.
Saturday 29-3-08
We left Dhaka early. It was 5:00 am and the roads were still empty. "Out of Bangladesh" we call the series of pictures. With Wolfgang
and Eva's help we gave what we could afford.
 
 
It is an old man bend from lifelong work who got help Why she give me this?
Here they line up for rice. By 5:20 in the morning
 
He could not believe I woke him up. Not even a shirt he had
 
She, a street sweeper The rischka drivers home is the street, He sleeps next to his tricycle
 
he is building one, but this man had no home
. 
At the Bangla Indian border In the village, twice more kids than chicken
By 9:00 am we crossed the border in Tripura. The road became smaller, passing through a village. When lorries blocked the dusty
road we stopped and waited. "Ring ring ring ring" What is that? It came closer. Some one was ringing a bicycle bell. Then next
to the car a soldier stooped, exhausted and perspiring. Out of breath he gesticulated we must go back. "Oh " said Harun ,"Maybe we
cannot cross the border here". Behind soil filled rice sacks was -almost camouflaged - a army post manned by 2 soldiers." Wait" was
the command, they called the boss by radio.
15 minutes later came a sergeant, three strips on the arm, to inspect what is going on here. After satisfying we were no threat to the
nation or smugglers, he called his boss by mobile phone. A 20 second he talked, no more credit. " Why they make the charge card
that costly?" he complained and got the mobile from the soldier which with a sour face rendered it to him. After lengthily discussion
came green light. " pass!"
The map indicated a main transit route through to India, obviously wrong. What we got, was a bush border, where birds and mosquito
move freely and everyone else runs through a lengthily processes of registration. We reached the Bangla side on the outskirt of the
village. One house made of mud bricks, 30 years ago, over painted in white in those day back. Two window openings, one door, two
tables, two civilians.
"Passports." Checking them lengthy they return them. "you get to give us an exit stamp!" said Harun "No stamp here, you now go to
immigration." These were the special branch guys again in charge for government security and than no one take anything out of
Bangla, perhaps poverty.
The immigration office was at the next building, same mud brick construction, same day of painting. We are always very cheerful
and do not give them a chance to have a sour face. Handing the passport we thank them already several times for their excellent
work, praising their country and the fine people. The custom was simple. We had to show him where to chop the carnet. He verified it
with his boss who knew nothing.
Over to the Indian side "Good afternoon thank God we are here again in India..."
The Immigration guy was a very critical fellow, he turned page by page of my passport, first he could not find my particulars as the
Brunei reader know, they are at the back of our passport. (For some unknown reason we have Arabic letters which no Arab could
read .
I was often asked "which language is that? resulting in lengthily explanations) His eyes stuck on the Bangla Visa.
Then he took Harun's and open the Bangla visa side.' This is only single entry, you are here now twice" "Correct Mr. Officer but see
here, (never say "you make a mistake") this is the India Multiple" and Harun took the passport out of his hand. There is your visa.
Read please " INDIA MULTIPLE ENTRY"
Nothing he could do except the usual questions, where we came and where we go. Very detailed.
Custom was easy. We brought from our fridge a cold water bottle and the entry in the big book was therefore "No goods to declare",.
Luck was with us, as two weeks back a Swiss couple, maybe the same which crossed the border in Nepal, came here along and
trained them how to fill the carnet. It was a matter of one hour we were through, and back in India.
To Agatale a small town it was 220 km, we found a hotel at a reasonable price.
Sunday 30-3-08
By 4:30am we were up as by 6:00 am there was a convoy we had to go with. The assembly point was 30 km away. For the
Government this is an area of disturbance. We, the tourists were protected in front by army boys with ready guns and at the rear by
police.
For a 90 km then all was over. In a village we met these two fortune bringers. A boy distributed hibiscus flowers in return came out of
our wallet the small fortune. They are to represent luck and prosperity.
 
The convoy assembles The "money drummers"
 
I would put her into a proper school and him into the third chamber of a spooky house
Nothing much happen, the landscape is flat wherever there is a village it is crowded and plenty rischkas. We had chance to photo for you some rischka painting art.
 
An oncoming lorry turned towards us to avert some obstruction, came close and broke JAMBO'S mirror. Now we know first hand
why the Indian drivers fold the right side mirror. Better not see, as to loose it. The lorry stopped, but what can you take from a hungry
driver? Fixing our toilet mirror meanwhile, we moved on.
 
temporary side mirror houseboats
 
hotel room on the red sign view from our hotel room
We slept in a village named Badapur. It was evening we had no choice. The hotel room was a dark hole three beds with mosquito net,
sometimes light. We were tiered and went early to sleep. Moreover Harun had in Dhaka a fruit platter which hit him now that he had to
see the doctor. "No more outside eating", we swore. The doc seem to know what he was doing: "In India everything is contaminated"
he said. For the visit we paid 150 rupee that is B$ 6.- No wonder so many Indian docs line up in Brunei for service. They cannot get
rich here. Their own "wellbeing" is closer as that of their people.
But he knew what he was doing, it was a case of many. We parked JAMBO in the police station for safekeeping and went early to
rest. Not 30 minutes into sleep, a bang on the door, it was the receptionist: Harun: " What do you want" "The manager wants to see
you. "If he want something he should come tomorrow". Obviously he did not understand, because 15 minutes later he was on the door
again, hammering. This time in loud protest and upset how come this guest refuses the order of the manager? :
"The manager (the president himself?) wants to see you now!"
"Tell your manager if he wants something he must come ". Time passed then heavy banging on the door. Harun open it before they
pushed it in. It was now the manager, fat short and angry. His helper with the registration book trying to come in.
Harun blocked with his body the door. " What do you want". Address, must put exact address. We had written it already. But now
Norhayati added SIIMAANGG 75 ANGEREK DESA, SOUTH POLE. He left, we had peace.
The door shut, it was 9:00 pm, light off now for a sleep and into unknown dreams, strong knocks on the door again. "Bloody merry
what is now?" Harun got upset. Looking at the watch it was 10:30 pm. Outside were Indians four or five, one held a packet crackers in
his hand. "Excuse me sir we want to talk to you." He stretched the friendship crackers out. "Oh no, they want job in Brunei".
Since many hungry crowd the vehicle, someone saw "Come and visit Brunei Darussalam" and thought yes! That is what we do. Milk
and honey is just waiting there. This is our chance, scrap the coins together we buy a packet crackers and they give us work
in Brunei. We were in no mood and could not help anyhow ." Come tomorrow by 9:00 am"
Monday 31-3-08
Of course they were upset when they came and we had left, but what to do? We shared a breakfast with the police, in the cell behind
where two not so lucky thief. Leaving crackers and jam behind we were on our way by 7:00 am into a rainy morning, before the Indians
found us.
The road to Imphal 290 km away, was going towards east towards Myanmar. We guess it may take 5 hours, by 12:00 pm we are
supposed to be there but nothing of that kind. Soon there where check points and Army. Dark skinned soldiers from the Indian South
were on duty here. We realized why.
These people here are of Tibeto Burmese stock. They are only Indian by passport not by tribe. The Naga people once established a
Hindu Kingdom here around the end of the 17th century. Fierce fighters they are hard to master. By 1832 the Brits here too, tried to
control them but in vain.
A peace was finally reached in 1889. There was trouble again when in 1930 a self-styled prophet Mr JADONANG announced the
immediate departure of the Brits, occupying here for crown and cash." What to do with such an infamous prophet?" was a rhetoric
question only, Hanging on a noose, he departed into the other world, the occupiers remained. His priestess a girl of seventeen, got
lenience, just life imprisonment by the "masters of the land."
 
Breakfast at the police station and the lowland road towards east
Slowly we climbed up into the mountains, when the rain subsided we had chance to see the East Indian, the very reason why there
was heavy army presence.
 
Nothing in common with Indians a mothers love
These hill tribes nesting their houses along the slopes, grow rice in slash and burn method.
Houses are made from bamboo which is first burned to last.
 .  
from raw material through preservation to the house
The road is in a terrible state, the least to say. we reached Imphal at 6:00 pm, that is after 11 hours almost none stop driving.
A speed of 25 km /h. Curve upon curve stone upon stone. Soldiers ever 500 m. On every local came three armed soldiers.
 
recording who we are about 20 times the road through the mountains
 
spectacular views from above and bridges of metal sheets
There was on suspension bridge we had to sign that we are solely responsible if she collapsed while crossing. We saw no trouble, as
just before a bus went over.
 
Army boys, carefully enough they went out for the crossing.
 
Army English "please" and more bridges
 
We stopped on a mountain pass ignored the army presence and looked around. Here was this AZUANA MEMORIAL SCHOOL.
Motto:darkness forward to Lightness. What did he actually teach? Brain exercise memory? How to die, go to paradise? or to burry
someone in dignity? We were not clear.
 
a high ball in high mountains an explanation of our routing
Close by some kids played volleyball I joint in for fun. They were exited and screaming. Amazingly many spoke English which was not
the case on our way coming. The girl studying medicine in the Imphal university was well spoken." why not become a dentist?" Harun
asked. "You make a lot of money, because if there is unbearable pain, the patient will come with ready cash for your help." Only
shortly she thought then decided. "I study next year Dentistry" confirming her businesslike Chinese origin.
 
The Farwell after the game was one with much friendliness, we wonder why is the army here
Mile by Mile first gear second gear again. No change in the road condition. Long time came no vehicle.
We got worried, maybe there is a mudslide, the road is blocked. Then finally a jeep. We stop him. How much longer to Imphal.
"four hours still 90 km to go".
 
The happy moments, we have a road repair work goes on
Breaking stones by hammer and put the sharp edged material on the road, they can cut a tire at ease. We were extremely careful
especially with the flanks.
 
here we saw the two man shovel and houses of used drums
They made entirely from open and flat hammered old bitumen drums. People live in there, it is their home.
 
She was a happy mother, with one more little "Indian" and we were happy to get through. Thanks you JAMBO
 
High up leads the road over the land what tree is that? anyone know?
There is a time when all troubles end. By 6:00 pm we close in on Imphal, just to meet a marriage queen on the way to the wedding.
In front a police band played, then came the flower procession, a decorated jeep the queen for a day, sitting with her governess.
Motionless the face. The driver stopped for us to take a picture of this beauty queen. The scent of a fine perfume drifted over to me.
Was it the "Bengal Lemongrass" or perhaps the "Secret of the Mountains"? We cannot tell. Only, when Harun indicated, that she
might consent to smile, she mildly and very lightly agreed.
 
Here they come what a beauty; the husband must be a lucky man
This was his night in her arms and paradise, hopefully a long lasting one. While she open the arms for the lover, we open humble our
padlock for the managers suite for US$ 18.-, tonight. Also paradise, as it had hot shower. We went to work, resting the head at
1:00 am in the morning. It was the laundry and web page evening.
 
door to our paradise the work is one
Tuesday 1-4-08
Honorable reader, should you ever meet someone telling you our trip is only private fun, then please give him our greetings with the
advise, before crown, king and court: "He does not know what he is talking about."
We are leaving today India for good. True we wrote critical about the overpopulation and environment. True, we have not seen dance
and music, not Orissa and the temples of Puri, nor Maharashtras rock temples. Not Madhya Pradesh, their fortified towns, stupas and
cave paintings. For this and much more we come back one day with time and - a nose clip.
This morning we drive to the border,three hours away. Maybe only in Mandalay we have chance again to write. Dear reader who
follow us up till now, please do not worry if we are a few days silent. JAMBO runs fine, what an excellent machine. He is more a
companion, just like a horse and will not let us down.
Thank you for patronizing us and we know gratefully, your prayers are with us.
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