DHAKA, BANGLADESH - Sharna and I have just polished off an incredible fish curry at a nice eatery in Dhaka’s northern suburb of Gulshan.
Inside the restaurant the air-con blasts chilly air on the affluent customers. No cutlery in sight, they gracefully use their hands to squish their saucy curry and rice into even-sized balls and then pop them into their mouths.
I have no idea what they're talking about, but people are having a great time: friends laugh and parents try to keep their kids in line as tin platters overflowing with bright curries are placed on the tables.
A big green plastic capsicum dangles right above our heads -- I have no idea why.
I feel like we could be at any trendy restaurant in any nice suburb in any major city anywhere in the world -- with the exception of the huge fake ceiling pepper.
But outside there's a different reality.
It's chaos.
Sharna talked about this last night in her post, but it’s something I will never get used to.
I'll do my best to describe the scene...
Dhaka's night lights bounce crazily off a sea of haze-encased traffic. It's like laser beams are illuminating plumes of choking smog that otherwise would have been hidden by the dark night sky.
As we push the door open to step outside, a group of street mums and kids (tiny at their feet and in their arms) rush towards us. But we're still partly inside the curry-house and it's really awkward: there's a frontal assault of hot dry Dhaka winds and tiny jabbing hands; and a rear guard action of ice-cold air-con blasts coming from inside the restaurant.
With little wiggle-room we shimmy forward, the door snaps shut, and we are quickly hedged in by the cluster of street mums and kids.
The wind whips up dust clouds that tower above us, and the group tightens its grip on us even more. Their beautiful shawls and saris billow up in the wind like burgundy-coloured war banners from some ancient desert warrior tribe.
“Bossssss” they croon. “Money, bossssss.”
Sharna holds up a bag of leftovers that we had the restaurant pack up (anticipating this situation). With lightning-fast reflexes one of the mums snaps it out of her hands.
Red-faced babies nestle in the arms of their mums -- and there is such an air of desperation it's heart-breaking.
Stricken with guilt I instantly start calculating how much loose cash that I can easily access in my pockets without causing a stampede.
But I'm feeling very conflicted, as I always do in these scenarios.
If I give them money am I not just perpetuating this cycle of dependence that makes begging for money often one of the best options for people living in poverty? Will the fistful of Taka that I hand over help these mums and their kids at all, or will it go to someone else who is exploiting their misfortune? Are the kids being kept out of school and on the streets to be used as super-cute charity-magnets to pull in more cash?
Of course, I reach into my pocket and give them a very generous-looking wad of cash, which probably wouldn't buy me a cafe latte in Sydney.
Sharna shakes her head, knowing this isn't the answer to a hugely complex problem, and also predicting that it will trigger a meltdown. And she is right.
The women and their kids start tugging at our clothes and imploring us for more money for those who have started to distribute it, or any money for those who seem to be missing out.
I feel even more guilty than I did before, if that's possible.
And things are really getting out of hand, it's a bit scary, as more homeless people charge towards us from every angle.
We bundle ourselves into a small cage that is welded around a 3-wheeled scooter - a motor rickshaw.
Some street girls chase after us as our scrawny-looking driver turns the ignition and starts putt-putting away.
All are lost in our smoky wake. But one keeps running, and she's fast -- she catches up to us and I shove a few notes in her little hand.
Luckier folk are now tucking into their dessert at the restaurant and chatting about their jobs and families.
The fast runner can't keep up with our smoke-puffing cube-on-wheels, and she peels off from us ducking down an alleyway. She calls out to me “Thannnkkkss Boooooossss...!”
What her future holds no one can say -- but I'm guessing it's more of the same.
For a split second as the girl shouts her thanks I feel a tiny bit less culpable for getting all the breaks in life, and her getting not one.
Then another gang of street kids jump us at a the next traffic light droning “Boss, bosssssssss..."
And so it goes.
So today we started our blogging training with the awesome ActionAid Bangladesh sponsorship team. Mahbub Hasan is their top guy. He could be a Bengali superhero. Full of energy and verve. So much passion, and he’d have them rolling in the aisles in NY’s best comedy clubs, guaranteed.
A total buzz. With Sharna and the team we nutted out what kind of blog ActionAid Bangladesh needed to get full exposure. Raise the profile of their amazing programs. Sharna mentioned Happy Homes in her great blog yesterday. We all agreed that their blog should be packed full of images and video and punchy stories on how programs like Happy Homes were literally – and I’m not exaggerating here – saving kids from a life on the street like the one I just experienced above.
ActionAid Bangladesh’s HQ is incredible. So much talent packed into the multi-levelled building, I’m not sure how it holds it all. Not to mention warmth that might just melt a polar ice sheet – and nothing to do with the 39 degree temp outside.
We also talked about how it was crucial to link their blog to all the key stake-holders, from the 31 development areas or slum districts where ActionAid sponsors kids, to national policy makers and existing and potential overseas sponsors.
ActionAid Bangladesh already has child sponsorship programs with several EU countries, but not with Australia. It’s something that AA Australia’s looking into now.
We’ve got to act to make sure that programs like Happy Homes don’t phase out due to lack of funding, and make sure these children get all the training they can, including computer and social media skills, so they don’t end up like that kid tonight chasing down the rickshaw until she almost collapsed.
