Dhaka recently reclaimed the inglorious title of officially being the worst city to live in on earth, as ranked by the Economist Intelligence Unit. The study, which annually ranks the world’s best and worst cities based on a set of criterion, placed Dhaka within the honorable ranks of Tripoli, Tehran, Lagos, Damascus and Harare.
Many Bangladeshis, who tend to be a patriotic bunch, are upset with this ranking. I’ve heard claims that the report is full of “lies,” “statistics that stretch the truth” and “false information.” After examining the criteria the EIU uses to evaluate the best and worse cities, I figured I'd use my limited experience here in Dhaka to address my opinion of whether or not Dhaka is truly the worst city on earth. As you read, please remember that I’m not a political analyst, development sage, city planner or medical guru. I’m a humble high school teacher who’s simply experienced life in Dhaka for the past few years. Here are my thoughts on the categories used in the EIU ranking: Crime Levels: I feel like Dhaka is probably one of the safest mega-cities in the world with regards to violent crime. I’m not over-exaggerating when I say that I felt less secure at the Dartmouth bus terminal back home in Canada than I ever have here in Dhaka. I do hear numerous stories of violent muggings and our apartment was robbed last year but I personally have never felt physically endangered. I’m not female though. For women, the risk of sexual violence is frighteningly real as Bangladesh has a firmly entrenched culture of sexual harassment and rape. There is a reason why women are conspicuously absent from Dhaka’s streets. EIU agreement percentage: 50%. Threat of Conflict: I’ve mentioned the violence of hartals and oborods in prior posts and they continue to periodically paralyze Bangladesh with fear of conflict. For a brief period in December, we heard bombs on a fairly regular basis and some embassies raised their travel advisories to high levels. However, I personally don't foresee Bangladesh erupting into a civil war despite thinly veiled threats of radical Islamist parties such as Jamaat e Islami or Hefezat. Violent protests and pitched street battles between police and protestors are one thing, but full-scale conflict requires not only motivation, but also competence. I see a conspicuous lack of competence amongst the political parties of Bangladesh. Even if two sides wanted to fight a war I’m not convinced they could orchestrate it. Quality of Medical Care: I have heard multitudes of horror stories about the incompetence, unprofessionalism and ineptitude of Bangladeshi doctors. The inevitable prescription for every possible ailment seems to be a “cocktail” of various antibiotics. Wealthy Bangladeshis leave the country and fly to Singapore or KL for even the most basic of medical checkups. Poorer citizens (aka most of the population of 160 million) are completely without access to medical care. As an expatriate, I can simply fly away for a checkup or surgery. Ninety nine percent of locals aren’t nearly as fortunate. Levels of Censorship: Although there is no official censorship of the press like you’d find in Turkmenistan or North Korea, it’s common knowledge that it is dangerous to publish anything too blatantly critical of the political elite or religious leaders. When I go on one of my frequent political rants against the local government at school, my students joke that I shouldn't speak so loudly because I might suddenly disappear! Although spoken in jest, there is an unfortunate grain of truth to their suggestions. Bloggers and outspoken political activists regularly go missing and are rarely found alive, if their graves are uncovered at all. The government periodically blocks YouTube and Facebook in an active (unsuccessful) attempt to censor certain materials deemed offensive to Islam, such as the Innocence of Muslims video that caused such an uproar across the Muslim world in 2012. Although not as radical or pervasive as in other countries, there is definitely a degree of censorship in Bangladesh. Temperature: While Dhaka does get hot, it doesn’t really compare to other places I’ve been. Weather here is similar to the southern U.S. in August, hot and sticky but manageable. The issue is that with power outages and blown transformers, there is often no air conditioning and the water pipes heat up so refreshing, cold showers are difficult to come by. Still, I don’t believe Dhaka’s climate should be a major contributing factor to its livability. Quality of Education: Education is not accessible for the vast majority of Bangladeshis. Although the government ostensibly provides public schools, in practice, very few receive more than a rudimentary education. I’ve had numerous heart-rending conversations with rickshaw pullers and CNG drivers who lament the fact that they can’t read or write. Even elite Bangladeshi schools leave students tragically unprepared for the international world. I would rank the quality and accessibility of education in Bangladesh (outside of the handful of international schools in Dhaka and Chittagong) as woefully inadequate. Transportation Links: Where do I even begin? I believe Dhaka has the worst traffic on earth. Period. I have read articles on the world’s worst traffic jams that suggest Brussels, Los Angeles and Toronto have the worst traffic jams on the planet. I laughed hysterically. The thought that orderly, quiet, traffic in the developed world is worse than Dhaka’s is ludicrous. Statistically, Dhaka traffic sits at a standstill for approximately seven hours per day. The cacophonic symphony of tinkling rickshaw bells, ambulance sirens, and skull-shattering bus horns is disorienting and overwhelming. The constant decibel levels of Dhaka traffic rattle my Canadian brains and my ears are often left ringing when I enter the relative silence of our apartment. When I ventured to Old Dhaka (about nine kilometers away) for an Epiphany service in January, it took two hours in the car each way. That’s the same amount of time it takes to travel from Halifax to Moncton and back…and in total we traveled about eighteen kilometers! The traffic here is, in my opinion, the most dangerous, tedious and annoying part of living in Dhaka. I think that, due to this factor alone, Dhaka deserves to at least be near the bottom of EIU’s city rankings. In conclusion, while I feel that Dhaka probably deserves a spot in the bottom ten, I believe that it shouldn’t be in last place. Dhaka has improved a lot (for wealthy Bangladeshis and expatriates at least) since we arrived in September 2012. New grocery stores, a movie theatre and numerous new restaurants and ice-cream parlors have opened and made life easier and more exciting. We feel safe and relatively secure. The temperature is manageable. Risk of civil war is low and violent crime rates are reasonable for a massive third world mega-city. Living in Dhaka, apparently the worst city to live in the world, isn’t all that bad and there are actually a lot of advantages to working here. I’ll highlight some of the positives in the near future! For a different author's opinion and much better-written point of view on results published in 2013, check out the link below: http://wondersonder.wordpress.com/2013/09/08/why-dhaka-deserves-to-be-called-the-most-unlivable-city-in-the-world/
1 Comment
Every time I step onto the street in Dhaka, I expect to see something new or unexpected. Ordinary and Dhaka simply don't mix. I remember last year when I saw a man selling an assortment of "high quality" disco balls in Gulshan I laughed until tears were streaming down my face. The sincerity with which the guy was promoting his product was amusing but I couldn't bring myself to buy a something for which I had no real use. I mean, really, does anyone have a genuine need for a hand crafted disco ball? We saw him almost once a week but never seriously considered wasting our money on such a frivolous purchase.
I am however, well known as a sucker for random, odd and completely impractical trinkets. Dani lovingly succumbed to the frequent temptation and bought one of his small disco balls for two hundred taka with me in mind. I am overjoyed with her purchase and my personal disco ball is currently hanging from our air conditioner and turning our living room into one heck of a party. Metaphorically anyways. Attending church services in historic cathedrals or places of worship provides something special that is incredibly tangible yet difficult to describe or quantify. The shared religious experience spanning centuries of history and thousands of anonymous, forgotten worshipers from a plethora of ethnic, linguistic and denominational backgrounds stirs something at the core of my being that is rarely awakened. I had the privilege of adding another one of those experiences to my repertoire by attending an Epiphany service in the 18th Century Armenian Church in Old Dhaka last night. As I stood in the aging Armenian Church singing Epiphany hymns, listening to Epiphany scripture and reading Epiphany prayers, I thought about the hundreds of worshipers who had previously poured their hearts out in fervent prayer and confession at the altar. As I sang Christmas carols, I contemplated the voices from the past that sang hymns that reverberated off the same crumbling walls. I wondered how many other people throughout history felt the same sweetly pungent smell of incense burn their nostrils as they sat quietly in the same creaking wooden chairs. Thinking about this sort of stuff is always humbling because it sets me firmly into my historical context and forces me to realize the uncomfortable fact that I am finite. My life is “like a morning mist that soon vanishes” as the Bible says and someday, long after the memory of my small, seemingly insignificant life has faded from memory, another twenty something year old sitting in the exact same pew might marvel about the same thoughts I pondered last night. And the cycle goes on. Anyways…enough of the awkward “grand questions of life” narrative. The Epiphany service had several other notable aspects as well. Moths. The church service ostensibly began at 5:00pm (This, of course, actually means the service starts at 5:30. This is Bangladesh after all!) and it was soon dark outside. The building was lit by archaic electric lights that looked like they belonged in a WWII bomb shelter rather than a church building and, when combined with the fact that the windows and doors were left wide open, a few large moths began to flutter around, happily swooping down on unsuspecting hymn-singers. I am honestly unsure why this sticks out in my memory. It just does. Battle of the Religions. As we were singing the first hymn of the service, the call to prayer from the neighboring mosque started blaring from the loudspeakers. The organ and our voices singing “Oh come let us adore him” competed with repetitious chants of “Allahu ahkbar” as the muezzin chanted the ahdan. For some reason, the competition struck me as hilarious and I was glad when the organist played a bit harder as the din conveniently covered up my laughter. I met briefly Mikhail Hopcef Martirossian, the elderly caretaker of the church, and, although I didn’t realize it until after I traveled home, he has an amazingly interesting story as the last Armenian in Bangladesh. If you’re interested to learn more, check out this archived BBC article: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/2645617.stm I had a great time at the Epiphany service. It wasn't my first time visiting this historic church, but it was the first time I attended a service there. I almost didn't go out of laziness (and the fact that, with the ridiculous traffic, it was an approximately two hour journey each way) but I feel fortunate that I got off my butt and avoided the TV trap. Hopefully I'll manage to make it to another one of the (rarely held) services for Easter!
The holiday season away from home, especially in a Muslim country, is inherently different than the cozy Canadian Christmas Dani and I love so much. The warm kaleidoscope of Christmas lights adorning frosted houses is absent; Dhaka sports only cold, whitewashed concrete. Misty exhalations into icy air are replaced with coughing fits from breathing too much polluted street dust. Colorful wrapping paper choices are limited. Few kids are enthralled with Santa. I even, to my own great surprise, miss the incessant blare of cheap Christmas tunes as I meander through the mall frantically searching for Dani’s gifts. For a variety of reasons such as the tropical climate, grinding poverty and Muslim religious practices, Bangladesh doesn’t seem to offer much by way of Christmas cheer. It seems hard again, for the second year in a row, to fully register that this is actually Christmas. Dani and I both have fathers who missed Christmas regularly traveling internationally for work. I don’t believe either of us truly realized the loneliness of being away from family at Christmas until last year…and Dani and I had each other! The lyrics “I’ll be home for Christmas if only in my heart” certainly evokes a larger lump in my throat than it ever did before I moved abroad! Kudos to our fathers who sacrificed many Christmas seasons so we could afford turkey, cookies and presents under the tree. We love you! In spite of our ruminations on how lonely we feel in the Christmas season and how much we miss such and such a food or such and such a person, we have managed to find ways of bringing the holidays to life here in Bangladesh. We bought a fake tree and decorated it with local ornaments, brought two large candles from Canada so our living room currently smells like candy canes and most importantly, Dani has been making Christmas cookies. I am extremely happy! And perhaps a glutton…but hey, Christmas cookies come only once a year! I also bought Christmas coasters from Folk International that I am oddly excited about. Yes, you heard me. I’m pumped about Christmas coasters. Not that I’ll ever use them but they are hand-painted and made of pure Awesome with a capital A. In the spirit of the season, I modified a version of Bangladesh 12 Days of Christmas below. Sing it out loud, you’ll have great fun! On the ______ day of Christmas Bangladesh gave to me… A Case of Dysentery Two Plates of Phuckha Three Roaches Running Four Students Tardy FIVE HARTALS Six Cans of Hunter Seven Power Blackouts Eight Rickshaws Racing Nine Mosquitos Biting Ten Beggars Begging Eleven Men a Staring Twelve Cars a Honking The holiday season is different here in South Asia but we’ve managed to make it our own. There are traditions and family members from Canada that we miss intensely but there are exciting unfamiliar traditions to begin, exotic locales to explore and new people to love here in South Asia as well. The trick is to remember this fact when we feel the ache of homesickness in the pit of our stomachs. Last year we went to Sri Lanka for Christmas and we’re traveling again over the holidays this year. Today we’re headed off to Thailand with a group of great friends. We’ll eat food, play games, listen to Christmas music, sit by the pool and relax. I am completely psyched! I’m going to read Dickens’ Christmas Carol for the first time ever (I should have read it eons ago), devour some Bonhoeffer and C.S. Lewis and I’m hoping to finish Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five. That amount of reading may be ambitious but I’m certainly not going to be reading any work emails! Woot! Woot!
Well, that’s all for the moment. In the iconic words of Mr. Santa Claus, Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night! Or, as Bengalis say here in Bangladesh, Shubo Boro Din! Well, it’s Victory Day here in Bangladesh. School is out, I slept in till nine o’clock this morning and the Bangladeshi national anthem is on repeat, constantly blaring through impossibly loud speakers several blocks away. The words are permanently seared into my memory now and, I’m sure that as I attempt to sleep tonight, Amar shona Bangla ami tomay bhalo beshi eeeeee, will course nonstop through my brain. Victory Day is a local holiday celebrating Bangladesh’s bloody war of independence from Pakistan. Exactly forty two years ago, Pakistan officially surrendered after a short but brutal war that resulted in the murder of (Pakistan claims 26,000, US sources quote 300,000, Bangladeshis will tell you 3 million…we all know how history can be!) Bengali civilians. I won’t get into the details but the war crippled the country and has really shaped and molded Bangladeshi national identity. Last year, I was astounded at the enthusiastically patriotic nature of Bangladeshis. I naively assumed no one would be proud of a country racked by poverty, cyclones, corruption, ridiculous traffic, pollution and political violence. I was wrong. Swarms of Bangladeshi flags, which represents a pool of a martyrs blood in a green field, adorn rickshaws, CNGs, businesses, houses, cars, bicycles and pretty much anywhere else you can affix a flag. Bangladeshis are proud of their country and that makes me happy in a weird, hopeful way. Bangladesh has many problems but the country has so many things to be proud of as well. As Dani and I biked around the city today, the majority of people wore the national colors of red and green (conveniently coinciding with the Christmas theme), loudspeakers broadcast speeches from the 70’s (prelude and postlude by the aforementioned national anthem), and people seemed to be smiling more than normal. Although I purchased a Bangladeshi flag last Victory Day, I bought a little headband from the dude below and, as a result, received dozens of smiles, thumbs up, waves and shouts of “Joy Bangla”, the slogan chanted by Bangladeshi fighters during the Liberation War, as we ran errands. I was reminded just how important history is for average, ordinary, even illiterate person and how the lens we use to view the world is shaped by our personal and communal history. That’s all for now. Happy Victory Day and Joy Bangla!
|