Postcards from the Edge

of Bangladesh

There is hope for me yet

I’ve been hearing for a few weeks about a French women who is in town (village) for her marriage to a Chakma man. Obviously as a foreigner, I am immediately alerted to the presence of A.N. Other foreigner.

Yesterday after work I went for a walk to visit one of my colleague’s house. On the way, I bumped into the French woman. Obviously it was very easy for us to ‘recognise’ each other. She’d heard of me, I’d heard of her, we’re both white etc. Turns out they are already officially married (paper work etc) and will have the Chakma ceremony soon (ish, I think). Thought they make a lovely couple, so sweet together. In 1986, after the Bangladeshi military destroyed an orphanage (affiliated with Moanoghar), 72 children from the orphanage where adopted by French families. So I assumed hubby was one of these 72 children, and husband and wife hooked up in France.

Not so. They met on the 21st. Of October. Two thousand. And nine. As in 3 weeks ago. Wowza. Turns out her brother is one of the 72 French adopted Chakmas, who came out to Bangladesh a few years ago to find himself a Chakma wife. Which he did, and now they are happily married, living in France. Last year, wife of adopted Chakma man asked her French sister-in-law if she would like help finding a husband. Sure, who wouldn’t? Email addresses were swapped, emails pinged back and forth between France and Bangladesh for a year or so, and the happy couple finally met each other 3 weeks ago. Two weeks before their wedding day. No spice.

I’ve been wanting to attend a Chakma wedding for a while now, and herein I see my chance. I’m sure I’ll swing an invite, albeit to wedding of a non-conventional couple. But most importantly, it’s good to know that if my own personal husband-hunt (currently in very bad shape and not looking good at all) shouldn’t work out for me, I will always have the option of heading back here for a (almost guaranteed) hook up. Good to know.

In fashion news: Yesterday I was told that the outfit I was wearing was ‘not beautiful’. In other words, hideous. Just between you and me, NOTHING I wear here could ever be considered ‘beautiful’. Nevertheless, yesterday’s ensemble made the grave mistake of teaming the salwar (baggy, unflattering trousers of the salwar kameez fame) with a short top. By short I mean reaching to just below my arse only, as apposed to my knees. What WAS I thinking? Apparently a short top is only ‘beautiful’ with a jean pant [sic]. So today I’m wearing another one of my skimpy, just-below-the-arse tops with my jean pant. Confident in the knowledge that today I look beautiful. And I’m loving calling my jeans ‘jean pant’ just like they do in certain corners of South Africa.

3 Comments»

  Julie wrote @

I think you should also add the subject tag “jean pant” to this entry. Maximum excitement here in Dhaka too re the aforementioned jean pant. Finally cool enough here in the evenings to wear them. Yay!

  Julie wrote @

Though “fashion” covers the kameez pants too I guess. I was at a party the other week where a bunch of newly arrived Australian volunteers were wearing them with actual short tops (as in, to the waist short tops). Unacceptable. Harem pants are all the rage in the real world apparently but, as subtle as the difference between them and the SK pants is, there is still a difference.

  estellevisagie wrote @

Maximum excitement no doubt! Oh the things that have become exciting for us…


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