Kings Among Runaways
At 5:30 on the last morning of vacation I hiked my pack onto my back and shoulders, still sore from the thrashing I took in the waves, and walked through the early morning Kolkata streets to the bus station.
At the border we retrieved our packs from the bottom of the bus and underwent the excruciatingly slow process of checking out of India and into Bangladesh. Our waiting was alleviated by the company we found ourselves with - bearded men in long white dresses and towels wrapped on their heads. One Saudi Arabian man passed around a packet of dates soaked in honey. Another gentleman watched Annabel and I watching his group and came over to talk with us.
"What is your country?" We have been asked this question so much, it is fun to be the asker for once. "The Philippines," he was eager to talk. "Why are you coming this way into Bangladesh?" "We have been preaching for two months in India and are now coming to preach in Bangladesh. We have made many converts." He proceeded to try convincing Annabel to convert to Islam. "You are an intelligent woman, how come don't you convert? Mohammad Ali is American and he has become Muslim." Annabel had clever responses, and I pitched in occasionally. The crowd of men he traveled with stopped what they were doing to watch. Eventually the conversation became so heated an immigration official came over. "This Is An Office. We are trying to work. Be quiet." Opps. We chatted more quietly after that. Eventually the missionaries picked up their big backpacks, waved and headed out, leaving us to wait for our exit stamps.
Other highlights of the trip home included the stares we received when both Annabel and I got out our pocket knives to eat the guavas we had brought from Kolkata. It seems Bangladeshi men feel more threatened by women with knives that the Indian ones.
We also got to ride across the river on an enormous ferry with lots of other busses and trucks. It's not quite the WA state ferry system. They didn't even turn the bus engine off.
By the time we finally got to Dhaka Annabel and I had sore bottoms from sitting in the same spot for 10 hours. But we were home! Home to power outages, but home never the less.
At the border we retrieved our packs from the bottom of the bus and underwent the excruciatingly slow process of checking out of India and into Bangladesh. Our waiting was alleviated by the company we found ourselves with - bearded men in long white dresses and towels wrapped on their heads. One Saudi Arabian man passed around a packet of dates soaked in honey. Another gentleman watched Annabel and I watching his group and came over to talk with us.
"What is your country?" We have been asked this question so much, it is fun to be the asker for once. "The Philippines," he was eager to talk. "Why are you coming this way into Bangladesh?" "We have been preaching for two months in India and are now coming to preach in Bangladesh. We have made many converts." He proceeded to try convincing Annabel to convert to Islam. "You are an intelligent woman, how come don't you convert? Mohammad Ali is American and he has become Muslim." Annabel had clever responses, and I pitched in occasionally. The crowd of men he traveled with stopped what they were doing to watch. Eventually the conversation became so heated an immigration official came over. "This Is An Office. We are trying to work. Be quiet." Opps. We chatted more quietly after that. Eventually the missionaries picked up their big backpacks, waved and headed out, leaving us to wait for our exit stamps.
Other highlights of the trip home included the stares we received when both Annabel and I got out our pocket knives to eat the guavas we had brought from Kolkata. It seems Bangladeshi men feel more threatened by women with knives that the Indian ones. We also got to ride across the river on an enormous ferry with lots of other busses and trucks. It's not quite the WA state ferry system. They didn't even turn the bus engine off.
By the time we finally got to Dhaka Annabel and I had sore bottoms from sitting in the same spot for 10 hours. But we were home! Home to power outages, but home never the less.
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