The other world: a day with the slum-dwellers of Dhaka

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The other world: a day with the slum-dwellers of Dhaka
by Nazaha Amatullah \| 31-10-2019 00:56 0
The other world: a day with the slum-dwellers of Dhaka The last week had been worshipping holiday. We had our schools off. So while everyone was off visiting relatives or going around touristic places-utilizing every bit of the off-days they had before exams started-my mum took me to the slums. Yeah, that's right. She said if I wanted to do something worthwhile in my life, this was my chance. She was working on a project related to water and gender (honestly, how on earth water and gender is related, I don't know) with a few of her students, and she told me I could also pay a visit and learn about 'the other world'. "You need to know hardship," she told me. "You can't be a writer from your bubble, you need to know about the people around you. Also, you could write a report on your visit for whatever ambassador work you're doing." Very well. On October 8th, I found myself in a car, zig-zagging through the Dhaka streets (those who live in Dhaka, will know how realistic the word 'zig-zag' is) towards Korail Slum, with my mum and two of her students with us. We spent the one hour ride listening to her lecture to them-her pupils-while I tried hard not to fall asleep. When we were at the territory of the slums, the first thing I noticed was the garbage; litters of cans and packets of chips, bottles and other things lay all over the ground. The place wasn't clean. Oh, and also, they had long long water pipes stretched out, going towards God knows where. We had to step over them sometimes, to walk. "See them?" mum pointed at the pipes. "Have you ever seen water pipes being pulled like this before?" I shook my head. "We also have water pipes too, but they are inside walls, inside concrete, under the ground. But slums aren't permanent residents. In fact, that's exactly the definition of a slum. Slum dwellers are illiegal residents. They are not on the database. The water pipes aren't, therefore, permanent either. They are pulled like this, and could be easily removed." Later, when we had gathered a bunch of slum-dwellers in a room to talk to them, they had told us that water problem was the biggest problem in the slums. "It's not the supply that is the most problematic," one of them elaborated. "It's the people. People closer to the water supplies. They steal away the line towards them and take everything." "And when we ask them for our supplies, they 'sell' it to us. They make us give them money and take the supply we deserved at the first place." "There's also the fact that not every water line is legal," one piped in. "People are so desperate here...they bring water from anywhere they can. Government can't keep track of all of them." "Sometimes, the water isn't even hygienic." "We get sick a lot. And we have to spend a lot of money over getting well." "So what do you think the government could do to solve your problem?" mum asked. They thought for a moment. "They could supply us with two lines. One for drinking, another for the rest needs." We were impressed by their insights. "And that would solve everything?" "There's the poor network among people," someone said. "The communication gap. The system is good, well-planned, but when it omes to execution, nobody's really doing it from their own hearts. Nobody wants to do anything if they don't have any personal motives in the circumstances." I didn't know how we-the government-could solve that. This was a trait every Bengali person bore. The women also talked about how they went really far to bring waters for their families. Another thing I noted in the slums: everyone lived in groups. Very few families lived in a house all by themselves. Ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty families huddled together under the same roof. "Okay, now tell me about other things," mum said, once the matter of water has cleared. "I noticed a lot of wastage on the roads. Don't the garbage handlers come to whisk them away?" "They do, but they treat us like dirts," another said. "They don't do their jobs properly. When we ask them about it, they swear at us, calling us disgraceful names." "How much money do they take? "One, one fifty hundred taka (a little over one pound in Britain).” " okat, now, can you tell me about menstruation? How you women handle it?" At that, all of my mum's male students and a handful of men who were also there, walked away so the women had their spaces to talk about their issues. "What do you use here? Pads or clothes?" "Pads, more or less," they said. "All? Everyone uses pads?" I was shocked. Pads were extra costs.These slum dwellers had enough to deal with. "Well, not everyone. But most who can afford it." "And women who go to work outside," one added, indicating she herself was a worker. "Clothes aren't as good absorbant as pads, and we don't really have the opportunity to go to toilet after we leave home. So we buy pads, yeah." "How much do they cost? Meaning, how much do you need to pay monthly?" "One packet does it for a month. It costs about eighty to hundred taka (little less than a pound)." Mum nodded, and stood, indicating we are done here. We said our goodbyes, gave them free lunch, took a couple of pictures and drove away to have our own lunch. During then, my mum told me how I didn't ask any questions at all, how I didn't do anything blah blah blah. "How could I ask a question in the middle of a conversation?" I demanded. "Besides, I taped everything and took notes." "Oooh," she rolled her eyes, in a manner that made my skin boil. "We will see when you write down your report." We finished our lunch, and headed foe another slum, this one called Kollanpur. When we stepped in through the very narrow sidewalk, passing again, wastages and dirty water puddles-not to mention the water pipes on the ground-I thought this was worse than Korail. These people had it harder. The place where they made us sit down, was a dark, small room. I realized it waa a school when I saw the knee-tall benches and the children posters on the wall. This time, mum asked only women to be brought, and girls with disabilities. And widows. This time, out of a stubborn need to prove myself, I talked to one of the women there. She happened to be the mother of a disabled child. "She's always in bed. She never gets up. She doesn't like to eat, to drink. I need to force her to. I can't work properly, I need to come off quickly. The thing with her kind of children is, well, they are always children. She's the same age as you, but she doesn't act independantly like you do. She's always like a child. It's always like it is taking care of a toddler." There was another woman, another worn-down mother. Her daughter was a mental patient. "Every month I go to the mental hospital to bring medicine for her. It's for ten days, but they tell me to come after a month. She's always trying to get outside, cause a scene." "Don't you go to work? What does she do then?" mum asked. "She stays there, what else would she do?" "How does she handle it when she needs to go to the toilet?" mum said ir slowly, but evenly. "She...she can't clean herself well. No. So when I come home, I give her a bath everyday." "What does she do in time of menstruation?" The mother paused. "She doesn't know what it is. Menstruation, I mean. I do everything. I change her pads, I clean her clothes-" "She doesn't freak out if she sees blood?" I asked. "She doesn't understand." "My daughter knows," the other woman, the one I talked to earlier said. "She understands, and she's far more worse at around that time. She keeps moaning, crying. She has stomach aches a lot." "All the time?" "All the time." "But that's not how cycle's supposed to work. You only get stomach aches at the first days..." "Every cycle is different," mum said. "Some girls reallt do have it hard," she looked at the woman. "Does she use pads?" "Yes." "Isn't that expensive for you?" "It's not much, compared to what we pay everytime. Hundred taka, at the best." Conversations continued on. Mum asked them if they had any problems regarding water supplies. They said there wasn't any issue with the supply, but sometimes the smell gets really bad for some reason, especially around morning and noon. "Drain leakage, probably," mum's student said "That's not good," she muttered, scribbling on her notes. "Alright, let's go back to the disability topic. Can you tell me what is the hardest struggle with your children? What is the most difficult task to perform for them because of their disabilities?" The women were quiet for a moment. "When they need to go to the toilet," one replied. "The toilet isn't good? Hygienic?" "No, no, it's not the hygiene. It's...it's hard to put them in the position, you know. They can't balance, they slip, they let go before they are even positioned properly." "Oh." "She doesn't understand, you know. They don't understand. It's so hard to deal with them. We can't even go off to work, earn a bit more money for the family..." "What do you think the government could do for you? If the government came to you and asked you what you needed, what would you answer?" They considered the question. "We just want to be permanent residents," they said. "We are always in fear, when they are going to kick us off the property, when they will set fire to our roofs. We just want legally live here." Later, when we were going back to house, my mum asked me, "What did you learn there?" I didn't think before answering. I already knew."The slum-dwellers are wronged in every sense. People take advantage of their weakness, their poorness..." She smiled. "And why do you think that is? Why do you think they are the ones who are being harassed from every sense, but not us? Not even the regular poor people in Dhaka?" This inquiry made me think for a while. But I had the answer. "Because they can't go and complain to the government. Because if they do-" "They will be exposed of their illiegal resident here," she finished for me. "You see, Nazaha, this is the other world. These people are from village and they were forced to live their homes to find work, to escape natural disaster. When the police block them, they ask for money. Or they would put them in jail. They oblige and they are always blackmailed by the one crime they all committed. And they cling on, in hopes to survive. You are lucky to be born the way tou are." There wasn't any traffic jam. It was dark and quiet inside the car as we went back to our home. Our cozy, permanent home.

Dormant user Nazaha Amatullah

4 Comments

Hyeongmin Mentor says :
Hello Nazah

Thank you for sharing your precious experience through this report. Reading your report, two main things came up in my mind. One is that there needs to be some action to solve the problems happening in that slum. I can't say that they are all legal dwellers, but there have to be some kind of humanity remaining in the region. There should be hope for the people, so they can get the momentum to continue their livings.
Second thing that came up in my mind is that it must have been worthy experience for yourself. I can see that you weren't quite motivated as your mother on the way to the slum, but the experience there probably broadened your spectrum of your thoughts more than I can imagine.

Thank you for the great report.
Posted 03-11-2019 13:44

Kushal Naharki

Kushal Naharki says :
Hello Nazah

I do hope that you are fine and doing great with your works.
Thank you for your report about The other world: a day with the slum-dwellers of Dhaka

Green Cheers from Nepal :)
Keep writing great reports.
We are eager to read more reports from you.

Regards,
Kushal Naharki

Posted 31-10-2019 21:24

Lisa Mentor says :
Hello Nazah!
It's Lisa your mentor.

Thank you so much sharing such a unique experience.
I am very much interested in climate catastrophes because they are most threatening to those who are most vulnerable and disenfranchised. Yet, I have never had an opportunity to get to meet those people and hear their stories.
That's why I really enjoyed reading your report! I really got to know their lives better.

Even though they are the biggest victims of climate disasters, they are maltreated and while everything goes back to the way it was, their lives don't. Their lives remain in the time when they were first struck by those disasters... and they don't, can't move on.

I think these kinds of stories are worth sharing and I believe that this is something that all green actors should be aware of all the time.

Thank you so much once again.
I really enjoyed reading it!
Posted 31-10-2019 19:01