Tiria

Last spring I gave my cook, Paul, money to build a house for his daughter and son-in-law. In the past month, the roof was put up. So he invited me to come to his village to see the new house. I finally was able to make the trip yesterday. He was very excited about the visit and kept checking every few days that he had the date correct. In the past few days he called me at least 15 times to make arrangements for me getting there, ask questions, and generally make it known that he was tickled pink.

Paul’s brother, who lives in Dhaka, was due to meet me at my house between 9 and 9:30. In atypical Bengali fashion, he arrived at 8:45. Paul called me three times to find out what time Matin, my driver, would get to the house, what time I would leave. We left at 9:15, and for during the 90 minute drive, Paul and his brother were texting and calling each other roughly every 6 ½ minutes.

As we drove through northern Dhaka, we passed the temporary cow markets set up for Eid al-Adha (the “cow killing” eid, as opposed to the “clothes buying” eid that was celebrated a couple of months ago). That’s for another blog entry though.

Paul’s village, Tiria, is next to a Catholic mission. It is actually quite a large village and everyone who lives there is Catholic. The Portuguese founded a mission about 400 years ago…I think…Paul’s family’s English is good, but can be confusing at times.

Paul’s family was very welcoming and sweet as could be. His parents are quite old. His father is deaf, but still speaks on occasion. I had to laugh at myself everytime I replied to something he said, forgetting that he couldn’t hear me. Paul has 4 brothers and 5 sisters. Each of them have 4 or 5 kids. Some of those kids have kids. So it’s quite a clan. I’m sad to say that I was paraded past most of his family while he was frenetically pointing out things he was proud of in his family home. So I didn’t really catch most of their names, and remember only a fraction of those.

Paul’s family lives in a cluster of houses with a central courtyard They were all quite nice. Immaculately clean, well cared for, in very good condition. The houses were made of something like adobe, the roves were corrugated tin. I wondered how the walls hold up during monsoon season. Apparently they are strong and don’t wash away. The new house is one of the bigger ones. It has 3 bedrooms (the front room will be both a living room and a bedroom). No one lives there yet because they still need to put in electricity and a bathroom. I had to laugh at the bathroom door that is waiting to be installed. It looked like it was covered in vinyl with a swirling pink pattern. There is a picture of the Sydney Opera House squarely in the middle of the door. Everything I noticed made Paul beam with pride.

Next, Paul took me on a tour of the Tiria. We started at the credit union where one of his brothers works. It actually was kind of interesting. They are just now starting the process of entering records into computers. The racks of ledgers and account cards was mind boggling.

Then we went to see his church, and I met the parish priest. The church is about 200 years old, and very colorful. They have built a new church, which is surprisingly modern. On that day they were raising the new bell up the side of the bell tower. The priest was very proud of the bell…it came from a famous bell maker in Germany, weighed 800 kg, and cost 6000 euros! As with all construction in developing countries, the scaffolding was made of bamboo. It’s amazing to me that skinny bits of bamboo could actually support such a weight.

The boys’ high school was next door. We walked around the grounds and had tea with the head master. We talked about lazy students, overworked and underpaid teachers. Naturally, he had me beat and I quickly stopped talking. At that school there are 95 students in a class…I don’t mean a grade, I mean a classroom. I had to ask 3 times to make sure there wasn’t a language mistake. Teachers make about about $125 a month. As we finished tea a posse of cats gathered around the door. Apparently the headmaster has nine cats! It was mealtime. They had no interest in me petting them. Cats always have priorities.

Up the road a piece was the girls’ high school. The façade was a riot of color and had the founding date, 1906, prominently displayed. We walked around a bit then headed back to the ranch.

At that point, Paul disappeared to help his wife, Jamuna make lunch. Soon, a feast was set before me…pakoras, fried califlower, pulao, chicken and pork curries. I had to ask if the chicken curry used to be one of the chickens I saw running around the courtyard. The answer came in the form of a very proud smile. He made a pork curry because I often ask him to make barbequed pork chops…he makes the best east of VA! Paul even included what he has gathered are my favorites: pumpkin soup and RC cola. He made me pumpkin soup about a month ago and then asked me if it was “quite lovely.” I had to chuckle and agree that it was. About every 2 months I ask him to pick up a couple of cokes from the market. Aside from that I drink water. So RC cola was “same same” as my “favorite.” I totally love Paul.

The strange thing about lunch was that it was only Matin and I eating. I had looked forward to chowing down with the whole clan. But I gathered that the ultimate hospitality is to have food served, not shared. So Paul kept cooking away the various courses while his 2nd youngest son served. Pepol stood by like a sentinel, occasionally spooning more food onto my plate. Paul zipped in every so often to see if everything was delicious, but would not sit down. I assured him that everything was “super-yummy-delicious.” He beamed. I’m hoping that he will make a dish for a future employer and ask if it is “super-yummy-delicious.” We all crave a legacy.

I learned a nuance of the Bangla language. Two of Paul’s nieces gave me a bunch of flowers. They giggled and ran away when I said “Don nobaad” (thank you). The flowers were similar to cock’s combs, but different from what we have in VA. Paul told me the name in Bangla “murag ful” because they look like “hands.” It took me awhile before I realized that he was really saying “hens” and really meant “roosters.” I knew that murgee is chicken. I learned that it’s actually hen. Murag is rooster. Ful is flower. So as is my custom, I learned trivia about the language rather than something useful that I might use in a conversation. Roosters, flowers, and specifically “rooster flowers” don’t normally come up in many conversations that I have.

After lunch I watched a part of a Bollywood movie with the family. It was really fun to watch all their heads bobble in time to the music. I had the sense that if I wasn’t there they would have broken out into dance. There were certainly enough of them to storm the courtyard and dance in an elaborate, synchronized way.

Then the power went out and it was time to go home.