The problems in Bangladesh are a subject of much debate and discussion in our house. This month I think the biggest one is probably corruption, but the problem symptom I’ve been experiencing most often is that of the power outages. As I write this at 5:14 pm the power has been on for a total of 1 hour since 8 am. Aside from these power outages, the wiring is down right dangerous. I was teaching our cook some new dishes this week and he told me not to touch the sides or I’d get shocked. Turns out the sides of the case are live. Unfortunately these situations are very common. Sockets are left ungrounded because that costs more money. Outlets develop loose connections after a few cord insertions and often spark and melt. Light and fans are wired in such a way that they look like spaghetti. There is no enforced electrical code and the absolute cheapest parts are used.

The problem is compounded by the fact that many people steal electricity. Officially the Bangladesh power board has only 1,922,361 consumers. The actual number is something else. I was walking home through a village and there was a young man of about 15 or 16 using a long piece of bamboo to play around with some wires attached to the power lines. An older man was walking past and stopped to give him some advice… Make sure you don’t stand in the puddle.

I realized today that I’ve been out of the US for over a year now.  I haven’t gotten out of the eastern hemisphere.  The itinerary for the last year has been Bangladesh, India, Nepal (although no stamp in the passport), Malasia, Cambodia, Macau and Hong Kong. 

It’s always something. The most recent something started with my involvement in a motorcycle accident in Bogra. It started out as mechanical failure and ended with user error. I ended up with a few minor brush burns and a sprained hand. I thought I was fine and went about my week. However, about 5 days later I was persuaded by Daniel, my roommate, and his appeal to authority (his mother, Karin, who is a doctor) to actually visit a doctor. After a $3.01 x-ray I realized my 3rd metacarpal was broken. The doctor taped up my hand, charged me $4.41 and sent me on my way with a list of meds and instructions to be back in 2 weeks. Karin actually lives in Bogra, but she’s back in the states right now on the receiving end of a double hip replacement. Her surgeon was gracious enough to take a look at my x-ray and surprised me by recommending surgery to prevent foreshortening. Karin recommended either Bangkok or going south to Malumghat.

Two emails later I was on a night bus with Daniel down toward Cox’s Bazaar. The actual hospital name is Memorial Christian and has been located for many years just north of Cox’s Bazaar, but 10-13 hours by bus from Dhaka. Last year I went with Daniel up to LAMB hospital when he had a concussion and broken right wrist so it seemed very apropos that he would come with me. Upon arrival I was very quickly run through a consultation before gowning up and getting moved into surgery. I remember being wheeled into surgery. I remember being placed on an operating table. I remember a conversation with one of the surgeons. But I don’t remember anything else until waking up in my hospital bed about 3 hours later, hand in a half cast and slung up in the air.

There’s something odd about post injury. Life slows down very quickly. I spent the next 20 hours mostly sleeping, then resting in the guest house for a few days. We got to have some interesting conversations with hospital staff and even observe some surgeries. Now I’m back in Dhaka, healing, and struggling to type one handed. There’s a project I think I can work on here that doesn’t need too much right hand movement. Aro kerup hote parto – It could have been worse