City of No Lights...

Last week, Cyclone Sidr hit Bangladesh. On looking at the bright sunshine and calm blue skies of this afternoon, one would never have imagined what hell had wrought through just 7 days ago, leaving the shambles that remain all over the country today. And in all of this, I am ashamed to say I have done an insignificant amount to help so far…

On Thursday night (November 15^th), I had gone with my friend to see 2 of Dhaka’s great musicians (yes, maybe that’s just my opinion) -Arnob and Andrew Morris- in concert at the Dhaka Club. Apparently, these clubs have restricted access; Dhaka Club being particularly infamous for its exclusivity. Lucky for me, the American passport would have come handy if my friend’s father had failed in getting me in. That morning when I had woken up, the air had felt much cooler and wetter than other days. There was a continuous drizzle all morning and afternoon- reminding me of the rainy days in New York. I had heard warnings of the approaching “bad weather,” but it all went unheeded in my head. I was looking forward to seeing two amazing people in concert, one of whom has become an inspiration for me and my writings. The incoming cyclone was far from our minds as we headed to the Dhaka Club. In typical hypocritical fashion all that we worried about was hearing the song “Tomar Jonno” being played that night, and not what the increasing wind and rain might be bringing. The concert began late, and while we waited I received text messages from a colleague of mine informing of the increasing bad weather and to “be careful” when going home. I then thought of what I heard in the news earlier that morning- that the southern part of the country was in grave danger, and more was coming. During the concert, I looked over the heads of the musicians at the window and could see the trees blowing violently. At about midnight, the audience was informed that the concert had to be cut short due to the inclement weather, and out of consideration for the hundreds of people losing their homes as we sat there,… the loss of electricity… What I found appalling was the cries of “just one more song!” even after such a statement was made about the impropriety of such a concert going on despite what was going on. There were a few drunken cries of a similar nature, but the band had more sense than to carry on… I admit to hypocrisy, but I felt that was just plain idiocy…

When we left the club, the air was quite cold, and a mixture of rain and wind made it very difficult to see. It was dark in the house, as the electricity had gone out awhile before. My aunt told me that the driver’s wife had called from his village- their tin roof had been blown off, their crops were gone, and they were in a temporary shelter. One of the women who work in the house (I refuse to call them ‘servants’) and whose village is in the south, hadn’t heard from her brother or her parents, and had no way of knowing if her little boy was safe…. I lay in the silence of the room and listened to the winds outside. At times, I heard branches breaking and falling. I was tired beyond words, and the last thought I remember having was that I was so lucky to be inside a warm and safe room, only listening to the raging storm outside,… only listening. The next morning we found that the electricity had still not returned. In fact, the entire country was without electricity, and there was no telling when it would return. My phone ran out of charge within a couple of hours. The whole of Bangladesh was in darkness; generators were running out- the city of so many people and so much life had been silenced. A blanket had been thrown over it.

There was no more rain, but the air was steeped with something- you could smell the storm all around. We could only imagine what had happened in the rest of the country in just a few hours as news trickled in of uprooted trees, cattle, crops. As fate would have it, the 16^th of November was my niece’s very first birthday, and a party had been planned for weeks. We carried on with setting up for the party as planned, tying streamers to balloons, hanging them up, and setting out plenty of candles. Our guests arrived on time, and we had a candle-lit birthday party where people entered and said general hellos, peering at each other’s faces, trying to recognize familiar ones. I felt it wasn’t quite right; to enjoy ourselves like this, to eat good food, knowing what was happening throughout the country, knowing how many thousands and thousands had become homeless, orphaned, landless. But as was put to me quite blatantly, what else was there to do? I did not have the capability to go out and physically do anything right then. Perhaps I could have found some way, though….

The full extent of the damage Sidr had done came to us within the upcoming days. People have nothing left anymore. Their crops, their cattle, their homes, their very lands have been turned upside down, uprooted and left shattered. Relief and aid are coming, but there are so many… too many. Unfortunately, I have only helped one person so far who has been affected by the storm. The storm has uprooted the massive trees in his home in such a way that they look as if someone had used their fingers to twist and upturn them. The man broke into tears when talking about what was left- or wasn’t. There is more to do, as there always will be. I will join in on relief work, but that makes me wonder… how much (or how little) can we really do? At least with the floods, many had their homes still standing, or were able to save their livestock before the waters hit. But now,… now there was nothing but twisted and tattered remains. What crops will grow next year? The guava trees, the amra trees, they have all been destroyed. What will people live on? What is the solution??