Fran and I have taken quite a few scenic tours of Dhaka lately. Not by choice, mind you. The baby taxi and rickshaw drivers have taken us on strange routes the last few days. Before I begin my rant, I must admit that for the most part, the drivers are nice and competent. Last Sunday night, we were traveling home to Mirpur from Banani by baby taxi. The driver's first mistake was to take the Cantonment Road, a road restricted to foreigners. We yelled, "No Cantonment Road! Na! Na!" He paid us no attention. That should have been our first sign of the trouble that lay ahead. He got us to the Mirpur area after a wild bumpy ride which included hitting another baby taxi, but he refused to follow our directions and thus turned down an unknown street. We were in our neighborhood but we were totally clueless to how to get home.
We called Liza who spoke Bangla to him by phone, but it was useless. He stopped and asked directions at a market. We gave the market owner a church card. He called Bro. Peter whose name and number was on the card. After a quick conversation, the market owner gave the driver directions. The driver got back in the taxi and we were relieved thinking we were on our way home. But, no! A few feet down the street, he stops and asks someone else for directions! He refuses to listen to them and repeats this strange behavior all throughout the neighborhood. If I could have reached through the wire barrier separating the front and back seats, I would have boxed his ears! Soon afterwards, while Fran is on the phone with Liza again, I spotted a familiar store in our neighborhood. I knew where we were!! So, we started yelling, "Thamen! Stop! Bame! Left!" He stopped, turned around, hitting a rickshaw in the process, and took us home.
After our Bangla class in Banani yesterday, Fran and I got a rickshaw to go to someone's house which was nearby. To get there, we always tell the driver, "Australian High Commission." We were enjoying a nice new scenic ride on the rickshaw since the driver was apparently taking a different route, when he suddenly stops and demands that we get off. We are at a cul-de-sac street in front of a Thai Coffee House, NOT the Australian High Commission. We refused to get off since he had not taken us to the correct destination and repeatedly said, "Australia High Commission!" The man was not going anywhere! We get off, but I refused to give him the pre-agreed 40 Taka. I handed him 30 Taka instead. He would not take it, so I placed it on his rickshaw and walked off. Fran picks it up, adds the 10 Taka to it and hands him the entire 40 Taka. I'm yelling, "What are you doing?! He did not take us to the agreed destination!" She calmly said, "Let's go. God will take care of him." I immediately knew she was right and felt bad that I had acted in such a high-spirited manner. So, we started walking. After some confused turns and a few phone calls to Matthew, we made it to our friends' house.
We called Liza who spoke Bangla to him by phone, but it was useless. He stopped and asked directions at a market. We gave the market owner a church card. He called Bro. Peter whose name and number was on the card. After a quick conversation, the market owner gave the driver directions. The driver got back in the taxi and we were relieved thinking we were on our way home. But, no! A few feet down the street, he stops and asks someone else for directions! He refuses to listen to them and repeats this strange behavior all throughout the neighborhood. If I could have reached through the wire barrier separating the front and back seats, I would have boxed his ears! Soon afterwards, while Fran is on the phone with Liza again, I spotted a familiar store in our neighborhood. I knew where we were!! So, we started yelling, "Thamen! Stop! Bame! Left!" He stopped, turned around, hitting a rickshaw in the process, and took us home.
After our Bangla class in Banani yesterday, Fran and I got a rickshaw to go to someone's house which was nearby. To get there, we always tell the driver, "Australian High Commission." We were enjoying a nice new scenic ride on the rickshaw since the driver was apparently taking a different route, when he suddenly stops and demands that we get off. We are at a cul-de-sac street in front of a Thai Coffee House, NOT the Australian High Commission. We refused to get off since he had not taken us to the correct destination and repeatedly said, "Australia High Commission!" The man was not going anywhere! We get off, but I refused to give him the pre-agreed 40 Taka. I handed him 30 Taka instead. He would not take it, so I placed it on his rickshaw and walked off. Fran picks it up, adds the 10 Taka to it and hands him the entire 40 Taka. I'm yelling, "What are you doing?! He did not take us to the agreed destination!" She calmly said, "Let's go. God will take care of him." I immediately knew she was right and felt bad that I had acted in such a high-spirited manner. So, we started walking. After some confused turns and a few phone calls to Matthew, we made it to our friends' house.
Last night, we took a baby taxi from Gulshan-2 to Mirpur, traveling the forbidden Cantonment Road again. We were almost home when the driver stops and motions for us to get out on the Main Road. He refused to turn down the little neighborhood streets where we lived. It was not a big deal because our house was not too terribly far, we were not lost, and we could have walked home, but it was late at night and Fran had a watermelon. We needed a rickshaw, but we were low on money. So, Fran hands the watermelon to me while she digs in her purse for some money. I almost dropped it because it weighed as much as I did. She rescued the watermelon and I said, "Fran! Why did you buy a watermelon on the other side of town?! There are plenty of markets near home." She said, "Sis. Miller said this one is the best." I said, "We will never know if we burst it on the sidewalk, huh?" We laughed so hard over that watermelon! We managed to scrape together a few Takas, hired a rickshaw and got the watermelon home.
Today, Fran and I rode the bus (a double decker one at that!) to and from Bangla class all by ourselves! No Liza, no Matthew, nobody! You know, the bus is rather comforting. There's no yelling directions to the driver. Even if we get on the wrong bus, if we stay on it long enough, it will eventually take us back home.
Today, Fran and I rode the bus (a double decker one at that!) to and from Bangla class all by ourselves! No Liza, no Matthew, nobody! You know, the bus is rather comforting. There's no yelling directions to the driver. Even if we get on the wrong bus, if we stay on it long enough, it will eventually take us back home.
Life in Dhaka, Bangladesh is definitely a scenic tour, with or without baby taxis, rickshaws or buses.
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