She watches me with those eyes, I can't look away. There are so many of them, but she is different, she is quiet. She doesn't ask for anything, she doesn't even approach too closely. Just watches...and follows... at a distance...through the market. We are haggling for oranges, my roommate is pro at getting a good price. I whisper something to her, she looks over at the girl then back to me and nods in agreement. As we walk out of the market with our bag of oranges I slip one into the little girl's hands. Her eyes brighten and a smile stretches across her face. I watch her dash off to show her two little brothers, huddled on a street corner, maybe their parents are working nearby, maybe they don't have any parents. Maybe she was manipulating me, maybe she was really hungry. I'll never know. This is life in Dhaka.
She whips out her phone and 5 minutes later her driver is at the door ready to take us wherever we want to go. When he gets us there, he waits until we are done, and receives a phone call to bring the car around to take us to our next destination. Upon arriving home, we realize that we're hungry, so we send the driver out with money to bring us food. We have enough clean dishes for everyone as the maid has come today and made everything spic and span. But I don't feel like local food tonight and decide to make some macaroni and cheese purchased for me by a friend at the American Commissary along with my favorite chocolate bars and Ben and Jerry's ice cream. The tailor has arrived in the apartment across the hall, we all rush over and get our measurements taken for the gowns we are having made for the Glitter Ball; a Charity ball put on by the Australian Embassy at a fancy hotel here in town. All the ex-pats go out to these kind of events throughout the year.
This is life in Dhaka.
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