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A hut by the railway station
By Fr. Bob McCahill
Maryknoll missionary in Bangladesh
At the beginning of my stay in Gaibandha, ten persons offered to let me build a hut on their land. One of them, Sohel, welcomed me with the understanding that I need not pay rent: the only reward will be to share in the blessings Allah bestows on me for helping the disabled. Thus, have I settled just across the tracks from the railway station.
During the first five months of my stay in the new town, Gaibandha, ten persons offered to let me build a house on their land. One of them, Sohel, welcomed me with the understanding that I need not pay land rent. His family knows their only reward will be to share in the blessings Allah bestows on me for helping the disabled. In some of the other locations proposed to me by hospitable people, I may have enjoyed more privacy or nicer scenery. However, at Sohel′s, I enjoy proximity to the town′s bazaars and many nearby companions in a crowded neighborhood. Thus, have I settled just across the tracks from the Gaibandha Railway Station.
The first stage of house building in this frequently–flooded district is to lay an earthen foundation. Thus, did Haidar cut and carry earth from 100 yards away. Within two days, he raised, by 18 inches, the foundation of my 8 feet by 10 feet plot, sufficiently high to keep my feet dry during a normal monsoon.
An expert bamboo craftsman named Noya Miah (i.e., Mr. New) then began to build. Fifteen days later, I took possession of my dirt-floored, bamboo–walled home. People call it, not a house, but rather a hut because the roof is of straw and not of galvanized iron – the favored building material. Total expenses for the hut and its foundation were $55.
The dwelling was prepared barely in time for me to receive the first of two theology students from the major seminary. Every day during Peter′s 17–day–sojourn, we bicycled to villages, often stopping to answer questions. "Why do you inconvenience yourselves for others?" they wanted to know. "Jesus lived this way," we replied.
A very good person
David, another seminarian, was my partner when we found an old man lying in rags on the cold cement verandah of the railway station. Mohammed, as we dubbed him, tried to tell us who he was but was too weak to utter. We brought a burlap sack to place under his head as a pillow. When I pledged to return the next morning, he stroked my forearm and guided my hand to his heart. On the third day of our attention to Mohammed, a spectator informed us about a woman who had lugged a bucket of water to the verandah, removed most of the man′s clothes, and bathed him. Then she fed him. Our informant declared: "She is not a good person!" We proposed otherwise: "If she bathes the soiled, feeds the hungry, and comforts the lonely, she surely is a very good person."
Water, having a high iron content, is a frequent source of stomach troubles in Bangladesh. Thus, the first home improvement I made was to build a water filter. Neighbor Alamgir helped me. Two months later, Alamgir, 38, died of a stroke, leaving his widow with three children, ages 7, 3, and 6 weeks. Many folks have come to condole with the family. Before they leave, they usually peek inside my hut. I point out the water filter Alamgir and I made together. They regard it with reverence.
Dulu, also of this neighborhood, had agreed to go with me to a hospital in Dhaka, six hours away, for her son′s treatment. As the time approached for our journey, it became clear that some people were nervous about it. Several women grilled me near the room Dulu shares with her parents and two small sons. Then some men came to talk things over, along with Dulu and her mother, seeking assurances. "You must simply trust me,"I counselled. Certainly, they had never before entrusted a relative of theirs, e.g. this young mother, to the guardianship of a stranger. It was hard for them. Yet, that is what I offer people: an opportunity to trust a stranger.
Thanks for the biscuits
Several miles northwest of my home, a tornado struck uprooting trees, collapsing solid brick walls, and strewing mangled sheets of galvanized iron. The death toll was fifty. Many went from the town by bicycle, motorcycle, and train to review the devastation. In village Kishamot, a tiny table placed under the open sky became a makeshift tea stall. "Good for you!" thought I of the determined owner, for refusing to let the destruction of his former 12-seater tea stall stymie his livelihood. I had been wondering what I might do for the tornado victims besides admire their resolve and industry. Several packets of biscuits stacked on the table suggested a way. Purchasing all the packets I handed one to each of the five men and boys shouting nearby. Upon seeing that kindness, the tea stall owner blurted out. "Everyone has come here to look at us, but this man is doing some good!" I thank God for biscuits which saved me from being completely useless to the afflicted.
The goal is to present a balanced picture of Muslim-Christian relations in the capital region and to "generate support for the Peacemakers' advocacy," Africa said. The non-stock, non-profit Foundation, founded in 1998, is composed of members from various religious traditions in the Philippines who are working to promote cooperation and unity in Muslim-Christian communities.
One day in village Kamar Para, I joined several men sitting in yet another tea stall. They questioned me and listened closely to the responses. "Which is the best of all countries? Do you have a degree? Why do you not marry?" We were having a lively exchange. After awhile, they seemed almost persuaded that it is possible for a man, inspired by Allah, to renounce the blessings of marriage and to live celibately and happily for The One. But then, curry being prepared in the kitchen next door, made me choke and cough. I had to vacate the premises and discontinue evangelizing because my eyes were watering and my lungs gasping for fresh air. When people talk about barriers to evangelization they seldom mention curry!
Another neighbor, Zillur, has epilepsy, which attacks in unpredictable places. Last month, he suffered a fit while locked inside our common outhouse. Sohel had to rip the door to rescue his cousin. More recently, as he was walking to the bazaar, Zillur collapsed and tumbled head first into a flooded paddy field. A pair of alert teenagers saved him. One good treasure about life in the world′s most densely-populated country is that one is never far from helpers.
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