Witnessing History: Part 2

(This is the second part of my (Gina's) entry about my trip to Bangladesh in late March. To read the first part, scroll down to the previous entry.)

Once we arrived at the conference center, I learned that more than 2,000 people had traveled across the country to get there, whether by bicycle, rickshaw or by renting a seat in a bus. About half of these had been elected by their churches to attend the event and to represent them in voting and elections. The conference center had nowhere near enough rooms for all these people, but they were content to sleep on the ground outside or on the auditorium floor each night for the chance to be part of the celebration.

A large crowd had gathered in the hot and dusty yard and two long lines of young men and women dressed in white were straightening ties and smoothing out dresses as they prepared to march inside for their graduation.

Inside the auditorium there was no air conditioning. Fans in each corner blew air from the open windows and doors. Even so, everyone packed into the hall fanned themselves and perspired.

I spent the graduation walking around the auditorium and snapping photos. I was interested at how the participants seemed so somber, demonstrating so little emotion on such a big day. Later, when I was eating a meal next to the academic dean of the school, I asked about this. He said that in their culture, it is a sign of respect toward foreign guests to restrain emotion.

I was a little sad when I heard this. I think it was the first time in my life when I really felt that different cultures aren't merely something interesting and fun to explore, but they are also a barrier between people. I wished that I could either be invisible or that for one day I could be a Bangladeshi so that the people I was meeting would feel they could truly be themselves around me, instead of keeping a shy and respectful distance in my presence.

Sometimes, when I wasn't busy snapping photos, I had a little fun with this cultural difference. Because it is not everyday that people with pale skin and light hair like mine travel to this part of the country, our group of foreigners were objects of fascination to everyone. I found somber eyes of children, men and women trained on me almost all the time.

At first this was a little intimidating. But then I got used to it and I stared back at them. I grinned broadly and held their eyes for several beats. After a few moments, each person would break into a responding grin. At that point, we were probably grinning like idiots at one another. But each time I coaxed a smile out of a brother or sister in Christ, I felt that barrier of culture and language crack just a little.