Leaving Bangladesh, April 2002

At Dhaka Aiport....
Suddenly there is an announcement over the tannoy system, which Munnu translates as my having to leave. We say a flurry of goodbyes—tearful in my case—and I load up my bags.

“But I don’t want to go,” I whine like child. “I want to stay here and take tea and go shopping with Hasina and on tours with you and sit in the SCI office and fill in evaluation forms and make Christine come back and…”
“Anne. You must go.” Munnu propels me forward. “Also you must return soon.”
At a sign that says “Departures. Passengers Only” we face a serious security guard who wants to check my papers. He asks Munnu a couple of questions, grunts doubtfully and waves us both along.
“What did you say to him?”
“I tell him my blonde Bengali wife departs the country leaving me behind her,” he grins. “He says I may come to the gate and wave to you.”
Suddenly it is time to go, and I load Munnu down with messages for everyone I can think of. There is so much to say, and yet there is nothing. I take a step forward, and then one back. I suddenly think of something I have been meaning to ask Munnu for weeks, and I must know before I go.
“Munnu,” I say. “What is calculus?”
He looks puzzled. “Calculus? I do not know. Why do you ask?”
“You must know.” I persist. “You’ve told me a lot of stories and in many of them you start by saying, ‘when I was in calculus…’ Is it something in college?”
He looks at me for a moment, and then laughs out loud. “Not calculus,” he explains. “Cadet class. I say ‘when I am in cadet class.’ It is a school that gives good education and also trains men for the Army. My mother sent me there, but I do not wish to be a military person. Cadet class,” he repeats. “Make sure this is correct in your travelling diary.”
“Yes, my diary,” I say. “I will send it to you. But how should I finish it? What will I say so people know how I feel about Bangladesh?”
“Anne. Long ago in Khalia you tell me that you come to Bangladesh because you want to have your story to tell. Yes? And now you have this story.”
I nod, touched that he remembers.
“So already you will have written everything. You just be simple.”
Since he is right, it is only fitting that I give Munnu the last words.
He thinks carefully: “Say: I said goodbye, I got in the airplane, and went home. The End,” he advises.
And this is what I do.
(ABBW Ch30)

It wasn't really the end, it still isn't, as this blog and the book both signify.  But it was the beginning of another long journey in which the diary became the book, begat a charity and is the basis for my ongoing 'life' in Bangladesh which has involved eight or nine visits to date - the next one with a baby???
 
So here starts another chapter...