On the road in western Bangladesh

The city of Jessore in western Bangladesh, with its winding alleys and lively markets, has always been commercially and strategically important. It is a transportation hub, where the main north-south road from Rajshahi and Kushtia to Khulna crosses the east-west highway to India. The frontier at Benapole, an untidy cluster of hotels, restaurants, warehouses and transport facilities, is less than 30 miles west. In 1971, as Pakistan’s army battled Bangladeshi regular forces and mukhti bahini guerillas, millions of refugees fled west along this route to India—an exodus memorably described in Allen Ginsberg’s poem, September on Jessore Road.  In early December 1971, Bangladeshi and Indian forces recaptured the city, a victory that set the stage for a rapid advance and the surrender of Pakistan’s forces.

Today, the Jessore road remains the main overland commercial route between the two countries. Trucks rumble west, carrying textiles, jute products such as rope and sacks, scrap metal and agricultural produce. Bangladesh imports coal, petroleum, chemicals, rice and manufactured goods, including cars and trucks. On the road south from Jessore to Khulna, we passed rail junctions where laborers off-loaded coal from trucks into rail cars, part of a supply chain that begins in the mines of Bihar and West Bengal and ends at the power stations that supply Dhaka’s garment factories and residents.

In contrast to the northern section of the road from Kushtia to Jessore, which is bordered by rice paddies, corn fields and mango plantations, the southern section is more industrial. The region has deposits of mica and bauxite and produces building materials; we passed the tall chimneys of brick kilns, cement plants and factories with rows of bicycles parked outside. The dull grey concrete buildings were interrupted by unexpected splashes of color—apartment blocks and commercial buildings painted from basement to roof in bright red or green, advertising cement, chips, tea and mobile phone services. Perhaps only in South Asia can you buy not only a roadside billboard, but a whole building to push your product. On some, an uplifting slogan was added to the product name and logo, a small dash of corporate social responsibility to atone for dunking yet another block in company colors. It was nice to know that the company that sold you chips also believed that “The Learned are Judicious.”

Beyond the kilns and plants, the rice paddies stretched into the distance, irrigated by diesel-powered pumps drawing water from the aquifer. Along the road, lined with eucalyptus trees, peanuts were laid out on tarpaulins to dry. The most important cash crop in this region is shrimp, raised in fresh and saltwater ponds; we saw blue nets stretched across the ponds and small fields of red—harvested shrimp drying in the sun. Logs were piled on the roadside, ready to be fashioned into furniture. South of Khulna is the Sundarbans, the delta area with the largest continuous mangrove forest in the world. It is home to deer, wild boar, otter, saltwater crocodiles, river dolphins and the last surviving Bengal tigers. Officially, it’s a protected area, but its vastness and lack of roads make it difficult to police. Illegal logging has become a lucrative industry.

Khulna, where we stayed overnight after a visit to the university, is an old river port on a distributary of the Padma. It used to be a center of the jute industry, but today shrimp is its major export. With a population of just over one million, it’s the third largest city in Bangladesh, but a distant third; Dhaka has a population of 8.5 million and Chittagong 4.5 million. It’s still a bustling place, crowded with trucks, buses, auto rickshaws and cars. We stayed at the City Inn, a three-star establishment with a temperamental elevator that promoted itself as the “symbol of elegance.”

From UNICEF’s perspective, there’s a lot to do in western Bangladesh. Poverty rates are high, and many children suffer from poor nutrition. Overall, the country has improved its maternal and childhood mortality rates, but some western districts are lagging. Many children work in agriculture and small industry, so child labor is an issue. On the other hand, why would parents send their children to school when the quality of primary education is low, and poorly-paid teachers sometimes don’t show up for class? The government’s failure to provide education, health and social services has created needs that are partly filled by development agencies and by the mosques which operate madrassas.

I was told there were Islamic State-affiliated training camps in this region where young Muslim men are radicalized and sent to Iraq or Syria. At the Islamic University of Kushtia, which has a large department of religious studies, I trod carefully in my discussions with faculty members. I need not have worried because they were typical academics, contemptuous of all authority.

I would have likely faced more hostility from the motorcycle gang we passed on the road near Jessore, waving red flags. The region, like its Indian neighbor West Bengal, is a stronghold of the Communist Party. I thought the bikers all looked rather revolutionary chic—sooooo Che Guevara with their red bandanas embossed with the hammer and sickle. But I was not about to stop and commend them on their sense of fashion.

Bangladesh's friendly skies

Fly Your Own Airline. That was the slogan of United Airways (not to be confused with the larger US-based carrier, United Airlines), a private airline in Bangladesh. It was emblazoned across the aircraft and at the check-in counter of the domestic terminal of Dhaka’s Hazrat Shahjalal airport. I’d like to think it meant the crew would invite you to take over the controls once the plane has reached a safe cruising altitude and take a selfie in the cockpit against a background of flashing instrument lights, but it was probably just the product of a brainstorming session with a marketing team to make passengers feel part of the airline family.

I didn’t have the opportunity to test the slogan because United Airways, notorious for delays, flight suspensions and poor in-flight amenities, ceased operations in mid-2016, but I’ve flown with three other private airlines—Regent Airlines, Novo Air and US Bangla. All connect to domestic destinations and offer a few international flights, mostly to India and Southeast Asia. After the government airline, Biman Bangladesh (Air Bangladesh), lost its monopoly of the skies in 1996, the airline industry literally took off and competition is cutthroat. My total bill for three round-trip domestic flights came to under $250, and all airlines offer special discounted fares.  If you plan ahead, you can fly almost anywhere in the country for under $60 round trip.

Bangladesh is a small country, so the flights are short. My first flight to Jessore in the west on Novo Air took just 30 minutes; it was 45 minutes to Chittagong on Regent and a seemingly interminable 50 minutes to Sylhet in the north on US Bangla. With short flight times, everything in the cabin happens at breakneck speed. The attendants race through the routine announcements and safety demonstration (in both Bangla and English) in a couple of minutes, including the requisite quotation from the Koran, roughly translated as “God (Allah) is almighty, without him we would not be safe.” Immediately after the seat belt sign is turned off, and almost before you have time to lower your tray table, the cabin attendants are running up and down the aisle, doling out boxes with sandwiches, cookies or cake and a bottle of water. There’s more glitz to the packaging than the food inside the box. “Celebrate Spring with the bite of true delight,” promises US Bangla on its bright yellow boxes with a floral design. “True delight” consists of a soggy bun wrapped around processed chicken, a slice of sponge cake and a mint wrapped in teeth-challenging plastic. But there’s no time to debate truth in advertising because it’s a mad rush to collect the trash before the seat belt sign goes on again and the plane begins its descent. The standard request to “sit back, relax and enjoy your flight” seems irrelevant because it’s non-stop action most of the way.

For those of us accustomed to long lines at check-in, surly gate agents and tiresome security checks, taking a domestic flight in Bangladesh is remarkably hassle-free, the security measures relaxed and the staff helpful and friendly. At the terminal entrance, your luggage goes through a scanner while you walk through the security gate. No one tells you to remove your belt or empty your pockets, so you invariably set off the alarm. The security agent points a scanner in your general direction, then waves you through. No ID is required at check-in. There’s one more scanner for carry-on, but you don’t have to remove your laptop, or take off your jacket, belt or shoes. There’s a list of prohibited carry-on items—the usual ones (handguns, knives and other sharp objects) and a few oddball items such as tape measures, tennis rackets, cricket bats, pool cues and catapults. Your one-liter water bottle?  Carry it on board. The value-sized shampoo bottle? No problem.

I got to know the departure lounge at Dhaka’s domestic terminal pretty well. I usually headed for a corner area where there’s a sofa and two easy chairs—a standard living room suite that would not look out of place in a low-rent apartment. The fake leather is showing its age, but it’s the most comfortable place in the lounge. The thrift store ambience is enhanced by a couple of other upholstered bench chairs across the room. There’s a small tea and coffee stall and a place to buy sweets and pastries. It all feels rather homely.

You have no problem finding your gate because there are only two. Although the domestic terminal handles 50-60 flights a day, the system works well. There are a couple of monitors for departures, but the standard announcement to board is made by airline agents strolling around barking, “Regent—Chittagong” or “US Bangla—Sylhet.” If you’re dozing, they’ll wake you up to check where you’re going. The slightly surreal atmosphere continues on the bus, where the soothing pre-flight muzak track is distinctively but confusingly Celtic—soft acoustic melodies on piano, flute and, harp.

Or perhaps you will travel by car. For no clear reason, every airline provides a couple of cars to shuttle passengers to the plane. I assumed this service was for VIPs, government officials and disabled passengers who found it difficult to board a bus. But it seemed entirely random. For the first flight to Jessore, my UNICEF colleague Yasmin and I had chauffeur service to the plane with the driver stashing our carry-on in the trunk.

After a short flight and fast onboard service, you expect your checked baggage to arrive promptly and intact. Unfortunately, although Biman Bangladesh surrendered its monopoly of domestic routes, it still handles—or rather mishandles—baggage at every airport. Delays are longest for international flights because of lack of equipment and baggage handling staff.  It’s a 45-minute flight from Kolkata to Dhaka, but one passenger told the Dhaka Tribune that it took five hours for the luggage to reach the carousel. According to a report by the airport authority, an average or more than 100 passengers a day file claims at the lost and found office; either their luggage went missing, or items were stolen. According to the Tribune, “ground handlers routinely pick out suitcases from flights they know are bound to be filled with valuable goods, such as flights from the Middle East or India.” Closed-circuit TV has failed to stop the pilfering by Biman Bangladesh staff.  Private airlines and consumer advocates are pressing for an open tender to allow a private company to take over baggage handling.