Muslim culture in Bangladesh ‘takes hold’ of my heart

by Fran Ferder, FSPA
“At first it was the noise that got my attention.” These words, spoken in an e-mail by Joy O’Grady, CSC, gave me a bit of comfort the first evening that I stood in my room in the Holy Cross compound in Dhaka, Bangladesh, trying to adjust to the city’s din—the endless sound of human voices, horns honking, birds squawking and the Muslim call to prayer blaring from loudspeakers on the roof of every mosque in the overcrowded city. Sister Joy, the former president of the Holy Cross Sisters who had first invited Father John Heagle and me to do a workshop for Holy Cross in Bangladesh, had told me it was the noise that was hardest for her on her first of many trips to visit her Holy Cross Sisters there. She was right. Never before had I heard such continuous, abrasive noise, 24 hours a day.

Bangladesh, a developing country formerly called East Pakistan, is about the size of Iowa. Adjacent to India, and surrounded by some of the most violent places in the world, Bangladesh is home to 150 million people compared to Iowa’s three million. Although I have seen the heart wrenching poverty in the dumps of Mezquital in Guatemala and the slums of Manila and Delhi, never before have I experienced the combination of overcrowding, pollution, poverty, dust and noise of Dhaka. As our Jet Airways flight from Delhi descended out of a cobalt blue sky, we sank deeper and deeper into a thick haze of orange-gray air and landed at the Dhaka airport. It would be the last we would see the color of the sky until we were on our returning flight.

We were met at the airport by Sisters Pushpa and Lotica—two native Bangladeshi women who greeted us with flowers and warm hugs. Then we experienced Dhaka traffic firsthand. Imagine any big city rush hour on a street roughly four lanes wide (there are no freeways) and then add thousands of bicycle-drawn rickshaws, dented buses with broken windows, CNGs (tiny open air “taxis” that run on canister natural gas), cows being led by ropes, wooden carts laden with everything from bananas to sacks of potatoes, people carrying loads on their heads and children begging at the car windows in the traffic. Everything moved slowly, cars brushing against buses, no one observing lanes, until we finally arrived at Holy Cross—a rare three acre walled compound with a convent, school and college where all rooms are built on a cement slab and open to the outside with screen doors.

Sister Joy invited us to give workshops on sexuality and celibate chastity in an area where the subject of sexuality is not discussed, so we were a little apprehensive. But we need not have worried. The sisters, priests and brothers were incredibly welcoming and grateful, and so very open. They had many questions about gender equality, friendship and how to have loving celibate relationships. We found what we have discovered in other cultures and countries—all human persons seek to love and to be loved. The human heart has a huge capacity for caring, whatever the color of the skin that houses it.

Our first session was just for Holy Cross Sisters—average age 35 to 45 years old. Of the 70 Holy Cross Sisters in the country, only three are U.S. citizens and the rest are native Bangladeshi women. They speak English, but we used a translator at times to summarize since they speak their native Bangla among themselves. Our second workshop was held at the archbishop’s conference center and was open to priests, sisters from other communities and brothers. They had hoped to get 80 participants and hosted over 125—evidence of the hunger for learning and growing. About one-third were priests and brothers. Our schedule was heavy as we went from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., with a 90 minute lunch break each day, followed at 7 p.m. with liturgy with the Holy Cross Sisters. In Bangladesh, everyone, including the celebrant, sits on the floor or a stool for prayer and liturgy—the entire liturgy.

On our two days off, we visited an orphanage, a clinic and school for slum dwellers, a garment factory, a home for street children and some families in the area. We also worked with the Bangladeshi headquarters of Stop the Traffik, the international organization that rescues women and girls from sex trade. They do amazing work and we felt privileged to spend some time with them and learn more about their mission. Since the Holy Cross Sisters live in the heart of the poorest area, each trip out into the streets gave us another glimpse into the utter poverty of the people.

Many of the sisters in Bangladesh live and work outside Dhaka in the villages. A few of them rode buses for three days just to get to the workshop. We heard stories of some wading through neck-deep canals, using sticks to ward off leaches, to get to and from their village. They live in bamboo shelters, sleep on mats on the ground, cook in open air fire pits, dig their own latrines and travel up into remote villages to teach children and adults to read. It is Greg Mortenson, author of Three Cups of Tea, and his work in action. Like Mr. Mortenson, they believe that literacy is a way out of poverty . . . sometimes, for some.

Perhaps one of the newest experiences for us was hearing the Muslim call to prayer (Adhan or Azan) five times a day, every day, as it was broadcast from four speakers atop every mosque in the city. In times past (and in some places still), the muezzin climbed to the top of the minaret for the call. Today they use loudspeakers, one pointed in each direction. They are not synchronized, so beginning around 6 a.m. you hear it starting many times. The Adhan can be a prayerful, comforting sound. But when it is blasted over loudspeakers, and not synchronized from one mosque to the next, it can be grating (and, some of the muezzin do not have the best singing voices!). Several times when we were presenting, the Adhan was broadcast, and we could hardly continue.

It was instructive to learn how Christians—a tiny minority (0.3 percent) in Bangladesh—simply have to tolerate what can feel like an intrusion of another religion into their days and nights. Also, since Muslims run the government, the sisters in the school and college have to get permission for just about everything they do, including hiring a new teacher. They have to be very respectful, and to acquiesce to Muslim requirements to continue their work of teaching literacy skills to women and girls. It is a stark example of a country where there is no separation between church and state. And yes, we saw many women wearing burkas. According to some, the presence of the burka is increasing!

We went to Bangladesh during the Muslim holy day, Eid (pronounced “eed”), since the sisters were free during that time as school was closed. Muslims around the world celebrate Eid al-Adha, marking the end of the hajj, by slaughtering sheep, goats, cows and camels to commemorate Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son Ishmael on God’s command. We saw this literal understanding of the story as thousands of cows were sold on the streets and then trotted home on ropes in the days before Eid. On the morning of Eid, each cow is washed, a wreath of flowers is put around its neck, and its legs are bound with ropes. Then its neck is cut with one blow (if the cow does not die with one blow, the meat cannot be eaten). The streets run with blood, and by the next day or two, you cannot only see it—but smell it—everywhere. Families often go together to buy a cow, and they must give one-third of its meat to the poor. Both Holy Cross sisters and fathers were recipients of some of the meat, which was prepared in a stew-like form with potatoes. I tasted my first animal sacrifice! I must admit, it seemed a little weird.

Most certainly, the highlight of our trip was meeting and working with the sisters. They were incredibly welcoming, warm and energetic. On Thanksgiving Day, they fixed chicken and dressing for us (turkey is not available in Bangladesh). At the end of the workshop, they put on a program, complete with tribal dance, music and many expressions of gratitude and presentation of gifts and flowers. I wore a sari, at their urging, and Father John wore a traditional Bangladeshi embroidered shirt.

We came home with many mosquito bites (we are still taking medication to prevent malaria), more than a little fatigue, and experiences that will take some time to process. But the long trip to learn about the ministry of the Holy Cross Sisters, to come to know them, to experience their dedication and generosity, was more than worth it. We are both in awe of who they are and all they do. When I told Sister Marlene Weisenbeck of this invitation and asked for her opinion, she said simply, “I think you should go.” She was right and I am grateful. This morning, just before 6 a.m., I woke up, waiting in the dark for the Adhan to begin. Then I remembered I was home. It is surprising how quickly the customs and voices of others can get inside and take hold of our hearts. Please keep the people of Bangladesh, and the Holy Cross Sisters, in prayer.