It feels just a tad weird writing about a week in Bangladesh when I'm sitting in my parent's house in deepest middle class Hertfordshire. To say the 2 places are worlds apart is an understatement. They represent 2 lives, my childhood past and my adult present, so I'm being flooded with ancient and happy memories that make it difficult to recall even what I did last week. Here goes anyway.

To say that my week was dominated by my flight back to England is obvious, and another huge understatement. Quite literally everything I did was geared towards getting on that plane early Saturday morning, from a few presents for the family and friends down to how much fruit I bought at the market so as not to have to throw too much away when I left for Dhaka. Rest assured it all worked out in the end, though thanks mostly to circumstances beyond my control.

I had originally planned to travel down on the Thursday to give myself an evening plus a full day to do some last minute shopping etc. At work I was basically in the very slow phase I described last week, so my bus down couldn't come sooner. In was on precisely this point that I got a lucky break, thanks to Habib. We were talking over the weekend and he mentioned he was going to Dhaka for a CARE workshop to be held on Tuesday. I asked what it was about, and when he mentioned capacity building and organisational development my interest was suddenly considerably higher than at any other moment in the previous 10 days. From there it was of course easy to confirm that my presence could indeed be beneficial for all concerned, and so it was that we decided I should go to Dhaka on Monday and not Thursday! Result!

In all honesty I was actually looking forward to the workshop as Habib said that it was to be run by the INTRAC consultant from England I'd met some weeks earlier at the VSO quarterly meeting. This struck me as odd as I felt sure she had already flown home after her 2 week stay, but Habib seemed sure of his facts so I accepted them as such. Originally we had intended to travel down together, but Habib had to go to Dinajpur about a court case BRIF has brought against a few ex-employees who embezzled money from a micro-credit fund over 4 years ago. The wheels of justice turn slowly in Bangladesh, unless of course some financial lubricant is applied if you see what I mean. To cut a long story short I travelled down alone, saw far too many crashed buses on either side of the road (a consequence of the rainy season), and got to where I was staying around 10pm.

The next morning, I waited at VSO with my mobile phone to meet Habib as arranged, but he never came. He never called either, and I couldn't reach him. In the end I decided to go to the meeting alone, so got directions from VSO staff to avoid letting the rickshaw puller guess his way. The instructions I received, which proved to be extremely accurate and useful, were to ask for the opposition leader husband's house! Why the husband I asked, surely they live together? Ah they do, but when a woman gets married she leaves her father's house and moves to her husband's. Logical really. So I get there about 30 minutes late, which normally wouldn't be a problem, and as I approach the entrance the various drivers and servants hanging around seem quite surprised to see me. Being a white man in Bangladesh I'm used to such a reaction so carry on towards the door, but then one chap asks me in English why I have come. For the meeting I reply. What meeting he asks. The workshop of course, about partnership and things. It's been cancelled he tells me. Ah ha. After a phone call and the examination of a memo received the previous day it transpires that the facilitator's father had just died, which as reasons to cancel a meeting at the last minute go is pretty much top 5 in my book.

Let me recap: I'm in Dhaka on Tuesday morning at around 9.30 am with nothing strictly professional to do at all. In other words, I've magically gained 3 days of extra time to shop, finalise arrangements and relax before leaving for the UK. Bonus!! So what did I do first? Well, after calling Habib to arrange we meet up at 5pm I got a taxi to the best hotel in town for my monthly haircut! That evening I took Habib to the BAGHA for a beer and some dinner (which I think he enjoyed) and the rest of the week was very relaxed with plenty of time to get things done and still have some left over to watch the footie and and play touch rugby on Friday afternoon. I would go into details but quite frankly it's not at all interesting, and most of you will be seeing me in person over the next 3 weeks so can ask more then in the unlikely event you so desire.

What then of coming back to the UK? Well, the flight was fine and even arrived 40 minutes early. This, combined with the traffic jams on the M25, meant I got through customs before my parents could get to the arrivals gate, so in the end it was I who found them and not them that shouted "KERIIIIII!" as I emerged through sliding doors to face a scrum of anxious families and surly taxi drivers. Once back at the family home it was suprising just how normal everything felt. A few things had changed, but home is still home not matter how long you've been away and what you've been through. That at least is my view anyway.

It didn't take me long to realise though that something had changed in me since I was last home. My father and I went down to the rugby club in the hope they were showing the Argentina-Wales rugby international on satellite TV. As it turned out they'd cancelled their subscription due to the cost, so my Dad got a few pints of Stella in and we chatted to a few of Dad's old rugby friends that I've met on previous very similar occasions. We got into this discussion with a retired Welsh guy about why Britain should be a more active member of the EU, and within 10 minutes I found myself ranting away about the necessity for closer international cooperation and development aid using a variety of statistics and stories that 12 months ago I'd never even heard of. In my defense I was tired after the flight not to mention rather emotional after the last month of various illnesses and strains in Bangladesh. None the less, my politics have clearly changed and my world view will never be the same again. One thing has remained constant though - 2 pints of Stella are still pretty lethal on an empty stomach.