This week I'd like to introduce you to an amazing man. His name is Mr. Nayeem Rana (centre of picture) and he is the coach for the Army volleyball team which contains several internationals. Why this man is amazing to me will be revealed a little later.

The highlight of this week should have been visiting another volunteer to experience first hand life and work with a NGO in Bangladesh. It's all part of our induction programme, and originally I'd chosen to go and see Jack who at 73 or thereabouts is apparently VSO's oldest serving volunteer in the world. Sadly for the both of us Jack injured his shoulder, so as a last minute measure I changed my visit to go and see Jamilla from Manila in Comilla. She really is called Jamilla, she is from Manila, and she now lives and works in Comilla which is 2 hours west of Dhaka right by the Indian border. Again, things didn't exactly go to plan.

I left Dhaka with Ric, who was also visiting Jamilla, by bus Monday morning. Bus stations here are madness but we found our bus without too much hassle and left immediately. We grabbed some seats at the rear of the bus, settled in, and I even got talking to a chap who was a chemistry teacher originally from Comilla. It started to rain, we closed the windows a little, and noticed that the fans in the roof had stopped working. Then all of a sudden the driver slams on the breaks and my world starts going in slow motion.

The front right corner i.e. the driver's side, smashed into the equivalent corner of a bus coming the other way and we started sliding backwards. The bus we hit pivoted on the corner of impact and actually slid past the right hand side of the bus. I remember watching the other bus "overtake" us as it slid down the side of the bus I was sitting on. The 2 buses finally ground to a halt side by side at about 30 degree angles in the air as we had finished half off the road in the bordering fields.

When the bus started skidding after the driver had slammed on the breaks we all knew something was wrong. Then came the impact and I banged my head hard into the side window. My next instinct was to assume the crash postion and hold my head in my hands until finally we stopped moving. Just like in the movies, I put my hand to my head and knew I was bleeding quite badly. Ric, who was sitting in front of me but on the isle side, seemed a little dazed but after a few minutes got his wits back together. Luckily for him my bag had been between him and the window. I, however, now had blood pouring down my arm and onto the floor. Ric quickly fished a T-shirt out of his bag and I applied that to the gash and the bleeding soon stopped. As we were to the rear of the bus it took us a while to get off, but when we did I was immediately taken by the arm by a man who led me to cover on the other side of the road, then quickly onto another bus that had stopped to take the injured off to the hospital a few miles down the road. That man was Mr. Nayeem Rana.

The hospital was just teeming with people, many of whom were visibly far worse hurt than we were. After only a few minutes I was in a room surrounded by 3 doctors who asked me a few questions then set about putting in stitches. They asked me if I wanted an injection and I asked if the needle was sterile and new. They assured me that it was, but either they didn't use it or the anaesthetic wasn't very strong because I felt every stitch go in with more than just a passing sensation. By this time there was quite a crowd around me as I was the only foreigner in town, and certainly with Ric the only one from the bus accident. Despite the pain I remember looking at the lads watching me and saying to myself "Don't show it hurts, don't cry out or move". It was a bit of a rugby thing I suppose, but also to leave them with a good impression. During the whole time my friend Rana stayed with me, looked after my bags, asked if I was OK and generally reassured me about what the doctors were doing.

After about 10 minutes of stitching and bandaging I was able to sit in a room with Ric and about 20 spectators. The Bengalis stare at foreigners at the best of times, but here it was bordering on hypnotism as they stood and stared without moving or speaking. Every so often a man or doctor would tell them to step back or get out but they were soon back. Luckily for us Ric had his mobile phone so he was able to warn both Jamilla and the VSO office on Dhaka. Jamilla came with her boss, kept us company and found us some food and drink. The VSO country director along with another manager jumped into a car, arrived 2 hours later and took us back to Dhaka. While we waited for them the Police turned up and asked for our names and office address. We were also asked a few basic questions by no less than 3 different reporters already on the scene. One of the policemen said to me: "You are foreigner. You are honourable man. We are sorry for accident."

In the end, we were driven back to Dhaka and straight to VSO's recommended doctor who tidied up my stitches and X-rayed us both to check for head injuries. We were both fine and were free to go with some antibiotics and pain killers in our pockets. Next stop was the VSO office so I could phone Visa and my bank to cancel the cards I'd lost in the crash somewhere. I'd only received the cards the day before so I was a tad annoyed about that one! When I came out of the office after phoning, another volunteer (Gill, bless her) had been to get us some takeaway food for dinner, and her and Jamilla (who had come all the way back to Dhaka with us) came back to our flat to look after us a bit and see that nothing odd happened over night (you don't mess around with head injuries).

All in all I ended the day with 10 stitches across my forehead and no wallet. The driver of the other bus ended his day at 11am and lost his life. I think I came out of it all pretty well. Rana didn't have a scratch, and said that the hand of Allah had been protecting him. I just hope he stays well for his wedding in January not to mention the rest of his happily married life.