A funny thing happened to me while out for dinner this weekend. Well, I say funny but it wasn't in the least bit amusing as I witnessed a woman physically abusing one of her house girls.

The whole evening had started off so nicely too. During the day I'd had a number of meetings that had taken me out of the cool of my air conditioned office and into the Dhaka heat, so come the evening I was knackered. After a quick shower and a lie down, we (Sarah, Graham and I) made the 5 minute journey down the road to Harrison's flat already imagining the vast amounts of mashed potato, rice and chicken he always cooks up. We weren't to be disappointed, and as we were all fairly hungry we all dived in spoons first. It was about half way through my first serving that I started hearing the slaps.

Harrison's flat, or rather his dining room and kitchen, face the dining room of the house next door where a whole family live. I can't remember noticing the building before, but that night with the curtains open and the lights on, we could see straight into their dining room with no more than 10 metres separating us. To start with it all seemed quite normal, just 2 groups of people in neighbouring houses sitting down for some dinner with the windows open in the hope of getting a little breeze to cool the humid evening air. As our meal started up so theirs seemed to finish, but clearly the lady of the house was not happy about something one of the house girls had said or done.

As I said before, it was the sound of slapping that first got my attention. The first few times I thought nothing of it, but as it continued and sounded exactly like hand firmly meeting skin I looked over to see what was happening. The closer I looked the more it became clear that this woman was slapping a young girl not even in her teens, and she was concentrating on the face and head. Hoping that they would see me watching, I left the dinner table and stood at the window staring straight at her. Both the woman, and another one who I took to be her adult daughter, were too focused on the matter in hand to look my way, so after yet another slap I yelled out an aggressive "HEY!". I can only guess they didn't hear as the beating continued until the girl was pulled by her hand and fell to the floor were she stayed for some time in a great deal of distress. Harrison and his flatmate Paul both said they'd heard slapping before but had never actually seen it happening with their own eyes.

Slowly but surely our neighbours seemed to become aware of us all watching (I'd been joined by the others by now), so curtains were drawn and towels hung in suspiciously strategic places. The beating and sobbing did stop however, though whether they were bored or our presence disturbed them I'll never know. I didn't leave it at that though. It was just one of those moments when you've seen too much to not do something, or at least need to feel like you've done something about it. After dinner I went and rang the bell of the house where these people lived. The house boy (how many servants did these people have?!) went and fetched the teenage son despite the fact I'd asked to speak to Madam. He was probably sent as he had the best English, and that was probably a good thing to facilitate communication. I also suspect that Madam doesn't come to the door for just anybody. The conversation went like this:

Me: Do you recognise me?

Lad: Err no.

Me: Me and my friends were in that building and saw a woman beating a young girl. If we see or hear that again, the next time you'll see me I'll bring the authorities.

Lad: Are you threatening me?

Me: I'm telling you that what you are doing is wrong and that that girl needs protecting. Do you understand me?

Lad: Yes.

After that he went back inside (looking a little scared according to Sarah!) and we got a rickshaw home. The building where Harrison lives also houses 2 other VSO volunteers as well the Programme Support Manager, our very own Mr. Ranju Chowdhury OBE (he really is an OBE, he won it last year!). Seeing as they're neighbours I thought it best to tell him what happened just in case this affected other local relationships. His take was that they would probably be feeling quite guilty as deep down they know what they're doing is wrong and now someone else knows it too. And that really is the part that intrigues me.

If you know that beating a poor young girl is wrong, if as a mother you'd hate nothing more than something similar happening to your own daughter, then why do it to someone elses? Personally I see a parallel between this and what happened in Iraq with prisoners being abused, or the rise of religious fundamentalism. There seems to be a belief that certain people or groups are inferior, and as such they don't deserve the same treatment and respect as "us". As a result, even if you know that the girl is someone's daughter, if she comes from a class or caste or group that is "beneath" you then you almost believe you can do what you like. The key part of this though, which to me proves that even the perpetrators know deep down that it's wrong, is that this only happens in private where no one else can see. If there was nothing to be ashamed of, why hide it?

While I don't really have a neat conclusion for all this I will say this. I strikes me that, if they thought about it, the so called cultured elite that seems to engage in this sort of abuse (or slavery to call it what it can be in its most extreme form) would probably think us foreigners would feel closest to them rather than the lower classes they abuse all day long. In actual fact I have far more respect for the way the poor and powerless get on with their lives and maintain as much dignity as they can manage, and I feel nothing but contempt and disgust for these so called educated Bangladeshis who treat their own people with so little humanity. And no photo this week - I rarely take a camera to dinner.