Having waited 15 minutes or so, we are back on track and being told that the final hour and a half will be "truly awful - so please do hold on tight" by the navigator as the driver chuckles slightly but not too loudly so as to offend any of us.
My sister, Tanny and I look completely puzzled so Neema explains that unfortunately the last bits of the road are pretty much non-existent due to funding issues in the local Jela (or Council) so we were basically going to be off-roading in our suspension lacking ambulance..."Bloody Brilliant" my sister surprisingly pipes up before I can let out a swear which is so out of character for her that I howl with laughter.
Initially things are bumping along nicely - not smoothly to be sure - but nothing to bark on about and although we are sitting with our butts clenched and nails digging into the lining of our benches, we start relaxing a little thinking this is not as bad as we were expecting until the first wave of the changing terrain hits our vehicle some 20 minutes in and we regret ever feeling any sense of security.
As I hold on to the bottom of my seat for dear life, my sister who is not the best traveller anyway, lets out a loud shriek and looks desperately left and right to treble check whether there are any seat belts anywhere in sight and practically cries realising the folly of her thoughts - we are after all in Bangladesh, the country completely free of any anal Health and Safety Executives such as you would find in merry ol'England.
"Seat belts? What are seat belts?!" would be the general comment from everyday Bangladeshi drivers if you asked for one usually as they are bombing down a one way street the wrong way at a ridiculous speed and honking their horns at the incoming traffic.
"Think we're a long way from home now sis" I shout over, "but hey, take solace in that if we go, we'll all go together - wooohoooo!".
With that I muster up some semblance of a grin although it only makes my sister feign a smile before she returns to fretting over the lack of any reassuring hug of a safety harness.
Meanwhile, Neema and Auntie Poppy decide to go the other way, clearly knowing that a seat belt will never be forthcoming, they cling to each other as we experience every shake of the ambulance and scrape of tarmac (or more precisely rock) beneath us, making them sway like branches of a tree caught in a gale; Tanny however, miraculously snores away with his headphones on until one pops out - he looks around at us half asleep and then turns over to make himself comfy once more to catch another forty winks.
Suddenly - CRASH!
Our ambulance hits an upturned rock and jumps up at least a foot and with true Hollywood-action-cheese precision, it somehow manages to land on the other side on all four wheels intact, along with all of us alive and well having carried out the classic group scream as we flew through the air (save for Tanny), going something like - "Agggghhhhhhhh!"
Despite all the carnage I am amazed to see that there is still no apparent sign of Sleeping Beauty awaking from his slumber and as I decide kissing him would probably give him the wrong idea, in a very mean manoeuvre, I move Tanny's head away from the ambulance door so that on the next shudder it slips and lands with a little less precision than the ambulance and slams only slightly against the ambulance door he is leaning on...and it works like a charm.
Tanny's head bashes away waking him up with a jolt, "What the fuck?!" he whelps as he rubs the injured side of his head.
"Welcome to the war zone bro!" I jest, pretending that I had nothing to do with his incident as I usher him with one hand to hold onto the bench before he bounces off it.
"Seems we were hoping for a little too much...as if the roads would lead neatly all the way into mum's village. That would make too much fucking sense,eh?" I say to him trying to deflect his annoyed glare as we rattle away in our steel cage under the sheer vibrations from the road.
Before he can say anything though, I notice one of the ropes binding the coffin to the shelf it lay upon in the ambulance starting to come lose and I panic slightly, not really knowing how securely mum lay within, "If the coffin shook too much would she eventually turn inside?" I wonder as I watch the coffin shake slightly at first but furiously more so as we continue along the rocky road.
I decide not to take any chances and leap into action before anything further can happen and laying the top of my chest lightly on the side of the coffin, rest my arms securely along over it forming a giant L-shape in the tight confines of the cabin and holding on to a steel bar going across the middle of the window running parallel to it on the other side.
But surprisingly at 13.5 stones, my weight does not seem to be enough for a change.
"Hah! For once I'm too fucking light! What are the odds of that? Where's my wife when I need her to see I'm not as fat as we always thought!"
My sister scuttles about at my feet weaving in and out from between my legs, trying to tie the rope tighter in the vain hope that her actions will help secure mum again and allow me to sit back down but this is proving to just be a nuisance as I am having to concentrate too hard on trying not to kick her in the face as I desperately attempt to keep my balance; eventually I ask her to call it quits and with only an estimated 45 minutes to go, I proclaim that I would somehow continue doing what I had begun to do.
Then, BOOM!!
As if our current situation was not bad enough our exhaust blows and whereas any normal driver would probably stop, ours continues on. Even Auntie Poppy who is a born and bred Bangladeshi and has seen ludicrous scenarios before when it comes to driving shouts out to the driver to ask whether it would make sense for him to stop and have a look but the navigator pipes up, "Doesn't matter Madam, it's an old ambulance. Besides, not far now!" and then turns back to assist the driver in continuing to dodge the 3 foot wide and equally as deep potholes for the 2 foot wide ones instead!!!
The way he is speaking to the driver pointing and now shouting over the loud repeated banging sound of the blown exhaust, as they both stare out the windscreen into the poorly lit road, you'd think they were on some territorial army training, but either way, the situation does not make me smile.
"Not far? Not Far?! It better bloody not be far!" I cry, my back becoming sore from the awkward position I am in and arms getting bruised for trying to keep the coffin secure.
"Dude, it's Bangladesh - time and space run at different paces to the rest of the world here! Chances are without help you'll be fucked pretty soon as I think it's gonna take a lot longer than you think before we get there" Tanny jokes as he pushes me to one side and joins me in my endeavours.
The ambulance bounces again and again and once more for good measure every time we think it cannot get worse than the last, but Tanny and I continue to drape ourselves across mum determined not to let her down; my mind completely focused on getting her to her village although the short distance seems to be lasting longer than any other part of this blasted road trip so far.
"Watch out!" says Tanny as the ambulance jumps and our heads bash together...BANG!
"Sorry dude....!" I go to say but the next jump is worse than the last and this time, whilst I manage to miss Tanny, my head hits the roof...BANG!
"Fucking hell...Oops! Sorry mum!" I say as I realise I am right on top of her and am swearing - not good!
BANG!
Tanny's chin hits the coffin as it jerks upwards and I hear his teeth gnash together.
"If the situation were not so serious I'd be laughing" my sister pipes up, "mum, oh mum, unreasonable until the end, huh?"
Tanny and I go silent and look at my sister and then back to each other as our arms are getting bruised beyond recognition and backs aching beyond belief and we start laughing like mad as both our heads slam into the roof again - BANG! - which triggers my sister and then Neema into hysterics.
"Allah! Children, this is no laughing matter! You should all be praying and mourning my sister not laughing..." Auntie Poppy says and realising she is correct we find a sombre place within our hearts and calm ourselves down until that is, that the ambulance jerks so hard that Auntie Poppy slips off her seat and crashes into a heap on to the floor knocking her head on the edge of mum's coffin as she does.
Initially none of us say anything as my sister and Neema drop to the floor and lift her back up and settle her down into her seat the best they can considering the circumstances - tears are in Auntie Poppy's eyes from how hard she has hit the floor and her head - but tears aside, she finally bursts out laughing, "Sister, oh sister, unreasonable until the end, huh?"
And with that we all burst out laughing.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
It is 4am Saturday morning and we are exhausted, not to mention bruised beyond recognition - or at least, Tanny and I are - as we begin to pull up into a cul-de-sac behind the small but perfectly formed local mosque of mum's village.
As the road leads in passed the side of the mosque, I watch the swaying palm trees dance under the influence of a gentle wind and hear the distant call of a cockerel crowing as dawn approaches.
It all feels serene and particularly beautiful as I watch the scenery outside my window and I well up inside knowing we have finally managed to bring mum home; it was not going to be much longer before we had laid mum to rest once and for all.
Tanny and I look over at my sister who is already sobbing as she is resting her head on Auntie Poppy's shoulder as Neema tries to console her; clearly she has realised the same thing as I and the impending goodbye is weighing just as heavily in her heart as it is mine. Tanny and I want to say something witty or encouraging, but can only look on as we struggle to find the right words to help comfort her.
Despite the unholy hour, I hear the excitement of crowds of people gathered in the cul-de-sac to see us. The ruckus they are causing is so immense that one would be forgiven for completely missing the large three storey building to my left, the ramshackled wooden and tin built two storey right in front of the ambulance and a small brick built bungalow to my right, let alone the pond hidden behind the wooden framed building and the bungalow - its ripples softly reflecting the sunlight which catches my eye.
Even before our ambulance has managed to judder to complete halt, I jump out to get away from the upset emanating within our vehicle and take an all mighty stretch as folk swarm towards me.
I notice that whilst there are plenty of faces I recognise, most are unknown to me, "It's probably because most of the village have turned out to see our much anticipated arrival - woohoo - the dead writer and her foreign family!" I snidely comment under my breath as I watch the people consisting mainly of men, clamber over themselves in their lungis and vests to try and see what we look like.
In the distance, I even notice mystifying shapes of dark oblongs appear and disappear within the rectangular confines of every open window surrounding us from the buildings. Though I am unsure, I conclude these shadowy apparitions are the ladies of the village who have not been allowed out by their husbands but at the same time don't want to miss the action, so are trying to spy on us from afar.
There is a part of me that wants to scream at them. Ask them to be a little more respectful and leave us alone but unusually for me, that is only a small part...the rest of me merely wants to get away from it all and so I do by pushing my way passed the crowds and making my way across to the pond; all the time drowning in nostalgia, recalling the first and only other time I had come to the village - and how much more of a happy occasion it was then.
I was about 7 or 8 at the time and dad worked in England whilst mum, my sister and I lived in a modern apartment in the centre of Dhaka - their vain attempt to Bangladeshi-fy us best they could in those days; us having only learnt about our heritage through stories, pictures, books and films at that point in our lives.
Mum felt although we were living in Bangladesh, to really appreciate what life was truly like in our motherland, we should venture to her home village and thus, we packed our bags kicking and screaming knowing we were about to spend our entire summer away from the city life we had become accustomed for a piece of "real life" as mum put it!!!
I remember having to travel miles from Dhaka by over night ferry to the nearest town to the village and then having to get on a little wooden boat to journey peacefully along the river to the village as there were no roads leading to it, "although such as they were now, perhaps that way of travel would have been better" I think to myself with a wry smile as I shove passed the last line of people blocking us in.
I vividly remember mum shouting at me as I rocked the little punting boat from side to side as we floated along, but her harsh tones falling on deaf ears seeing as I couldn't resist it! You see, we were all seated on the little boat cocooned within a curved hut-like structure built on the centre of the boat whilst the boatman navigated us along the river, but I was so bored from our epic journey that manipulating my sister's motion-sickness to my favour seemed to be the only logical thing to do to pass the time!
And it worked too, with my sister's head poking out from underneath our enclosure over the edge of the boat at regular intervals, being sick beyond belief...despite mum's numerous warnings of getting in trouble if I didn't stop my rocking immediately, it was hilarious to watch - the whole image still makes me laugh - as does the memory of my disappointment of reaching the village and finally having to stop!
"I really was the living embodiment of the cliche: kids can be cruel, huh?" I snicker with a sense of malice.
Both my sister and I had never been to mum's home before and the excitement that one of the daughters of the village who had been living in a faraway land, was now returning for a visit along with her foreign children was big news.
As we disembarked at a makeshift jetty, my sister green as a leaf and myself glum as can be having had to prematurely end my torturous entertainment, I recall being surrounded by, what felt like the entire village plus visitors from neighbouring clans.
They pushed and shoved trying to get a glimpse of the foreigners and where they could, shouted out questions at us to hear our response - replies given out in Bengali by us but with English accents which gave them no end of amusement.
I feel a serious case of deja vu within me with the realisation that things were pretty much the same once more as I turn to see the gap I had created through the crowd solidify behind me as new people muscled in to fill it.
Except for the buildings which stood where huts used to be, people had gathered like last time and they wanted a piece of the folk from the faraway land; did not matter why we were there - they just wanted to claim to have been party to the show and maybe get a laugh out of our accents again!
As a fleeting wave of anger passes over me, I hear someone calling out my name but I pretend not to hear them over the kerfuffle and continue walking over to the pond in the hope that time alone with the ghosts of my past will calm me down.
I sit at the edge of a low wall near the mouth of the pond leading to some steps running into it, and have flashbacks to my visit and times spent swimming around in the pond with my cousins and uncles in the hot summer sun to my mum's utter dismay.
My anger subsides as I laugh to myself again whilst shaking my head in disbelief at how after every swim, mum used to force me to clean off the dirty water for fear of me catching some exotic disease.
I was made to use this makeshift shower cubicle the village folk had put up using large palm leaves and bamboo sticks so that my sister and mum didn't have to use the pond water. Perhaps I should have told mum how much stick I used to get from the rest of guys for being made to do that - gay boy or big girl being the favourite titles that were bestowed on me thanks to mum that summer!
"Why it was never good enough for us when it was fine for everyone else living in the village was always beyond me, mum...yet, despite the poor hygiene, here we are at your village. Hope the dirt doesn't bother you too much now." I whisper with a smile.
My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the sound of some scratching followed by sniffing amongst the large pampas reeds opposite me and not being able to see what it is, I stand up from my perch feeling a little alarmed.
Leaning forward, I narrow my eyes and try to make out what it is that is moving about in the field and as if out of nowhere, a stray dog sticks its head out and looks right at me with menacing eyes growling at me as he does, clearly sensing my fear.
Before I need to do anything though, I see two young lads dressed quite smartly with designer trainers on and funky shades draped across their heads, charging towards the scary looking mongrel from the far left, waving their arms and large sticks crazily at the dog in an attempt to scare it away.
The dog steps out from the shadow of the reeds and although I had felt fear at first, I surprisingly begin feeling sorry for it as I notice its appearance: skinny with its rib-cage protruding like his body were an old fashioned radiator, the poor thing appeared to be barely able to walk despite its obvious anguish in trying to get away from the mad Bangladeshis chasing it.
It looks at me, its expression having completely changed - eyes wide and sad - and the patches of skin showing where its fur used to be makes me feel even more sorry for it.
I quickly call over to the lads, who by now I have managed to identify as my lanky cousins who met me at the airport, to let the poor thing go and not harm it! They stop in their tracks staring at me looking completely confused as I lose myself in my thoughts.
"Except for the favoured few out of the millions living in Bangladesh, most live like this poorly dog - how the fuck have we come to live in a world like this?" I wonder thinking about most of my family who seem to have it all whereas there were millions who were no better off than this stray dog!
The lads do not ask me anything but decide to obey my wishes having heard my plea and myself being their elder of course, but having arrived at the scene of the crime so to speak, they still want to finish what they started so continue shaking their sticks at the dog as it walks backwards at first, but then turns to limp away behind some more little huts beyond the small bungalow.
My lanky cousins wave at me to catch my attention breaking me out of my thoughts, chests puffed up with pride and one of them shouts over to me, "If you need anything brother - let us know. We'll be like your unofficial bodyguards whilst you're here! Anything you need!" and with that, the lads laugh and congratulate each other with a job well done as they run back along their tracks to where the cars are parked.
"Wonder who else my bodyguards will save today?" I smirk as I see them disappear round the corner. I look at myself up and down and then laugh once more, "If my bodyguards are meant to be protecting me - surely they should be able to cover me...literally! The two of 'em together barely reach half way across the sheer dumpy fat-ass known as moi!!!"
I take a deep sigh as I think for a moment to go and catch up with them and join the others back where we have parked to decide how best to deal with mum and where to move her next.
"Besides, it would be nice to actually chat to my cousins and finally figure out how I'm related to them."
But with being tired and bruised, I am more in the mood to be alone with my thoughts - even if for a short while, rather than make idol chit chat or worse, have to face the reality of losing mum, so I continue with my road trip down memory lane.
I think about many things from my time in mum's village fondly as my mind flutters from image to image like a butterfly riding a strong breeze; so many funny and memorable experiences that I am amazed and a little ashamed that I have not been back to visit more often.
How every household we visited when we were here tended to serve my sister and I fried eggs with chapatis because "that is what foreigners eat for breakfast"...yeah, maybe - but not for breakfast, lunch and snacks! Thank goodness Bangladeshis demand curry at least once a day or else fried eggs would have become pretty boring and I would have probably gone off them for life from the sheer trauma of having overdosed on them!
I also think about how the rooms were so limited and small in those days. How for the entirety of our stay, mum, my sister and I had to share a bed which was claustrophobic to say the least especially in the excruciating heat and how that close proximity lead to me sleep eating and grabbing my sister's arm and biting into it whilst murmuring "Yum - roast chicken!" to mum's horror and my sister's agony, as she woke mum and herself up shrieking out in pain - "I actually cut through her skin!" I recall with mischievous glee!
And then my thoughts return to a dog.
Not the one that had managed to frighten me half to death, but another one - very similar in appearance...but one that in its eyes...or should that be mouth...had a much more pleasurable experience.
In those days believe it or not, the toilets were a fair way away outside the house due to lack of sanitation connections in the villages - a problem still quite common in many shanti towns.
The construction of these were simple yet effective - a hole would be dug a few feet deep and then four solid wooden pillars sunk in equidistant to one another forming a square around the circular ditch and then a large wooden hut would be somehow lifted on top of the pillars acting like stilts, to hold the hut above the ditch. The floor of the hut would then consist of solid wood planks running on either side of the hut for you to walk on once inside, having climbed in on a corrugated wooden slope leading from ground level to the raised hut. And you then put your legs on either side of a massive gap in the floor of the hut and squatted, releasing the tension in your bowels and letting it all hang out...or fall out so to speak!
Like I said, simple idea yet effective...though trying to read a book or newspaper in that stance would not be recommended cause of the serious cramp you would get in your legs - been there, done that...suffered the pain for it too!
So there I was that summer, wandering out to the wilderness to use the toilet facilities struggling to carry a massive jug of water. Not a care in the world and totally unphased unlike my sister, with the idea that I would be squatting or that I would be using my hands and the jug of water to wash my ass after relieving myself.
"I can just see myself, little shorts and tee-shirt, whistling away - my chubby little pot-belly hanging over - with no idea of what's to come" I chuckle.
I stood at the foot of the sloping walkway leading up to the hut, arms feeling tired and heavy having carried the jug of water all the way. I could have had one of the maids help with getting me there and all set up but there was no way a young man such as I was going to let some girl help me I remember thinking at the time...and with one final push (no pun intended), I ran up the walkway into the hut and placed the jug down beside me as I took my shorts off and took my position.
I remember oddly enough, enjoying the experience of what I was doing far more than I probably should have but then again, when you're that age every new experience, even taking a dump in such a way, was exhilarating so to speak.
I recall staring down at the mound of poo piling up below, not just from me but multiple contributors.
How pretty the various shades looked - there were blacks, browns, reds, oranges and even yellow poos - all mixed up and swirled together, as if I were some deity looking down upon an inverted version of Earth from space.
In a bizarre, Salvador Dali inspired moment, I thought to myself how wonderful it would be if I could scoop it all up and serve it up at some fancy art gallery somewhere claiming it to be an artist's representation of the world as I saw it - a world full of shit!
I should have realised then that I never had a sense of smell - most people would probably try to finish what they had started and get out of there sooner rather than later but not I. I was too busy creating modern works of art! Guess being the age I was, I always assumed it was a sense that would develop later in life seeing as it was not as important as the other senses that I used on a daily basis. Never questioned that for a second...
...until of course, the dog arrived.
So there I was, pondering away when I began to hear something sniffing around below me.
As I peered down, a stray dog wondered into the fray clearly looking for some sustenance and having found nothing else, its survival instincts lead it to the ditch in a final attempt to satisfy its hunger.
I watched curiously as the bedraggled little thing stomped around in the muck trying to decipher some flavour from the stale remains of one's waste when the winds must have shifted and the scent of my ass drifted into the olfactories of the little guy!
I can so clearly see the image in my mind's eye - its head arching upwards, nostrils flaring up from the scent of fresh methane being emitted from my behind, the excitement in its eyes as it stared up at my bumhole as if it were a warped version of a Mr Whippy Ice cream dispenser...I actually thought it was going to bite my butt as it wagged its tail furiously before stepping onto its hind legs to reach up and lick out the fresh flavoursome remains of my contribution to my surreal art project!!!
The experience though pleasurable to some perverts I am sure, was not one of my liking and I laugh hysterically as I imagine a traumatised 7 or 8 year old version of me running out of the hut for dear life, leaving shorts and underpants behind, deciding that the embarrassment for being a semi-naked child with all his main bits on show for all to see was a small price to pay if it meant getting away from some dirty flea-bitten shit eating mongrel!
"Ahhh...the feeling of my squelching butt-cheeks still makes me laugh!" I remark wiping tears of laughter from my eyes.
The truth then hits me though and my laughter starts dying away.
"Thinking about it...that was more of a better example of the metaphoric dog I guess...I representing the rich and privileged few in Bangladesh who watch the poor scrat around in the same shite we ourselves have thrown in their way, but when they have no where else to go and turn to us? What do we do? We walk, or run away, in my case, in disgust and horror!"
I sit silently at the pond as I absorb the reality that has once again slapped me across the face - like when I saw the poor woman searching through the dustbins to find scraps of food for her daughter - despite all the sadness that consumed me for my loss, my life was clearly remarkable when compared to the silent majority suffering and struggling everyday here in Bangladesh.
Just trying to find food, shelter and clothing for themselves and their loved ones.
People are inherently selfish so no matter how much others suffer, unless it is in your face, let's be honest, you do forget how good you have it.
"Mum, thanks for giving me one more lesson in life...and now that you're here, I realise it is a lesson I'll be reminded of at least once a year so guess, complacency will forever more be a forgotten feeling...For someone who hated strategy games like chess, yet again mum, checkmate to you!"
...and with that, I feel a sense of hope growing within me, fuelling me with excitement for the future and forcing me up from my perch, encouraging me to face the world again.
Life may have hit rock bottom for me but sure as hell was not a shit tip and it was time I remembered that!
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