Folk Dance in Bangladesh

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Last weekend the locally-engaged staff organized a group outing. We went to a resort outside of Dhaka. It was nice to get away from the traffic of the city and spend time with my coworkers in a social setting.

Another group was also using the resort. They put on some performances. I shamelessly eavesdropped on them. Also they were really loud so it was hard to ignore them. The singing didn’t do anything for me, but I was struck by the folk dances.

My Latest Obsession

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One of my (many) personality flaws is a tendency to obsess. I can’t let things go. With effort, this flaw can be channeled for positive results, like dedication to a task or a learning outcome. Left to its own devices, though, it can lead to negative results like addiction. I sure hope that my newest gadget helps me channel my nervous energy toward positive activities, and lets me let go of my obsession with air quality.

In the four months here, I have yet to experience long periods of good air in Bangladesh. The air quality in Dhaka always seems to be iffy at its best. Now, in the dry season, I hear that the brick kilns are fired up 24/7 now, creating an air appocalypse, or “airpocalypse.”

When I was in China, monitoring the AQI (air quality index) was a constant task (obsession). I had something like six AQI apps on my phone. In the morning, right after turning off my alarm, I would check the AQI, so I would know if I had to wear a mask when going to work. I didn’t worry about the air quality inside my apartment, because the facilities management folks assured me that it was OK.

I have less confidence in the air quality in my villa here in Dhaka. I can smell the pollution. So I recently bought a little air quality monitor, the Kaiterra Egg. It’s small, portable, and constantly monitoring the ambient air.

Den’s Dhaka Egg

It also links to an app, so I can check the AQI at home from my phone, even when I’m out.

When I started monitoring, the monitor showed that the air inside is bad. At one point, it was even worse inside than it was outside. For some reason.

The air monitor at the Embassy, less than a half-mile away, and inside my house.

The facilities management unit was nice enough to give me an additional air filter, bringing the total to five for my villa.

Love my Blueair air filters.

My wife found the more egregious holes (mainly in the bathrooms), and we used gaffer tape to fill them. That action, plus the additional air filter, improved the air inside. The bathrooms are still a big problem, though. We still have to ask facilities to come and seal up the exhaust fans and other holes that we can address.

Maybe, now that we know where the problem is, we can take steps to address it, and I can stop obsessing about the air quality, and start managing the problem.

Busted

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Me: Blathering on, for a good five minutes, about my favorite pen. It’s a great pen, it’s a perfect pen, I used to import them from Japan because I couldn’t find them in America, and I’m so bummed that they’re not making them anymore, and I’ve been looking for a new favorite kind of pen, but I can’t find one, so I’m really bummed about that…

Co-worker: Were you ever a teacher at some point in your life?

I’m almost sure this wasn’t my fault

As the Accountable Officer, I’m responsible for locking up our unused visas and passports at the end of every day. We keep them in a very secure, very heavy safe. We keep all of our visas in one safe (big mistake). The safe is kept secure (too secure) by a special kind of electronic/mechanical combination lock. The Department is very clear that we have to use this special kind of lock, because of how secure they are. In fact, the locks are made by the same company that secures the US gold reserves at Fort Knox.

We found out just how secure they are last week, when the lock malfunctioned and we were locked out of the safe.

The security guy at post said that he knew a few tricks to try to get the lock working again. He suggested tipping it on its side. My boss and I exchanged a glance that said: “I’m middle-aged, you’re middle-aged, and he wants us to do what, now?” Already heavy even when it’s empty, when it’s full of visa foils, the darn thing weighs a ton, literally. But the security guy (a much, much younger guy than us) said that gravity can help the lock mechanism engage. Piece of cake, he said.

Tipping that damn thing on it side was most definitely not a piece of cake, and it also did not work.

Then he handed me a ball-peen hammer and said: “OK, I’m going to spin the wheel. When I tell you to, hit it as hard as you can, right here (three millimeters from his hand), but don’t hit my fingers.”

That didn’t work either (no surprise there), but I didn’t hit his fingers (big surprise there). At least there was no screaming that afternoon.

My boss thought that we’d have to get the facilities guys to come over and cut it open with a welding torch or something. When we asked them about that idea, the facilities guys sort of laughed at us, then hung up the phone.

In the end, they had to use a special diamond-tipped saw blade to cut open the safe. I took some pictures of the process, but the security guy forbade me from posting them online. He didn’t want this blog post to turn into a how-to guide on breaking into a State Department safe in 700 easy steps. Ask me next time we meet up, though, I’ll show you. They’re pretty funny.

So now we have one less safe to store our stuff in. We had to reshuffle our stuff around in our other safes to make room. Even though the security guy told me that this happens occasionally, and the the locks give out after years of use, I feel bad about having had to destroy a piece of equipment.

But at the same time, I have a satisfying feeling of revenge. That drawer that we cut open was the same drawer that ka-chunked my finger a few months ago.

Take that, you evil safe.