Placid cattle

Cows, in Britain, are notorious for escaping through gates carelessly left open, or gaps in damaged fences, and grazing their neighbours' crops. The ones in Bangladesh are frankly weird in comparison.

Led, or driven, to a field of rice stubble they will stay there all day with no supervision. The only barrier between them and the unharvested fields around is an earth bank less than a foot high with a footpath along the top (no hedges, no fences). Yet they stay where they've been put until milking time approaches, ignoring richer food within easy reach.

Around tea time they step up on to the earth bank and trot merrily home, all on their own. I even saw unattended cattle and goats making their way along the grass verges of busy major highways and, occasionally, crossing those same roads. Surprisingly, there's almost no roadkill on the roads of Bangladesh (though the multi-vehicle crashes, which are frequent, commonly have a high toll of human casualties).

There's enough home-grown talent

Far from being a "basket case", the image beloved of the international media, Bangladesh has a lot going for it. Yes, it has a population around four times that of England and Wales, with a similar land area; yes, almost a third of that land is subject to floods and/or cyclone damage; yes, it's a financially poor country and yes, a lot of the population find it hard to make ends meet, but...

It's a young country, formed only in 1972. Some of us have coats nearly as old as Bangladesh and I know of quite a few boats that are even older, still cruising the inland waterways of Britain. Come to think of it, probably some boats in Bangladesh are older than the country.

Abundant in Bangladesh are energy and initiative. Take the recent general election (December 29th 2008) as an example. The caretaker government decided to run a clean election, free of violence and intimidation by political cadres; the decision was made to issue each of the 80 million-plus voters with a photo identity card.

Firms in the developed world bid for the job, along with counting and recording systems that would be transparent and accountable (there's a 37-year history of multiple voting, ballot box stuffing and associated chicanery to dispel).

None of the firms could guarantee delivery of a tested, working system and all the paraphernalia necessary within the deadline. So, what did the person in charge do? With several months of his preparation time already gone, he started from scratch using only Bangladeshi resources. Before election day, all had been designed, produced, delivered and tested to the satisfaction of numerous international observers; on the day, everything went well with only two minor attempted infringements reported.

It all confirmed, in my mind, the response I'd been giving whenever I was asked what should be done about the problems of Bangladesh: that the people of the country are well able to work out for themselves what they regard as problems, and to find appropriate solutions.

Before tourists come - fourth random reflection

I've discovered what happened to all the Bedford lorries - they have been reincarnated in Bangladesh with elaborate paint jobs, carrying enormous loads and sounding as good as the day they left the factory. There are also Ashok Leyland, Eicher and a heck of a lot of Tata trucks out there, but the sight of so many four-wheel drive Bedfords brought a lump to my throat.

One shanty town seems to be just for Bedford owner/drivers as hundreds of them are parked on the same patch of land as the dwellings. The truth, of course, may be different. Things are often not as they first seem in this country.

Before tourists come...third spasm

Questions I got asked a lot:

How old are you? Are you married? How many children do you have?
- Seventy-two, widower, no children.

How long since your wife died?
- Seven years.

And you haven't re-married? But who looks after you?
- I do.

No, I mean who cleans your house?
- I do.

And who cooks for you?
- I do.

But what about the dishes?
- I wash them.

Yes, but who washes your clothes?
- I have a washing machine.

Ah! But who puts your clothes in the washing machine?
- I do.

At this point the Bangladeshi male gives up, mentally adjusting to having met one of those fabled English eccentrics. He starts again...

Have you come here to invest in a business?
- No.

But it's so easy to make money in this country.
- So why isn't everybody rich?

Well, you see, this is a poor country, vastly over-populated, and there are no jobs...

Before tourists come...second bit.

First time visitors to Dhaka, capital city of Bangladesh, tend to ask the same questions:

1. How can this city work with gridlocked traffic, colossal air pollution, filthy streets and pavements (US: sidewalks) so crowded with beggars and peddlers that pedestrians prefer to walk on the highway?

Answer: Nobody's quite sure, but somehow it does.

2. How can you tell the genuinely needy from professional beggars?

Answer: Nobody's quite sure, but somehow you develop the knack.

3. Are there any traffic rules?

Answer: Possibly, in some long-abandoned office, there may once have been. For now, just accept that in this country we drive on the left unless it's more convenient not to.

4. Why does everyone keep hawking and spitting?

Answer: By this time tomorrow, you'll be doing it too. It's the air pollution, you see.

5. Where's the nearest public toilet?

Answer: Public toilet? (Which also answers question 6 - Why is that man pissing in the gutter?)

Before tourists come...Part the First

Hello all -
Excuses, excuses...what with power cuts, warnings about the insecurity of cyber cafes and my failure to find a consistent alternative access to email during the past three months, it's not been possible to send regular updates about my recent trip...apologies to those who expressed an interest.

Starting at the end : we arrived safely back home yesterday (Saturday) from a tropical winter - temperatures in the middle 70s Fahrenheit - to frost-bound Britain, a country from which Woolworth's stores had disappeared, MFI (flat-pack furniture) had gone under and goodness knows what else had occurred in our absence.

In the meantime there had been the mixed pleasures of life in a "third-world" country whose national tourist body advises: "See Bangladesh before tourists come." Sound advice, IMO ; what you see is all for real and the welcomes are genuine. The cliche about the poor peasant who'll cook his last chicken for you, depriving his family of eggs until he can afford another hen, is all too true.

One highlight was being directed down a dirt road in the back of beyond to see a Hindu shrine (in a predominantly Muslim country). The shrine, just over a year old, was erected because a Hindu woman had a vision of Lord Shiva sitting on a particular type of tree, with a branch bent just so, with such a bush and such a plant growing nearby in a patch of uncleared jungle.

The men of her village, Muslim as well as Hindu, were sufficiently impressed to go looking, eventually finding the described location miles from their village. Then they set to, Muslims and Hindus, to erect a suitable shrine to the Hindu deity; men and women of both faiths travel to pay their respects, burn incense and pray.

The other main event was the oft-postponed general election which, contrary to normal practice, was free, fair, open and credible. This had involved first cleaning up the list of voters; then developing machinery and software that the developed world could not supply in time; then issuing every voter with a photo ID card; deploying around 800,000 armed service, police and special force personnel to deter the "musclemen" who used to take over polling stations; and finally conducting the poll itself - all under international scrutiny.

The British High Commission, mindful of past election-day violence, issued warnings to Brits to stay off the streets on polling day. Guess who ran out of toilet paper and had to go shopping on the day virtually everything was closed? All motor traffic, with the obvious exceptions, was banned on the day, even rickshaws were static, so it was walk or do without.

I can report that the atmosphere was truly festive. The Bangladeshis, as ever, turned themselves inside out to help the foreigner, recommending I go up here or down there where they thought a little shop just might be open. That's when they weren't mistaking me for a European Union official observer and begging me to inspect the polling stations I had to pass.

For a mile or more the only businesses open were numerous barber shops - busy as could be - and a few roadside snack stalls. Then - oh joy! - a tiny general store open and all was well.