From Randal Dick,
superintendent of missions
Meeting new members
in Bangladesh
From Randal Dick,
superintendent of missions
For the past five years the WCG has been supporting an effort to establish indigenous congregations in rural Bangladesh.
This effort is headed up by a WCG member, John Biswas, who is himself a Bangladeshi. I have been reporting on the progress of the efforts in Bangladesh for several years, but I made my first visit to the new brethren in Bangladesh, in November, along with John Biswas and Rod Matthews, regional director for Australia, New Zealand and South Asia. I'd like to share some of this incredible experience.
En route from meetings in Europe, I flew past the magnificent Himalayas and landed in Dhaka, capital of Bangladesh. Rod Matthews arrived later the same evening and was met by John Biswas. We planned our arrival to coincide with the Moslem Sabbath to minimize any problems that could arise from our being Christian ministers in a 93 percent Moslem nation.
I was fatigued from the journey and went straight to bed. When I awoke and looked out the window, I noticed that it was raining and windy. "Oh great," I thought, "What a day for flying in a small plane."
We had ambitious plans for our four days in Bangladesh. We wanted to see the most brethren possible. So we were delighted to find a missionary flying service, which, for a modest cost, would fly us to our somewhat remote destination. The flight was scheduled to take about 30 minutes. If we had tried to drive, it would have taken 12 hours.
We made our way by taxi in the wind and rain to the airport, where we were met by our pilots. They informed us that a cyclone (hurricane in North America) had stalled over the coast of Bangladesh. The captain said that severe cross winds prevented us from taking off or landing, and he put our mission on hold.
We sat for about three hours in the terminal, and noticed that one after another, all commercial flights were canceled. No one was flying anywhere in Bangladesh that day. Eventually, the captain told us that weather conditions would probably continue to deteriorate the rest of the day.
We were frustrated because it was too late and too dangerous to try to go by car. Furthermore, the pilots couldn't take us the next day because of prior bookings. This meant that the trip was virtually wasted since three of the four days we had in Bangladesh would be consumed with waiting or driving.
We decided to return to the hotel, but agreed to make telephone contact with the pilots at 3 p.m. to confirm the situation and work out what, if anything, could be done the next day.
The trip back to the hotel was one of those experiences you never forget. We had come to the airport a few hours earlier with rain in the streets and people splashing through puddles. Now, as we made our way back to the hotel, we found that the situation had dramatically changed. Water now had nowhere to go.
At first it was not too bad--kind of like driving in a Texas toad strangler. But as we continued, it seemed that water rose all around us. One after another, we encountered areas that were flooded so deeply that they were impassable. We could see sections with so much water pressure below the street that manhole covers were forced open and geysers of water would add to the mayhem.
At one point the water was inches below the windows of the taxi. I couldn't believe the engine didn't flood and strand us in the middle of the instant pond. Other cars and trucks tried to negotiate the miniature lakes along with us. Some would plow through successfully, while others would grind to a halt and the passengers would abandon ship. Fathers waded in water up to their chests with little ones on their shoulders.
Someone told me later that many vehicles in Dhaka have modified exhaust systems to keep the exhaust above the water in the streets and thereby enable the vehicles to negotiate deeper water.
We finally made it back to the hotel about noon. We were wet, tired and hungry, so we ate lunch and discussed our predicament. We had each been praying that God would show us his will in this matter.
Probably a hundred or more brethren were going to make their way to the place where we were supposed to have arrived at 11. We hoped that they had not tried to travel in the cyclone.
We later learned that not too far from our destination, 20 fishing trawlers had left their village that morning. Two days later only 11 had returned. Several hundred people were killed during this storm.
At 3 p.m., per our agreement, we reached the pilot on his cell phone. He said if we hurried, we had a window of opportunity and we could go. We considered this an answer to our prayers.
We got back to the airport at 4 p.m. The sun was getting low. The co-pilot met us and said, "Hurry, we can just make it." We took off into the setting sun, climbed to 1,000 feet and were cleared by air traffic control direct to our destination. After all, no one else was in the air that day over Bangladesh.
The trip was short and remarkably pleasant. I was shocked at how little dry land was below me. How could people live in this? The next day I would see for myself.
John Biswas was concerned that the flooding would have obscured our landing area, which turned out to be a river. If the river had overflowed its banks too much, it might not be clear what was river and what was flooded rice paddy. It would not have been healthy to land on a rice paddy covered by a foot or two of water.
When we arrived, the pilot began to bank and descend, checking for confirmation of wind direction and looking for suspected power lines, which I'm glad he located before we landed.
After taxiing a short distance, the pilot cut the engine in the middle of the flood-swollen river. I wondered how we were going to get to shore?
Then, pandemonium broke loose. People by the hundreds came running and lined the banks of the river shouting and waving. About 30 dugouts overflowing with men and boys made their way from both banks of the river toward us.
It looked like we were completely away from civilization, yet throngs of people appeared and the numbers just kept growing. I then remembered that Bangladesh, though only half the size of California, is home to 130,000,000 people--half the population of the United States.
Two boats were selected to carry our bags and us to shore. We weren't halfway to the shore when our plane took off in a cloud of spray and a roar that echoed up and down the river. Those pilots were anxious to get their aircraft out of harm's way and back to Dhaka.
We made it safely to shore, collected our bags, paid for our transportation and greeted the curious crowd. It was now about 5 p.m. and we had about another hour of daylight. John wanted us to hurry.
John directed us along a path away from the river, where several rickshaws were parked. The van we hired couldn't negotiate these roads, so we were taken by rickshaw a couple of kilometers to the place where the road became passable.
We loaded our gear into the van and drove into the sunset. We constantly negotiated our way around every imaginable form of transportation, people, livestock and a plentiful supply of potholes. In between villages the road was dark and lonely.
At this point John confided in us that he had hoped not to be on the road much after dark. I asked why, although I was pretty sure I didn't want to know. John explained that at night in rural areas of Bangladesh, armed bandits sometimes place barriers in the road to stop passing traffic and rob the passengers.
We made it safe and sound to Barisal, the provincial capital, where we were scheduled to spend the night. We needed rest but we were jetlagged and adrenaline-charged from the events of the day, so Rod Matthews and I went up to the roof of our hotel. There we watched masses of humanity making their way through the streets of the city in the middle of the night.
We knew that this city could benefit from the knowledge of God and his Son, Jesus Christ.
The next day, we would take a quick look at the Anglican church and school where John had been educated, and then we would make our way into the countryside to the place where the brethren would be waiting for us. I will tell you about that incredible experience in the next installment of Window on the World.
TRANSPORTATION IN BANGLADESH--
Rod Matthews beside a bicycle rickshaw, one of
the most common modes of transportation in
Bangladesh. [Photo by John Biswas]
Copyright © Worldwide Church of God, 2001