Everytime these last few months I’ve returned to Sylhet, I have a sense of foreboding, not just because I’d rather be with friends in Dhaka, but there always seems to be a problem with my house, which I never want to deal with when I’ve just got back from a long journey and it’s dark and hot and I’m hungry. One time there were ants all over my bed, another time the whole house and all my clothes had gone mouldy, the last time everything was six inches under filthy water.
Last night I approached the gate with heavy bags and a heavier heart, especially as there was partial flooding still on my road. But when I got the door open, I was pleasantly suprised to find things looking ok, although it was damper than the inside of the Titanic. Except when I opened my fridge I discovered that it had broken, and quite some time ago. If you’ve ever wanted to see what happens when you leave some cheese, butter, and half a lemon in a warm confined space for three weeks…I know something you don’t.
So that’s the first challenge. I was also suprised when I went back outside in the night to buy some bottled water, and nearly bumped in to a large cow that is now living in the yard, to go with the geese, chickens, dog and cats that make up the mayhem. And I was astonished this morning when I saw that there’s a smaller cow living actually inside my neighbour’s house, in their front porch bit. For the poor guy who has to sleep in the cupboard under my stairs, to have to look across at a cow accepted in to the main house must be a bit of an insult. But as long as he’s not also slaughtered and eaten, I suppose us humans will get the last laugh in the end.