Games that Matter

Reviews and analysis of important games, past and present.

[vitalgames]

An Embarrassment of Tim Tams, Part Three: Island Time

I wake up around 1:00am, and in spite of my efforts to fall back asleep, I toss and turn until 3:00. I finally take a couple of klonopin and drift back to sleep until my alarm wakes me up at 6:00.

I meet Sohel in the hotel restaurant for the free breakfast. It's a small buffet with a few international breakfast items, but the fruit is what catches my attention: beautiful slices of pineapple and whole coconuts that have been prepared for drinking with a container of bendy straws to the side. I pile on the fruit and grab some fried rice and eggs. The eggs are a bit runny, but the fruit is amazing. It's been so long since I've had pineapple this sweet and coconut juice this fresh.

I send Kim a message, and we chat for a few minutes. She has a doctor's appointment later today - I hate having to miss it. I send her a picture of my plate of fruit, and she tells me she's jealous. She says that she enjoyed reading my first blog post for this trip, because she got to learn something new about me (namely my love of Tim Tams).

Sohel and I arrive at Multipurpose Hall around 8:00 and meet up with Victor, who lets us into the room. The tables and chairs have arrived, but they're set up dining style, not the way we had requested, and there are no computers. Victor helps us move the tables to the edges of the room so the computers can be plugged in whenever they arrive, and we arrange the chairs classroom-style in the middle. Fred and Megan show up around 8:30 with two of the three laptops from yesterday. Victor also manages to scare up three desktop computers from another part of the hall, but they're running an older version of Windows, and my cloned installation won't work on them. I try to troubleshoot the problem, but to no avail. Without Internet access, there's no way to install the proper version for these computers.

The workshop participants begin wandering in close to 9:00. I notice that as each signs in, they are handed a yellow envelope. I know that the participants get paid, but I wonder if paying them on the first day is a good idea, since they may not be motivated to come back. They continue to trickle in over the next hour, and even though many of them have yet to arrive, Sohel begins the workshop a little before 9:30. Fred opens things up by introducing us to the participants and mentioning some of the other people who helped coordinate the event. As soon as he's done, he and Megan leave for a meeting but promise to bring some more computers with them when they return.

Sohel asks the participants to introduce themselves. The majority of them seem to be affiliated in some way or other with the City Council. I begin to wonder how well these participants represent the local community, but two more waves of participants arrive after 10:00 - a cluster of students from two nearby high schools and another assorted group who I'm told will only be present for the consultation portion of the workshop.

Sohel wraps up his initial presentation on public space and urban planning and divides the participants into six groups to discuss their needs. He asks them to list current problems at Multipurpose Hall and the surrounding area, solutions to those problems, and finally to describe their ideal public space. They set to work immediately, and quickly fill up the large pieces of flip chart paper they've been given.

After about twenty minutes, we gather the groups back together to share the results of their discussions. Practical issues like security, sanitation and waste management, access to drinking water, and access for people with disabilities top their lists. As a solution to their concerns about security, several groups propose a fence around the property. Sohel begins to argue that a fence would limit access to the space and would be counter to the purpose of the project, but the participants don't back down. They explain that vandalism and crime are constant problems, and that the fence wouldn't be intended to prevent access, but to allow for easier monitoring of those entering and exiting the space, which would help to prevent these issues. Both Sohel and the participants make valid points, leaving me feeling ambivalent about the issue.

The presentations end up running a bit long due to how late some of the participants arrived, so we don't break for lunch until 1:30. We're served simple, traditional fare: rice, kaukau (a variety of sweet potato), taro, greens, chicken, and more fruit. I dig in, enjoying the familiar flavors. I try the taro, but I realize I had never developed much of a taste for it (too starchy). In the highlands of PNG, kaukau was our staple, and the taste and texture fills me with nostalgia.

William, a student from University of the South Pacific, introduces himself to me and expresses his excitement at being involved in the workshop. He asks me whether I would be willing to install Minecraft on his personal laptop if he brought it tomorrow. Realizing that this may be a solution to our computer shortage, I agree; however, by the end of the lunch break, several other participants have come to me with the same question. I'm nervous about installing the software on people's personal computers, and based on my earlier experience with the desktops, I'm unsure whether this will even work, but with our computer shortage, it seems like the best solution.

After lunch Sohel says a few brief words before giving me the floor. We still only have two computers, which worries me, since the participants won't be able to practice any of the things I am about to teach them. I decide to push as far through my tutorials as possible in the hope that the computers will arrive before I'm finished. I introduce myself in Tok Pisin and tell them about my background, apologizing for my Papua New Guinea style Tok Pisin. Several of them laugh at this and respond that they can understand me fine. I begin by showing them FyreUK's preliminary model of the site and showing them the basic controls, but without computers to refer to, I can tell that some of them are a bit confused. I get about halfway through the building tutorials before Fred and Megan return with more computers around 4:00. The participants take a short coffee break while I set them up, and in the end, there's still 40 minutes left for them to play with the software. Just like in Khulna, they take to the game very quickly and already have begun to make some modifications to the site model by the time we wrap up for the day. In spite of the positive outcome, I feel like we rushed through the material for the day and worry that this will be a problem as the workshop progresses.

Sohel introduces me to another one of the participants, Phillip, who has agreed to take us to do some souvenir shopping at Central Market. I really need to get a local sim card for my phone so that Kim can call me in case of an emergency, but the Telekom office is already closed for the day. The market is bustling. Just inside the entrance, we pass tables filled with bottles of locally harvested coconut oil. Most of the market is dedicated to practical goods like fruits and vegetables, but near the back are several tables of local crafts. I find two carefully carved sets of shell earrings and a matching for Kim. Several other items catch my eye, but I decide to come back on my own on Saturday, since I'll have the whole day to explore. Leaving the market, we try to visit a few of the stores lining the street, but they're all getting ready to close, so we decide to head back to the hotel.

After a shower and a change of clothes, I head down to the lobby and consider my dinner options. I'm too tired to explore, so I try the Thai restaurant in the hotel. The pad krapao is decent, but pricey. I try to hop online and check on my students in Arkansas, but can't seem to get a connection. There are about ten other people in the lobby using laptops or tablets, so I assume the hotel's one access point must be overloaded. I head back up to my room and take a brief nap. I try my computer in the lobby again around 10:00, but still have no luck. Out of desperation, I end up buying a 50mb access card for the in-room WiFi so that I can chat with Kim and at least check and respond to any emails from my students.

Kim tells me that her doctor's visit went well. The baby's heartbeat was strong, her blood pressure was fine, nothing was out of the ordinary. Even though these doctor's visits are all the same, I feel a twinge of regret at having to miss this one. My 50mb of data expire about as quickly as I expected, and the distance between me and my home feels wider than ever.

[vitalgames]

An Embarrassment of Tim Tams, Part Two: Chocolate in a Hot Suitcase

I arrive in Brisbane at 6:40am and make my way through security and customs before heading to the transfer desk to pick up my boarding pass for Honiara. The lady at the desk informs me that Solomon Airlines doesn't provide boarding passes for their flights until the plane arrives, and they only do it at the gate. I check the flight board, but there's no listing for Solomon Airlines yet, so I find a spot to set up and connect to the WiFi.

I find Kim online and let her know that I made it to Brisbane. We chat for a few minutes, and I'm able to get just enough bandwidth for a very brief voice call over Google Hangouts. There's a long lag, which makes conversation difficult, but it's nice to hear her voice. She tells me that she's cooking dinner. After a few minutes we get disconnected, so we wrap up our conversation via text chat. Finally, I notice Solomon Airlines flight 701 appear on the flight board, so I say my goodbyes to Kim and head toward the gate. Sohel finds me as I wait in line to get my ticket. He already has his boarding pass, so he finds a seat nearby and waits for me. I chat with the lady in front of me, who is going to the Islands for a diving trip. I reminisce about my own experiences diving around World War 2 wrecks off of the northern coast of PNG. Once I get my ticket, Sohel and I grab some coffee and tea and catch up on the last few months. He's had a bit more leisurely of a trip than me, having spent some time in Kuala Lumpur followed by a few days in Brisbane visiting with friends. I’m glad that at least one of us is coming. We hear the boarding announcement for our flight around 9:20, and make our way to the gate.

The Solomon Airlines plane is small and fairly full, but the flight is uneventful. When we arrive in Honiara, we exit onto the tarmac and are instantly assaulted by the humidity. Sohel asks me to take a selfie of us in front of the plane before we head into the terminal. Honiara's airport is small - about the same size as the Jessore airport, and just a little bigger than the Goroka airport in which I had spent so much time as a kid. Sohel remarks on the heat and wonders why there's no air conditioning in the airport terminal. I explain that, from my experience in PNG, air conditioning is pretty rare in these islands.

There's a group of Australian teenagers behind us in line, and I immediately peg them as missionary kids. I mention this to Sohel, and he asks how I can tell. I respond that it takes one to know one: all of the girls are wearing baggy t-shirts and long skirts, several of the boys are carrying guitars, and there are a handful of conservatively dressed adults directing them through the line. I stop one of the kids and ask her if they're a mission group, and she confirms my suspicions.

As I pass through immigration and customs, I try to speak Tok Pisin with the officials, but they all respond to me in English, and none of them seem interested in engaging beyond official business, which is understandable. I begin to feel a bit unsure about how people here will respond to my Papua New Guinea style of Tok Pisin: will they understand me? Will they be offended that I'm speaking to them as if they're from a different island? 

Once we're through customs, we exchange our money. I only have about US$30 at this point, which amounts to just a little over 200 Solomon Island dollars. Outside, we flag down a taxi and head to the Honiara City Council building. Since the workshop starts tomorrow, we have to hit the ground running. Along the road, everything looks very similar to PNG; in fact, if I didn't know better, I might assume I'm riding through Lae, Madang, or Wewak. I ask the taxi driver about Tok Pisin to try to assuage my concerns. He confirms that Solomon Islanders speak the same language, but that there are slight variations in pronunciation and spelling. I ask him for an example, but he can't think of any. I go back to watching the landscape pass outside of the window. I notice several billboards written in Tok Pisin, and it seems that, in spite of a few spelling differences, it's easily recognizable.

We arrive at the City Council building around 3:00pm and are introduced to the Mayor, the Deputy Clerk (Fred), and a consultant from an organization from New Zealand called Honiara Economic Support (Megan). I immediately begin setting up Minecraft on some of the city council members' laptops while Sohel discusses the logistics and budget with Megan and Fred. We're only given access to four laptops, which won't be enough for the workshop, but Fred assures us that they will get a few more for us to use on the day of the workshop. Of course, this means that I'll have to rush to install the software tomorrow morning before the workshop starts. One of the laptops requires an administrative password, and when I ask someone to punch it in so that I can finish the installation, they inform me that: a) they don't have it, and b) the IT manager (who does have it) is currently out of the country. This leaves us with only three usable laptops. I've gotten the installation down to a fairly quick process, so I'm not too worried about doing it tomorrow morning, but without being able to see the computers, I'm a bit nervous about whether they'll work for our purposes.

I overhear Sohel discussing the workshop schedule with Megan and Fred. They both laugh and inform him that the workshop will begin on "island time" - i.e., whenever the participants show up. To be honest, I feel some relief at hearing this, since it means I'll have more time in the morning to get the computers ready; however, it also means we may have to rush to get through the first day's material. Megan also mentions that the chairs and tables for the workshop have not yet been procured - apparently the city government had neglected to pay some of their workers the previous week, so they went on strike. As with the computers, though, she assures us that the tables and chairs will be at the location tomorrow morning.

With our business at the office concluded, Sohel, Megan, Fred, and I ride across the river to visit the workshop site - a sports facility called Multipurpose Hall. The bridge across the river is a single lane, so we wait for oncoming cars to pass before heading across. When we arrive, I immediately recognize the site from the pictures and the Minecraft model. It's a smaller location than Solar Park in Khulna, so the job of consolidating the models will probably take a lot less time, although I imagine I'll have to do a lot of editing to make sure everyone's ideas fit in the limited space. We meet Victor, the facilities manager, and he shows us around. As we survey the location, I notice that it's poorly maintained: the bare foundation of a demolished building sits adjacent to tennis courts where children are playing, and piles of garbage lie scattered around, with very few rubbish bins in sight. The land on one side of the building is just bare dirt, and we're informed that it's regularly used as an informal parking lot for the football field next door. I also notice the telltale reddish-brown stains of betelnut spit on the sidewalks and the outer walls of the building.

Inside the building, I can see the potential of the site. There's a large wood-floor basketball court surrounded by stadium seating. Several children are playing indoor soccer while others watch and converse with each other from the seats. The natural light from the windows gives everything a warm glow. Victor shows us the room where the workshop will take place - a meeting hall on the second floor of the building. It's about the same size as the room at Solar Park, and it seems like a promising spot for the activities that we have planned. One positive difference between this location and the one in Khulna is that the windows are all covered with curtains, which will reduce the glare on the projector screen and computer monitors. There are three small window AC units and several ceiling fans, to keep the room cool.

Our survey complete, Fred drops us off at the King Solomon Hotel, where we will be staying for the next few days. The hotel is small and picturesque with an entrance guarded by large carved wooden statues of nude tribal warriors and a lobby designed to resemble a tribal hall. We check in, and I ask about the Internet access. Although the website advertised WiFi in the rooms, it neglected to mention that you have to pay for it in 50mb chunks. Alternately, there is free WiFi in the lobby, so I decide to just make do with that. The hotel is set on the side of a hill with rooms laid out like cabins on the hillside and connected by boardwalks and stairs. There's also a cable car that travels from the lobby at the base of the hill up through the different levels of rooms. We gather our bags and hop on. The ride up the hill to our rooms takes us past a series of man-made waterfalls that emanate from a small swimming pool. The landscaping features a wide variety of tropical plants and flowers. Our rooms are small, but they are air conditioned, which offers some much needed relief from the humidity. After over thirty hours of travel and work, I'm sticky with sweat and I smell like shit. Once I put my bags down, I strip out of my clothes for the first time in two days and immediately take a shower, brush my teeth, and shave.

Feeling refreshed, I grab one of my Tim Tams and take a look out the window to admire the view. The Tim Tam has melted in my bag, so I do my best not to get chocolate on my fingers. On the balcony of the room across from mine, a naked Australian man is sunning himself in a deck chair. I close the curtains and head to lobby to try out the WiFi.

I spend a few minutes responding to student emails and grading essays. The connection is slow, but workable. Sohel walks into the lobby around 7:00pm and tells me that he met with the local UN-Habitat agents. I ask how it went, and he says, with exasperation in his voice, that they are not going to be helping us with the workshop, because they're too busy working on another project. He heads off to get some rest. I realize that I'm getting tired as well, and that I haven't eaten in about eight hours, so I stop by the hotel restaurant and order a small pizza and a water bottle and take them back to the room. I try to calculate the exchange rate in my head and realize that food at the hotel is pretty expensive, so I make a mental note to try to find an alternate place to eat. In the room I eat my pizza in bed and browse the channels on TV. The third channel I get to is EmTV, the national network of Papua New Guinea. This was literally the only TV channel I had access to growing up. We would watch syndicated reruns of old shows like "Airwolf" and "Bonanza," compilations of music videos by local Papua New Guinean bands, and Australian soap operas like "Neighbours" and "Home and Away." Sadly, there's nothing interesting on, so I end up switching it off after a few minutes and finish my pizza in silence.

After dinner, I try to keep myself awake long enough to catch Kim online when she wakes up at 10:00pm my time, but I've been going for about 20 hours, and exhaustion overtakes me. I pass out shortly after 9:00.

[vitalgames]

An Embarrassment of Tim Tams, Interlude: Oh Noes, Internets!

Perhaps it was a bit ambitious to assume that I would be able to update this blog regularly once I arrived in Honiara. As it turns out, my Internet access here is unreliable at best. The hotel I’m staying in (which advertises wifi in the rooms on their website), requires you to pay for that wifi in 50mb chunks. Otherwise, you can use the Internet in the lobby which slows down to the point of being unusable when 4 or 5 people are trying to use it.

Rest assured, I’m writing while I’m here (and eating those Tim Tams), so I’ll post some updates as soon as I’m able.

Cheers!

[vitalgames]

An Embarrassment of Tim Tams, or An Unabridged Account of the Block-by-Block Workshop in Honiara (Part One)

"Tim Tams" by Bilby - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Commons 

After two short flights, I deplane in LAX and work to find my bearings. It's almost midnight back in Little Rock, and my bags have started to feel a little heavier. I want to get to my gate as quickly as possible so that I have some time to rest before the long flight to Brisbane.

LAX doesn't make this easy, though. I know that I need to get to the international terminal, so I start following some signs advertising a shuttle service between the terminals, but they lead me to baggage claim and the exit. I turn around to see if I've missed anything and notice another set of identical signs leading back the way I just came. I give up trying to figure out this bullshit and find the nearest security guard who tells me that the shuttle to the international terminal stops at gate 44 - just 3 gates past where I first deplaned.

I trudge back just in time to catch the shuttle, drop my bags on the luggage rack, and lean hard on the rail. The shuttle is a charter bus that drives us straight across the tarmac around parked jets and baggage trolleys. At one point, the bus driver stops to wait for a taxiing 747 to pass before continuing on. LAX is stupid.

I begin to notice hints of something familiar in conversations around me: a slightly raised tone at the end of a sentence, an ah where I expected an ar, a slight roundness to certain hard vowels; several Australians are engaged in quiet conversation around the bus. I'm too tired to actively eavesdrop, but the sound of their voices is strangely comforting. It's as if they're reminding me: it's OK. You've been here before.

It's true. Every time my family traveled between Papua New Guinea and America when I was younger, we would follow a relatively similar route: domestic US flights to LAX; LAX to Brisbane or Sydney, sometimes via Guam or Hawaii; then finally to Port Moresby and Goroka. The only difference between those trips and this one is the final destination. And the fact that I'm traveling alone. And I'm not the same person.

Over a decade has passed since the last time I took that trip, and I'm not the 20 year old who flew back to PNG to see his little brother graduate high school. The feelings I'm having are deceptive, because no matter how familiar sounds and locations may seem, I can no longer claim to be a South Pacific local. I've now been gone from PNG for at least as long as I lived there, so there's more American in me than anything else.

When I arrive at the gate for my flight, I immediately unburden myself and plug in my electronics. Kim calls as I wrap up work on a programming project. It feels good to hear her voice - a genuine point of familiarity. I hold onto every word as if they are chains in an anchor that will pull me back home. This is who I am: caught between the pull of multiple identities, all of which mean something to me. I know that this trip will change me, just like the last one did. Every destination and new acquaintance will pierce me and break off a part of themselves inside. I will graft them onto myself and grow and acquire new branches, but my roots will stay where they are buried: in a little house on Pleasant Tree Dr, where my very pregnant wife is feeling the kicks and squirms of our soon-to-be first child.

I let Kim get back to sleep and eventually I'm able to board the plane. I drop an ambien as soon as I can get some water. I crash. I'm awoken briefly for dinner when the loud male flight attendant taps my shoulder and says, "Mate, you want chicken, beef, or fish?" I opt for the fish, and shovel it all into my mouth through a thick medicinal fog. I pass out again as soon as I finish my plate. When I reawaken, I look at the flight info screen: we're south of the equator and a very short distance to the date line. I get up to stretch my legs and use the bathroom. As I wait for one of the stalls to open up, I poke my head into the vacant service area which is full of individually wrapped Tim Tams - my favorite snack from when I lived in PNG. Over the last decade I had forgotten all about them, but right in front of me are shelves upon shelves of them, stacked ten deep. I feel like the kid in the metaphorical candy store (although maybe not so metaphorical in this case). I grab one and eat it. It's better than I remember. A stall opens up before I can think of what else to do, but when I come back out of the restroom, I grab six more and stuff them into my bag hoping that: a) no one noticed, or b) no one cares. I walk excitedly back to my seat with my embarrassment of Tim Tams, promising myself that I'll use them to count my time in Honiara: one Tim Tam for each day.

It's around 3:00am, Honiara time. In about 5 hours I'll be in Brisbane, and in another 7 I'll be at my destination.

[vitalgames]

Seven Days in Bangladesh, Day Seven: An Ending

I meet Sohel in the hotel restaurant for a quick breakfastof samosas and halwa before leaving for Jessore. When we get to the lobby, Proloy is waiting with the cab driver. Sohel’s assistant, Biplob, was going to ride with me, but after our conversation last night, Proloy had asked to see me off instead. I check out, hoping to run into Hassan, the bellboy, one last time to say goodbye, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

The three of us hop into the cab and begin the journey northwest. On the way, we drop Sohel off at his parents’ house where we say our goodbyes. Sohel has been such a big part of my time in Bangladesh that it seems premature to part ways so early, but he still has a few days of post-workshop meetings to attend here in Khulna, so he won’t be traveling back to Dhaka with me.

As we make our way out of the city, the traffic thins out and our driver speeds up. Surprisingly, for the first time, I find myself getting nervous about having a wreck. City driving is incredibly slow due to the congestion, so even if there was a collision, it would be unlikely to cause any significant damage. Out here, though, we’re traveling much faster. Bikes stay to the edges of the road, but most of them are loaded down with pallets of cargo, so they often block up to half of the lane. It doesn’t help that the road is only two lanes wide, and just like in the cities, no one stops for anything. This turns the middle of the road where the two lanes meet into a sort of full-time passing lane, where cars and trucks going both directions weave back and forth around each other to avoid the bikes. It seems that every time I look up, we’re a few feet away from a head on collision, so I decide to just stop looking.

Proloy is a great travel companion, and we talk for most of the hour long drive to the airport. He tells me about his family. Family bonds are strong here, and it’s not uncommon for adults to continue living with or near their parents. This seems to serve as a kind of social safety net, since family members can easily help each other, share financial burdens, and eventually care for their elders when they are no longer able to care for themselves. Proloy lives with his parents and his sister, and together he and his father share the responsibility of supporting the family. When he finished college, his father loaned him the money to start his own business, and together they can afford a much better home than separately. He says that he’s had opportunities to leave Khulna and make more money, citing how one of his friends had recently invited him to Kuala Lumpur for a fairly lucrative business opportunity. Every time opportunities arise, though, he chooses to stay. He tells me that he’s content here – he can make a good living without having to work too hard, leaving him plenty of time to enjoy life. He laughs and says that Bangladeshis are lazy, because they would rather hang out at tea shops and spend time socializing than work long hours to make money.

For a moment I think back to my first day in Dhaka and my conversation with Aisha, who had a very different take on the Bangladeshi work ethic. I consider two possibilities: on the one hand, many of the people who live in Dhaka travel there for work, so it may be true that people in Dhaka are more focused on financial success than people who stay in the outlying cities; however, this could be a reflection of gender norms in Bangladeshi culture – that men have more freedom to choose how they spend their time than women. Or it could be both, or maybe this is just Proloy’s individual perspective. I haven’t been here long enough to do much more than speculate.

Regardless, I identify with Proloy’s perspective on work. I tell him that I don’t consider it “lazy” to work less in order to spend more time with family and friends. I explain that American culture emphasizes self-sufficiency and material wealth as signs of success, and the pursuit of these things seems to be driving many of us mad. Depression and anxiety are growing problems in our country, and some researchers attribute this to the influence of these social pressures. We work hard to support ourselves and accumulate stuff. The advertisements with which we are bombarded on a daily basis tell us that stuff will make us happier, but it never does, so we keep working and we keep buying stuff. If we don’t make enough money to buy more stuff, the ads tell us that we can borrow money: in-store financing, car loans, home loans, student loans, payday loans, etc.; the American dream is just a few credit statements away. In the end, this path leaves people isolated and stressed out. Americans, I tell him, are rich in stuff, but poor in time and love. Proloy laughs at this. He says that while Bangladeshis may not have a lot of stuff, time and love are two things that they have in abundance.

When we arrive at the Jessore airport, it’s hard to say goodbye. Since we’re now Facebook friends, I tell Proloy to stay in touch – he wants someone to practice English with, and I’m happy to oblige. The cab driver hurriedly helps me unload my bag from the trunk, and as we settle up the bill, an old man in a white robe with a wooden crutch closes in with his hand outstretched insistently. I hand him a few bills and he hobbles back to his post near the front door of the airport. Proloy steps back into the cab, and the crowd in front of the airport slowly parts around it as they drive away. I’m on my own.

The airport is tiny, consisting of an outer room for ticketing and security and an inner waiting departures room separated by a glass partition. I’m nervous; my flight is supposed to leave in 30 minutes, and I’m not sure that anyone here will speak English. I approach the ticketing counter and hand over the printout of my itinerary. The person at the counter asks me a few questions in Bengali. I shrug in response, and he hands me a boarding pass and waves me through. I get a quick pat down at the security checkpoint and head through to the waiting room.

The flight from Jessore to Dhaka is uneventful. The domestic and international terminals are right next to each other but are not connected, so I head outside through a gauntlet of taxi drivers hawking their services. The sidewalk ends, so I step out into the street and through several police checkpoints. The guards watch me curiously, and I nod at them as I pass. I begin to wonder if I had missed an easier way to go between the terminals, but it’s hard to tell since I can’t read any of the signs.

The international terminal is mostly empty, and I learn that the ticket desk for Emirates Airlines doesn’t open until 3:00, so I’ll be stuck in the entry area for two-and-a-half hours. I buy a bottle of water and a chocolate bar from a newsstand just inside the terminal, find myself a seat, and take out my computer to do some writing. A family takes a seat nearby, and one of the children tries to look over my shoulder to see what I’m doing on the computer. Gradually, the terminal begins to fill up, and by the time the Emirates desk opens, and long lines start to develop at security and at most of the ticket counters. Luckily, since I was there so early, I’m one of the first through the Emirates line.

I have five hours until my flight leaves, so I find a small coffee shop inside the departures lounge with wifi and open power outlets. I order a cup of tea and a chicken tikka sandwich and work on the final Minecraft model for Solar Park.

As I work, I try to process my time here in Bangladesh. I want to share my experiences with my family and friends back in the USA, but it’s hard to know where to begin. Over the last several days, I’ve felt simultaneously out of place and right at home, like a foreigner and a brother. I’ve found my beliefs and my perspective of the world both challenged and affirmed. My time here is too rife with contradictions to adequately sum it up here, but for all of the countless acts of kindness, the warmth and acceptance, the beauty, the tea and cigarettes, the time spent on rooftops singing along to Journey, the food, and everything else, all I can offer is a sincere and heartfelt, “Dhonnabad.”

[vitalgames]

Seven Days in Bangladesh, Day Six: The Last Night in Khulna

Today is the final day of the workshop, and it will bestreaming live on the Internet. I decide to wear one of the bow ties that Kim made for me. I have to find a video on Youtube to remind myself how to tie it, and it only takes three tries to get it right.

When we arrive at the workshop, there are wires lying across the floor and several men bustle about, preparing the camera equipment and computers for the live stream. Afroza, Upal, and Ahasanul from Khulna University along with Apir, the Khulna City Corporation’s urban planner, have returned today to see the final results of the workshop. The participants have begun to filter in and several of them are eager to get started. We give them the OK to hop on the computers as we wait for the others to arrive. Once everyone is present, the video broadcast begins and Sohel makes a few brief announcements to kick off the day’s events.

We give the participants about two hours to finalize their models. Each group is in a flurry of activity, rushing to put the finishing touches on the work they had begun the day before. I answer their questions and assist them wherever I can, but they don’t seem to need as much help today as they did yesterday, so mostly I just watch them work.

Occasionally I check my computer to see if anyone is commenting on the live stream. My brother is posting screen caps of the stream on Facebook. I spot Kim on Gchat and send her a message.

“Did you see me? I’m wearing my bowtie for you! [smiley]”

“I heard you!”

“LOL”

I tell her to wait for a second and make a quick circuit around the room to look at each group’s project.

“Did you see me?”

“No.”

“Aw butts.”

“There’s a man in a red shirt, and a guy with a cool orange beard. Someone is handing out water bottles…”

I realize now why she doesn’t see me: there’s about a five minute lag. Of course there’s lag; she’s watching this workshop from literally the other side of the planet. I explain this to her. I also tell her that I had asked Sohel why so many men here dye their hair and beards orange. I had assumed it bore some kind of significance, but he said, no – it’s just a style. She comments on the women’s saris, asking me to buy one for her. I tell her that I already did.

“There you are!” she exclaims.

“It’s like time travel! You’re watching me from five minutes ago LOL.”

“Weird.”

With that, she tells me to get back to work and signs off. I make a few more circuits of the workshop before Sohel calls the participants back together. He explains that each group will be given time to explain their model to the rest of the participants and to defend their decisions. He also tells them that the Afroza, Upal, Ahasanul, Abir, and I will be judging the models and will be giving an award to the group with the best design. I rush to copy the final models off of each computer and set up for the group presentations while the participants take a short snack break. Biplob brings me a couple of samosas and a bottle of spicy curry ketchup. As soon as I smell the food, I realize that my appetite is finally returning. The pastry is flaky and the filling hot and satisfying. I savor every bite.

When we reconvene, each group takes their turn to explain what they added and changed in their model and to list the three changes that they feel are most important. As they share, Sohel copies down every item they list and adds stars next to the ones that they have prioritized. Today is an important Muslim holiday, so many of the participants are anxious to finish the workshop so they can begin their religious observances. This forces us to rush through the presentations and cut group discussions short. One of the KU professors translates the presentations for me, and I try to take my own notes but find myself falling behind.

After the last group finishes, I meet with the other judges at the front of the room. They’ve each already scored the groups on a scale of ten and begin calculating averages. I feel like I missed something, and scramble to come up with some scores of my own. I’ve barely even begun when they present me with the averages of their scores. It seems silly to hold everyone up to add my two cents, and there’s really nothing that I would change, so I scrap my scores and tell them to go ahead and present the winner. The scores are close. Each group has presented some excellent models, and there are strong elements in each of their designs, but the winning group was clearly a little more coordinated from the beginning – they were the ones that had created the elaborate color-coded map the day before. Sohel presents them with their prize: a large box of Cadbury chocolate bars. Rather than keeping the chocolate for themselves, they immediately begin handing the bars out to everyone else in the workshop. One of them, a middle-aged gentleman in a neatly-pressed white shirt, hands me a bar and in limited English, thanks me for coming to Khulna to help them. I feel a slight twinge of emotion, but push it down – I don’t want to think about the fact that this is my last day in Khulna working with these people.

We take a break for lunch and several of the participants leave for prayer. I decide to sit and talk with the students from Khulna University while we eat our biryani and curried chicken. They ask me what I think of their work, and I tell them that I’m genuinely impressed. I’ve really enjoyed working with these students – they are thoughtful and eager to learn, they work together well, and they are unafraid of asking questions or seeking help when needed. They make the most of what they’re given and don’t seem to have the sense of entitlement that I encountered in many of the students I taught at the University of Illinois when I was working on my Masters degree. They remind me of my best students at Pulaski Technical College. I don’t tell them all of this, but I remark that I wish more of my students were like them, and they seem sincerely appreciative.

I ask them how they felt about Minecraft. None of them answer immediately, taking the time to consider how to respond. One of them finally posits that she would probably not use it for professional design work, but maybe to prototype an idea quickly. She mentions that it’s frustrating that the game doesn’t include certain features and objects that would have made her design better. I go ahead and tell them about Minecraft mods and texture packs, and they seem very interested in exploring the possibility of expanding and modifying the game to suit their needs.

I reiterate that Minecraft is really a game, not a design tool, and ask if they are interested in playing it more. One of the students asks what kind of game it is – he says that he’s familiar with games like Call of Duty, but that he has never played anything like Minecraft. I tell them about Survival Mode and Creepers and share some of my experiences playing the game. Some of them seem interested, but I can tell that none of them are really big gamers. This makes sense, considering the fact that entertainment technology is much more rare here than in the USA. While almost three quarters of Bangladeshis have mobile phones, very few of them own smartphones. Most of the phones I’ve seen have been older flip phones – the kind you could expect to get on a pre-paid plan. Computers, while cheaper than in the USA, are still out of the price range of most people and seem to be used primarily for work rather than entertainment. The few televisions I’ve seen have primarily been old CRT units, some of which are in desperate need of repair. I haven’t seen a single video game console or disc since I’ve been here, not even in the computer district.

In spite of this, several of the students seem sincerely interested in playing the game some more and ask me for the models they had worked on. I copy the files onto USB drives for them and write up some instructions for downloading Minecraft and installing the models onto their computers.

Over lunch, Sohel had been tallying up the changes and additions proposed by each group, and after the break, he calls us all back together to show everyone the final prioritized list of amenities. Each item has a score based on the number of groups who included it in their model with additional points awarded if the group listed it as one of their top three priorities. Items proposed by all six of the groups have also received automatic priority. Seven elements have clearly risen to the top of the list: wider walking paths, a public bathroom, a fence around the pond for safety, a playground, more benches and shelters, more lighting, a café, and garbage bins to deal with litter. Other high-scoring items include pump wells for drinking water, signage, and green spaces.

Once Sohel has finished, I set to work. My job for the afternoon is to attempt to consolidate the participant models into a single final model. I only have about two hours, so I have to work fast. I leave the computer connected to the projector so people can watch me work. I start with the items at the top of the priority list and work my way down. Several of the participants who had left for prayer wander back in, and people mill around the room and chat while I build furiously.

I’ve never had to build so fast. Usually when I play Minecraft, I take my time: I plan out a project, choose the blocks carefully, experiment with different ideas, and revise until I’m happy with my work. Today I have a deadline, though, so there’s no room to mess around. Thankfully, I don’t have to come up with ideas on my own – I can copy elements directly from the participant models. I go through each model and take screen shots of elements that I think are particularly successful and use those to guide my work. In order to best reflect the work done by each groups, I try to incorporate at least one idea from each group’s model. As 5:00 approaches, though, I’ve only been able to build the seven top priority elements in the consolidated model. I present my draft to the participants, assuring them that the rest of the elements will be included in the final model. They seem satisfied, although I’m disappointed that there isn’t time for them to ask questions or make comments on my model.

Sohel wraps up the workshop with a few announcements, and we all file outside into the park for a group photo. Sams, one of the photographers from the live streaming company, helps arrange us for the photo and collects cameras and phones from several people to take pictures. The participants want me to stand front and center in the photo, but I protest – I’m taller than anyone there, so it would be silly to put me in the front. I also don’t deserve to be the center of attention. We take a few shots with me in the back, but the participants insist, so I acquiesce and do a little joke pose before squatting down in the front of the group so as not to block anyone.

Several kids in the park have gathered around and are apparently trying to photobomb us. The photographer has to shoo them away before each shot. We disband after he has gotten the shot on each of the cameras in his hands, pockets, and hanging on his arms. Several of the kids gather around me and try to talk to me. I smile and say, “Hi.” They echo “hi” back to me over and over and a few of them collapse in laughter. One of them points to his teeth, points at me, and traces a smile with his fingers on his face. I smile again, realizing that they want to see my braces. A security guard steps in to shoo them away, and they all run back to the park.

I head back into the building to begin packing up my equipment, but on the way I’m stopped over and over to shake hands, say goodbyes, and take more pictures. I smile so much my face starts to hurt. I feel like a rock star – everyone wants to talk to me, to touch me, to take pictures with me, and it’s all because I know how to play a video game. It’s a surreal moment.

As I begin to gather my things, some of the older participants who are residents of the nearby slum approach me. One man clasps my hand in both of his and shakes it firmly. As he releases me, he touches his hand to his heart and says, “Dhonnobad,” which is “thank you” in Bengali. One-by-one, the others do the same, and I’m slammed by a tidal wave of emotion. I do my best to hold it in before escaping to my backpack in the corner of the room where I pretend to move some things around. I take a few deep breaths. This is it: the last day of the workshop. I will never see these people again. We may have only worked together for a few days, but they’ve made a lasting impression on me. I find some tissue in my bag and dab my eyes quickly. I follow the last of the participants out of the room, leaving the IT staff from Khulna University and the live streaming company to finish tearing down the computer equipment.

Sohel drops me off at the hotel and says that he will send Biplob to take me back to Aarong to get more gifts. Back in my room I have a few minutes to myself, and as soon as I drop my backpack on the floor and sit on the bed, I begin to weep openly. I don’t even know most of the names of the people I’ve met here, but I feel a powerful connection with them. I’m torn between my desire to return to Kim in Arkansas and the desire to spend more time in this place.

Around 7:45, Sohel calls up to my room, so I head down to meet him in the lobby. He asks if I had gotten the rest of my gifts at Aarong, and I say no. He tells me that they close in 15 minutes, so if I want to go back, I’d better hurry. Luckily, the store isn’t far away and one of his friends is there with his motorcycle, so he rushes me over before they shut the doors. I feel like I’m in one of those shopping spree game shows from the 90s as I rush from aisle to aisle, grabbing statues, clothes, and other gift items for my family. Luckily I’ve brought a list with me, so the selection isn’t quite as overwhelming, and the time constraint adds a little adrenaline rush to the experience. It isn’t long before my basket is loaded with presents. I feel terrible for shopping right as the staff is trying to close the store, but I notice that there are five or six other people still browsing around, and when I get in line to pay, several customers line up behind me. At least I’m not the only deadbeat.

After we drop off my loot at the hotel, we head back to the tea shop from two nights before to meet Sohel’s friends. Several of the streets are blocked due to the holiday, so our rickshaw driver has to take a couple of detours. Crowds of people sit in the road singing and praying as a sermon is broadcast from loudspeakers at almost every intersection. The collective sound of their voices reverberates and fills the air with energy.

When we arrive at the tea house, everyone is there except for Ashiq, who had to travel to India at the last minute for medical reasons. Originally we had been planning to go to Ashiq’s house to drink, but with him out of the country, we had to change our plans.

Before the trip, Sohel had asked me to buy a bottle of Jack Daniels and bring it with me. Because Bangladesh is predominantly Muslim, alcohol is rare and expensive, and it’s common practice for people who sell alcohol to water down the bottles they import and mix them with other mystery substances to stretch their stock and increase their profit margin. These adulterated blends have a tendency to make people sick, so when an opportunity to enjoy the genuine article arises, it’s a cause for celebration. Sohel had explained that, as a foreigner, I would have no trouble bringing alcohol into the country or carrying it with me, but he would be harassed by the immigrations officers and the police due to the fact that he is a Bangladeshi and a Muslim. Even though possession of alcohol is not strictly illegal, it is considered taboo, so it cannot be consumed in public, which is why we had planned to meet at Ashiq’s home where we would have some relative privacy.

I offer my hotel room as a possible option, since we could also order room service if we wanted some snacks, but Sohel is concerned that they may get us in trouble for talking too loudly. Instead, we all head to the apartment building where Hassan, another of his friends, lives. The roof of the building is relatively secluded, and should be a fine venue for the night’s festivities. When we arrive, Hassan has laid out a mat for us to sit on. I present the “guest of honor” and place it in the middle of the mat. It is joined by a bottle of Coca-Cola, a few bags of chips, and a bag of spicy nuts that I’m told is a popular Bangladeshi snack. A couple of the guys take pictures of the bottle and post them to Facebook.

Sohel gets the soundtrack for the party going. He starts us off with Bob Marley, followed by some 80s pop, including Madonna and Journey. I briefly interject some De La Soul into the mix before turning the DJ responsibilities back over to Sohel. The roof is completely dark, so a couple of the guys lay their phones on the mat with the screens turned on for light. I look up at the stars. They’re bright and distinct due to the relative lack of light pollution. I notice the constellation Orion and think of Kim.

They begin to pass the bottle around and fill their plastic cups with whiskey and Coke. I notice that most of them water their drinks down quite a bit. I imagine that their alcohol tolerance must be pretty low considering how infrequently they drink. I initially turn them down when they offer me a drink – I can get this whenever I want in America, and I want these guys to enjoy it as much as possible – but they insist that I join them, so I oblige and pour myself about half a shot of whiskey and top it off with the Coke. I drink slowly, occasionally refilling my cup with Coke so it doesn’t look like I’m abstaining.

Proloy sits next to me and asks whether I’ve enjoyed my time in Bangladesh. “Yes” doesn’t seem like a strong enough answer. I start to gush about how welcome they’ve made me feel and how beautiful the country is, but I can’t seem to say anything that doesn’t sound either trite or hyperbolic. I finally make the excuse that the alcohol is talking, and they all laugh, but I’m nowhere near being drunk. I’m genuinely at a loss for words. Too much has happened over the last few days, and I haven’t had time yet to process all of it. I tell Proloy that even though I’ve only been here for a week, I’ve fallen in love with Bangladesh and hope that I can come back with my family to show them how wonderful it is.

I ask him about the holiday, wondering if it’s common for people to block the streets and shut down traffic for religious observances. He explains that this only happens about once or twice a year, but that he and his family are Hindu, so he’s not as familiar with the Muslim holidays as some of the other guys. I ask him if he’s seen or experienced any religious conflict between Muslims and people of other faiths in Bangladesh, but he says no. He explains that religious conflicts arise occasionally in rural areas, but in the cities people tend to be more tolerant of other faiths. He asks me how familiar I am with Hinduism, and I state that, while I’ve read the Bhagavad Gita, I know very little about their beliefs. He explains that Hindus don’t believe that god tells us what to do, but rather that god is the strength that we find within ourselves to fulfill our purpose in life. God can take many forms, and people may find this strength in different ways – through rituals, through prayer, through fellowship with other people, etc. Ultimately, he says, there’s no benefit to arguing about your beliefs, because it only causes strife and distracts us from doing what we know is right. If someone uses different methods than ours to derive their spiritual strength and fulfill their purpose in life, who are we to say that they are wrong?

Before the party is over, several of the guys ask to add me on Facebook. I write my email address in my notebook so they can copy it into their phones. We head down from the roof and walk down the street. One-by-one, each member of the group says his goodbyes and peels off onto a side street toward home. In the end only Sohel, Proloy, and I are left. Sohel flags down an autorickshaw and the three of us ride back to the hotel.

I step into my room around 11:30 and boot up my computer to find several new friend requests waiting for my approval. It’s just after noon now in Arkansas, and lots of people have commented on the workshop live stream. It doesn’t take long for the bed’s gravitational pull to overwhelm me, and I quickly fall asleep. Tomorrow morning I will begin the journey home.

[vitalgames]

Seven Days in Bangladesh, Day Five: The Workshop Continues

Day two of the workshop is dedicated to building, so I willbe in charge of the day’s events. I’m nervous, but I feel confident in thematerial and the tutorials I’ve created. Sohel picks me up at 8:30, and when we arrive at the venue, most of the participants are already there, waiting to get started. Sohel gives the participants a quick overview of the schedule before handing the workshop over to me. Since very few of the participants speak English, Sohel translates for me as I begin.

I kick things off with a series of increasingly challenging building tutorials. I’ve designed these tutorials to fulfill three objectives: to familiarize the participants with the different kinds of blocks and objects in the inventory, to show them the relationship between objects in the game and objects in the real world, and to demonstrate some advanced building techniques. We start with a park bench, which requires only two items: the Oak Wood Stairs block for the seat and back of the bench and the Sign object for the arms. Next, I show them how to make a simple building with walls, windows, a ceiling, and a door out of four blocks: the Bricks block for the walls, the Glass Pane object for windows, Stone Slabs for the ceiling and awning over the door, and an Oak Wood Door for the entrance.

We move onto the more advanced items, and in order to show the students how their designs in Minecraft relate to real world objects I’m having them build two objects from Solar Park: a decorative lamp post and a shaded seating area that looks like a little tree. Each of these require the use of some less intuitive techniques, such as using Fence objects as posts for the lamps and using upside down Stairs objects for benches in the seating areas. Everyone seems to catch on with little trouble, and by 10:00, the tutorials are finished.

We have a brief question and answer period. The local participants seem ready to begin work on their designs, but several of the Khulna University students seem anxious to ask questions. One student asks how to make a circle, and I explain that you can only approximate a circle, since everything in Minecraft is made out of cubic blocks. Another asks if it’s possible to resize or reskin blocks, and I decide not to mention mods or texture packs so as not to add any confusion. I explain that Minecraft isn’t as precise as the CAD software they may be used to working with in their architecture and urban planning classes, because it’s a game; however, unlike professional design software, it’s also very easy for people with little to no computer experience to learn and use. I encourage them to use the limitations of the software as fuel for their creativity; to think of the many different ways that they can use each item and block, and to not worry about precision, but about the big picture. They seem satisfied with this, and each group makes their way to their computers to begin working on their models.

Along with the software, Sohel and I provide each group with a printed map of the park, notebooks, pens, and pencils to sketch out ideas and take notes on their work. I’ve also provided each group with a card that lists the controls and locations of important items in the inventory. The participants work diligently as Sohel and I circulate around the room to check on them and answer questions. Because the students from Khulna University have some design knowledge and are more technologically proficient than most of the other participants, one of our concerns is that they might inadvertently go from assistants to group leaders, decreasing the agency of the other participants; however, this doesn’t happen. Instead, everyone seems eager to participate. Some groups delegate tasks to different members: one member works at the computer, one holds the map and sketches out participant ideas, and another takes notes while the rest make suggestions and build on each other’s ideas. Another group goes through an elaborate planning session, creating a detailed, color-coded map of their design before moving to the computer to build.

Within an hour, I can already see some of the groups experimenting with new techniques and using items in creative ways. I call for the participants’ attention a couple of times in order to point out creative ideas or share new building suggestions (like how to use the String object to make an invisible platform to suspend other objects). At one point, I even learn something from one of the groups: I see a participant clicking the wheel on his mouse to copy blocks and objects into his inventory. Since I’ve always used a two-button mouse to play the game, I had never learned this trick! I make a mental note to buy a mouse with a click-wheel as soon as possible.

I take a few minutes to borrow the satellite modem Sohel bought and check my email. I read through a few student emails containing questions about the group projects I had assigned before I left for Bangladesh. Several complain about group members who have been incommunicado or who have failed to show up for scheduled meetings. I look over the top of my laptop at the workshop participants collaborating in front of me, and my frustration gets the best of me. I type up an email to all of my classes with a strongly-worded paragraph addressed to the students who haven’t been participating:

“Right now in Bangladesh, I'm working with people who have nothing - no Internet, no phones, no cars, no computers, etc. - and yet, they are showing up every day and collaborating without any problems. There's a man in the workshop who can barely walk, but he still shows up on time every morning. You have access to some of the most advanced communications technology in the world, so there's no excuse for not communicating with your group.”

It’s not that I think my students are entitled; to the contrary, I know that many of my students face serious hardships, but that’s what makes the others – the ones who slack off but have no excuse – so infuriating. The comparison is what’s damning. I feel a pang of regret when I send the email, knowing that some of the good students will probably mistakenly think that the “tough love” part of the message is directed at them, but overall I feel like the reaction is warranted.

At the end of the day, the participants have done more work than I had imagined possible. They are quick learners and creative problem-solvers. They have built bridges and public toilets, widened walkways, added green spaces and sitting areas, designed playground equipment and wells for drinking water, and have come up with six unique designs for the park. Even the group who lost almost two hours of work due to a computer crash has a lot to show for their time. Sohel excuses them for the day, and I set to work making backup copies of their models onto my USB drive.

After workshop, Sohel takes me to Aarong – a local store that sells a wide range of handmade goods – to look for gifts for my family. I’m overwhelmed by the options and end up buying only two items: a sari for Kim and a statue of Ganesh for my brother. I decide to make a list of gift ideas and come back tomorrow with a clearer plan of attack.

Next Sohel takes me to downtown Khulna to visit some of his friends in the computer district. Downtown is brightly lit and busy even at night. We make our way to a tower full of stores, most of which sell computer components and electronics. Sohel tells me that I can find any computer parts or accessories that I want here and for a much lower price than what I might get in the USA. I think back to the workshop and decide to buy myself a wireless mouse with a click wheel. Several of Sohel’s friends work here, so he takes me to one of their shops. We sit down and his friend offers us some Coca-Cola and encourages us to browse. He shows me several models of wireless mice and as I do the math in my head, I realize that even the most expensive one is half the price of the cheapest one I would find in America. I start eyeing some of the other products, remembering that I also need a new hard drive for my computer at home, but in the end I decide to just get the mouse and save my money for the trip back to Aarong tomorrow.

We meet a few of Sohel’s other friends in a stairwell and have a quick smoke. People seem to rush past us, and I feel like some kind of weird hooligan: a balding white guy lounging in a stair well with a bunch of Bangladeshi IT guys, smoking cigarettes, laughing too loudly, and generally standing out like a sore thumb.

Before we leave, we stop into one more computer store, and a group of strangers wants to take selfies with me. I oblige, but I wonder why. Do they think that I’m somebody famous? That’s hard to imagine. Are they just excited because I’m a white guy? Maybe, although thinking that makes me a little uncomfortable for reasons I don’t fully understand. I notice one of them is already posting our selfie on Facebook.

Eventually, Sohel drops me back off at the hotel. I fall asleep in front of my computer, writing and preparing for the last day of the workshop.

[vitalgames]

Seven Days in Bangladesh, Day Four: The Workshop Begins

Note: Sorry for the long delay in posting. Wrapping up the final business of the workshop and returning to teaching in the USA have kept me busy this week. I should have the remaining posts uploaded over the next few days.

I wake up at about 4:00 in a pool of sweat, letting me know that my fever has broken. I try to fall back asleep, but apparently one ambien isn’t enough to keep me down all night, at least not when I’m sick.

I’m still feeling sore, so I take a few ibuprofen and spend the next couple of hours writing and playing Monster Hunter 4.

Sohel picks me up at 8:30 and we head to the workshop site. I’m nervous about the first day, and my nerves are amplified by the fact that I still feel a little sick. When we arrive at the site, several participants are already waiting. I’m introduced to a few more professors from Khulna University, including Afroza, the head of the architecture program.

By 9:00, the final participants have arrived and are seated. The table at the front of the room is decked with flowers, and the banner Sohel and I designed to advertise the event hangs on the front wall. Everything is ready, but for some reason, we’re not starting. I ask Sohel about the delay, and he explains that we have to wait for the members of the Khulna City Corporation to arrive so that they can give their speeches. Most of them arrive around 9:15, but Hafizur takes his time, finally showing up close to 10:00.

Once everyone is present, the opening ceremonies begin. There is a call to prayer, followed by a number of speeches by KCC and KU representatives, all in Bengali, of course. I hear my name mentioned several times in what I can only hope is a positive context. The participants then introduce themselves, and I’m glad to see that the group is very diverse, consisting of young and old, men and women, rich and poor – a good representation of the park’s users.

Sohel spends some time explaining the mission of UN-Habitat and the purpose of the workshop before we take a short snack break consisting of tea, sandwiches, oranges, and little slices of a milky-flavored cake. I drink the tea and eat the orange, but my appetite won’t allow me to touch anything else.

For the remainder of the morning, Sohel and some of the professors from KU instruct the participants in the basics of public space design. It’s hard for me to stay focused, since their presentations are all in Bengali, but thankfully their Powerpoint slides are in English, so I’m able to get the gist of their lectures. Sohel spends some time defining different kinds of public spaces and explaining the process urban planners use when designing them. The Khulna University professors cover more specific topics like neighborhood park considerations, recreational facilities, health and safety concerns, and more. I find myself wishing I could understand what they are saying, because what little information I can gather from the slides seems very compelling.

After the presentations, Sohel facilitates a group discussion in order to get the participants to begin planning their upgrades to Solar Park. Six students from Khulna University’s architecture and urban planning programs are in attendance to assist the participants with their designs, so Sohel divides the participants into six groups and assigns a student to each. Each group is asked to list challenges and issues in Solar Park and potential solutions to those problems. They are also asked to imagine their “dream” park and list the kinds of amenities it would feature.

Each group is given time to share their ideas. Many of their requests seem like common sense: public restrooms, more seating areas, better lighting; however, some requests reflect the local culture more specifically, including a prayer room for Muslim park users and an area for local merchants to set up food carts. An argument breaks out when the second group suggests that the slum-dwellers living near the park should be evicted, bringing the underlying conflict between the two sides of the park to the fore. I don’t know what’s being said, but after a few minutes of heated discussion, both sides calm down, and the issue is removed from the table.

After the discussions, we break for a lunch of vegetable biryani and curried chicken. I pick at my food, feeling a little bit of my appetite returning, but I end up focusing more on conversing with the professors from Khulna University.

Afroza talks about the informal economy of the slum-dwellers here in Bangladesh. She tells me that houses in most of the slums here are built from scavenged construction materials gathered from demolished buildings. With the boom in new construction around the country, building materials are in high demand, so extra scavenged materials like rebar are a valuable commodity that shrewd slum-dwellers are able to sell for profit to support themselves and their families. The government doesn’t have the infrastructure to establish a formal recycling system, so this informal economy benefits the community in two ways: by providing the poor with an income source and by filling the need for recycling services. The problem, though, is that scavenging can be dangerous work, and no protection or healthcare is provided for the people who perform this service.

The other professors are curious about education in the United States, so I share with them some of the problems we have been facing due to the increasing corporatization of both public and higher education. I talk about how teachers at every level are vilified by politicians and are being gradually divested of power; how curriculum is being increasingly dictated by business interests with little to no room for critical thinking; how teachers are rapidly losing the freedom to challenge the status quo. As I explain the issues, they express their surprise that this is happening in America and state that these are the exact same problems Bangladesh faced under colonial rule. One professor jokes that America has essentially become a corporate “colony,” but no one really laughs because it’s not that kind of joke.

I begin my presentation on Minecraft after lunch. Today, the goal is to teach the participants the basic controls, to introduce the Solar Park model, and to give them some time to practice and explore. The Khulna University students pick up the controls quickly, but there are about five or six participants in each group, so I tell them to allow each person some time at the keyboard. Some of the participants have never used a computer before. One woman in particular seems very reluctant to try and protests lightly when I encourage her to take the controls. Finally, she gives in and her whole group rallies around her, showing her how to move and click the mouse and what buttons to press on the keyboard. Her expression quickly changes from confusion to delight as she watches the game respond to her commands.

As we leave the workshop, Sohel invites me to his parents’ house for dinner around 7:00. He drops me off at the hotel until then. I take the opportunity to explore the hotel and go for a swim in the rooftop pool. I have the pool to myself and the water is cool and refreshing. After a few minutes, I walk over to the railing to look out over the city. Cars and busses honk at each other and a babble of voices float up from the streets below. A sermon is being broadcast from a nearby loudspeaker, but I can’t understand any of it. The skyline is less dense than in Dhaka and more green shows through the buildings.

Sohel eventually picks me up for dinner at his parents’ house, where Rizia serves us one of Khulna’s delicacies: freshwater prawns. There’s also daal, curried chicken, eggplant, curried egg, and rice. I eat as much as my stomach will let me. Sohel tells me that Rizia tried to make the food less spicy than usual because of my stomach, but less spicy still feels spicy to my weak American palate. In the end, I have to leave a lot of the food, which makes me feel guilty. I thank Rizia profusely as we leave, and she seems a bit taken aback by this.

We take a rickshaw to a little roadside tea house where several of Sohel’s friends are waiting to meet us. The tea house consists of a tarp and thatched leaf roof propped up on wooden poles. There’s a single wall at the back of the shop, with some storage space for supplies. The space under the roof is no more than 7 or 8 feet square. A table sits in the center of the space; next to it, a small fire stove with a pot of water boiling on top of it; and around those, lie several benches on which customers sit.

Sohel orders us some tea and buys a couple of loose cigarettes from the owner and we begin to chat with his friends. Most of them do not speak English, but the two who do, Ashiq and Proloy, launch into conversation with me. Ashiq tells me that, in the absence of alcohol, this tea house serves as the local bar, and he jokes that tea “is the wildest drink in Bangladesh.” He has a somewhat acerbic sense of humor, which puts me at ease. He asks me what I think of Bangladesh and jokes that he hopes I don’t think that they all look like terrorists. I tell him how much I’ve enjoyed the country and that not all Americans assume that Muslims are terrorists. I ask him what kinds of stereotypes Bangladeshis have of Americans, and he says that they assume all Americans think they’re terrorists.

During the conversation, Ashiq offers me a cigarette, and laughs when I thank him. He explains that Bangladeshis don’t say “thank you.” I’m a bit surprised at this, but he continues by explaining that, while many westerners assume that this is rude, the reality is that Bangladeshis assume that people should help each other, so gratitude is reserved for big favors. He says, if you stop someone on the street and ask for directions, they’ll give you directions, and there’s no expectation of gratitude, because that’s just what people should do. I respond that, in America, people don’t assume that others will help them; to the contrary, Americans generally assume that people will either ignore them or take advantage of them. He laughs and says that this is sad. He also states that Bangladeshis generally don’t apologize for similar reasons – they assume that, since no one is perfect, everyone will make mistakes, so there’s no need to call attention to little problems. I tell him that I wish more Americans were like this.

Proloy is a bit less proficient in English than Ashiq and spends much of the conversation listening, but he steps in to tell me about a British friend of theirs who tried to move to Bangladesh permanently. She had fallen in love with the country and culture, stating that she preferred it to her native England. Due to the country’s strict immigration laws, however, her visa eventually expired and could not be renewed, forcing her to move back to the UK. During the conversation, he apologizes for his English, stating that he has had very few opportunities to practice since she left the country. I tell him that he’s welcome to practice on me as long as I’m in town.

At about 10:30, the tea house owner indicates that he’s getting ready to close the shop. I’m disappointed to have to end the conversation. Rather than calling a cab, Ashiq offers me a ride back to the hotel on his motorbike. He laughs when I hold onto the bars behind the seat, telling me to trust him and let go. I take his advice and relax my grip, letting my hands rest on my legs. He weaves effortlessly through the waning traffic. It’s a surprisingly cool night.

[vitalgames]

Seven Days in Bangladesh, Day Three: Preparing for the Workshop

I try to sleep as late as I can, but by 4:00 am, I'm completely awake. It's about 5:00 pm in Arkansas, so I hop onto the computer and send Kim a video chat request, unsure if the Internet speed here in the hotel can handle the demand. Thankfully, it only takes a few seconds for her slightly pixelated face to appear on the screen. Seeing her and hearing her voice provides a temporary respite from the instability and unfamiliarity all around me, and for a moment, I feel like I'm at home.

She tells me that her check up went well - the baby is almost 7 weeks along. Aside from that, we mostly make small talk, catching up on each other's schedules and the previous day's activities. I tell her about the sounds in Bangladesh - the way drivers constantly honk their horns to warn pedestrians and other drivers of their presence, the constant murmur of voices, and the call to prayer, which is broadcast from local mosques at regular intervals throughout the day. She is excited about the latter and asks me to record it when I get a chance. Eventually, she has to go give her cousin a ride home from swim practice.

There’s a mosque about a block away from the hotel, and since it’s almost 5:00, I open my bathroom window in the hope that I’ll be able to hear the morning call to prayer broadcast. I place my phone carefully on the AC unit outside of the window and hit record, but the broadcast never comes. I try again several times, but after about 20 minutes, I give up.

I lie in bed for awhile, trying to make myself fall back asleep, but after going to bed so early the night before, it's no use. I also begin to feel slightly nauseous, which I hope is nothing more than indigestion from the spicy food I've been eating. I spend about an hour writing, but gradually my body starts to feel stiff and achy.

I decide to run a bath for myself and soak away the aches, but I quickly realize that the tub isn't built for my wide American ass. I squeeze myself in anyway, feeling a little constricted, but not uncomfortable; however, the plug doesn't seal properly, so the water slowly drains out as I sit there, making the whole exercise futile. I opt to take a hot shower instead.

I end up piddling away the next hour, feeling increasingly ill and waiting for 7:00 to roll around so that I can get some breakfast. When I finally wander down to the hotel restaurant, they have a full Bangladeshi breakfast buffet laid out, but the only things I can find that don't intensify my nausea just by looking at them are cereal and fruit. I finally come to terms with the fact that, like it or not, I'm getting sick.

Sohel picks me up at 10:30, and we ride to the project site, Solar Park. The park is bordered by two communities: around one half are several newer apartment buildings that house middle-class and upper-middle-class families, while on the other side is a slum made up of makeshift shelters built from scavenged materials. The park serves as a nexus for these two communities - a place where rich and poor coexist. The park is named after the Solar Energy Production and Training Center, a collaborative project between Bremen University, the European Commission, and the Khulna City Corporation intended to increase the use of solar energy in the region. The Center sits on one end of the park, and it will serve as the venue for our workshop.

Inside of the Center, a large training room has been set aside for the workshop, so we arrange the chairs and tables in preparation for the 25 participants and additional facilitators, government officials, and University representatives that will be in attendance. I'm still feeling sick, but the activity gives me something else to focus on, so I push through.

With the furniture in place, the only remaining task is to wait for the computers to arrive from the University, so I take the opportunity to explore the park. Solar Park is dominated by a large cement-lined reservoir that sits in its dead center. Circling the reservoir is a series of criss-crossed walking paths, with a few street lamps, crumbling cement benches, and small rain shelters scattered haphazardly. As I watch people interacting in the park, I see evidence of the inequality in the surrounding communities. Wealthier residents take leisurely strolls on the footpaths or lounge under the rain shelters to talk or read, while poor families use the reservoir in the middle to wash clothes and bathe. As I walk through the side of the park bordered by the slum, I suddenly realize that all of the safety and recreational features of the park - lights, benches, and shelters - are concentrated on the wealthy side.

I return to the Center to find that the computers have arrived and two of the University's IT staff are setting them up. With the venue prepared, Sohel and I leave for a meeting with Hafizur, one of the councilors from the Khulna City Corporation, to discuss the list of workshop participants he had put together for us. Sohel had spent some time the day before reviewing the demographics of the participants and found that women, children, and slum-dwellers were notably under-represented, even though they are exactly the kinds of people this workshop is designed to reach. It seems that some of the participants may have been chosen for political reasons, so we hope that we can convince Hafizur to make some changes. Just in case, Sohel asks me to be ready to present an argument as well, since Hafizur may be more likely to listen to a foreigner. I understand the reasoning, but it feels strange; Sohel is much more knowledgeable about the program than me, but we’re essentially hoping that Hafizur will assume that I’m the expert because I’m not Bangladeshi.

We meet Hafizur at the Khulna City Corporation offices. He has the look of a man who is used to getting his way. Sohel and Upal begin to present our case, and while I can’t tell what the three of them are saying, the discussion seems to get heated at a few points. Finally, Sohel asks me to step in. I tell Hafizur about my survey of the park – it was clear that the most active users were the poor, especially women and children. I say that, as primary users of the park, their input would be crucial in creating a design that reflects the needs of everyone. There is more discussion in Bengali, before I notice Sohel begin to strike names from the list. Six participants are removed, all of whom are members of an NGO and a senior citizens’ organization, and are replaced with representatives from the slum bordering the park. As we leave the office, I ask Sohel what he thinks about the politicians here – do most of them have the best interests of the people in mind, or are they more corrupt? I qualify this by stating that, while they often claim to have their constituents’ needs at heart, most politicians in America are for sale to the highest bidder. He says that it’s similar here – there is corruption, but it’s not as bad as Kenya or other developing countries.

Sohel drops me back off at the hotel. He has more preparations to make before tomorrow, and I need to review my tutorial materials. I feel a little weak, and my appetite is still very low, but the nausea from this morning is gone.

After a couple of hours of work, I feel the first wave of chills come over me. I turn up the thermostat, hoping that it’s just a reaction to the air conditioning, but a few minutes later, it hits me again. I turn off the AC, climb into bed, and pull the blankets up to my chin, hoping that I haven’t caught one of the many terrible, exotic illnesses I had read about on the CDC website before my trip. I had a full round of vaccinations, but some illnesses are unpreventable. I spend the next few hours alternating between sleeping fitfully and working on my computer, trying my best to stave off the chills and stiffness.

The phone wakes me up around 6:00 – it’s Sohel. The chills are gone, so I crawl out of bed, put on a sweater (which probably makes me look like a lunatic, considering the temperature), and head down to the hotel restaurant to meet him. When I arrive, he introduces me to Biplob, one of his family’s neighbors, who he has hired as an assistant for the workshop. We talk briefly about the plan for tomorrow before he leaves again to make some more preparations. The hotel restaurant serves multi-ethnic cuisine, so I order a cup of tomyum king soup and some fried rice, hoping that I’ll be able to eat something. The chills return before my food arrives, but the first sip of broth immediately dispels them. It’s hot and tastes strongly of ginger and lemongrass, which also helps to sooth my stomach. I feel its warmth through my entire core. I finish the soup easily, but I realize that there’s no way I’ll be able to eat the fried rice in my current state, so I ask for it to be packaged up. I head back to the room and leave it in the fridge, hoping that it will be appetizing for breakfast in the morning.

Sohel wakes me again a couple of hours later, and I meet him down in the lobby to discuss UN-Habitat’s reporting procedures so that I can begin working on the workshop report that I will need to submit after I leave Khulna. The conversation is quick, and after he leaves, I head back to the room, take an ambien, and immediately fall back asleep.

[vitalgames]

Live Stream from Khulna, Bangladesh, to Start in Less than an Hour!

To view the stream, click the link below or visit blockbyblock.org

http://www.webtvnext.com/share/live/3805304

[blockby]

Livestream from Khulna, Bangladesh

This week UN-Habitat and a group of young people are using Minecraft to redesign Solar Park in Khulna, the third largest city in Bangladesh. From 9am-5pm Bangladeshi time on Friday 13 March you can follow the workshop live from Bangladesh here.

If the video doesn’t show, you can view it here.

[vitalgames]

Seven Days in Bangladesh: Live Stream Tomorrow!

Spread the word!

[vitalgames]

Seven Days in Bangladesh, Day Two: Jessore to Khulna

I'm awoken at about 5 am from a surprisingly sound night's sleep by the call to prayer broadcast from a nearby mosque. I find that I prefer the music of the imam's chant to the electronic beep of my alarm clock. I step out onto the balcony to watch the sunrise and see lights begin to flicker on in the nearby apartments. Dhaka is waking up.

Before leaving for the airport, Sohel and I eat a quick breakfast of flatbread, scrambled eggs cooked with onion and hot peppers, and daal. Sohel explains that, due to the hartal, it's dangerous and impractical to attempt to drive to Khulna (the location of the workshop). Instead we will fly to Jessore, which is about an hour from Khulna, and drive from there. If it wasn't for the hartal, he says, he would prefer to drive, as planes make him nervous. I'm surprised at this confession, considering how much he travels for the UN.

The cab arrives to take us to the airport. We say our goodbyes to Rumana, Monir, and Diya and head downstairs. I realize that I will probably never see any of the people I've met here in Dhaka again.

The flight to Jessore only takes 20 minutes - far shorter than the drive to the airport. We travel aboard a small twin prop Dash 8, and while the flight is relatively smooth, the size of the plane amplifies every jolt and shift. Sohel is visibly anxious and clutches the seat in front of him until we land.

As we fly, the sea of buildings thins out. I notice what looks like entire city blocks of new construction: cleared land and partially poured foundations. It's like Dhaka is growing right before my eyes. Sohel tells me that most of the residents of Dhaka are immigrants from outlying towns and settlements who moved to the city in hope of better opportunities. The resulting growth can only be described as explosive, and its evidence is visible everywhere. Housing is in short supply and high demand, and construction companies have found that they can increase their profits by cutting corners in order to expand as quickly as possible. Eventually the city gives way to a patchwork of farmland, dirt roads, and small settlements. The landscape is lush and green, and while the population is not nearly as dense as in Dhaka, it seems that almost every square inch of soil is being utilized.

We catch a taxi from the Jessore airport to Sohel's family home on the outskirts of Khulna. As we drive, Sohel points out the farms that line the road. He states that these are fresh-water shrimp farms. Each farm features a central crop (usually rice) and is bordered by a canal that houses the shrimp. When it's time for harvest, the farmers use drag nets to catch the shrimp, which are a popular food item in Khulna. I ask him if any of these crops are exported, and he says no; Bangladesh was once a prominent exporter of jute, but due to corporate and political corruption and price wars with India, the crop became unprofitable. Now, most farms are for subsistence, and the crops stay within the country.

When we arrive at Sohel's home, he introduces me to his parents, Siddique and Rizia; another sister, Farzana; and two nieces, Tahiti and Hiya. Their property is fairly large, and he states that his family owns much of the surrounding farm land as well, which has become more valuable since the highway we traveled in on was constructed. Their house is low to the ground, with cement walls, a tightly woven thatched ceiling, and corrugated metal roof. There are lots of windows, both on the outer walls and inside of the house, which allow for air circulation to mitigate the oppressive summer heat. Farzana pumps some water from the well outside for us to drink, and we take the opportunity to relax and eat before heading into the city.

Sohel's nieces play in the courtyard in front of the house, and when they approach, he asks them to say "hello" to me in English. Hiya, who is obviously the more precocious one, says, "Hi," and, "Hello," several times before running back to the yard. Tahiti just looks at her feet. Later, Farzana asks the girls to speak to me in English again, not realizing that Sohel had already subjected them to the same performance; instead, Hiya turns to her mother and says something in Bengali. Farzana laughs and tells me that Hiya told her that she’s already spoken to me many times. As the girls return to their play, she explains that Hiya wanted to teach me Bengali so that I will know how to talk to people while I am in the country. We both laugh at the prospect.

Farzana and Rizia serve us a feast of curried egg, curried chicken, hilsha, fried shredded potato, fried eggplant, and rice. As we eat, Sohel jokes that every time he comes home, he gains a few pounds from eating too much of his family's food. I can see why that might be a problem! 

After a short rest, a vehicle arrives from Khulna University to take us into town. I'm surprised to see that it's an ambulance! Sohel explains that government vehicles are often attacked on the road due to the hartal, but no one will attack an ambulance. The ride feels a bit surreal - everything I had read about the hartal stated that foreigners were not targeted, and I hadn’t honestly considered the possibility that I could be collateral damage in a random attack on a government car or building. Even as we sit in the back of the ambulance across from the stretcher and medical equipment, it's hard to imagine that I'm in any danger. Maybe I’m just naive.

We arrive shortly at the City Inn, one of Khulna's larger hotels. Sohel helps me check into my room, and I'm immediately whisked away by the bellboy, who introduces himself as Hassan. He has an infectious cheerfulness and makes conversation all the way to the room. His attitude and helpfulness seem completely sincere; it's clear that he takes his work very seriously.

After dropping my bags off in the room, Sohel and I continue to Khulna University, Sohel's alma mater and one of the partners in the UN-Habitat project here in Khulna. We are greeted by Abir, the City Planner for the Khulna City Corporation and a previous classmate of Sohel's at the university. Inside, Sohel introduces me to Ahasanul, the head of the Urban Planning program; Upal, a professor of architecture; and several other professors whose names I couldn't remember.

After introductions, we're ushered to a computer lab, and I set to installing Minecraft and Fyre UK's model of the Khulna Solar Park (the project site) on the six computers that have been set aside for the workshop. Only one computer can be connected to the Internet at a time, which presents a problem, since the Minecraft "installer" doesn't include all of the necessary files - it downloads them from the server. After a few minutes of troubleshooting, I find a work-around: I install all of the software on the first computer, which takes an excruciatingly long time due to the slow connection; then, I copy all of the installed program files onto my USB drive and clone the installation on the remaining computers. Thankfully, since the settings are copied to each computer, this method saves me the trouble of having to change the difficulty setting on each installation to "Peaceful" - I don't want any creepers blowing up the participant's models!

As I set up and test each computer, I can hear loud cheering from a classroom next door. One of the professors informs me that the Bangladesh Tigers are currently playing England in the cricket world cup, so they are hosting a watch party at the University. On the flight in, I had read that Bangladesh is doing particularly well in the championship this year, and the chants and cheers from the classroom are raucous and upbeat, so I gather that the Tigers are ahead.

Once the computers are ready, I sit with the professors and watch some of the match. The tone of the room is more somber now: Bangladesh has a good lead, but England is catching up fast - their batters are giving the Bangladeshi bowlers hell, and they drive the ball to the boundary several times, racking up run after run. Sohel and I head back to the hotel before the game ends, leaving me wondering if Bangladesh's luck will hold.

At the hotel, the last three days of travel finally catch up to me, and I pass out for a couple of hours. I'm briefly awoken by excited cheers and urgent honking from the street below - Bangladesh has beaten England. A few hours later, I'm awoken again by the phone. Sohel has brought some materials for the workshop that he'd like to leave with me. After meeting him in the lobby, I head back to my room and within minutes, I'm asleep again. My rest is a bit more fitful tonight: I'm anxious about the workshop and about Kim's appointment with the doctor. I feel the time difference between Arkansas and Bangladesh more acutely than I had the night before. Each time I wake, I look at the clock and wonder what my family is doing.

[vitalgames]

Seven Days in Bangladesh, Day One: Dhaka

From the airplane, Dhaka looks like a sea of closely packed low-rise buildings that extends as far as the eye can see. Most of these are apartments built to house the 20 million people who call the city home. As I disembark from the airplane, I have to push through the crowd to avoid being pushed myself, and as I wait in the customs line, a man behind me taps the back of my legs with his luggage cart to prod me forward. Sohel Rana, a native of Bangladesh and UN-Habitat’s urban planning expert, picks me up outside of the airport shortly after I arrive. The drive from the airport is similar to the experience inside: cars, pedal cabs, busses, motorcycles, and pedestrians weave and dodge past each other, horns blaring, turning 3 lanes of road into five. It would be easy to misinterpret all of this pushing, shoving, and line-cutting as rudeness, but in a city of 20 million where physical space is in short supply, it’s just survival: push or be pushed. The traffic is always bad, Sohel tells me, but it’s being made worse by the ongoing hartals - a series of government strikes and retaliatory violence perpetrated by two sides of an ongoing political dispute.

Sohel and I are spending the night with his sister, Rumana’s family in their 6th story apartment. From the balcony, I can see a skyline comprised of lush greenery and unfinished buildings. About a block away, a group of men are working on adding an additional floor to an already crumbling apartment complex using bamboo frames. Two more men work to repair the roof of another building while a woman hangs clothes to dry on the roof next door. Below, another woman dumps a bucket of garbage on a growing refuse pile in the space between the buildings, drawing several crows and a pair of dogs, who pick at the scraps. This seems to be common practice, as Sohel later informs me that garbage is generally disposed of by throwing it out the window. I’m initially bothered by the idea of adding to the litter, but it doesn’t take long for it to feel normal.

I take a bucket shower to wash away the grime of two days of travel, and somehow, it’s the most refreshing shower I can remember taking. There’s no stall or tub, but the floor of the bathroom slopes away from the door toward a drain in the corner. I dip into the large bucket on the floor with a pitcher and pour the cold water over my head and shoulders. 

Rumana feeds us a breakfast of spicy noodles with lamb, french toast, strong hot tea, and orange and pomegranate sweeter than any that I’ve tasted in the United States. I’m reminded of how our industrial farm complex robs our food of so much of its flavor in the USA.

Sohel introduces me to his niece, Diya, who half hides behind his legs and peers out shyly. She is carrying a notebook full of cartoon drawings that seem advanced for her age. Sohel tells me that she draws constantly, pointing out places where she has even taken to drawing on the walls.

We leave the apartment, and a group of children follow us a short way watching me curiously; for the first time, I recognize how much I stand out here. There’s a festival of some kind being celebrated, and loud Bollywood-style dance music blares from a small stereo and echoes through the alley near the entrance to the apartment building. Sohel buys a cigarette from a corner shop and tells me to wait as he flags down a pedal cab. Most of the drivers seem unwilling to carry two men, probably due to the weight. Most of the drivers are also less than half my size, so their reluctance is understandable.

We finally find a cab driver willing to carry us. We ride first to the bank where Sohel’s brother-in-law, Monir, works so that I can exchange my US dollars for taka, the currency of Bangladesh. Sohel tells me, with some frustration, that the cab drivers are charging us more because I’m white. I respond that, in all fairness, I probably deserve to pay more. There are very few foreigners in the country, and I’m told that Bangladeshi’s view outsiders (especially those of Chinese, American, or European descent) with a mix of respect and distrust. This is understandable, considering the country’s history of exploitation by foreign political and business interests.

On the ride, we discuss everything from movies to politics. Sohel is a fan of psychological thrillers and crime dramas listing movies like “Seven” and actors like DeNiro among his favorites. He began watching American movies regularly while getting his graduate degree in Honolulu, and now that he lives and works at the UN-Habitat headquarters in Nairobi, Kenya, he spends much of his time downloading and watching new movies. 

For all of the traveling he does, he says that Bangladesh is home to him. Here in Dhaka, he can’t travel 5 kilometers without seeing someone he recognizes, which is duly impressive in a city of this size. He’s also fiercely protective of his home, and as our conversation transitions to some of the political and economic issues in the country, I can hear the anger creep into his voice. Corruption is a widespread problems here, allowing for rampant exploitation by foreign corporations. Sohel exclaims that the businesses and factory owners “don’t give a shit about human life - only about money” - and mentions the recent garment factory collapse that claimed so many lives as evidence of this. As we ride, I see billboards advertising the upcoming Bangladesh Denim Expo, and a number of ads intended to assure the population of the benevolence of the corporations that make use of their labor.

We eventually arrive at the bank, and an armed guard directs us to enter through the back door; due to the hartal, many businesses and government offices have come under attack. Sohel warns me not to try to exchange my smaller bills, as it is common practice for Bangladeshi banks to offer poor exchange rates for small bills.

Our business at the bank completed, we head to a local NGO office, where Sohel introduces me to two of his college friends - Aisha and Urmi  - who both work here. We spend some time checking emails and making preparations for the upcoming workshop. When we finish our work, the four of us pick up a late lunch from a restaurant across the street and take it back to Urmi’s apartment to eat. The meal is delicious: spicy tandoori chicken, naan, sweet cucumber salad, and some daal that Urmi had made the day before. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I started eating.

We spend the rest of the afternoon at Urmi’s apartment. Sohel heads to a side room for a nap, and I fall into a conversation with Aisha about women’s rights in Bangladesh. She tells me that, in some ways, the situation is changing rapidly for women here, but they are still far from equality. It’s becoming more common for women to have careers and work full-time; however, they are still also expected to marry, have children, and take care of a family. Men are not expected to contribute to family life, leaving their wives to cook, clean, and raise the children single-handedly.

Aisha spent the last 15 years as a full-time housewife and only started her career about 6 months ago. At one point, she and her husband lived in the United States, and she says that due to the cultural norms there, he spent more time helping around the house. As soon as they returned to Bangladesh, though, he reverted to old habits. She says that men are all “big babies,” and that she would prefer it if she only had to take care of real babies.

I explain that, even though America is somewhat more progressive, women are still treated differently than men. In my own marriage, I have a tendency to overlook household responsibilities, leaving my wife to take care of cooking and cleaning, even though we both work full-time. I try to be attentive to these issues, but I still find myself falling back into traditional gender roles when I’m not paying attention. She laughs and agrees that this is a problem, but she states that the big difference between America and Bangladesh is the system: the West, for all of its problems, has a system that encourages a greater deal of equality between the sexes; whereas, in Bangladesh, the system is still strongly skewed against women. She says that, as a woman, she is afraid to be herself in public - that she can only be free in private, around close friends. I ask her if this is a religious issue, knowing that Bangladesh is predominantly Muslim, but she says, no - it’s just a cultural issue.

Part of the problem, Aisha tells me, is that the rampant poverty encourages people to place far too much emphasis on money as an indicator of the value of their labor. Everyone is expected to do whatever it takes to make money, and people are very competitive. Women who only work at home are seen as “losers” (in her words), so they are expected to bear the burden of both a full-time job and household duties. She also notes that if you try to talk about ethics or indicate that helping others is more valuable than making money, you’re also seen as a “loser.” If that’s the case, we both agree that we prefer to be seen as losers.

Shortly after 6, Sohel and I leave to meet some of his other friends and visit the parliament building, a beautiful piece of architecture designed by Louis Kahn. Aisha and Urmi stay behind. We take a pedal cab to meet Maruf, Biplob, and Sumon on a busy street corner and walk the rest of the way to the plaza in front of the parliament building. Night has fallen, and the plaza is crowded with vendors selling street food, coffee, and cigarettes. As we sit on the plaza steps to smoke and chat, a small crowd briefly gathers around us, and once again I’m reminded how out of place I look.

I talk to Biplob, who tells about his work to reduce greenhouse gas emissions in the country. He travels to different regions of Bangladesh to host educational workshops. His organization is currently focused on improving energy efficiency and reducing demand - two things that are desperately needed in our own country. He asks me about my family, and I tell him that my wife and I are expecting our first child, and that I’m anxious to hear the results of her first doctor’s appointment. He tells me that he and his wife are also expecting and assures me that everything will be fine.

The four of them also explain that the government is planning on tearing down this plaza to make way for a new public transit system. While public transportation does seem like an immediate necessity, they all express their frustration that the government has chosen to destroy such a vibrant public space, creating a new problem in the process of solving another.

We part ways with Sohel’s friends and head back to the apartment for the night, making several stops along the way so that Sohel can catch up with more friends and relatives. He tells me that it’s difficult to maintain long-distance communication, so he has to make an effort to see these people whenever he’s in the country. It’s late when we make it back to the apartment, but Rumana has prepared a feast of traditional Bangladeshi food: curried eggs, curried chicken with potatoes, spicy fresh-water shrimp, fried hilsha (which sohel tells me is the national fish of Bangladesh), stewed taro leaves, and a bowl of sweet, creamy kheer to finish it all off. Everything is delicious, and I go to bed with a very full stomach.

Under the mosquito net, I hear the sounds of traffic on the streets below begin a slow decrescendo. Tomorrow we will travel to Khulna - our final destination.

[vitalgames]

7 Days in Bangladesh: My Time as a Minecraft Modeling Consultant for UN-Habitat

For the rest of this week, I will be blogging from Khulna, Bangladesh, to share my experiences working as a consultant for Block-by-Block, a collaborative initiative between the United Nations Human Settlements Programme (UN-Habitat) and Mojang, makers of Minecraft. The objective of the program is to give residents of slums in developing countries a voice in designing community spaces that reflect their unique needs and cultural mores.

The methodology of the program is as follows:

1. A local government applies to UN-Habitat and proposes a location in their area for a public space. The location may already serve as a public space, but may need significant improvements to adequately meet the needs of the people who use it.

2. If the project is approved, the site is surveyed, and images are sent to FyreUK, one of the most popular Minecraft building groups on the Internet. FyreUK creates a model of the location in Minecraft.

3. A workshop is held in the area where the project will take place. Participants in the workshop are chosen from the local community, and preference is given to women and children (who may otherwise be overlooked in the decision-making process). The workshop is led by an urban planning expert and a Minecraft consultant (my role), who teach the residents about community space design and demonstrate how to use Minecraft as a design tool. The participants modify the preliminary model created by FyreUK in order to communicate their needs and preferences for the space.

4. After the workshop, all of the designs created by the local participants are consolidated into a final design (another of my responsibilities). This is translated into a blueprint, and UN-Habitat works with the local government to make the requested improvements to the space.

For more information about the program, visit:

blockbyblock.org, unhabitat.org, and fyreuk.com

[vitalgames]

A Brief Analysis of Bioshock Infinite

Bioshock Infinite won a great deal of praise last year, and much has been written about its evocative setting, politically-charged story, and well-developed characters. Personally, I was looking forward to the new entry in the series, having enjoyed the first Bioshock game as well as the System Shock games, to which Bioshock was touted as a spiritual successor. While I agree that the story is engaging and thought-provoking, I also feel that Bioshock Infinite is an excellent example of a game in which the gameplay and the story don't meld successfully; in fact, there are aspects of the gameplay that compete with the player's ability to immerse him or herself in the gameworld.

A prevailing motif in Bioshock Infinite is that there are two sides to everything: "two sides of the same coin." That motif could also apply to the way the game itself functions: gameplay and story are two sides of the game. In Infinite's case, it seems clear that more focus was paid to the story and aesthetics of the game than to the interactive elements. Instead of developing new gameplay to fit the new setting, the action in the game has been imported (with minor additions and changes) from Bioshock and Bioshock 2. The main problem with this is that Rapture and Columbia are very different settings, and each seems to lend itself to a different style of play. 

Rapture, the setting of the first two games, is claustrophobic and dark. Its once lavish furnishings are broken and defiled. Blood paints the walls, lights flicker ominously, and splicers scream and cackle in the distance. All of these elements indicate that this is a horror setting - that you, the player, should be prepared to attack anyone or anything that approaches you. Columbia, on the other hand, starts out bright and clean with open skies and wide, well-lit spaces. Even later, as the setting gets grim, it still lacks the claustrophobic atmosphere and darkness of the originals. The problem isn't with the change of setting, but with the fact that elements of the gameplay work much better in closed, dark spaces. In particular, three aspects of Infinite's gameplay seem problematic in this context: the linear design of each area, the placement of usable items in garbage bins and other objects scattered around in dead ends and corners, and the exclusion of any meaningful interactivity outside of combat.

In Bioshock and Bioshock 2, the player is moving through underwater tunnels and interconnected buildings. There are walls everywhere, and since Rapture has been sacked, there's no shortage of ways to direct a player's movement through a level without making them feel railroaded. "Why can't I open this door? Oh, there's a burning table pushed up against it. I guess I'll go down this open hallway." Thus, the player moves from the beginning to the end of the level, with a few splits and dead ends to keep things interesting. It's easy to suspend disbelief because the environment supports that kind of level design. Columbia, on the other hand, is an open city with doors everywhere and lots of space to navigate. It's an environment begging for a more open approach to level design, if not a full on open world approach. As a player, I felt this from the very beginning of the game - the environment was designed in a way that made me want to explore it, but I found myself constantly herded in one direction by dead ends and doors with bars over them. The few places in which the game seems to offer you a choice about where to go, you still have to perform certain actions or explore the area in a certain order to proceed.

The area around Comstock's mansion is an excellent example of this. When you first reach the level, you land in front of The Bank of the Prophet in a large, open plaza with two gates and the door to the bank available to enter. During my playthrough, I decided to ignore the game's instruction to find Comstock's mansion, and instead entered the bank first, thinking that there might be money or other items hidden in there. Inside, the building was dark, the elevator was locked, and there were just a few garbage bins to check for items - clearly, the game didn't want me there.

Elizabeth immediately chimed in to remind me to go to Comstock's mansion. I took her advice, and went through the gate closest to the Bank. I passed the graveyard and decided to go check that out. I found lots of evidence that there would be a big battle there (weapons scattered around, rifts for Elizabeth to activate), but otherwise, the place was a dead end.

Finally, when I reached Comstock's house, I decided to explore the path on the other side of the mansion to see what I missed. I ended up entering an area infested with snipers, with no obvious way to avoid getting quickly gunned down. I backtracked all the way to the Bank, and entered the gate I had skipped earlier. I immediately found myself in the sniper area again, but this time, there was cover, a sniper rifle for me to pick up, and several helpful rifts for Elizabeth to activate, making it obvious that this was where I was supposed to enter the area. I also noticed that there was a bottle of the same vigor right behind each of the gates, indicating that the designers expected me to choose one path or the other.

It's obvious that both of these paths are designed for the player to move through in one direction, but the space allows the player to move through each path in either direction, revealing this design limitation. Even if you follow the game's instructions and head to Comstock's mansion first, the game immediately requires you to backtrack around the loop, revealing these flaws. For example, you have to visit Comstock's mansion before the graveyard and bank areas become active, but you can explore each area before the mansion, at which point they are obvious artificial dead ends. Instead of making me feel free to choose my path through the game, this experience discouraged me from exploring.

This leads to another issue - those damned garbage cans. While it may seem a bit strange to find cash and other useful items in almost every garbage bin in Rapture, this could be attributed to the decay of the setting. Crazy people do crazy things, so maybe one of those nutty splicers decided to stash some money and food in a garbage can, because who would look in there? In Columbia, on the other hand, there's no plausible reason to find ammo, cash, etc. hiding in garbage bins around the city. Who put it there and why? Also, why would Booker search through garbage bins in the first place? He's a detective on a mission, not a desperate forager. Your character in Bioshock, on the other hand, seems primarily focused on surviving for most of the game, which provides a convenient excuse for dumpster diving. 

The issue, though, is more than just a problem with the coherence of the narrative - it relates to the exploration problem. Garbage bins tend to be placed in out of the way places in Columbia, so if you want to gather enough money to buy that new upgrade, you should be prepared to explore every nook and cranny of each level. As mentioned earlier, though, the levels are large, but their design discourages exploration, and ultimately the rewards for this kind of exploration are minimal. In contrast, Rapture's narrow corridors and small rooms leave little room for exploration, so items hidden in an area can usually be uncovered without too much backtracking or frustration. All of this leads me to believe that the inclusion of lootable garbage bins was carried over from the previous games with no consideration paid to how it would impact the overall experience of the game. In Bioshock Infinite it detracts from the game's narrative, which is the strongest element of the game; in fact, most of the hidden secrets and side quests in the game (i.e., finding a key near the end of a level, then having to backtrack several minutes to unlock the chest it belongs to) have this same effect.

As previously indicated, Columbia is the kind of setting that seems to encourage open exploration. It is also the kind of setting that deserves a greater depth of interactivity than what is made available. In Bioshock Infinite, player interaction is limited to combat, choice activities (in which you select between two actions for Booker to take and observe the consequences), looting garbage cans and corpses, and hacking/buying upgrades from vending machines. By far, the most common interaction is combat, and often the game makes you feel as if you're just running from one skirmish to the next. There are a few non-combat interludes (including the beginning of the game), but in these instances, you lose access to your combat abilities, so the game actually becomes less interactive when you aren't fighting. Later in the game, when the Vox Populi begin taking over Columbia, the focus on combat is better supported by the narrative and vice versa; however, until then, combat often feels shoehorned into a plot that doesn't always need it.

It's also important to note that, from the very first kill, the combat in this game has a tendency to be gruesome; in particular, the player can perform gory, cinematic, melee "execution" attacks. While I'm not squeamish about gore in video games, the way that these attacks are carried out seems to contrast awkwardly at times with the tone of the setting and even with Booker's character. Booker seems to be a fairly single-minded, no nonsense guy, but the execution animations are designed to be painful, drawn out, and grotesque, as if the person acting were a sadist, not an efficient killer. It seems significant that almost every time the player carries out an execution, Elizabeth gasps or protests weakly, almost as if the designers knew that this didn't fit the narrative. As with the garbage bins, these executions seem tacked on - a bit of fanservice to appease bloodthirsty hardcore gamers. While it could be argued that the executions fit within the game's message that everyone is capable of doing horrible things to achieve what they think is right, the developers didn't do enough to put the player-character's violence in that context (as they did in the first Bioshock game when the player finally confronts Andrew Ryan).

I enjoyed elements of Bioshock Infinite, but I often found myself wishing that it was a slightly different game. By the time I reached the end, I was relieved to be done with it, which was a disappointment considering how promising the game initially seemed. Rather than duplicating the gameplay from the previous games, the developers should have taken the opportunity to allow the setting and narrative to inform the gameplay and vice versa. This would have allowed them to create a more consistent experience and, ultimately, a better game.

[vitalgames]

I recently finished Shovel Knight on the Nintendo 3DS and found myself wishing there was more as I watched the end credits roll. I've since started a second play through using the game's "new game plus" feature. With that in mind, it almost goes without saying that I enjoyed the game, but I think that it's worth discussing what it is that really works about Shovel Knight.

For the uninitiated, Shovel Knight is an independently developed side-scrolling action game featuring the titular hero on his quest to rescue his companion Shield Knight from the clutches of an evil Enchantress. Shovel Knight's quest takes him through the realms of The Order of No Quarter, a league of knights sworn to protect the Enchantress. Like Shovel Knight and Shield Knight, each knight has a unique identity that informs the design of his realm and the nature of his attacks. Polar Knight, for example, wields a giant snow shovel and resides in an ice level populated by snow wolves and other cold-related baddies. To proceed through his quest, Shovel Knight must defeat each member of The Order before finally facing the Enchantress herself. Along the way, you can buy upgrades for Shovel Knight from villages, take on special challenges for additional loot, and face wandering warriors for wealth and glory.

It should be noted that Shovel Knight does very little that hasn't been done before; in fact, almost all of the gameplay mechanics are tried and true derivatives of video games from the late 80s to early 90s. That being said, Shovel Knight wears these influences on its metaphorical sleeve, both paying homage to and updating those mechanics for a contemporary audience.

One game series that Shovel Knight borrows heavily from is the Mega Man series; in fact, while playing, it was hard not to think back to playing Mega Man 2 as a kid. The way that each level is designed around a boss character with a specific power/attribute; the way that you progress through the game, gaining new abilities in each level that help in later levels; the fact that you have to defeat each boss twice before facing the final boss - all of these are clear influences from the Mega Man games.

Other games that Shovel Knight seems to borrow elements from include Castlevania (there's even a cameo from a character who could be a parody of Simon), Ducktales (via Scrooge McDuck's classic cane bounce move),and Super Mario 3 (via the world map). These are some of the more obvious influences, and a number of other reviewers have already mentioned them.

Based on this, it could be easy for someone who hasn't played the game to dismiss it as a pastiche designed to pander to nostalgic middle-aged gamers, but Shovel Knight is more than just the sum of its parts. You don't have to know the games to which Shovel Knight pays homage to appreciate it - the game speaks for itself and has the potential to introduce a whole new generation of gamers to all of the things that made those old games great.

That being said, another element that Shovel Knight borrows from classic games is the level of difficulty. There are some incredibly technical platforming sequences, and some of the bosses will send you back to the last checkpoint over and over again. By no means do I consider this a weakness, but it could be a barrier to gamers who are used to more forgiving modern platformers.

All things considered, I heartily recommend Shovel Knight - it's engaging and funny with a ton of collectibles and secrets to explore. As an added bonus, if you're a nostalgic old fart like me, you'll have a lot of fun identifying all of the callbacks and references peppered throughout the game. Get digging!