The project flat M stays in has two staff to look after everyone; Babul and Bibar, a couple who I thought were in their fifties – M told me they are not much older than us, in their 30’s; the harsh life of Bangladesh takes a physical toll. They were very kind to us, concerned for our welfare. Bibar told me I should not walk alone with the children while M was at work, and I did wonder how I could steer the buggy and stop the boys stumbling into the sewers. But, being stubborn, I refused to be trapped inside or only go out in a car, so Babul and Bibar offered to come out with us. A favourite expedition became walking to the market, then taking rickshaws home.
Rickshaws are strange vehicles – they’re actually not that comfortable. You sit on a raised bench-seat behind a man on a bike – all rickshaw wallahs are men, wearing “dhoti”, cotton wraps. The seat is surprisingly narrow and tilts forward so that you think you’re going to slip off. There’s sensible room for two, maybe three passengers, but it’s not unusual to see whole families crowded under the hood.
Rickshaw wallahs are strong and pedal fast – they need to deliver you quickly so they are available for the next job. There are apparently 1 million rickshaws in Dhaka, all jostling for space and customers. A driver pays a daily rate for his rickshaw, hence the desire to be available for as many journeys as possible to ensure he can earn more money than the rent he has paid.
Rickshaws are driven with a passionate sense of urgency. They overtake each other, ringing bells as warnings. Straining for the extra space on the street they overtake recklessly, ride at each other head on and swerve to avoid pedestrians, stray dogs and cars which, with utter distain for pedal vehicles, pull out from driveways and side streets as if the rickshaws weren’t there. During the rush hours, roads are crowded with rickshaws, so close that you cannot walk between them Babul told me.
There are variations – some rickshaws have enclosed, cage-like carriages rather than raised seats. These are used as school buses, crossing the city packed full of children in yellow or blue cotton uniforms. Out walking one Saturday we saw two men with wooden carts attached to their bikes – one full of sheep and one full of goats, heads peering over the sides, eyes blinking in the dust, bleeting as they bumped past us.
Available rickshaws cluster at most major street junctions and crowd around as you approach. It’s hard to know who to go with. I always wanted to choose the most ornamental rickshaw – most backplates are decorated with vivid reds, golds, greens, blues and pinks; pictures of temples or Bollywood stars.
On our first trip I was surprised by the speed. Racing over bumps and swerving round corners I was worried we were going to be flung off into the road. I was holding J who was tired and therefore unimpressed; she pressed herself into me while I hoped my weight would hold us to the seat because I had no free hand to cling on with.
Our next trip was more fun, B was with J and I and the rickshaw wallah was more sedate. There’s a great view from a rickshaw. You can see above fences and walls. We saw a cricket match at the Gulshan Youth Club; lady builders carrying baskets of stones on their heads and a crowd of curious men staring at these white children on a rickshaw. Riding high above the dusty streets you feel a sense of space that is rare in crowded Dhaka. The warm breeze blows in your face. Perched precariously outwards you feel the freedom of flying. All too soon you arrive at your destination and must climb down again to the litter and sewage.
Riding rickshaws was a highlight for us, especially 4 year old B. Although many urbanites are dismissive of rickshaws, I thought they were fantastic; adding colour and interest to the city and providing excellent entertainment for two little boys – and their mother!
Next Instalment – River Trip