I should quickly add that this is my second post related to both Bangladesh and prostitutes – that’s a tad harsh on Bangladesh to be honest, but it’s just the way my travels panned out.
I had been in Bangladesh a week or so, we (my 2 friends and I) had taken an amazing rocket steamer boat down to the Bay of Bengal, we disembarked in Kulna in southern Bangladesh sometime around 9pm, it was pitch black, no accommodation sorted, and we were ready for a real bed after 2 nights on the boat!
Every corner I turned, I was still getting the crazy stares from the bemused Bangladeshi locals, so when a very cheery guy came springing over with his hand extended “Welcome to Bangladesh my friends, we are so happy to have you, my name is Nazir” with a grin the size of a Cheshire cat, I was relieved.
In countries like Bangladesh you’re just delighted that someone can speak English and help you out of any tight spots you find yourself in. So when Nazir helped us out with some accommodation, invited us to dinner at his house, introduced us to his extended family, we were so grateful. Then tea round at his place with his wife . Great guy, but a great guy with a different take on how to build on new friendships….
After a few fun days exploring Kulna our time was up and we were reading to take the train to Kolkata in India. Our cheery friend Nazir, however, insisted that we go and meet his special friend for a ‘proper goodbye’. A phrase he used multiple times, but nothing really flagged with me. Naivety? Perhaps. It was certainly a strange way to structure a sentence, but he was a strange guy so I let it slide. We hopped onto two man-powered rickshaws and made our way through the backstreets of Kulna for a good 30 minutes or so. Leaving the town centre into a residential area, turning corners into the depths of the Bangladeshi slums.
“We have arrived gentlemen, now come and see my special friend”
Nazir was giggling like a little school girl, almost hyperventilating with excitement. We had parked outside a large house, our new friend sprinted up two flights of dilapidated stairs and then into an apartment. Standing by the door, beckoning us in. Nervously i entered first, brushing aside the beads guarding the door frame, peaking inside, a million ornaments, a very worn purple couch pushed against the grimy wall, covered in sequins. Two wooden chairs and an old school TV perched on a sequined stool. A hugely overweight Bangladeshi woman was waiting to greet us at the far side of the room. Smiling from ear to ear, Nazir hopped across the room, gave her a hug and kiss, turned to us and giggled again.
“Gentlemen, this is Anika, my special friend .Go into the room Johnny, you’re first”
“First? First? Errrrrr, First for what exactly?!” Startled, I reply in a mumbling tone. Queue some more incessant giggling, this awkward atmosphere just got a lot more awkward.
“Johnny, you’re silly! First with my friend, she is so beautiful, look at the curves. We love the big woman, this one is the post popular in all of Kulna”
What the hell is going on here?! I shared some shocked looks with my mates and looked over at our Bangladeshi friend. He could see our shock, but he didn’t quite grasp the concept of it.
“No, no, no do not worry, you’re my esteemed guests I will go fourth of course, you gentlemen can go first, second and third”
WTF?! Yep, our new friend is trying to make me do the deed with a morbidly obese Bangladeshi woman, complete with full Niqab headscarf. Then, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, 2 of my best friends are expected to follow up and finally our Bangladeshi man will complete this wonderful mixing pot with the fourth installment, and he would generously foot the bill for the whole escapade. Marvelous.
Needless to say, we thanked him profusely for this generous offer but our (imaginary) wives would be so upset that we couldn’t possibly accept his ‘gift’, but were it not for them – we’d be delighted, and honoured naturally.
We made our excuses, asked to be shown out, arranged to meet at the train station the following day and he quickly turned right back around and straight back up the stairs to the Bangladeshi beauty waiting on the second floor. I don’t even want to imagine what happened next. And that was that.
We met the next day at the train station and not a thing was mentioned, and I certainly wasn’t keen to dredge it back up. On to India we went…