Leave that bottle with me, bhai (brother)

Leaving Dhaka thru Hazrat Shahjalal International Airport you get your chance to buy alcohol at the duty free shop. Nothing new or out of ordinary in that. You do that in pretty much any international airport in the world.

What is different here, you actually get a chance to buy the alcohol the customs confiscated from Muslims that tried to smuggle it in the country. This is something the Bangladeshi government is not taking lightly. 

There is no logic in the prices, whisky is 9$/bottle regardless of the size or brand. It makes the shopping experience similar to one at a garage sale in the  US, you never know what you will stumble upon.

And yes, there was some Bangladeshi that actually tried to smuggle in a bottle of Romanian wine. I wanted to buy that, but I would hate myself for enjoying it knowing it's somebody's loss.

ORS or Oral Rehydration Solution

Lots of sugar, a touch of salt. Add a liter of water on top of that.

Yes, that is a simple recipe, but this combination of ingredients is credited with saving more then 55 million lives worldwide. I am sure that does not account have many Munteanus' lives it saved since our arrival in Dhaka in January.

I have not even heard of ORS or Orsalinebefore landing in the land where it was invented. There is something top notch in the Desh, and that is the International Centre for Diarrhoeal Disease Research, Bangladesh. If anybody in the world knows something about  treatment of dehydration caused by diseases like cholera, Shigella, typhoid, and other bacterial disasters, these are the guys.

So, thank you, International Centre for Diarrheal Disease Research, Bangladesh, for giving the world ORS. And excuse most of the world (including myself) for being ignorant enough to not even know who developed it.

So you got to let me know, Should I stay or should I GO?

King George II of Great Britain died while on his and according to statistics, we each spend an average of three years of our lives sitting on them.  And  2.5 billion people worldwide still do not have access to one.

Yes, it is about the TOILETS and access to one of them. Half of Bangladesh's 160 million people have no access to a toilet at home. You can notice that in the streets of Dhaka all the time. To many Bangladeshis, a toilet is just a concrete platform. Going to the toilet is a matter of practicality.

That is such a contrast with another fact: more then half of Bangladeshis own a cell phone and that became a symbol of the betterment of lives. That is puzzling to me; it means somebody out there has a cell phone, but still is urinating somewhere on the streets!

Mahatma Gandhi, India's greatest leader, had a huge preoccupation with sanitation and toilets. Once he inspected toilets in Gujarat. He found them dark, stinking and reeking with filth and worms in the homes of the wealthy and in a Hindu temple. The homes of the untouchables simply had no toilets. "Latrines are for you big people," an untouchable told Gandhi.

Gandhi seemed to recognize the value of the toilet to humanity when he said "Sanitation is more important than independence." One can only hope that these words will once resonate with today Bangladesh and world leaders.

Dakar, Dhaka — what's the difference?

Now here is an idea to give the Bangladeshi tourism a boost: bring all tourists bound for Senegal into the Desh.

http://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/us-couple-flies-to-dhaka-instead-of-dakar-due-to-airport-code-mix-up.aspx?pageID=238&nID=47291&NewsCatID=379
According to Los Angeles Times, this couple intended to fly from Los Angeles to Dakar, Senegal. They ended up almost 7,000 miles off-course in Dhaka, Bangladesh.

It cracks me up when I read some of the "hints" that led the couple to realize they were heading the wrong way:

Dhaka, they believed that this was how you pronounced 'Dakar' with a Turkish accent

Travel map on the overhead video screen showing the location of the plane over the Middle East.

The plane was full of people who looked Asian, not African.

The Blood telegram

I talked in one of my previous posts about Henry Kissinger and his support of Pakistan against what it is now Bangladesh.

It fills my heart with pride to say that not everybody went along with Kissinger's policies. Archer Blood was back then the consul-general in Dhaka, East Pakistan. He witnessed the beginning of a massacre that would take millions of lives. The Pakistan army, faced with a rebellion, slaughtered thousands in an attack on the University of Dacca and the barracks of Bengali police. Columns of troops followed the roads throughout the country, burning and killing.

Blood in his first cable described what he termed a "selective genocide," alerted President Richard Nixon and national security adviser Henry Kissinger to what was happening and urged them to pressure Gen. Yahya Khan, the Pakistani dictator, to stop the killing. His cable, dated March 28, 1971,  wrote:

"Here in Dacca we are mute and horrified witnesses to a reign of terror of the Pak military ..."

Problem was that Nixon and Kissinger had decided to support Pakistan as a counter to the Russian influence and didn't want to hear what Blood was reporting.

That cable was followed by another, signed by 20 Americans diplomats stationed in East Pakistan, decrying the official American silence as serving "neither our moral interests broadly defined nor our national interests narrowly defined ..."

A courageous and upright diplomat, Archer Blood was never seen again in any forefront. He was soon called back of Washington and put in the doghouse, for as long as Nixon was in the White House. When he died, in retirement, there was family, a few old friends and an entire nation to mourn his passing, but the nation that grieved for him was not his own. It was Bangladesh.

The legacy of Henry Kissinger in Bangladesh

Kissinger used to be the US National Security Adviser and Secretary of State, under Nixon and Ford administrations. As the top decision maker in foreign policy, Kissinger was a huge fan of realpolitik. That is diplomacy based on  practical and material factors and considerations, rather than ideological notions. He dealt freely with dictators and democratic principles and international human rights law took a backseat to achieving immediate results.

Bangladeshis are never fond when they remember his name. Under Kissinger's guidance, the United States government supported Pakistan in the Liberation War of Bangladesh in 1971. Kissinger was particularly concerned about the expansion of Soviet influence in South Asia.
There are a number of comments for which Kissinger came under fire. He described the Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi as a "bitch" and the Indians as "bastards". But the most famous quote is of him dismissing the idea of an independent Bangladesh by saying, “the place is and always will be a basket case.”

It is the basket case comment still resonates in the minds of Bangladeshis and, since the Liberation everything that goes wrong in the country (including the murder of Sheik Mujibur, the father of the nation) is being attributed to the CIA. To this day, one of the most worst terms used in Bangladesh politics is America dalal, or American lackey.

The rice nation

Bangladesh is one of the poorest countries in the world. More then half of the entire population earns less than $1 per day and that one wage earner is often the only one in the family.

It does not take long in a discussion for the cost of living to come up. And it is never in glowing terms. Inflation is judged by the cost of one kilo of rice.
That is because a large majority of Bangladeshis live on rice. This can sound stereotypical, like saying about the Mexicans that they eat a lot of beans, or the Italians eat a lot of pasta. But is the truth. Bangladeshis live on rice. They eat rice for every meal. I see it all the time, day after day: rice, fried vegetables, dal (lentils) and a very small piece of some sort of meat or fish. Proteins are at a premium in this country, so it is rice that fills stomachs.

The most Bangladeshis are already living on the brink and it does not take much to push the over it. All it takes is a disruption in their cash flow. It could be natural, like a flow (and this country is prone to that) or man made like a hartal.

I have already been thinking about this business enterprise. There is huge amount of money that people in US are spending trying to lose weight and get fit. I will just start organizing this trips to the Desh. People looking to slim down would be working as rickshaw wallahs for a month or two. I would guarantee the results or their money back. Plus, they will be getting an awesome sun tanning for free!

Oreo, our diplodog (Part 2)

It is really odd. Dogs are not allowed in parks or gardens in Bangladesh. That is ironic, to say the least, since the parks are full of strays. So, walking them them becomes an issue. There are no sidewalks, or art least not free of debris, so you pretty much have to dodge cars and rickshaws on the dusty roads. On top of it, you really have to be mindful of the strays. Whoever is walking a dog has to be "armed" with a big stick to fend the off. A colleague from the Embassy learned that the hard way, after her dog got bit.
Which brings me to the vet care, or lack of thereof.

Veterinary health care here is pretty much non existent. There are no veterinary clinics, except for a military structure, no x-rays, no analysis, so basically nothing! There are two known veterinarians, one of them an Iranian refugee. He loves animals, and does what he can. Luckily we did not have to try him, I only talked to him on the phone so far.Dr. Siamak, +8801711561155He does home visits, has no real surgery place and does perform small operations at your home.

Grooming saloons? Forget it. Will do it at home.

Walks? Will use the roof top.

Exercise? Will run with the Marines.

and crash in bed soon after!

Oreo, our diplodog (Part 1)

Meet Oreo, our sweet, world-traveled dog that’s new to Dhaka and Bangladesh. He responds to English, Romanian and now, to a little bit of Bangla.

Oreo was a young puppy when Cristina caved in and allowed the kids to get him from a small pet shop in Michigan. Childhood was happy there, no big surprises, chasing away squirrels or the neighbor's cat, being spoiled by all the kids on the street...

And then one day, without being consulted, he became a foreign service dog or a diplo-dog. The owners decided they would move to Bangladesh for at least two years.

For most families working in American embassies and consulates, having a pet is just out of the question because of the hassle of travel, but that was not the case with Oreo's family. He was too loved to be left behind and therefore started traveling himself, first Washington, then Seoul, Bangkok, then Dhaka. Travel was not easy. Not eating, drinking or going to the bathroom for more then 14 hours on the Washington-Seoul flight was a great challenge, but he did it. A number of flight attendants almost had heart attacks when they saw him in Cristina's lap and one of them almost spilled her coffee tray in my lap.

In Bangladesh dogs are not happily accepted. After all, it’s a Muslim country, where dogs (as well as pigs) are considered unclean animals. There are, however, a lot dogs around, most of them strays, living on the streets!

Their condition? Let's just say that every single time coming home after seeing the stray first thing we do is hug Oreo. Only if he would realize how lucky he is!

SWW (shopping while white)

Another thing I learned in the Desh is that I should never expect to be  treated like a local. It only took me/us a day to give up any hope on trying to blend in. It would never happen! I can now myself locate a Bideshi (foreigner) from miles away.

There was once a (sad) time in America or in United Kingdom when DWB (driving while black) could have serious consequences. This concept stemmed from a long history of institutional racism.

I now find myself at that end, being singled out. SWW (Shopping while white) in Bangladesh does not land you in jail. It just hits your pocket. Any non-fixed price market shop owner will see only dollar signs written all over you and will try to take advantage of somebody who is assumed enjoys luxurious foreign salaries complete with all sorts of allowances.

By now, I have learned to accept my fate! Regardless of what I do, I will have to pay the unofficial ‘WHITE TAX’. So, is not like "Play that funky music white boy", but a little bit like  "Pay that funky extra white boy"!

Everything will be all right in the end and if it's not all right, then it's not yet the end!

Coming from USA we have discovered that we had a natural, inbred impatience. We are used to having high expectations and tight deadlines. However, Bangladesh operates on a softer, slower mode. Insha'Allah,  "Allah willing" (God willing (hopefully)), was one of the first things we learned here.

Those expecting the efficiency of the west will be disappointed and frustrated! We recently watched "The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel", an Indian movie. There is a quote in there that stuck with me:

"Everything will be all right in the end and if it's not all right, then it's not yet the end."

So, here things will happen somehow….in the end!

Our first encounter with Bangladesh healthcare

It's been almost four months since we arrived in Dhaka and until today we have been fortunate enough to have no experience with the Bangladesh  healthcare system.

However, today, after two consecutive visits with our Embassy doctor for Vlad's irritated eye, we were recommended to see a local specialist.

But today was a hartal day, we were restricted to our diplomatic enclave without special permission. No problem! Our capable medical unit took care of this as well and soon enough we were on board in an armored car with an escort and a driver, heading to Apollo Hospital in Bashundhara.

The hospital is one of several international standard hospitals located in Dhaka (others include United Hospital and The Square) and in terms of hygiene and healthcare was excellent. Our overall experiences was very positive. Some members of staff did not speak English, but were OK as long as we could communicate with the doctor. Truth be told, it helped that we were categorized as ‘special patients’, so we were treated with extra care, attention and efficiency. The fees we incurred seemed very reasonable:

1,000 taka or roughly $12.00 for an appointment with the eye specialist 

Large segments of the population in Bangladesh are deprived of a fundamental right: access to basic health care. The vast majority of Bangladeshi citizens rely on government hospitals to deliver medical care at an affordable price tag. These hospitals are funded through taxation subsidies and other sources. Among the Bangladeshi population government healthcare is perceived to be of a much lower quality standard where rudimentary expectations of cleanliness, skills and expertise are not met. Such institutions are frequently ill equipped and for those entering the system there is an informal expectation that tips are routinely paid to guarantee that a service will be done. Like so many things in Bangladesh the quality of life and  healthcare is based on one’s ability to pay. Unlike the operation of private healthcare systems in the USA, there are no insurance schemes to fund either partially or fully treatment that is required. The reality is that urgent, ongoing medical treatment may require the release of life savings or the sale of land or property to honor payment.

Shikkhok Raju (Teacher Radu)

This week I started teaching English to our Embassy local employees. This is a volunteer based program and the "students" come from a pretty diverse base. Drivers, electricians, maintenance, janitors, cooks alike stay after work with the hope of learning the English language or polish it if they already know some.

They adopted me very easily as Raju, which I guess is a pretty common Bengali name. For my part, I am just having a lot of fun and happy help a little bit.

So, if you ever run across a Bangladeshi speaking with a heavy Romanian accent, chances are that they have been taught by Shikkok Raju (teacher Radu).

Forget the rockets, comrade, I'll just have the kimchi!

This is mind-blowing! Apparently, North Korea owns an international restaurant chain. And even better, there is a location here in Dhaka. Essentially, these restaurants are like typical (South) Korean karaoke bars, but the waitresses – tall, North Korean women in miniskirt uniforms - sing with/for you.
You have to wonder yourself: Why would a state that can’t feed its own people own and operate an international restaurant chain? The rumor goes that the restaurants serve as money laundering outfits for the North Korean government. And that waitresses are forced to remit a certain monthly amount of money back to North Korea. And that in true North Korean fashion, if they do not, or if they try to flee and seek asylum, their families back in North Korea would be executed.
Now, I am really did not enjoy the idea of supporting the North Korean government, but the curiosity got the best of me. And I would not want to have some North Korean family's blood on my hands because a waitress did not make enough money to send back home during a seasonally slow month.
Pyongyang Restaurant, the North Korean Restaurant was full of surprises. When we arrived we sat in a room with a TV playing music videos of what I assumed to be traditional North Korean songs. The table  had a round glass top that could be turned around to easily access all the food on the table. The restroom had even a bathtub. It felt like the waitresses would turn the restaurant into their dorm after our visit. There was also a Karaoke machine. 

The food was pretty good (especially the fried kimchi rice), even though the service was not the best. At some point, some of the waitresses started doing karaoke and also playing the violin, urging customers to sing along.

I even snapped a couple of pictures before one of them came furiously to tell me that I was not allowed to do so.

We finished the night by singing Karaoke Asian style, well, the kids and I attempted at least to sing "We are the champions". Throughout the Karaoke songs, beautiful images of North Korea came across the screen.

After this unique opportunity and first encounter of eating North Korean food, in Bangladesh, one thing is certain: I would love to travel there in the near future.

One year anniversary

This week I celebrated one year since I joined the Foreign Service. And what a year this has been!

Left peaceful Michigan, made a stop in beautiful DC and ended up in sunny Bangladesh.

As a newcomer in the Foreign Service the questions I found most annoying are also the ones the most often asked:

"Tell me, what is this Foreign Service, is it like the French Foreign Legion?"

While I might look a little bit like Jean Claude Van Damme, I never owned a white cap and getting one is not on my to do list yet.

"Tell me, what is this Foreign Service, is it like the CIA?"

This one is by far the trickiest. Whoever is asking it already knows the answer, so it is not even worth trying to argue. Yes, I am sort of a 007, but I can't show my gun, dude! Sorry about that. And yes, my shoes can turn into a weapon on top of being a listening device.

The Foreign Service is a very low-key organization, that is why only few people have any idea what we are or do. The only time any attention is paid to us is when there's a catastrophe overseas, like the killing in Libya. Otherwise, Americans really don't care very much, as long as other countries do things the way we want them to.  Also, unlike the military, the Foreign Service has no political clout like the military does. We have no political clout or domestic constituency, we have no uniforms and no one knows what we're doing out in Dhaka or Katmandu or wherever the hell we are.

And yet we are America's other “army”. Often misunderstood, misperceived, and, sometimes maligned. But our "fight" affects the everyday lives of all Americans, their safety, security, ability to travel and communicate with people in other countries, their employment and prosperity. And yes, I can  hold my head high when I think I am part of it.

Livin' on the edge

This feels like the Aerosmith's song:

We're seeing things in a different way
And God knows it ain't His
It sure ain't no surprise
Livin' On the Edge...

We are for sure living on the edge during these days in the Desh. The country had not finished counting the bodies from Savar, the country worst industrial disaster ever, when it witnessed a battle between the police forces and Islamic protesters  This happened to be in the same night we were celebrating our Orthodox Easter. Numbers are still fuzzy, with the Islamic group unverified claims putting the losses into thousands. Official numbers are around 37 killed and hundreds injured.

While violence is no stranger to this country, the level of it is unprecedented in the free Bangladesh. Details of what happened on May 6th are still blurry, but you can see in the press pictures of bodies lying in the streets after the police operation was carried out. The ruling party also shut down two opposition TV stations who had been filming the attacks. There is no curfew, but public gatherings of more than four people are now forbidden throughout the city.

As the country prepares for the general elections, the clouds are getting gloomier and gloomier. Violence in the streets, hartals, tension, instability will probably become the norm. And yes, this will be a year that we and all the Bangladeshis for sure will remember.

Could you tell me what day is it?

The weeks are really odd in Bangladesh. Sure, there are seven days and they are named the same (but in Bangla), however the working week is different.

General Ershad, who ruled Bangladesh from 1983 to 1990 as military guy that became a president, declared Friday as a weekly holiday. I am being told he tried to appease the religious political parties through his 'pseudo love' of Islam.

Therefore the week is from Sunday to Thursday with the ‘weekend’ being Friday and Saturday. So when it is Sunday it is actually a Monday, but a Thursday is a Friday. It is quite confusing and so many times I loose count of the days. I spoke to people who lived here for years and they are still confused. This of course does not take into account the time difference. 10 hours when it is US summer time and 11 hours in the winter. They have no daylight saving here. That’s another odd thing – the sunrise is the same (give or take minute either way) and so is sunset.


Among many abbreviations in the States, I learned the TGIF -- Thank God, It's Friday. I was meant to thank the Creator as the day happens to start the weekend after a week of hard work. Borrowing a clue from the TGIF, Bangladeshi Muslims thank God that He has given them the Friday and, being in Bangladesh, they can observe it as a Holy Day.

The call of the call

It started with our first night we spent in Dhaka. We were able to beat the jet lag and fall soundly asleep. Then around 5.30 it hit us. 

The early morning call to prayer - a sort of Islamic vocal wake-up call to the nation - is really something to hear and we now well understand its power. It starts with a single call and then waves of sound emerge from everywhere in the city, melodious and harmonious though not in unison, increasing in intensity and power as every muezzin in the city sings his call to the faithful. It is not like you hear the loudspeakers from just a few mosques. It feels like  from thousands of buildings, a local singer alerts the Muslims of the city to their duty. Waves of sound roll across the city like surf.

Now being located close to the central mosque in Baridhara means we are in direct 'firing' line for all the call to prayers - yes there are more than one and depending on which mosque it could range from four to seven.

Thankfully the call is short and now after we got used to it and can go back to sleep. Because shortly after it is finished, the crows take over. The most prominent sound in the day from our windows is that of crows, hundreds of them.

Easter celebration!

Organizing Easter was a little bit of a challenge, but in the end Cristina was 100% satisfied with all the food and preparations.
Who would have thought or hoped we would have so many wonderful friends around us to celebrate with!
I do not believe we ever had such diverse gathering in our humble home. Among our almost 30 guests we had over, there were 14 different countries represented (going just by birth):

1. America2. Bulgaria
3. Belarus
4. Ukraine
5. Bangladesh
6. Korea
7. Romania
8. Moldova
9. Senegal
10. Nigeria
11.Canada
12. Bolivia
13. England
14. India

For an evening we forgot about all the craziness and violence happening in our city. And yes, we felt incredibly blessed!

Wait, you are THE guy who loves it here, aren't you?

We went to a party this last weekend and met a number of new people. As I extended my arm for a handshake, one of them exclaimed:

"Wait, I know you! You are THE guy who is happy to be here, are you not? I know you from Facebook."Needless to say, neither Cristina or I could resist to burst into a good laugh.

Yes, it is true, I am THE guy and here is why.

Dhaka, where we live, is the world’s least liveable city in the world, according to the Economist. The study assesses cities around the world to determine which provide the best or worst living conditions. Factors are measured, within five categories: stability, healthcare, culture and environment, education and infrastructure. The world’s top city, Melbourne, scores 100 for healthcare; Dhaka scores 29.2.

And right now, as I write in May 2013, we are experiencing the worst political unrest and violence since the 1971 Liberation War.

There is a lot to hate. The traffic, the noise, the traffic, the traffic, the pollution, the traffic, the traffic, the crowds, the beggars, the traffic, the chaos, the traffic…but most of all, the lack of freedom. The lack of freedom to drive yourself, to walk, to do what you want when you want, to wear what you want, to be anonymous.

Yet I am loving. And so are the kids. And Cristina is reluctantly coming along.

Most of it comes from our luck to be extroverts. We don’t wait for friends to come to us, we go out and find them. I am sure that somewhere out there in Dhaka there are people who will soon become our friends even if they do not know it yet. There are people who in a few weeks will become important in our new life, who have so much to teach us, to share with us, as did so many of others over the years and in different places.

And of course, we did make friends. In large numbers. Friends in social groups, in sports groups, in ethnic groups, in work groups, friends that overlap in several groups. We have also kept in touch with our friends from abroad and we e-mail and Skype regularly. Additionally, there are my virtual friends, alas you, my gentle readers.

For all of Dhaka’s drawbacks and shortcomings and third worldisms, our experience with the people here is just the opposite. A lot of time, my connection and communication is reduced to facial articulations and smiles. You can be down in one of the poorest countries in the world, along roads fraught with pot holes and sewage, lined with garbage and waste and animal carcasses  in a country where the average annual income is less than what we might make in a day here at home, and none of that matters. The only thing that matters is our connections, to ourselves and our communities. What we might view as poverty and despicable living conditions is nothing more than a backdrop to the movie scene of our or someone else’s life. Such day to day luxuries are just that: luxuries. What makes us is our connections. And hard work or working hard is just a little bit different here than other parts of the world.

Am I a “better” person for having lived in Dhaka? No, I am probably not. But I am a lot wiser. I am more appreciative. I am more reflective of all things that we define as ‘life’. But more than all of that, I am reminded that basic things like happiness and comfort do not derive from anything tangible. Happiness can be found anywhere. In any condition. And that a smile can go a long way.

One does not need to come to Dhaka to get the life-check that it gives us. I hope just reading this gives you a moment of reflection on our fortunate and privileged lives.

Everyyyybody smells!!!!!!!!!

When we moved in our new apartment, our neighbor started describing the Bangladeshi summer weather to us. In a very strong Turkish accent she was trying to make her point:

"Everyyyybody smells!"

That stuck with Cristina and me. And now is starting to make sense as it is getting unbearably hot. So hot it's absolute agony. There's absolutely no break from it. Ever. You constantly feel like someone's holding a huge hairdryer over you; the muggy air is like waves of heat rolling over your body. If you walk in the streets, your shirt is sticking to your back in less then two minutes. You smell like a horse regardless of the quantity of deodorant you are using. 

It's been horrific, and summer has just started. It's making people angry, frustrated, and short tempered. I can honestly say that I have never been so hot in my life. I am sick and tired of being so bloody hot! And the worst part is that it's only going to get worse. So yes, Bangladesh is a fantastic place this time of the year.

We are in the 'temperature adjustment' phase at the moment and we are having our challenges with that. Could someone mail us some cold arctic air? We would be eternally grateful.

Usha, our Aya (maid)

One of the endless debates in the foreign service is whether or not to employ a household staff. And if you do, how do you do that in an ethical way?

Almost everyone we know in the Embassy has a household helper of some sort. Even the volunteers I met here have one. Most of the times, is not a luxury, but a necessity as the tremendous amount of dust hovering over the city gets into everything. House needs to literally be cleaned every single day.

As soon as we moved into our new apartment, I started being inundated with resumes of drivers, maids or cooks. Every day I would come home, the guard at the entrance would hand me a bog envelope or two containing resumes opf people looking for work. In country where labor is so cheap, working in the diplomatic community is a source of great income and pride.

Our CLO (community liaison office) also had a big package on how to hire or fire household help. Big undertaking, background checks, rules on bonuses, uniform allowances, and on and on. Too many things to think about.


Reluctantly, I agreed to hire our first domestic help, Usha. We "inherited" her from our neighbors who, after finishing their Foreign Service life, retired to Florida. So the transition was easy, she just came down one floor.

Usha comes in 5 days a week, 8 hours per day. Her biggest qualities: she is quiet as a mouse and she is very honest. Before she left, our neighbor told us a story about leaving a large sum of money on her bed one day. It was more then what Usha would probably make in her lifetime. Anyway, not only that she did not touch the money, but also panicked at the thought the "madam" left such a treasure unattended.

She is a big help when it comes to shopping for fresh foods, cleaning them, cleaning the house, doing the laundry. She even cooks sometimes, Bangladeshi style, but even a veteran lover of spicy food like myself can find her dishes burning hot. Her English is great and communication is not an issue.

And most of all, Oreo loves her. He just lays on the floor and watches her as she moves around the house!

Usha is helping Cristina with her Easter preparations