BLOQUES TEMÁTICOS:

When I arrived at the NDANA reception ceremony around 7pm, I had anticipated that I would

be the only non-Bangladeshi person. I did not expect, however, nor was I prepared to be the only

woman there. The reception was located on the ground floor of a Bangladeshi restaurant that was

advertised as “Indian Restaurant.”69 _{About 50 men Bangladeshi men were present, all dressed in}

69 _{During the reception, a man with whom I had exchanged a conversation told me that it was common to see}

Bangladeshi restaurants disguised as Indian restaurants in Queens. He explained, “You know, if you tell people it’s from Bangladesh, they look at you and say, Bangladesh? Where is that? But India, everyone knows it.”

nicely tailored suits. Some were talking; others were organizing the tables and chairs. They all

seemed busy with their tasks at hand and needless to say, they did not seem preoccupied the least

with my presence. In fact, they were ignoring me. I remember the sinking feeling of discomfort

being there alone, without knowing anyone and even worse, not really knowing what the purpose

of my presence was. I saw a row of chairs and immediately take a seat, pretending to be busy

taking notes. I looked around and saw that a generous buffet, displaying various Bangladeshi

dishes had been prepared. While deciding on the best ‘entrée’ strategy I would use to introduce

myself to people, a young man approached me and welcomed me to the ceremony. I stood up

and realized he was the President of the organization whom I had called the day before and who

had invited me to the reception. After some brief introduction, he asked me to take a sit in the

front row, where in front of it, a podium had been arranged with a microphone at its center and

various flags and adds hung in the background.

Not knowing if I should go get dinner first and then sit or if I should eat at all, I did as per his

request, and took the sit he had designated for me. During an hour and half, I patiently listened to

a series of men who, one after another, came to and fro, on the stage, giving long speeches,

which sadly, my weak knowledge of Bangla did not allow me to understand. This scene took me

back to one of my fieldwork trips in Bangladesh when seven years earlier, the NGO for which I

worked as an intern had organized a two-day retreat in Khulna, about four hours Southwest from

Dhaka. The room had a similar lay out; there was a stage in the back with several adds covering

the walls. In a single line, people came one after another on the stage, to present in Bengali their

projects’ results and recommendations. I particularly remember during the first three days, the

long afternoons I spent painfully deciphering people’s research results and trying to translate

perform a Bangladeshi cultural activity. Unexpectedly, someone in the room stood up, soon

followed by everyone and asked that I get on stage to sing a traditional French song…

A voice calling my name in the microphone suddenly brought me back to NDANA’s ceremony.

All the stares were directed at me and I understood at that moment that my Khulna experience

was happening all over again. A man came to me and handled me a microphone. I stood up,

turned to the crowd and nervously smiled with a few seconds of silence to gather my thoughts. I

noticed that two women had appeared since I had arrived and were sitting together at the right

corner of the back of the room. As the director of the association had warned me, the local

Queens Bangla TV was also present. With a timid voice, I politely introduced myself as a

Columbia University graduate student and for five minutes, I mumbled something about my

interest in studying Bangladeshi immigrants and their experiences in New York. Right after my

shy performance, people applauded and the president took over to invite everyone to eat.

While grabbing plates and utensils, many men approached me to congratulate me for studying

‘their culture’ and to ask me repeatedly the same questions: “ Are you married?,” “Do you have

children?,” “What is your religion?” I was already familiar with these introductory questions

during my trip in Bangladesh, where people systematically used them upon a first encounter. I

had learned that Bangladeshis place a high value in religion and family relationships and that

these questions were not a sign of nosiness but rather one of understanding the bideshi’s

(foreigner) life practices.

Content with the information I provided to them, the men generally ended the conversation by

handing me a business card and insisting that they wanted to participate in my study. I was

surprised when on several occasions, many of them added that it was their duty to help me

they believed to be only limited to a place of natural disasters and poverty. With these humble

and encouraging words, I preciously placed their cards in my notebook and told them I would

contact them for a real interview. When I left the dinner party, it was about 10 pm and by that

time, I had gathered a dozen contacts, which were to constitute the first sample of my fieldwork.