Double Blowout!

A.k.a. “No, I’m waiting for my shoe.”


We thought we’d share a little story about a very typical experience here in Dhaka that captures something of why this place (despite cracks and bumps) is pretty awesome to live in.


The other day we were walking to a restaurant with a colleague who has been visiting and staying with us while he and Sam did some research together (this is also why we’ve been short on posts). The restaurant is a tasty little Bangladeshi restaurant next to the Westin hotel (the place is Dhanshiri for those that know Dhaka). We like Dhanshiri because it is cheap (the fam can eat all for a few dollars with leftovers), delicious, mostly clean, and not too far from our house. It also stands in stark contrast to the Westin hotel right across from it, in which a cup of mediocre coffee costs almost five dollars and lunch can cost as much a thirty or forty US.

On the way, Sam had a double flip flop blow out. For the flip flop un-educated, this means that not only did ONE of the connectors in Sam’s sandal pull up and out of the rubber base, but TWO. So, while a normal blow out is difficult enough to manage, a double blow out is catastrophic to the shoe.

After a minute or two of trying to cram the thongs back into the base of the shoe we realize it is fruitless, and Sam has to walk on our way with only one shoe. It was tragic, although one of many on a strangely long list of cities in which Sam has ended up barefoot or without a shoe (but that’s a whole different story…). Anyhow, we were a little early and decided to go into the Westin and wait for another fellow we were meeting (the Westin had been the easiest way to describe the location of the place across from it). Upon entering Sam asked if maybe they had some duct tape for her shoe.

The entire lobby of the hotel, probably ten workers or more, then immediately mobilized and began acting to fix the shoe. Men were running about looking for tools, the shoe was being passed here and there, and Sam was told to go wait in the fancy little sitting area. About five or ten minutes later they decide they can’t fix the shoe there, so naturally the little cleaner guy from out front runs off to get it fixed in the market across the street.

While waiting, a car driver came up to Sam to see if she was waiting for the car service that had arrived. “Excuse Madam,” he said, “Are you waiting for a car?” to which Sam replied, “No, I’m waiting for my shoe.” He then said, “Oh, OK, thank you” as if that made any sense at all, and went upon his way.

So finally, about twenty minutes later, Sam’s shoe has returned, sewn up and fully fixed. The cost? Ten taka for the shoemaker (about 14 cents in US currency).

So, here’s the thing. Yes, the Westin is a fancy hotel and one would expect a certain degree of service, but we weren’t guests there. We were three pretty raggedy looking people off the street with a cheap broken flip flop. (In fact we could never afford to stay there!) We doubt that a five star hotel in the US would be so eager to let random non-guests hang out in the lobby while half the staff fixed their dirty shoe.

Also, the fact that everyone in the place rushed enthusiastically to help is not unique to the Westin or fancy places at all - in fact, the less fancy the place the more enthusiastic and helpful the service tends to be. We know that our white privilege has a recurrent hand in our treatment here, and we are careful not to exploit it or take it for granted, but it is also a reflection of a genuine niceness and willingness, even eagerness, to help that just isn’t found very many other places we’ve lived.

Considering how hard life can be in this country, and particularly this massive city, we are continually rewarded with kindness and goodness in our encounters with the people who call it home.

Shabbash, Dhaka, Shabbash!