East Pak Volunteers, Staff and Friends: James Ayer's Peace Corps Experiences

I was very fortunate to be an East Pakistan Volunteer. Until my group’s plane left New York JFK for Karachi, I was confident that somehow Peace Corps had mistakenly selected me. I was assigned as an engineer’s aide to the Cyclone Shelter Project in the Chittagong District. The project entailed constructing approximately a hundred two-story community shelters along the Bay of Bengal coast that was often devastated by horrific cyclones and tidal waves. While charged to design and oversee the shelters’ construction, Volunteers were not authorized to manage, directly or indirectly, the construction funds. Such an arrangement often resulted in construction delays or stoppage because needed materials and supplies were not always procured in a timely manner that ensured as needed time delivery.

Living in an exotic culture of complex social norms and patterns of life that were neither always understood nor accessible, and subjected to frequent dietary-digestive related problems, I set about my tasks in the numerous Hindu and Muslim rural villages. This I did sometimes with other Volunteers, sometimes by myself.

My experiences ranged from pleasant to not so pleasant. Some I recall vividly; others vaguely or not at all. Seeing an elephant round-up near Teknaf was exciting! Trying to find a doctor one night in Chittagong for a very sick colleague was daunting! Like other experiences I had in East Pakistan, the following illustrates somewhat the excitement, uncertainty, humor, and poor judgment of being a Volunteer.

A Rabid Dog

One May 1964 morning as I set out on a Honda 50 to visit some cyclone shelter work sites, I soon came up behind a black and white dog trotting rather fast down the dirt path. Usually when dogs heard the bike, they would move aside, but this one did not. As I pulled up alongside to pass, the dog turned its head, without breaking its stride, bit me barely above my right boot.

When I stopped to look at the bite, the dog continued on without breaking its pace! I could only think what a strange dog!? Village dogs just did not behave that way! Although the bite was superficial, with no bleeding, I needed to clean it.

After cleaning the wound at the dak-bungalow, I visited two or three work sites. Later, when I returned, my colleague Don Cleveland (Pak 7 said some villagers had told him that they had killed and buried the dog that had bitten me because it was seen attempting to bite some children.

To think that I might get rabies from the dog’s bite was disconcerting! Don and I agreed that that I should go to Chittagong to seek medical attention with some American Seven Day Adventist doctors I knew. The trip to Chittagong usually took two hours or more, but a little longer this time because the Honda’s back tire went flat before I travelled any distance.

A few hours later, I found one of the doctors whose name I cannot recall. After looking at the wound, he said that I probably should take the “shots” to ensure that I would not get rabies or if I did I could survive the ordeal. Furthermore, he said to really know if I might get rabies, the dog’s head needed to be examined to determine if the dog was definitely rabid. Finally, he stated that no one in Chittagong had the needed medication. This meant going to the Peace Corps doctor in Dacca.

When I reiterated that the dog had been buried, he remained adamant that the head had to be examined for rabies. I stated there were some volunteers north of Chittagong who might agree to retrieve the head because they had a jeep. And, regardless of knowing if the dog had rabies or not I was going to Dacca as soon as possible.

I rode the Honda to Misari north of Chittagong where Dale Smith, Bill Clarke and John Martin were. Dale agreed to get the head. Returning to Chittagong I was unable to get on any of that day’s flights to Dacca, so I caught a train. Before boarding the train, I telegrammed the American Consulate to contact Peace Corps about my situation and arrival time.

An American Consulate staffer met me at the Dacca station to take me to the Peace Corps doctor. Not knowing where Dr. Chuck Herron lived, we went to the Peace Corps Hostel. There, a very nice and gracious volunteer woman who knew where Chuck lived escorted me to his residence.

Dr. Herron insisted that I stay with him and his wife, as well indicated that no rabies medicine was in Dacca, but some could be flown in. The next day he wanted a United Nations Cholera doctor to assess the wound. Because the bite was rather superficial and far from the brain the UN doctor believed that another kind I medicine that was available could be used.

Meanwhile, the real story in all of this, which I learned much later, was when Dale had almost reached my village he encountered a low water crossing. The local villagers told him where he could cross safely. Unfortunately, either they were having fun at his expense, or simply did not know where the safe crossing was for when Dale reached mid-stream the jeep nosed into deep water that covered the hood and most of the jeep, killing the engine.

Fortunately, some Russian oil and gas explorers in the area came along shortly who used their four wheel drive vehicles to retrieve the jeep back to shore. Once the jeep was running, they showed Dale where to cross safely.

Proceeding to my village he found Don. When they located the villagers who buried the dog, the villagers agreed to exhume the dog and sever the head. How the head was prepared for the trip, Dale never said?

When Dale took the head into the doctor’s office, the doctor became very irate towards him for bringing in such awful stinky smelly, dirty thing. He refused to even look at it, and angrily told Dale to take it out immediately!

Dale never said what he finally did with the head! Moreover, because he was just a super nice guy, he never expressed any animosity towards me for getting him to retrieve the dog’s head. Wherever you are Dale, thanks for enduring such a sordid ordeal!

After I took the one-a-day series of “shots” over ten days, I returned home. Sometime later I heard that the brought-in rabies medication was given to a consulate secretary who was bitten by a bat.

The Best Compliment

One cool June morning some cyclone shelter workers were removing wooden concrete forms used to make the floors. This task required mucking around in slippery, sticky mud that made maneuvering difficult and risky as they slid about trying to manage the heavy wood. Watching them struggle, I jumped into the mud to help them. Of course, like them I slipped as I tried to keep my balance while handling the forms that dirtied my hands and clothes.

The workers, smiling and laughing, acknowledged my efforts. When the forms were almost removed, an older man (probably in his 40s) with a cataract on his left eye said something in Bengali that sounded friendly and nice. Not really understanding him, I asked in my limited Bengali to please repeat what he had said. This he did, but I just could not quite grasp what he was saying, although I was sure it was some kind of compliment. Being somewhat frustrated with myself, I turned to one of the workers who spoke some English to ask him what did this man say?

The man responded by saying “the old man is telling you that he has never seen a white man get dirty or work like you before! That he was glad to see a white man do dirty work!’” Hearing that was for me a compliment. I turned to the old man to say thanks and shake his hand. He smiled and laughed!

Over the years, I have done a lot of things with a lot different people who have, on occasion complimented by abilities, but without any exception that man gave me the best compliment I ever had! It is the best compliment because it taught me something I did not appreciate until later, that in a very small humbled way I dismantled a myth this man held of white foreigners. In turn, that experience taught me that humans are not so really different from each other once we get past the stereotypes and false beliefs we have of each other! Once we can do that we realize that we share more in common with each other than not as we cope with the demands of everyday life. For a brief moment in a muddy quagmire, an American white boy and some Bengalis were just workers joined in a common task of not just removing concrete forms but learning to respect and appreciate each other for who they were.

Committing a Cultural Taboo

In the spring of 1965 I was living alone while trying to get some bridge projects started in Jaldi Thana. For some reason, I had purchased more beef than I could possible eat before it would become rancid without refrigeration. But, purchase I did. A day or two later I received a telegram to come to Chittagong to meet some other volunteers. Do not recall the reason.

The night before I was to leave, I knew the meat could not last much longer without refrigeration; so, either I had to immediately give it away or throw it to the local dogs or just let it spoil. I decided my best option would be to give it to my neighbor whose family was always sharing food, such as eggs or bananas. When I saw him in his yard, I asked him to come over for I wanted to give him something.

I proudly presented the meat to him, saying to please take it for I had to leave the next day. He smiled, and said no he could not take it. I continue to persist that because he had done so much for me, I wanted him to have the meat. Again, he refused all the while smiling.

Now, this conversation is occurring in my limited Bengali and his nonexistent English. He obvious understood my sincerity of wanting to give him the meat for he began to look rather sad and frustrated! And, then, all of a sudden he smiled and said “Hindu!”

Oh! My goodness! I had just committed a very serious cultural taboo: offering beef to a Hindu! How stupid!? I knew he and his family were Hindus, but I never thought about it; certainly, not that night. I apologized profusely, to which he laughed, and indicated that he would give it to someone who ate beef. And, then he was kind enough to assure me that I had not insulted him!

That experience taught me that while one can violate certain cultural norms, mores, or taboos, most people are more tolerant and forgiving of such violations if the violator expresses remorse or regret for making such a mistake. He was a wonderful man whose family did so very much for me, especially being understanding and forgiving for violating a very significant cultural taboo!

2010

James W. Ayers

Peace Corps Volunteer: Engineer’s Aide

East Pakistan 8 Project September 1963-September 1965

Ken Hotchkiss and James

Abbotabad West Pakistan October 1964

Comilla Village stay: January 1964: left to right: Terry Bray, host, George Lewis

Jaldi Thana, Chittagong District, 1964

Jaldi Thana, Chittagong District: 1998

Local Transportation

The ubiquitous pedal rickshaw. The rickshaw wallas worked hard and usually charged very fair prices. I should have kept track of the miles I logged on them!