30.06.2020
Slowly, then Suddenly
My award-winning entry to the Queen's Commonwealth Essay Competition
Climate change is real. And, like most things in life, it isn't fair. It disproportionately affects people with
negligible carbon footprints by threatening their livelihoods and lifestyles. This essay is about one such community—the
inhabitants of Kutubdia, a small island in Bangladesh. Through a factual fictional story, it seeks to provide an insight
into how climate change has disrupted their lives.
I won the Gold Award (after winner and runner-up) for this essay at the Queen's Commonwealth Essay Competition. Hope you enjoy it too!
The azure ocean gurgled, gently caressing the sloping cement embankment surrounding Kutubdia, one of the many chars dotting the massive Ganges-Brahmaputra delta. A pristine island, it was largely untouched by the technological innovations of the last two centuries, saving the odd radio set owned by some of its richer inhabitants. The breathtaking view of the sunset it offered were appreciated by few tourists, most of them deterred by the region’s lack of electrification. Consequently, its islanders were solely reliant on the ocean, engaging in fishing and salt farming to earn their livelihoods. Sitting on a pile of bricks nearby, two of them, Adeela, a nine-year-old girl, and Abdul, her grandfather, watched the waves recede.
“Tell me a new story, dadu!” demanded Adeela, angrily throwing a pebble into the water. “You've told me this one hundreds of times!”
“All right, all right.” laughed Abdul, placating his annoyed granddaughter. “Let me think.”
He stared into the distance for a few minutes, stroking his grizzly beard. When he finally turned to Adeela, his brow was deeply furrowed, a grave expression having supplanted his countenance's seemingly immutable cheer.
“Okay khuki.” he said softly. “I think it's about time I told you this.”
Adeela listened intently, wondering what secret her dadu was going to reveal.
Pointing to a row of trees far away, he asked, “Can you see those mangroves?”
“Yes, dadu.” answered Adeela. “Were those also not there during your time?” she asked playfully, familiar with the pattern her grandfather’s stories usually followed.
“No khuki, they weren’t.” smiled Abdul wistfully. “Because that’s where I used to live.”
Adeela gasped in surprise at the twist in her dadu’s story. She stared at the half-submerged shrubs hundreds of metres away, and then looked back at her grandfather.
“Dadu, you’re joking, right?” she asked, expecting to be answered by his twinkling eyes and ever-so-hearty laugh.
But Abdul just shook his head sadly, “No khuki. We had a large house with mango trees in the courtyard. We didn’t even have to fish back then; we had many cows and lots of land to grow paddy...” He paused, a nostalgic smile momentarily flickering across his face.
“But then what happened, dadu?” Adeela cut in, brimming with curiosity.
The somber expression swiftly returned to Abdul’s face as he continued, “The ocean took away everything we had, khuki. The cows, the land, the house. Everything. Slowly, then suddenly…” His voice broke as memories of the tidal surge devastating his village flooded his mind. “It hates us.” he resumed, in an angrier tone. “It isn’t content with having reduced Kutubdia’s once-fertile fields to salt farms. No, it won’t stop until it devours the entire island!”
“Stop scaring her!” a voice interrupted. “She’s just a child!”
Both Adeela and Abdul turned round to see Adeela’s father, Basheer.
“Baba, you’re back!” exclaimed Adeela, rushing to embrace him, quickly forgetting her grandfather’s foreboding words.
“Yes khuki.” he laughed, hugging his daughter.
“How many fish did you catch?” inquired Adeela excitedly. “50? 100?”
“Enough.” smiled Basheer. His eyes said otherwise.
Adeela was too happy to notice. “I'll go and tell ma the good news!” she shouted, already racing away.
Once Adeela was out of earshot, Abdul asked, “No luck this time either, eh?”
“Uh-huh.” replied Basheer gloomily. “It's barely enough for tonight. I'll go again tomorrow; a few hours before sunrise, this time.”
“Why that early?” asked Abdul.
“There are no fish nearby.” explained Basheer. “Arbaz says it’s because these shallow waters are too hot. Hence, tomorrow onwards, we will start fishing further away from the island. It’ll take us many hours to reach water that’s cool enough, so we have to leave as early as possible.” Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he added, on a lighter note, “Also, no one wants to row when that blazing ball of fire is overhead!”
Abdul smiled wryly, glancing upwards at the sun with distaste. It’s not that they weren’t used to the heat; it was only 33℃, quite common for a summer afternoon in Kutubdia. But this wasn’t summer. It was January. This was the dead of Bangladeshi winter.
On the upper reaches of the embankment, there stood many shacks made of wood, cloth and plastic. These were topped with corrugated steel roofs and had sandbags piled near the door, to stave off water from entering during high tide. Inside one of these makeshift dwellings, Adeela and her mother were sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks, with no growling stomach to keep them awake. Meanwhile, outside, the men of the house were having one of their routine arguments.
“You can’t go!” exclaimed Abdul. “A cyclone alert has been issued!”
“What? How do you know?” asked Basheer.
“Rizvi has been telling everyone that he heard it on his radio.” answered Abdul. “It is predicted to strike tomorrow evening.”
“There can’t be another cyclone.” argued Basheer. “Usually there are only one or two annually. This year, there’ve already been four! No chance of any more!”
“The people giving the warnings are experts, Basheer.” reasoned Abdul. “And Rizvi said that things are changing worldwide. Bharata is facing its worst locust attack in 30 years. Another country has been burning for more than 6 months! Imagine that! Amidst such strange events, another cyclone certainly does'’t seem improbable.”
“Huh! False alerts are issued all the time by these 'experts', baba.” scoffed Basheer. “I've lost count of the number of times we have walked for miles and waded across snake-infested rivers to reach that shelter. Then, after we spend the night in a crowded, dingy chamber with men ogling at my wife, they inform us that there's no storm! Look, these cyclones are only punishment from Allah for making men and women stay together in those rooms. They have nothing to do with other countries and their problems!”
“Well, it's not only the alerts.” persisted Abdul. “Even Allah is warning us using natural signs. There are unusually many mosquitoes nowadays; dogs are incessantly howling at night; and a strong wind was also blowing from the south this morning.”
“Oh, looks like even you're an expert now.” jeered Basheer sarcastically.
“Please.” begged Abdul. “Think about Adeela. What will happen to her if you don't come back?”
“Well, you know what will happen to her if I don't go, baba.” answered Basheer. “Last week, Nizamul married off his 10-year-old daughter to a middle-aged businessman only because he couldn't provide for her! I don't want that to happen to Adeela! But if you don't let me go fishing, I'll have no other choice. Don't you understand? If I don’t risk dying out there, she will definitely die back here! She is starving, baba, growing thinner by the day! If I cannot feed her, I may as well marry her off to someone who can! Would you like to see that happen?”
Abdul shuddered at the thought of his precious khuki falling into the hands of a lecherous stranger.
“Fine.” he muttered reluctantly. “Go if you must.”
“Don’t worry, baba.” Basheer assured Abdul, sensing his apprehension. “Allah will protect me. He always does.”
Abdul smiled in response. But, as always, he wondered whether he would see his son again.
So, at around three the next morning, Basheer and Arbaz set out on their fishing expedition. As they rowed away from Kutubdia, Basheer could spot the half-sunken remains of an abandoned mosque to his left. From his father’s stories, he recalled that it used to be three hundred metres away from the coastline while being constructed. Far enough, its builders had thought. But then, inexplicably, increasingly frequent and devastating cyclones had started striking Kutubdia, decimating its population and razing its villages. Meanwhile, even the ocean seemed to develop a taste for the sediment island, exacerbating Kutubdia’s troubles. The horrified islanders could only watch from afar, as the rapidly rising waters swallowed their lands and homes. Not even the mosque was spared, the merciless waves eroding its foundations and flooding its interiors.
Basheer gazed at its brick dome protruding from the ocean's surface, now serving as a memorial to the thousands killed by the calamitous storms and the acres lost to the ocean's insatiable appetite. He shivered. The sight of the masjid’s ruins never failed to send a chill down his spine.
“Will Allah really protect me?” he asked himself, the previous night's exchange running through his mind.
Like every other time he had left the shore, he was tempted to call off the trip right then. Like every other time, he smiled, thinking about Adeela's bright smile and warm embrace that awaited him back home. Yet, like every other time, he also felt a pang of guilt when he remembered her increasingly attenuated limbs and paling skin. Like every other time, he was filled with dread when he realised that returning without fish would make marrying his daughter off to a stranger a greater possibility. So, like every other time, he sighed deeply, turned round, and continued to row, away from the devil, into the deep blue sea.
Bibliography
Howell, Philippa. (2003). Indigenous Early Warning Indicators of Cyclones: Potential Application in Coastal Bangladesh.
McVeigh, Karen. On the Climate Change Frontline: the Disappearing Fishing Villages of Bangladesh #GlobalWarning. 20 Jan. 2017, www.theguardian.com/global-development/2017/jan/20/climate-change-frontline-disappearing-fishing-villages-bangladesh. Accessed [10 June 2020]
McVeigh, Karen. “Rising Seas Sweep Away Land and Livelihoods in Bangladesh - in Pictures.” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 19 Jan. 2017, www.theguardian.com/global-development/gallery/2017/jan/19/rising-seas-sweep-away-land-livelihoods-in-bangladesh-in-pictures. Accessed [10 June 2020]
Kristof, Nicholas D. “The Link between Climate Change, a Disappearing Island and Child Marriage.” The Seattle Times, The Seattle Times Company, 22 Jan. 2018, www.seattletimes.com/opinion/the-link-between-climate-change-a-disappearing-island-and-child-marriage/. Accessed [12 June 2020]
Agarwal , Kabir, and Shruti Jain. Climate Change Brings the Worst Locust Attack in Decades to India. 27 May 2020, science.thewire.in/environment/locust-attack-india-jaipur-climate-change/. Accessed [20 June 2020]
Ghosh, Pallab. Climate Change Boosted Australia Bushfire Risk by at Least 30%. 4 Mar. 2020, www.bbc.com/news/science-environment-51742646. Accessed [20 June 2020]
De Luxembourg, Banque. Documentary : Life as a Char Inhabitant in Bangladesh. YouTube, 11 Jan. 2017, www.youtube.com/watch?v=HI-z-DFCiVQ. Accessed [13 June 2020]
I won the Gold Award (after winner and runner-up) for this essay at the Queen's Commonwealth Essay Competition. Hope you enjoy it too!
The azure ocean gurgled, gently caressing the sloping cement embankment surrounding Kutubdia, one of the many chars dotting the massive Ganges-Brahmaputra delta. A pristine island, it was largely untouched by the technological innovations of the last two centuries, saving the odd radio set owned by some of its richer inhabitants. The breathtaking view of the sunset it offered were appreciated by few tourists, most of them deterred by the region’s lack of electrification. Consequently, its islanders were solely reliant on the ocean, engaging in fishing and salt farming to earn their livelihoods. Sitting on a pile of bricks nearby, two of them, Adeela, a nine-year-old girl, and Abdul, her grandfather, watched the waves recede.
“Tell me a new story, dadu!” demanded Adeela, angrily throwing a pebble into the water. “You've told me this one hundreds of times!”
“All right, all right.” laughed Abdul, placating his annoyed granddaughter. “Let me think.”
He stared into the distance for a few minutes, stroking his grizzly beard. When he finally turned to Adeela, his brow was deeply furrowed, a grave expression having supplanted his countenance's seemingly immutable cheer.
“Okay khuki.” he said softly. “I think it's about time I told you this.”
Adeela listened intently, wondering what secret her dadu was going to reveal.
Pointing to a row of trees far away, he asked, “Can you see those mangroves?”
“Yes, dadu.” answered Adeela. “Were those also not there during your time?” she asked playfully, familiar with the pattern her grandfather’s stories usually followed.
“No khuki, they weren’t.” smiled Abdul wistfully. “Because that’s where I used to live.”
Adeela gasped in surprise at the twist in her dadu’s story. She stared at the half-submerged shrubs hundreds of metres away, and then looked back at her grandfather.
“Dadu, you’re joking, right?” she asked, expecting to be answered by his twinkling eyes and ever-so-hearty laugh.
But Abdul just shook his head sadly, “No khuki. We had a large house with mango trees in the courtyard. We didn’t even have to fish back then; we had many cows and lots of land to grow paddy...” He paused, a nostalgic smile momentarily flickering across his face.
“But then what happened, dadu?” Adeela cut in, brimming with curiosity.
The somber expression swiftly returned to Abdul’s face as he continued, “The ocean took away everything we had, khuki. The cows, the land, the house. Everything. Slowly, then suddenly…” His voice broke as memories of the tidal surge devastating his village flooded his mind. “It hates us.” he resumed, in an angrier tone. “It isn’t content with having reduced Kutubdia’s once-fertile fields to salt farms. No, it won’t stop until it devours the entire island!”
“Stop scaring her!” a voice interrupted. “She’s just a child!”
Both Adeela and Abdul turned round to see Adeela’s father, Basheer.
“Baba, you’re back!” exclaimed Adeela, rushing to embrace him, quickly forgetting her grandfather’s foreboding words.
“Yes khuki.” he laughed, hugging his daughter.
“How many fish did you catch?” inquired Adeela excitedly. “50? 100?”
“Enough.” smiled Basheer. His eyes said otherwise.
Adeela was too happy to notice. “I'll go and tell ma the good news!” she shouted, already racing away.
Once Adeela was out of earshot, Abdul asked, “No luck this time either, eh?”
“Uh-huh.” replied Basheer gloomily. “It's barely enough for tonight. I'll go again tomorrow; a few hours before sunrise, this time.”
“Why that early?” asked Abdul.
“There are no fish nearby.” explained Basheer. “Arbaz says it’s because these shallow waters are too hot. Hence, tomorrow onwards, we will start fishing further away from the island. It’ll take us many hours to reach water that’s cool enough, so we have to leave as early as possible.” Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he added, on a lighter note, “Also, no one wants to row when that blazing ball of fire is overhead!”
Abdul smiled wryly, glancing upwards at the sun with distaste. It’s not that they weren’t used to the heat; it was only 33℃, quite common for a summer afternoon in Kutubdia. But this wasn’t summer. It was January. This was the dead of Bangladeshi winter.
On the upper reaches of the embankment, there stood many shacks made of wood, cloth and plastic. These were topped with corrugated steel roofs and had sandbags piled near the door, to stave off water from entering during high tide. Inside one of these makeshift dwellings, Adeela and her mother were sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks, with no growling stomach to keep them awake. Meanwhile, outside, the men of the house were having one of their routine arguments.
“You can’t go!” exclaimed Abdul. “A cyclone alert has been issued!”
“What? How do you know?” asked Basheer.
“Rizvi has been telling everyone that he heard it on his radio.” answered Abdul. “It is predicted to strike tomorrow evening.”
“There can’t be another cyclone.” argued Basheer. “Usually there are only one or two annually. This year, there’ve already been four! No chance of any more!”
“The people giving the warnings are experts, Basheer.” reasoned Abdul. “And Rizvi said that things are changing worldwide. Bharata is facing its worst locust attack in 30 years. Another country has been burning for more than 6 months! Imagine that! Amidst such strange events, another cyclone certainly does'’t seem improbable.”
“Huh! False alerts are issued all the time by these 'experts', baba.” scoffed Basheer. “I've lost count of the number of times we have walked for miles and waded across snake-infested rivers to reach that shelter. Then, after we spend the night in a crowded, dingy chamber with men ogling at my wife, they inform us that there's no storm! Look, these cyclones are only punishment from Allah for making men and women stay together in those rooms. They have nothing to do with other countries and their problems!”
“Well, it's not only the alerts.” persisted Abdul. “Even Allah is warning us using natural signs. There are unusually many mosquitoes nowadays; dogs are incessantly howling at night; and a strong wind was also blowing from the south this morning.”
“Oh, looks like even you're an expert now.” jeered Basheer sarcastically.
“Please.” begged Abdul. “Think about Adeela. What will happen to her if you don't come back?”
“Well, you know what will happen to her if I don't go, baba.” answered Basheer. “Last week, Nizamul married off his 10-year-old daughter to a middle-aged businessman only because he couldn't provide for her! I don't want that to happen to Adeela! But if you don't let me go fishing, I'll have no other choice. Don't you understand? If I don’t risk dying out there, she will definitely die back here! She is starving, baba, growing thinner by the day! If I cannot feed her, I may as well marry her off to someone who can! Would you like to see that happen?”
Abdul shuddered at the thought of his precious khuki falling into the hands of a lecherous stranger.
“Fine.” he muttered reluctantly. “Go if you must.”
“Don’t worry, baba.” Basheer assured Abdul, sensing his apprehension. “Allah will protect me. He always does.”
Abdul smiled in response. But, as always, he wondered whether he would see his son again.
So, at around three the next morning, Basheer and Arbaz set out on their fishing expedition. As they rowed away from Kutubdia, Basheer could spot the half-sunken remains of an abandoned mosque to his left. From his father’s stories, he recalled that it used to be three hundred metres away from the coastline while being constructed. Far enough, its builders had thought. But then, inexplicably, increasingly frequent and devastating cyclones had started striking Kutubdia, decimating its population and razing its villages. Meanwhile, even the ocean seemed to develop a taste for the sediment island, exacerbating Kutubdia’s troubles. The horrified islanders could only watch from afar, as the rapidly rising waters swallowed their lands and homes. Not even the mosque was spared, the merciless waves eroding its foundations and flooding its interiors.
Basheer gazed at its brick dome protruding from the ocean's surface, now serving as a memorial to the thousands killed by the calamitous storms and the acres lost to the ocean's insatiable appetite. He shivered. The sight of the masjid’s ruins never failed to send a chill down his spine.
“Will Allah really protect me?” he asked himself, the previous night's exchange running through his mind.
Like every other time he had left the shore, he was tempted to call off the trip right then. Like every other time, he smiled, thinking about Adeela's bright smile and warm embrace that awaited him back home. Yet, like every other time, he also felt a pang of guilt when he remembered her increasingly attenuated limbs and paling skin. Like every other time, he was filled with dread when he realised that returning without fish would make marrying his daughter off to a stranger a greater possibility. So, like every other time, he sighed deeply, turned round, and continued to row, away from the devil, into the deep blue sea.
Bibliography
Howell, Philippa. (2003). Indigenous Early Warning Indicators of Cyclones: Potential Application in Coastal Bangladesh.
McVeigh, Karen. On the Climate Change Frontline: the Disappearing Fishing Villages of Bangladesh #GlobalWarning. 20 Jan. 2017, www.theguardian.com/global-development/2017/jan/20/climate-change-frontline-disappearing-fishing-villages-bangladesh. Accessed [10 June 2020]
McVeigh, Karen. “Rising Seas Sweep Away Land and Livelihoods in Bangladesh - in Pictures.” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 19 Jan. 2017, www.theguardian.com/global-development/gallery/2017/jan/19/rising-seas-sweep-away-land-livelihoods-in-bangladesh-in-pictures. Accessed [10 June 2020]
Kristof, Nicholas D. “The Link between Climate Change, a Disappearing Island and Child Marriage.” The Seattle Times, The Seattle Times Company, 22 Jan. 2018, www.seattletimes.com/opinion/the-link-between-climate-change-a-disappearing-island-and-child-marriage/. Accessed [12 June 2020]
Agarwal , Kabir, and Shruti Jain. Climate Change Brings the Worst Locust Attack in Decades to India. 27 May 2020, science.thewire.in/environment/locust-attack-india-jaipur-climate-change/. Accessed [20 June 2020]
Ghosh, Pallab. Climate Change Boosted Australia Bushfire Risk by at Least 30%. 4 Mar. 2020, www.bbc.com/news/science-environment-51742646. Accessed [20 June 2020]
De Luxembourg, Banque. Documentary : Life as a Char Inhabitant in Bangladesh. YouTube, 11 Jan. 2017, www.youtube.com/watch?v=HI-z-DFCiVQ. Accessed [13 June 2020]