In 2004 I joined BRAC Research and Evaluation Division as a Research Associate. A fresh graduate from the US, brimming with theories of Economics, I thought I knew it all. Little did I know that my real education was just about to start—when I was asked to spend a week at Domar, Nilphamari, on the very first week on the job to learn about the Ultra Poor Graduation Program (then called Targeting Ultra Poor, TUP for short).
Without any prior experience of travelling within Bangladesh alone on public transportation, I started on this epic journey with a backpack and a contact number I was supposed to call once I reached Domar. Back then research associates were not entitled to cars. So I had to travel by bus. The only instruction I got was to make sure I got on the express route. Dhaka to Rangpur was a smooth ride, and I already felt proud of myself for making it that far all alone. At the Rangpur bus station, I was bombarded with several bus helpers coaxing me to get on their bus for Nilphamari. I remember asking one of them if it was an express bus, and I think he had said yes. Once on the road, I quickly realized that this was definitely not the case, as it stopped every five minutes to board passengers. My dismay at the prospect of spending hours on the bus faded quickly as I observed the busy passengers on the bus, getting off at local markets and getting on from schools. Some had their produce with them. Some were going home for holiday in their best attires. Already I felt a tinge of excitement at being exposed to a new world within my own country. And true to my first instinct, my tenure as a researcher at BRAC was the most eye-opening experience of my life, shaping my career and my life from then on.
It was well past midnight when I finally reached Domar—a quiet and dark village town. When I called the number I was given, a young friendly anthropologist stationed at the research office received me. The research station was one of the few brick buildings at Domar. It was a tiny apartment with three small bedrooms, a mouldy bathroom, and a kitchen. It also had a small common space where the researchers convened for meals and conversations. We hardly ever had electricity. When I asked how many times a day they faced a power cut, our field colleagues laughed and replied, the question should be ‘’how many hours a day do you actually get electricity ’’.
This dark, stingy, and mouldy apartment, although scary at first, became my second home for the next few years. And the small group of young researchers working on this program became my teachers, comrades and friends for life.