As I sat across from Shafia, 21-year-old Bangladeshi woman married to a 32-year-old rice farmer and already with a young daughter, I realized that had I been born in Bangladesh, her life could have easily been mine. Bangladesh is one of the poorest, most crowded countries in the world, with 150 million people crammed into a landmass the same size as Michigan. Some call it the “armpit” of South Asia, though Eve Ensler might give it a different anatomical nickname. I was in Bangladesh for three months working at BRAC, a non-governmental development organization. I interviewed Shafia while researching a new variety of rice, which her husband grew but she harvested, husked, and cooked. Shafia was shy, often hiding her beautiful face behind her brightly colored sari. I met many women like Shafia; women emotionally or physically scarred by Bangladesh’s staggering rates of domestic violence. But due to efforts by BRAC and other organizations to empower women, I also met women who taught me what it truly means to be a feminist. While rice often filled my belly, the women of Bangladesh filled my heart with hope.
The organization I worked for, BRAC, provides millions of Bangladeshis with primary education, health education and supplies, and agricultural training.
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