In the afternoon, I wander round to my
dad's office. I like going to his office because it's in a lovely
old building. But mainly I look forward to walking home with Dad
when he has finished work. He works for the River Transport Company.
He's works for the River Transport Company. He's in charge of
hundreds of boats which bring goods to Narayangonj, large ships take
the goods by sea to other countries, such as Russia, Britain,
Germany, Brazil, Japan and china.
At this time of year Dad has a
lot to do. Most of the boats are bringing jute to Narayangonj, and
the warehouse are full of it.
Jute is a tall plant, grown all
over Bangladesh. It looks golden when it's ripe, and that's why
there are so many poems and songs about 'Sonar Bangladesgh'-'golden
Bangladesh'. There are tough fibres in jute stems, which can up as
rope, string, sacks and carpet backing.
When I get to Dad's office I
have to wait because Dad's having a meeting. I read the newspaper,
and wish he'd hurry up. He can't put off the meeting because
tomorrow is Friday, the Muslim holy day, and the office will be