Surfing Bangladesh

ripple
effect
The Bangladesh surf club gets kids off the
streets and onto the waves
I am in the Indian Ocean, paddling around
with naked Bangladeshi children on my surfboard. Groups of kids shout from the beach, “Surfing, surfing!” and ask me for rides. Jafar Alam,
my guide and the 28-year-old founder of the
Bangladesh Surf Club, takes an especially eager
boy from the line, lifts him onto a longboard and
pushes him into a green wave. “Everywhere we go
the kids are crazy for surfing,” Alam says. “Even
though most of them have never seen it before.”
This is a typical day for Alam, out on the water
with his club, made up of boys in their teens and
early 20s who teach the sport to other kids. For
today’s “surfing safari,” they have brought their
boards to a rural area on Cox’s Bazar beach, an
80-mile stretch of unbroken sand along the Bay
of Bengal. We are about 30 minutes south of their
by jaimal yogis
photogr aphs by candace feit
In the port city
of Cox’s Bazar,
Bangladesh Surf
Club founder Jafar
Alam operates
the group’s headquarters in his
mother’s home .
afar.com july/august 2011 a f a r
89
“We have
everything
here: warm
water, the
longest beach
in the world,
waves all year
round.”
hometown, the coastal city of Cox’s Bazar. Soon,
all the club members are in the water riding sixfoot waves. Three Norwegian women who have
signed up for surf lessons from Alam wade out
too, and curious onlookers gather on the beach,
as they usually do whenever the surf club hits
the waves. Within minutes, the Norwegian novices are up on their boards, the kids start showing off, and Alam hoots for his students. This is
the future he has imagined.
i have spent a good portion of my life traveling to different surf destinations, but I have
never seen surfers so excited about the sport, a
pastime that did not exist in Bangladesh until
15 years ago. “Every day the club is more and
more famous,” Alam tells me as we bob in waves
that remind me a lot of California’s Huntington
Beach. “We have everything here: warm water,
the longest beach in the world, waves all year
round. It’s made for surfing.”
Alam first discovered the sport in 1995 when
he met an Australian guy walking down the
beach at Cox’s Bazar with a surfboard. He offered
to buy it. “Two hundred bucks,” the surfer said.
Alam, who had no money, talked him down to
$20, which he then borrowed from his mother,
telling her it was for school fees. And with that,
Bangladesh had its first surfer.
Learning was not easy. After that encounter, Alam didn’t see another surfer for years. He
didn’t even know that he was supposed to stand,
so he rode on his belly. The police insisted he pay
them bribes so that he could ride his curious
“boat.” Alam couldn’t afford to pay, so he had to
sneak out to remote areas of the beach to practice. He kept at it, and the next surfer he met—
six years later—changed everything.
90 a f a r
july/august 2011 afar.com
Tom Bauer, the founder and director of
a Hawaii-based nonprofit called Surfing the
Nations, was on a visit to Bangladesh looking for
waves and potential surfers. The organization
provides surfing gear and lessons—along with
supplies such as medicine and toothbrushes—
to people in developing countries all over the
world. When Bauer saw Alam, he sprinted after
him in disbelief. Bauer thought no one in Bangladesh even knew what surfing was. The two
became fast friends and eventually worked out
a deal. Surfing the Nations would provide equipment for a surf club and host an annual competition for young surfers, and Alam would teach
street kids to surf and maintain a clubhouse for
the group.
Alam had his work cut out for him. Cox’s
Bazar is a popular tourist destination for wealthy
Bangladeshi honeymooners, but for most of its
residents, survival takes priority over beachgoing. Eighty percent of Bangladesh’s population lives on less than $2 a day, and around half
the city’s children are stunted from malnutrition. Many live on the street. Men rarely go in
the water unless they are fishermen, and in this
mostly Muslim country, many parents do not
allow their daughters to swim after the age of 12.
Despite all that, the Bangladesh Surf Club
has about 40 committed members. In the club’s
crowded headquarters—Jafar’s bedroom—
beat-up boards lean against the walls, which
are covered with photos ripped from surfing
magazines. It could be some teenager’s room
in Ventura County, California, but just outside,
dirt roads teem with bicycle rickshaws, men rub
prayer beads, and the scent of fried pakora fills
the air. Like obsessive surfers anywhere, the club
members are up on professional surfer Kelly
Slater’s contest stats and the best new board
shapers, and they can recognize photos from
famous wave spots around the world: Pipeline
in Hawaii, Teahupoo in French Polynesia. Most
of them speak decent English, thanks in large
part to watching surf videos.
Abdul Assiz, the long-haired ladies man
of the crew, who helped Alam start the club,
works at the fish market and is solidly middle
class. Shahadat Hosen, the vice president, plays
soccer for Bangladesh’s national team. But the
majority of the members are poor, living in oneroom houses with their families. Several members are indeed street children, still forced to beg
most days for their food. But even the street kids
look healthier than most of the slum children
I have seen. Other members give them shelter
and food when they can. “The Surf Club is a family,” Shahadat tells me in Jafar’s room.
Just a year ago, more girls than boys belonged
to the club. But as surfing gained popularity and
Alam became a local celebrity (he can hardly
walk down the street without people screaming
“Surfing Bangladesh!”), authorities took notice
and deemed surfing inappropriate for girls and
women. Since then, almost every female surf
In Cox’s Bazar, bicycle
rickshaws and skateboards are the primary
modes of transport for
surfers heading to the
beach. The city, which
is about three square
miles, has several outdoor markets filled
with dried squid, catfish, and eel as well as
mounds of mangoes,
bananas, and rambutan, a spiny red fruit.
On the long seashore,
beach vendors sell
sweet treats and fresh
coconuts.
“If people knew
this is the
perfect place
to learn to
surf, they
would come.”
Left, fishing is one of
the main industries in
Cox’s Bazar. Hundreds
of boats sail from the
port every day. Right,
Nassima hits the waves
as often as she can—
with or without other
club members.
club member either has dropped out or rarely
shows up. “Nassima is the only one left,” says
Alam.
Nassima Atker, an athletic 15-year-old, tries
to ignore the people who call her a whore for
going in the water. When she was just 7, her
destitute parents kicked her out of the house
because she would not prostitute herself to
make money. It was around this time, wandering the beach alone, that she spotted Alam surfing. “I was so sad, and I saw Jafar and felt happy,”
she says. After one try on the board, Nassima
wanted to go every day. And she got good—fast.
Last year, as a 14-year-old, she was allowed to
compete in both the girls’ and boys’ beginner
divisions of the Surfing the Nations contest. She
handily won both.
On a sunny day after the “surfing safari,”
Alam and I paddle out with Nassima and some
of the other surfers in the club. The waves are
small, and most of the boys just fool around and
dance like Bollywood stars on their surfboards.
Nassima, however, is focused, and catches wave
after wave with style. She could be competitive
for her age on the amateur girls surf circuit if she
lived somewhere like Hawaii, Australia, or California. As we wait for the next set of waves, I
ask Nassima why she likes surfing so much. Her
English is limited, but she manages to squeak
out the general idea: “Soooo fun. Only surfing.
Every day surfing.” When I ask her about winning the contest, she spreads her arms wide and
says, “Number one day in my life.”
At the moment, Nassima is staying in Alam’s
home, helping his mother and sister with cooking and cleaning. But the quarters are tight, and
Alam knows he will not be able to keep her there
much longer. In the meantime, he is scheming. Alam thinks if a girls’ surf company such
as Roxy discovered Nassima’s talent and could
help tell her story on film, the exposure could
give Nassima a chance to compete internationally and get an education. He believes she could
be Bangladesh’s first international surf star, and
maybe change the country’s taboos about girls
and sports.
Alam, a moderate Muslim, says Islam and
surfing can coexist. The girls surf fully clothed,
according to custom, so there is no direct conflict with religious values. The problem, he
thinks, is cultural. Most Bangladeshis—Hindus,
Christians, and Muslims alike—do not understand surfing and think girls should be working with their mothers at home. “Some people
think it’s a waste of time,” Alam says, “but they
haven’t seen what I have.” Surfing the Nations
has taken him on surf trips to Hawaii, California,
Sri Lanka, and Bali, where he has seen how surfing can affect culture and the local economy. He
believes if Bangladeshis could see that surfing is
a real sport with an international following, they
would change their tune.
For now, Alam slowly builds the club, renting surfing equipment and offering lessons to
wealthy locals and foreign tourists. With the
money the club takes in, he can teach more kids
to surf. And as the kids get better, they can help
give lessons in exchange for school fees, food,
and shelter.
How far it can go remains to be seen, but
Alam is confident. Near the end of my stay, he
shares his dream with me. Soon, he says, he will
move into a larger building for the club, open
a surf shop, and make and sell surfboards. “If
people knew this is the perfect place to learn to
surf,” says Alam, “that it’s safe, that the people
are friendly, that the food is good, they would
come.” He stops, grins, and corrects himself.
“No. They will come. I know they will.” A
Jaimal Yogis is the author of Salt Water Buddha: A
Surfer’s Quest to Find Zen on the Sea. Photographer
Candace Feit lives in New Delhi.
afar.com july/august 2011 a f a r
93