When I pull up to the village in which my mother grew up in
Bangladesh, I feel like I'm on the set of a cowboy movie. Two long streets
cross in the center, each bordered by a well-planned lineup of storefronts.
From this intersection, you might think this is a city, with
concrete walls, paved roads, and running water. But peer beyond the
intersection of storefronts and there is nothing more than a patchwork of small
farm plots, separated by dirt pathways and grass-roofed huts.
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