Okay, so...this is going to sound ridiculous, mostly because it is. Ready? After four days of freaking out about money, praying about how I'm supposed to use my funds, asking God when I'm going to make some friends (other than Amy, whom I love), and getting really confused about my living situation (by myself, booooo) in general...something ridiculously wonderful just happened.
The moment after I walked out of the internet place after writing that last post, my friend Rene and I literally ran into each other. Like, *boom* oh hey Rene! He's from Canada, speaks a gazillion languages, and is just a nice person in general. I met him the first day I was here. He's staying until either the end of March or August - he hasn't decided yet. Anyway, we went *boom* and he asked if I was staying at Hotel Maria, because I was using their internet place. I said no, he asked where I was staying and what the rent was, and then invited me to stay at his hostel, 'cause it's cheaper and better. He said there were two open rooms, shared bathrooms and a shared kitchen. And the rent is 5000 rupees a month, as opposed to my now 250 a day. That's a lot better. So we walked together to his hostel, which is approximately 30 seconds away from mine, and they said they'd have a free room tomorrow. And I walked upstairs and looked at the rooms. And they're a TON nicer than mine. And they have HOT WATER.
The reason why this place is so inexpensive is because it houses strictly people volunteering for NGOs, and you pay rent monthly. So they guarantee good-hearted, long-term tenets.
HOORAY I THINK I'M MOVING IN TOMORROW.
This means that all the wondering (and, I'll admit it, worrying) I've been doing about having money and people...*poof*. I suddenly have a bunch of other Missionaries of Charity 20-somethings all in one place, in a sweet little well kept hostel. Oooooh I'm so excited.
And my camera works! Pictures soon.
Love and excitement about God providing,
Stephanie!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
quick update
1. There's something I forgot to mention about Apne Aap. So...when I asked at the Topsia location what other programs they had, they said computer training, dance therapy, drama therapy, soup kitchen, sewing lab, group therapy, English classes, creative writing classes, elementary school. Which is awesome, because I can pretty much help with any and all of that. Not super-well, but none of it will leave me totally lost. And they said they'd been waiting for someone who could help with theatre. Ummmmmmmmperfect.
2. Matt left today. And I subsequently started searching for a cheaper room, because $5 a day is really expensive for me.
3. But then I sat on my bed for a looong time and figured out a weekly and daily budget, and realized that maybe I can keep my room.
Weekly - 3505 rps. - 1750-room, 460-taxi (3 days a week to Apne Aap), 168-water, 105-internet, 1022-food etc.. that means...
Daily - 500 rps. - 250-room, 65(average)-taxi, 24-water, 15-internet, 146-food, etc..
These are all averages. For example, I really don't need to use the internet every day. I shouldn't. So that number is an average of the cost of a whole week's worth of internet and phone use. And the taxi is three days a week, which leads into the next update...
4. After much praying, discussion, and deliberation, I've decided to start out at Apne Aap only three days a week. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and every other Saturday. This is for a few reasons: taxis are expensive, my energy is limited, and they didn't say they needed English teachers. So I'll start there sitting in on group therapy and theatre rehearsals, and leading my own classes once a week. Dad, be proud of me. I'm telling someone that I don't have time to do something. :-)
5. I figured out how to charge my camera. And I didn't go to Daya Dan today, 'cause Matt left a half-hour ago. Which means I have the day to myself, and I'm not sick. Which means I'm going to run around the city and take pictures!! :-)
Okee, short post over. And this, plus checking email and Facebook, only took twenty minutes. I'm getting not-bad at this budgeting money thing.
Hooray!
Okay. Time to take pictures. :-)
Love and speedy McSpeedsters,
Stephanie
2. Matt left today. And I subsequently started searching for a cheaper room, because $5 a day is really expensive for me.
3. But then I sat on my bed for a looong time and figured out a weekly and daily budget, and realized that maybe I can keep my room.
Weekly - 3505 rps. - 1750-room, 460-taxi (3 days a week to Apne Aap), 168-water, 105-internet, 1022-food etc.. that means...
Daily - 500 rps. - 250-room, 65(average)-taxi, 24-water, 15-internet, 146-food, etc..
These are all averages. For example, I really don't need to use the internet every day. I shouldn't. So that number is an average of the cost of a whole week's worth of internet and phone use. And the taxi is three days a week, which leads into the next update...
4. After much praying, discussion, and deliberation, I've decided to start out at Apne Aap only three days a week. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and every other Saturday. This is for a few reasons: taxis are expensive, my energy is limited, and they didn't say they needed English teachers. So I'll start there sitting in on group therapy and theatre rehearsals, and leading my own classes once a week. Dad, be proud of me. I'm telling someone that I don't have time to do something. :-)
5. I figured out how to charge my camera. And I didn't go to Daya Dan today, 'cause Matt left a half-hour ago. Which means I have the day to myself, and I'm not sick. Which means I'm going to run around the city and take pictures!! :-)
Okee, short post over. And this, plus checking email and Facebook, only took twenty minutes. I'm getting not-bad at this budgeting money thing.
Hooray!
Okay. Time to take pictures. :-)
Love and speedy McSpeedsters,
Stephanie
Monday, December 29, 2008
Meera naam Ani.
I have never been more in love in my life.
Everything here is beautiful. Everything here is fascinating. Everything here is difficult, and requires thought, and pure human interaction.
Today, I went to Apne Aap.
Today, I went to Apne Aap.
Today, I. Went. To. Apne Aap.
This past summer, God decided to be AWESOME and put Michelle Sobon as my co-counselor at Timber-lee. Michelle let me know that there are currently waaay too many people in the world being sold into slavery. 12-year-old girls being sold as sex slaves to 45-year-old foreigners, mothers whoring themselves out daily, behind curtains, while their children wash the dishes. It's a mess. It's awful. It's what happens when a society is so deeply impoverished that the only thing there is to sell is a body, and time. Anyway, through her books, orange shirts, posters, and passionate soliloquies, Michelle informed me of all of this. And subsequently, I ended up researchingresearchingresearching, because that's how I function. And thus, for my Human Rights final this past semester, I wrote a zillion-page paper on Apne Aap, a local NGO that swipes women from the streets, and teaches them to be independent.
And now I'm working for them. Well, volunteering. Whatever. Here, I don't feel the difference.
This morning, I took a private car to Kidderpur, where I met a woman whose name I still don't know. She said Mahua had told her I'd be arriving, and sent me with Zareen to the Topsia location. Zareen might be the most beautiful woman I've ever met. She was wearing a bright magenta salwaar, and had henna on her hands and arms. At Topsia, I was toured around the center, shown classrooms, sewing labs, etc. I bought a bag that was too expensive, because it was made by the women at the center, and the money goes entirely to them. I sat in the office for a few hours, getting to know the women, and learning Hindi. Toom hara naam kyah heh? Meera naam Ani. Me drama si kaani ayi hoo. I am here for drama.
They know I'm not a drama therapist. They know I'm a student at a university, and that my major is English Education. Nonetheless, they want me to teach drama to women ages 14-20. Once a week. Omigosh. Oh, P.S., this needs to be in Hindi, so they're getting me a translator. I met some of the girls today. I saw Asha, Rose, Abby in them. I can't believe this. I'm not prepared to teach drama. Yes, I am. Am I? It doesn't matter. God knows theatre. God knows me. God knows these girls and women. Everything will be wonderful.
Here's my Apne Aap schedule, partially for my own reminder, and mostly for prayer - thank you. :-)
Monday - 12:00 - 2:00pm, teach English and creative writing @ Topsia
Tuesday - 12:00 - 2:00pm, teach English and creative writing @ Topsia
Wednesday - 2:30 - 4:30pm, teach drama class, ages 14-20 @ Kidderpur
Thursday - 2:00 - 4:30pm, observe girls' therapy group @ Kidderpur
Friday - 3:00 - 5:00pm, observe drama class, ages 20-40 @ Topsia
(every other) Saturday - 2:00 - 3:30pm, observe girls' therapy group @ Topsia
I start Thursday.
Oh, and I'm still doing mornings, 8:30 - 12:00ish, at Daya Dan.
At Daya Dan, I'm going to be playing guitar for meditation, teaching Mongol piano, and I'll be assigned to one specific kid. I haven't received my assignment yet.
Quick summary: every day, until April 7th, I will be in India teaching English, creative writing, drama, piano, and basic math etc., playing guitar, playing with developmentally disabled kids, and sitting in on group therapy for adolescent girls who are recovering from sex trafficking.
I have no clue what I did to deserve this.
I cannot think of anything I would rather do.
Actually, Apne Aap doesn't know I can play guitar.
This could only be better if they wanted me to teach the girls guitar.
Otherwise, this is absolutely, ridiculously perfect.
I'm going to be very tired. But my days end early. So maybe I'll learn to get to bed before midnight. Like, maybe at 11:00pm. Or 10:00pm.
This is amazing.
This requires a lot of money for taxis. 60 rupees to Topsia, 80 to Kidderpur. Twice a day. This means 120 three times a week, 160 twice a week - 360 plus 320...680 rupees per week on taxis. That's...doable. I can do that. Yes. That's possible.
Okay, time to go to dinner. Tonight is Matt's last night here. Weird. Then it'll be me, and God, and whoever God wants to put in my life.
Thank you for your prayers, comments, thoughts, time, funding, and everything else you've given me to support me while I'm here. I am very, very, very thankful. Donnobad. :-)
Love and kyehsi hoe?,
Stephanie
Everything here is beautiful. Everything here is fascinating. Everything here is difficult, and requires thought, and pure human interaction.
Today, I went to Apne Aap.
Today, I went to Apne Aap.
Today, I. Went. To. Apne Aap.
This past summer, God decided to be AWESOME and put Michelle Sobon as my co-counselor at Timber-lee. Michelle let me know that there are currently waaay too many people in the world being sold into slavery. 12-year-old girls being sold as sex slaves to 45-year-old foreigners, mothers whoring themselves out daily, behind curtains, while their children wash the dishes. It's a mess. It's awful. It's what happens when a society is so deeply impoverished that the only thing there is to sell is a body, and time. Anyway, through her books, orange shirts, posters, and passionate soliloquies, Michelle informed me of all of this. And subsequently, I ended up researchingresearchingresearching, because that's how I function. And thus, for my Human Rights final this past semester, I wrote a zillion-page paper on Apne Aap, a local NGO that swipes women from the streets, and teaches them to be independent.
And now I'm working for them. Well, volunteering. Whatever. Here, I don't feel the difference.
This morning, I took a private car to Kidderpur, where I met a woman whose name I still don't know. She said Mahua had told her I'd be arriving, and sent me with Zareen to the Topsia location. Zareen might be the most beautiful woman I've ever met. She was wearing a bright magenta salwaar, and had henna on her hands and arms. At Topsia, I was toured around the center, shown classrooms, sewing labs, etc. I bought a bag that was too expensive, because it was made by the women at the center, and the money goes entirely to them. I sat in the office for a few hours, getting to know the women, and learning Hindi. Toom hara naam kyah heh? Meera naam Ani. Me drama si kaani ayi hoo. I am here for drama.
They know I'm not a drama therapist. They know I'm a student at a university, and that my major is English Education. Nonetheless, they want me to teach drama to women ages 14-20. Once a week. Omigosh. Oh, P.S., this needs to be in Hindi, so they're getting me a translator. I met some of the girls today. I saw Asha, Rose, Abby in them. I can't believe this. I'm not prepared to teach drama. Yes, I am. Am I? It doesn't matter. God knows theatre. God knows me. God knows these girls and women. Everything will be wonderful.
Here's my Apne Aap schedule, partially for my own reminder, and mostly for prayer - thank you. :-)
Monday - 12:00 - 2:00pm, teach English and creative writing @ Topsia
Tuesday - 12:00 - 2:00pm, teach English and creative writing @ Topsia
Wednesday - 2:30 - 4:30pm, teach drama class, ages 14-20 @ Kidderpur
Thursday - 2:00 - 4:30pm, observe girls' therapy group @ Kidderpur
Friday - 3:00 - 5:00pm, observe drama class, ages 20-40 @ Topsia
(every other) Saturday - 2:00 - 3:30pm, observe girls' therapy group @ Topsia
I start Thursday.
Oh, and I'm still doing mornings, 8:30 - 12:00ish, at Daya Dan.
At Daya Dan, I'm going to be playing guitar for meditation, teaching Mongol piano, and I'll be assigned to one specific kid. I haven't received my assignment yet.
Quick summary: every day, until April 7th, I will be in India teaching English, creative writing, drama, piano, and basic math etc., playing guitar, playing with developmentally disabled kids, and sitting in on group therapy for adolescent girls who are recovering from sex trafficking.
I have no clue what I did to deserve this.
I cannot think of anything I would rather do.
Actually, Apne Aap doesn't know I can play guitar.
This could only be better if they wanted me to teach the girls guitar.
Otherwise, this is absolutely, ridiculously perfect.
I'm going to be very tired. But my days end early. So maybe I'll learn to get to bed before midnight. Like, maybe at 11:00pm. Or 10:00pm.
This is amazing.
This requires a lot of money for taxis. 60 rupees to Topsia, 80 to Kidderpur. Twice a day. This means 120 three times a week, 160 twice a week - 360 plus 320...680 rupees per week on taxis. That's...doable. I can do that. Yes. That's possible.
Okay, time to go to dinner. Tonight is Matt's last night here. Weird. Then it'll be me, and God, and whoever God wants to put in my life.
Thank you for your prayers, comments, thoughts, time, funding, and everything else you've given me to support me while I'm here. I am very, very, very thankful. Donnobad. :-)
Love and kyehsi hoe?,
Stephanie
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Found.
Two blog posts in two days...ridiculousness. I was supposed to go to Daya Dan this morning, but I slept in. Whoops. It's okay. Going tomorrow. :-)
There's been something I have been trying to articulate since I've been here. And I haven't figured it out until today.
A few days ago, I was talking with a guy from Texas. He asked where I was from, I said Chicago, he asked how long I would be here, I said four months. He said I was practically living here. I said I started living here when I got here.
Today, Matt and I were sitting at a little corner restaurant, discussing that conversation. Matt says that being here does not equal living here. I don't understand the difference. I don't think there is one.
At that cramped little table, I suddenly realized something. This will probably sound arrogant, so let me preface it with a complete discrediting of myself. This isn't something I feel I've accomplished. It's something I feel has been given to me. Here it is (more so, here I am): I'm at a point in my life right now where I feel completely at home with God. And that's it. I love my family, but that's not why I feel at home in Buffalo Grove. I love my friends, but that's not why I feel at home in Bloomington. In Kolkata, I feel home. I felt home in the Delhi airport. I feel home at Daya Dan. I feel home lost in the streets. For awhile now, maybe since Timber-lee, I feel like I've lost my ability to feel displaced. I think this is part of what it means to be at home with the Lord. That phrase is probably supposed to be about heaven, post-death, but I think part of having a relationship with God is experiencing a little heaven on earth. And heaven is home, and heaven is complete closeness with God, and therefore home is complete closeness with God. Which is a little bit of what I'm feeling right now. Not completely, but a little. Like mist before a downpour. Thus, it doesn't matter where I am anymore - as long as God is with me, I am home.
That sounded convoluted, I think. But it's the best way I can explain it without spending hours on the internet rather than out there experiencing a more tangible India.
There are a few more thoughts I want to get on "paper" before I walk around the city. Maybe I'll make my way to Apne Aap today. Might as well.
Okay. Focus, panda.
I realized this morning that I haven't written up any descriptions of India. That's almost tragic. The environment here is so different from anywhere I've ever been (except maybe Ensenada - that's definitely the closest), and I haven't even started to describe it for anyone reading this. So I'll try. In list form.
1. The loudspeaker announcements. Every day, often, there are announcements made over city-wide loudspeakers all over the streets. There are two kinds of announcements: the Muslim call to prayer (4:30 in the morning, and other times during the day) and Communist propaganda. West Bengal is a Communist state (which you can't tell by the way people live - it's a great example of completely failed Communism), so there are people driving around in trucks, fists raised, cheering often. But the announcements. Maybe once an hour? The call to prayer starts with a droning, kind of like the "the aliens are coming" call from War of the Worlds. And then it continues with a chanting, in Bangla or Hindi - I can't yet tell the difference. This happens multiple times a day. The Communist propaganda is more like a man yelling over loudspeaker, again, in either Bangla or Hindi. These often happen late at night, but still, multiple times a day.
2. The catfights. Literally, cats. Fighting. Outside my window. Every night. I've never heard cats fight before. At first, I thought people were beating them, like in Monty Python. But I was mistaken - every night, cats literally battle each other, screeching to the death. It's disturbing.
3. Stray dogs and cats - all over the place. Sometimes kittens, sometimes puppies. Often very old and gaunt, occasionally pick-'em-up-and-cuddle-'em-but-don't-'cause-you'll-get-ringworm cute. So cute. They don't bother anyone, kinda like pigeons in Chicago, but cuter. But they all look sad and lonely. :-(
4. The beggars. There are people begging all over the streets, everywhere. They nab you when you're stopped in traffic in taxis. They grab at your hands, the children grab at your feet while you walk. There are doe-eyed babies, wearing shirts and no pants, carried by different crying, whining women every day. See, most aren't actual beggars. I mean, they are, but they don't need the money. Begging on Sudder street is closer to mafia work than it is real begging. They do it professionally. They rent cute babies from local villages, and pay for their spots on the street. The women latch onto new tourists, hold eye contact, and say "my baby, my baby, please, please" until they get money. The money goes to the leader of the begging group. Then it goes to whoever owns the space in which the people beg. I recently had to roll up a window, almost to a woman's hands. She wouldn't leave - she had been hysterically asking for my granola bar for five minutes, following me down the street to my taxi. I've never felt so conflicted. Of course, I want to give these people money. If they need it, and I have it, I feel I should give it. But I learned this semester that sometimes what people think they need isn't what they really need, and sometimes seeming "help" actually makes things much worse. If these actors / beggars continue being able to support themselves on new, white tourists (the real beggars beg from Indians too), then they'll have no need to learn a trade and support themselves. So I continue to say "ney, ney, cholo, cholo" (no, no, go away, go away) and usually avoid eye contact. I feel like I'm refusing to acknowledge their humanity, but then again, we, the "beggar" and I, both know that it's a game. Convince, get money, pay leader, start again. Return baby at the end of the day. Sleep in the bed they inevitably have. There are different beggars out at night. Beggars wearing real rags, coked out and smelling like human waste. Those are the beggars for whom I can buy a cup of chai.
5. Speaking of games...bartering. Oh man. I love bartering. It's so much fun. Certain things here are set prices - food in restaurants, chips and bottled water at corner stands. Everything else is up for grabs. You're supposed to act mildly interested in what they're selling; that way, the price lowers drastically. Speak Bangla, that lowers it too. Never ask for the price until you're nearly sure you want to buy it. Sit around for awhile, walk away, come back, form a relationship with the vendor. Look through a few different things you might buy, but probably won't, because you're ostensibly "just looking." After you've chosen one that you might, possibly, maybe, if the vendor's lucky, buy, you ask "koto dam" - how much? He says, for example, (this is in Bangla, but I'll write it all in English) 180 rupees. You act shocked, completely taken aback, how dare he? That's an absurd price. You shake your head, furrow your brow, start to walk away. He calls you back, you return unenthusiastically. He lowers the price 10 rupees, 170, 170, just for you, 170. You say 80. Slash it in half, more if you're gutsy and speaking completely in Bangla. He will act offended, but he's really not. Part of the game. He'll tell you about how well crafted the object is (let's say it's a purse), and show you the intricate, hand-done stitching on the side. It's probably machine done, but that doesn't matter, because this entire exchange is full of lies anyway. You say, fine, fine, I see - 95 rupees. This keeps going, back and forth, until you settle on maybe 115, 120. Or at least, that's as far as I usually get. Many people can barter vendors a lot lower, especially if they've been in Kolkata a long time. I'm new here, so I can only barter a little.
6. The mess. Everything here is dirty. The air is dangerously polluted. Obviously, the water is full of bacteria. You can't use straws in restaurants; they're reused and probably never washed, or if they are, it's in water with no soap. The gutters are completely blocked by a mixture of human waste and garbage. People throw their food wrappers and such to the sides of the streets, in which men will later, unhindered, pee. There's seemingly no shame here about male urination. Public urinals are common. There's one right outside my hostel; I walk by it every day. It's not awkward anymore. Women, however, are completely covered. This should be a new topic...
7. Modesty. Women wear salwaar kameez and saris. Interestingly, sari tops are teeny, like sports bras, so when women wear saris their skin shows from below the bra line to their waist, on the side. So one of the few parts Americans don't show, Indians perceive as normal. Oh, and fat is attractive, 'cause it means you're well fed and thus rich. Everything is worn with a pashmina, which is a soft, wide scarf made of thin material. They're worn draped over the chest and neck. Some international women wear jeans and shirts short enough that their butts (covered by pants) show. Then men grab at them in the street, on the metro, on the bus. I've been here long enough that the public will not see my clothing-covered butt until I'm back in the U.S.. It's just awkward. I don't enjoy being stared at and groped. It's salwaar for me.
Okay, that's enough.
And now for a brief, incomplete list of things I don't have here, that I had in the U.S., that I will either appreciate or avoid out of habit when I come back.
1. Hot water. Cold showers are the norm.
2. Toilet seats. Hurray squat pots!
3. Salad. It's washed in bacteria-infested water.
4. Tap water. Hand sanitizer all the way, and bottled water for everything - excluding showering, including teeth brushing.
5. Pie. ...yeah, that's weird, but I'm craving pie.
6. Quiet. There's no quiet.
7. Washing machines. I wash my clothes by hand, in the bathroom, in a bucket, with cold water. And hang 'em on a line in my room. They dry in a day. I'm getting into a habit of washing clothes every night, so there are no dirty clothes in my room, and so there are less clothes hanging on the line at a time. ...'cause I broke the line off the wall last night, and I learned my lesson.
8. The ability to shower in the morning. It's too cold. I shower in the mid-afternoon, when it's the warmest.
9. Indoor heat and air conditioning. The temperature is controlled by the fan and whether the windows are open.
10. ...food. There's no food in my room. I buy all my food right before I eat it. No refrigerator, no pantry. I guess I could store dry food in my room, but I don't want to. Bugs would get it.
11. Clean air.
12. Driving rules...ha.
Wow...if you've read all this, I'm impressed.
Okay, now I'm done.
I don't remember the last time I wrote this much.
Oh, wait. College. Right. That.
Time to sign offline.
Love and traffic jams,
Stephanie
There's been something I have been trying to articulate since I've been here. And I haven't figured it out until today.
A few days ago, I was talking with a guy from Texas. He asked where I was from, I said Chicago, he asked how long I would be here, I said four months. He said I was practically living here. I said I started living here when I got here.
Today, Matt and I were sitting at a little corner restaurant, discussing that conversation. Matt says that being here does not equal living here. I don't understand the difference. I don't think there is one.
At that cramped little table, I suddenly realized something. This will probably sound arrogant, so let me preface it with a complete discrediting of myself. This isn't something I feel I've accomplished. It's something I feel has been given to me. Here it is (more so, here I am): I'm at a point in my life right now where I feel completely at home with God. And that's it. I love my family, but that's not why I feel at home in Buffalo Grove. I love my friends, but that's not why I feel at home in Bloomington. In Kolkata, I feel home. I felt home in the Delhi airport. I feel home at Daya Dan. I feel home lost in the streets. For awhile now, maybe since Timber-lee, I feel like I've lost my ability to feel displaced. I think this is part of what it means to be at home with the Lord. That phrase is probably supposed to be about heaven, post-death, but I think part of having a relationship with God is experiencing a little heaven on earth. And heaven is home, and heaven is complete closeness with God, and therefore home is complete closeness with God. Which is a little bit of what I'm feeling right now. Not completely, but a little. Like mist before a downpour. Thus, it doesn't matter where I am anymore - as long as God is with me, I am home.
That sounded convoluted, I think. But it's the best way I can explain it without spending hours on the internet rather than out there experiencing a more tangible India.
There are a few more thoughts I want to get on "paper" before I walk around the city. Maybe I'll make my way to Apne Aap today. Might as well.
Okay. Focus, panda.
I realized this morning that I haven't written up any descriptions of India. That's almost tragic. The environment here is so different from anywhere I've ever been (except maybe Ensenada - that's definitely the closest), and I haven't even started to describe it for anyone reading this. So I'll try. In list form.
1. The loudspeaker announcements. Every day, often, there are announcements made over city-wide loudspeakers all over the streets. There are two kinds of announcements: the Muslim call to prayer (4:30 in the morning, and other times during the day) and Communist propaganda. West Bengal is a Communist state (which you can't tell by the way people live - it's a great example of completely failed Communism), so there are people driving around in trucks, fists raised, cheering often. But the announcements. Maybe once an hour? The call to prayer starts with a droning, kind of like the "the aliens are coming" call from War of the Worlds. And then it continues with a chanting, in Bangla or Hindi - I can't yet tell the difference. This happens multiple times a day. The Communist propaganda is more like a man yelling over loudspeaker, again, in either Bangla or Hindi. These often happen late at night, but still, multiple times a day.
2. The catfights. Literally, cats. Fighting. Outside my window. Every night. I've never heard cats fight before. At first, I thought people were beating them, like in Monty Python. But I was mistaken - every night, cats literally battle each other, screeching to the death. It's disturbing.
3. Stray dogs and cats - all over the place. Sometimes kittens, sometimes puppies. Often very old and gaunt, occasionally pick-'em-up-and-cuddle-'em-but-don't-'cause-you'll-get-ringworm cute. So cute. They don't bother anyone, kinda like pigeons in Chicago, but cuter. But they all look sad and lonely. :-(
4. The beggars. There are people begging all over the streets, everywhere. They nab you when you're stopped in traffic in taxis. They grab at your hands, the children grab at your feet while you walk. There are doe-eyed babies, wearing shirts and no pants, carried by different crying, whining women every day. See, most aren't actual beggars. I mean, they are, but they don't need the money. Begging on Sudder street is closer to mafia work than it is real begging. They do it professionally. They rent cute babies from local villages, and pay for their spots on the street. The women latch onto new tourists, hold eye contact, and say "my baby, my baby, please, please" until they get money. The money goes to the leader of the begging group. Then it goes to whoever owns the space in which the people beg. I recently had to roll up a window, almost to a woman's hands. She wouldn't leave - she had been hysterically asking for my granola bar for five minutes, following me down the street to my taxi. I've never felt so conflicted. Of course, I want to give these people money. If they need it, and I have it, I feel I should give it. But I learned this semester that sometimes what people think they need isn't what they really need, and sometimes seeming "help" actually makes things much worse. If these actors / beggars continue being able to support themselves on new, white tourists (the real beggars beg from Indians too), then they'll have no need to learn a trade and support themselves. So I continue to say "ney, ney, cholo, cholo" (no, no, go away, go away) and usually avoid eye contact. I feel like I'm refusing to acknowledge their humanity, but then again, we, the "beggar" and I, both know that it's a game. Convince, get money, pay leader, start again. Return baby at the end of the day. Sleep in the bed they inevitably have. There are different beggars out at night. Beggars wearing real rags, coked out and smelling like human waste. Those are the beggars for whom I can buy a cup of chai.
5. Speaking of games...bartering. Oh man. I love bartering. It's so much fun. Certain things here are set prices - food in restaurants, chips and bottled water at corner stands. Everything else is up for grabs. You're supposed to act mildly interested in what they're selling; that way, the price lowers drastically. Speak Bangla, that lowers it too. Never ask for the price until you're nearly sure you want to buy it. Sit around for awhile, walk away, come back, form a relationship with the vendor. Look through a few different things you might buy, but probably won't, because you're ostensibly "just looking." After you've chosen one that you might, possibly, maybe, if the vendor's lucky, buy, you ask "koto dam" - how much? He says, for example, (this is in Bangla, but I'll write it all in English) 180 rupees. You act shocked, completely taken aback, how dare he? That's an absurd price. You shake your head, furrow your brow, start to walk away. He calls you back, you return unenthusiastically. He lowers the price 10 rupees, 170, 170, just for you, 170. You say 80. Slash it in half, more if you're gutsy and speaking completely in Bangla. He will act offended, but he's really not. Part of the game. He'll tell you about how well crafted the object is (let's say it's a purse), and show you the intricate, hand-done stitching on the side. It's probably machine done, but that doesn't matter, because this entire exchange is full of lies anyway. You say, fine, fine, I see - 95 rupees. This keeps going, back and forth, until you settle on maybe 115, 120. Or at least, that's as far as I usually get. Many people can barter vendors a lot lower, especially if they've been in Kolkata a long time. I'm new here, so I can only barter a little.
6. The mess. Everything here is dirty. The air is dangerously polluted. Obviously, the water is full of bacteria. You can't use straws in restaurants; they're reused and probably never washed, or if they are, it's in water with no soap. The gutters are completely blocked by a mixture of human waste and garbage. People throw their food wrappers and such to the sides of the streets, in which men will later, unhindered, pee. There's seemingly no shame here about male urination. Public urinals are common. There's one right outside my hostel; I walk by it every day. It's not awkward anymore. Women, however, are completely covered. This should be a new topic...
7. Modesty. Women wear salwaar kameez and saris. Interestingly, sari tops are teeny, like sports bras, so when women wear saris their skin shows from below the bra line to their waist, on the side. So one of the few parts Americans don't show, Indians perceive as normal. Oh, and fat is attractive, 'cause it means you're well fed and thus rich. Everything is worn with a pashmina, which is a soft, wide scarf made of thin material. They're worn draped over the chest and neck. Some international women wear jeans and shirts short enough that their butts (covered by pants) show. Then men grab at them in the street, on the metro, on the bus. I've been here long enough that the public will not see my clothing-covered butt until I'm back in the U.S.. It's just awkward. I don't enjoy being stared at and groped. It's salwaar for me.
Okay, that's enough.
And now for a brief, incomplete list of things I don't have here, that I had in the U.S., that I will either appreciate or avoid out of habit when I come back.
1. Hot water. Cold showers are the norm.
2. Toilet seats. Hurray squat pots!
3. Salad. It's washed in bacteria-infested water.
4. Tap water. Hand sanitizer all the way, and bottled water for everything - excluding showering, including teeth brushing.
5. Pie. ...yeah, that's weird, but I'm craving pie.
6. Quiet. There's no quiet.
7. Washing machines. I wash my clothes by hand, in the bathroom, in a bucket, with cold water. And hang 'em on a line in my room. They dry in a day. I'm getting into a habit of washing clothes every night, so there are no dirty clothes in my room, and so there are less clothes hanging on the line at a time. ...'cause I broke the line off the wall last night, and I learned my lesson.
8. The ability to shower in the morning. It's too cold. I shower in the mid-afternoon, when it's the warmest.
9. Indoor heat and air conditioning. The temperature is controlled by the fan and whether the windows are open.
10. ...food. There's no food in my room. I buy all my food right before I eat it. No refrigerator, no pantry. I guess I could store dry food in my room, but I don't want to. Bugs would get it.
11. Clean air.
12. Driving rules...ha.
Wow...if you've read all this, I'm impressed.
Okay, now I'm done.
I don't remember the last time I wrote this much.
Oh, wait. College. Right. That.
Time to sign offline.
Love and traffic jams,
Stephanie
Monday, December 22, 2008
Oh gosh.
So much has happened since the last time I posted. I don't know what to write. Maybe I'll make a list. But it certainly won't cover everything.
1. Ankur almost got hit by an auto-rickshaw, right in front of me. It was the most frightening moment of my entire life, but...Praise God...he's completely fine. Ankur's six, ridiculously ADHD, epileptic, and enjoys banging his head against the wall. We were walking off the bus after a show, and I was supposed to hold his hand - but it was covered in spit 'cause he's a mess. So he bolted straight into the street. Keep in mind that it was around nine at night. There's a guy holding up traffic for the kids, so it should have been okay. But an auto-rickshaw (kinda like a golf-cart) sped and swerved around the man in the street, tires squealed, Ankur screamed and hit the ground, I screamed and froze (mad at myself for this; I should have jumped in front of him), everyone screamed - and the auto-rickshaw stopped about an inch away from him. It didn't make any sense. It was going so quickly - it should have hit him. At the least, should have run over his feet. Realistically, he should have been a tangled mess under it. But he was FINE. I scooped him up, and walked (note: ran) to the sidewalk. Sat down, held him there, pedestrians started simultaneously attacking the rickshaw driver and encircling us. I made him stand up. He was screeching, but not from pain - just shock. He wasn't even scraped. Nothing. Picked him up, ran inside Daya Dan. The sisters grabbed him, stripped him, looked him up and down. Everything was perfect. I was more injured than he was. It was so strange. Such a blessing - it didn't make physiological sense for him to not have been hit by that rickshaw, and even though he fell in the street, there were no marks on him at all. Praise God.
The sisters found me, and told me that it wasn't my fault - I guess I probably didn't look like I was breathing. And I was mentally punching myself in the face. They told me that they had seen it happen, and that God had protected us, and not to blame myself. Ankur was fine. He's still fine. His usual hyperactive, head-banging self.
Yesterday, he nearly fell off of a balcony. I've decided that he attracts danger like a fat, naked, deet-less five-year old girl in the middle of the Wisconsin woods attracts West Nile. I'm amazed that he's still alive, and that we don't force him into a human hamster ball whenever he leaves Daya Dan.
2. Really poignant moment this morning. I got out of the metro station, and ended up face to face with an Indian girl around my age. Both of us traveling alone - my friend Cecil was walking ahead of me. The girl was wearing dark, fitted jeans, a tight black Guess 3/4-length sleeve shirt, eye-liner, and mascara, and wore her hair long, down, and straightened. I was wearing a bright blue salwaar kameez, flip-flips, no make-up, and my hair was back in a bun. ...culture switch.
3. I want to adopt Rama. He's six and perfect. ...not that I'm playing favourites... Pictures soon.
4. Amy, Joseph (another volunteer), Kalim (our market guy) and I are going to take the train to Bihar to visit Kalim's village. I'm so excited. We have to bring our own water. Hehe. :-)
5. Saw monkeys in the street.
6. Joy fell asleep during a performance. He was supposed to be drumming. It's okay - he usually gets up and runs around the stage after two songs. This time, he was sleeping on my shoulder. And he didn't lick his hands after we touched, because he was sleeping. Hurray!
7. I started teaching Mongol piano today. He's 15 (tells people he's 13, even when confronted about it), and has some type of degenerative disease. He's very, very small, sits in a wheelchair, and his limbs are thin and contorted. He can only use two fingers on each hand. And we spent an hour and a half working on piano today. He loves it. :-) ...and we're not going to tell the sisters that I don't really know how to play. Shhhhhhhhhh.
Okay. Naptime now.
Love and i-miss-you,
Stephanie
1. Ankur almost got hit by an auto-rickshaw, right in front of me. It was the most frightening moment of my entire life, but...Praise God...he's completely fine. Ankur's six, ridiculously ADHD, epileptic, and enjoys banging his head against the wall. We were walking off the bus after a show, and I was supposed to hold his hand - but it was covered in spit 'cause he's a mess. So he bolted straight into the street. Keep in mind that it was around nine at night. There's a guy holding up traffic for the kids, so it should have been okay. But an auto-rickshaw (kinda like a golf-cart) sped and swerved around the man in the street, tires squealed, Ankur screamed and hit the ground, I screamed and froze (mad at myself for this; I should have jumped in front of him), everyone screamed - and the auto-rickshaw stopped about an inch away from him. It didn't make any sense. It was going so quickly - it should have hit him. At the least, should have run over his feet. Realistically, he should have been a tangled mess under it. But he was FINE. I scooped him up, and walked (note: ran) to the sidewalk. Sat down, held him there, pedestrians started simultaneously attacking the rickshaw driver and encircling us. I made him stand up. He was screeching, but not from pain - just shock. He wasn't even scraped. Nothing. Picked him up, ran inside Daya Dan. The sisters grabbed him, stripped him, looked him up and down. Everything was perfect. I was more injured than he was. It was so strange. Such a blessing - it didn't make physiological sense for him to not have been hit by that rickshaw, and even though he fell in the street, there were no marks on him at all. Praise God.
The sisters found me, and told me that it wasn't my fault - I guess I probably didn't look like I was breathing. And I was mentally punching myself in the face. They told me that they had seen it happen, and that God had protected us, and not to blame myself. Ankur was fine. He's still fine. His usual hyperactive, head-banging self.
Yesterday, he nearly fell off of a balcony. I've decided that he attracts danger like a fat, naked, deet-less five-year old girl in the middle of the Wisconsin woods attracts West Nile. I'm amazed that he's still alive, and that we don't force him into a human hamster ball whenever he leaves Daya Dan.
2. Really poignant moment this morning. I got out of the metro station, and ended up face to face with an Indian girl around my age. Both of us traveling alone - my friend Cecil was walking ahead of me. The girl was wearing dark, fitted jeans, a tight black Guess 3/4-length sleeve shirt, eye-liner, and mascara, and wore her hair long, down, and straightened. I was wearing a bright blue salwaar kameez, flip-flips, no make-up, and my hair was back in a bun. ...culture switch.
3. I want to adopt Rama. He's six and perfect. ...not that I'm playing favourites... Pictures soon.
4. Amy, Joseph (another volunteer), Kalim (our market guy) and I are going to take the train to Bihar to visit Kalim's village. I'm so excited. We have to bring our own water. Hehe. :-)
5. Saw monkeys in the street.
6. Joy fell asleep during a performance. He was supposed to be drumming. It's okay - he usually gets up and runs around the stage after two songs. This time, he was sleeping on my shoulder. And he didn't lick his hands after we touched, because he was sleeping. Hurray!
7. I started teaching Mongol piano today. He's 15 (tells people he's 13, even when confronted about it), and has some type of degenerative disease. He's very, very small, sits in a wheelchair, and his limbs are thin and contorted. He can only use two fingers on each hand. And we spent an hour and a half working on piano today. He loves it. :-) ...and we're not going to tell the sisters that I don't really know how to play. Shhhhhhhhhh.
Okay. Naptime now.
Love and i-miss-you,
Stephanie
Friday, December 19, 2008
Better-ish.
Took the Cipro...and the Acidopholus (I can't spell that)...and Tylenol...and spent yesterday sleeping in the priest's bed (without the priest)...and ate only toast and hot water with honey and lemon...
...and now I feel better.
Two shows this weekend. Did I mention that the Daya Dan kids are doing a Christmas show? They're touring. Seven / eight performances. Hehehe. They're cute.
Love and my-friend-Brendan-saw-an-elephant-in-the-street,
Stephanie
...and now I feel better.
Two shows this weekend. Did I mention that the Daya Dan kids are doing a Christmas show? They're touring. Seven / eight performances. Hehehe. They're cute.
Love and my-friend-Brendan-saw-an-elephant-in-the-street,
Stephanie
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Sick in India.
Had to happen sometime. Stupid Blue Sky Cafe and their papaya lassis. Turns out it was made with tap water. Darnit.
But I have a fantastic roommate, who woke me up with orange juice (in a box) and cookie / biscuit / crackers. And a very mom-like look that convinced me to take Motrin and drink a lot of water. I'm still dizzy and head-achey, but definitely better.
And now I know what it's like to get sick in India - the same as getting sick in Illinois, except I don't have to miss classes and it's impossible to go somewhere quiet. There are blind men singing for money on the street, some strange constant metallic clanking, car horns (everyone honks here, all the time), and people. So many people. And people make noise. Matt made a comment about how Kolkata was a city, and we'd been to cities before...except that Chicago is kinda quiet at three AM. Kolkata is possibly louder at night.
Everything is loud here.
I got my salwaar today. They're pretty. :-)
Love and don't-drink-the-water-no-really-don't-drink-the-water,
Stephanie
But I have a fantastic roommate, who woke me up with orange juice (in a box) and cookie / biscuit / crackers. And a very mom-like look that convinced me to take Motrin and drink a lot of water. I'm still dizzy and head-achey, but definitely better.
And now I know what it's like to get sick in India - the same as getting sick in Illinois, except I don't have to miss classes and it's impossible to go somewhere quiet. There are blind men singing for money on the street, some strange constant metallic clanking, car horns (everyone honks here, all the time), and people. So many people. And people make noise. Matt made a comment about how Kolkata was a city, and we'd been to cities before...except that Chicago is kinda quiet at three AM. Kolkata is possibly louder at night.
Everything is loud here.
I got my salwaar today. They're pretty. :-)
Love and don't-drink-the-water-no-really-don't-drink-the-water,
Stephanie
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
something amazing
Something incredible happened today. I mean, everything is incredible here. But this was awesome.
I wasn't going to make a blog post today, but this is just too good.
First off, Erica - OMIGOSH I completely understand. Oh man oh man oh man. For sure.
Explanation panda...
So, remember Joy? The little kid with autism who kept pushing me away? Okay, well...keep this all hush hush because I'm technically not supposed to know yet...but... .... ...
Apparently, the first day I was there, a few sisters decided they wanted to place me one on one with Joy. Because his current teacher will be leaving in a week. This is odd, because Joy and I didn't get along AT ALL the first day - in fact, I formed great relationships with everyone BUT Joy on the first day. But apparently someone said I was really patient, and that Joy and I would fit together well. Today, Joy and I STILL didn't connect, and everything with everyone else was STILL wonderful...until after lunch.
But I'm going to start a little earlier in the day.
Breakfast, dangerous taxi ride to Daya Dan (you think Mexico is frightening? ha.), love love love the boys at Daya Dan, prepared my own lesson involving copying numbers, shapes and colours, ended up doing a completely different lesson, fed Siban again (still adorable, ate better today), put the boys to sleep, had lunch. At lunch, I asked Sister Jennifer if I could play the guitar I saw in the attic during rest time. She gave me a "heck yes you can play the guitar" look, but she's a nun, so she said something a little less colloquial. So, after frantically making little Baby Jesus figures for the play tomorrow, while the boys were still sleeping, I grabbed the guitar and headed into the meditation room. Played and sang my usual "I haven't played in awhile" songs - Hear You Me, Everything, Best of Me, Only Hope. Midway through Hear You Me, and I kid you not, Joy walks in. Doesn't run. Walks. Keep in mind that this boy NEVER stops moving. Walks in, sits down in front of me. Barely moves. Listens. Looks AT ME AND THE GUITAR. Please remember - autism - no eye contact, no sitting still. He DID BOTH. FOR THREE MINUTES. Usually, keeping him still for ten seconds is improbable. After three minutes (there was a clock in the room; I timed it), he started licking his hands and plucking the strings while I played. I didn't mind. It was like a little, high-pitched solo above my chords. It was only until Amy walked in that we stopped.
OMIGOSH. This boy, whom I adore, LOVES WHEN I SING AND PLAY GUITAR. And sits still! And focuses!! Llksfjasodifijfkldsfjdiosu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Also, I had just been journaling right before this about how I felt guilty about wanting to play guitar, because I wanted to devote all my time to the kids.
Oh man. God is AWESOME.
I love Kolkata.
(and I love that my middle name is Joy - thanks Mom!)
Love,
Stephanie
I wasn't going to make a blog post today, but this is just too good.
First off, Erica - OMIGOSH I completely understand. Oh man oh man oh man. For sure.
Explanation panda...
So, remember Joy? The little kid with autism who kept pushing me away? Okay, well...keep this all hush hush because I'm technically not supposed to know yet...but... .... ...
Apparently, the first day I was there, a few sisters decided they wanted to place me one on one with Joy. Because his current teacher will be leaving in a week. This is odd, because Joy and I didn't get along AT ALL the first day - in fact, I formed great relationships with everyone BUT Joy on the first day. But apparently someone said I was really patient, and that Joy and I would fit together well. Today, Joy and I STILL didn't connect, and everything with everyone else was STILL wonderful...until after lunch.
But I'm going to start a little earlier in the day.
Breakfast, dangerous taxi ride to Daya Dan (you think Mexico is frightening? ha.), love love love the boys at Daya Dan, prepared my own lesson involving copying numbers, shapes and colours, ended up doing a completely different lesson, fed Siban again (still adorable, ate better today), put the boys to sleep, had lunch. At lunch, I asked Sister Jennifer if I could play the guitar I saw in the attic during rest time. She gave me a "heck yes you can play the guitar" look, but she's a nun, so she said something a little less colloquial. So, after frantically making little Baby Jesus figures for the play tomorrow, while the boys were still sleeping, I grabbed the guitar and headed into the meditation room. Played and sang my usual "I haven't played in awhile" songs - Hear You Me, Everything, Best of Me, Only Hope. Midway through Hear You Me, and I kid you not, Joy walks in. Doesn't run. Walks. Keep in mind that this boy NEVER stops moving. Walks in, sits down in front of me. Barely moves. Listens. Looks AT ME AND THE GUITAR. Please remember - autism - no eye contact, no sitting still. He DID BOTH. FOR THREE MINUTES. Usually, keeping him still for ten seconds is improbable. After three minutes (there was a clock in the room; I timed it), he started licking his hands and plucking the strings while I played. I didn't mind. It was like a little, high-pitched solo above my chords. It was only until Amy walked in that we stopped.
OMIGOSH. This boy, whom I adore, LOVES WHEN I SING AND PLAY GUITAR. And sits still! And focuses!! Llksfjasodifijfkldsfjdiosu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Also, I had just been journaling right before this about how I felt guilty about wanting to play guitar, because I wanted to devote all my time to the kids.
Oh man. God is AWESOME.
I love Kolkata.
(and I love that my middle name is Joy - thanks Mom!)
Love,
Stephanie
Monday, December 15, 2008
posting. tiredly.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH THIS PLACE IS AMAZING.
Gonna paraphrase from my journal entries again to start.
First off, after my blog post, I prayed this: "I did not like not moving today. Please throw me in tomorrow."
Oh goodness. Why do I pray these things...
Feel free to laugh at me for such a ridiculously exhaustion-inducing prayer.
Ten minutes later, I walked downstairs (from the roof), and met Amy. That's a link to her blog. Click it. She's AMAZING. 40 years old, six feet tall, been traveling for two years. Been EVERYWHERE. I had actually gotten in contact with her through her blog before I came here. I swiped her packing list, messaged her, and she gave me advice and what not. I talked with her for a loooong time two nights ago - and the next morning, woke up at 5:15 to go with her to mass at the Mother House. WOW. Literally, the mass that Mother Teresa went to when she was here. Saw Mother Teresa's tomb. Didn't go near it. Holy sight for some, creepy decomposing body in a box for others. Both for me. You know how I am with death.
Anyway, breakfast (chai, white bread, banana - remember that time I got addicted to chai at home, and now it's all they drink here? :-p) at the Mother House after mass, gave my email address to the priest, he will send me forwarded things he sends everyone. Then, a bus, an auto-rickshaw, and Daya Dan.
Daya Dan. Taking my journal entry. ... = skipping some writing. [clarification edits]
"1316 - Sunday 14 December 2008 (Daya Dan) - I'm lying on a pad [mattress] in the Daya Dan volunteer sleeproom. Wearing scrub pants, pink tank, white shirt bought from a booth [outside the market] with green stitching. Black bandanna. Black flip-flops. I fit. ... the scrubs are perfect. ... today has been exquisite. Went to bed @ 1ooish, ... woke up @ 500, went to mass, breakfast w/all the volunteers...they're all lovely. Amy and I rode the bus (5 rupees) to an autorickshaw to Daya Dan. Saw a dead man lying in the street. Weird. ... Walked into Daya Dan...Christmas music and 25 autistic, fetal-alcohol syndrome, wasting-away disease, blind AND autistic, "autistic" [many boys are clearly incorrectly diagnosed], epileptic, [cerebral palsy] boys, between 5-15 years old, running around an open room. Hitting. Drooling. Climbing. Laying on the floor. Amy introduced me to everyone ... for about ten minutes, I was sensory overloaded like whoa. Didn't feel like holding drool-covered hands. But [the constant call of] "auntie, auntie" got to me. I danced, walked around with, talked with nearly all of them [you know how I am with desperately trying to get every kid included - it was difficult, but possible]. One boy, Joy, maybe 7 or 8 [he's actually 5], was sitting against a wall rocking. Looking uncomfortable. I mean clearly, if you're a tiny autistic boy in a room full of movement and noise, you're gonna rock a little. Or a lot. I was instantly drawn to him...but a bunch of other, more energetic kids grabbed me away. I sat with Joy a few times - he didn't respond or literally pushed me away. We practiced songs, did children's mass - I helped a boy up the staris, came down and changed clothes and ate lunch. I fed Siban. Tiny, 3 maybe, NO muscle control. Took maybe and hour and a half. He could chew by himself, but occasionally (note: often) needed reminders and I had to hold his head up. I figured out, after he fell asleep while I was feeding him, that squeezing his foot wakes him up. Hehe. He's beautiful. Then I cleaned his face (mess panda) and I put him to bed. I may or may not have sang Sufjan to him. ...:-) "like a father to impress / like a mother's mourning dress / if you ever make a mess / i'll do anything for you" etc. and To Be Alone With You [i know those are about Jesus, and clearly I'm not even close to being Jesus - but they're pretty, and I like them] - gosh, he's adorable. Then I talked with Mongol a little. He's 15, really smart, but his body is disintegrating. ARGH! For lunch -rice (w/rocks :-)), yellow dahl, street samosas. Fanta. Water. W/Amy. Happy panda. :-) :-) :-). ... Okay, nearly naptime. The volunteers just ran in. And layed down. I love this. I love these people. I love this work. I love these children. I love this place. ... This. Is. Beautiful."
After the 15-minute nap, I was woken up by the noise from downstairs. The kids had woken up, Ankur had had a 5-minute grand mal seizure, and we were trying to dress the kids for their performance at the church. "Keeping an eye on AND dressing 25 mentally disabled kids = craziness. They were ALL OVER." It was fun, but RIDICULOUS. They kept running around and screeching. And Ankur was trying to recover, and the sisters wanted quiet for him. KLjdfjasiofdj! But wonderful. "Prince and I get along really well. He's the 18-year-old who is supposedly really violence." We talked for about an hour while the kids were getting ready. Well, "talked." He uses his own invented sign language. He needed the attention, because he hits people (hard) if there isn't someone with him. "And Rohib...man. He's awesome. Cerebral palsy ... but obviously really intelligent." This boy's eyes say it all - his brain functions normally. He's probably smarter than the average 15-year-old. But his body is contorted and doesn't move. He lies on the floor all day. He cannot speak. But I think he understands - I sit with him, and we talk. Him with his eyes, me with words, facial expression, and touch. He's wonderful.
The show at the cathedral - WOW. Maybe 30 church groups came to sing Christmas carols. In a place smack dab in the middle of the 10/40 window - wow. Four hours long. Everything in India moves slower and takes more time - I fit. :-) Groups sang, accomanied by synthesizers. So many repetitions of songs. It was craziness. Picture a bunch of Indian guys and girls, college-age, singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, with a synthesized techno beat, in a beautiful, ornate cathedral. FOR FOUR HOURS. I mean, there were some "traditional" performances. But not really. <3.
The kids STOLE THE SHOW. They had drums, and sang, and were AWESOME. They're so talented! Everyone stood up and cheered. It was fantastic. Like a movie scene, but so much better. :-)
Got back to Daya Dan around eight. Back to Modern Lodge by 8:30, via walking and the subway. 15.5 hour day - not bad considering I prayed to be "thrown in." I was exhausted when I got back. Didn't work today. Felt reasonable. Instead, I went to the market with Amy. Bought five salwaar kameez sets. They're gorgeous. I've decided to completely ditch Western clothes while I'm here. Just Salwaar. I feel awkward in Western clothes. They're too tight. Also, I have an Indian accent when talking with Indians. Helps them understand me, and I feel better about speaking English. I've learned a bunch of Bangla - everyone looks so tickled when I speak it. I can see their faces soften. :-) And I'm only eating Indian food, except the occasional granola bar. And I'm taking cold showers, and bathrooming in a hole-in-the-floor toilet. I'm so happy. :-) :-) :-)
The market today was amazing. I cannot say enough about it. It felt like the floating market from Neverwhere. Stall after stall after stall - had to say nehchehheeay a gazillion times. It means "do not need." Beggars all over. Some more legitimate than others. Kalim, our market-helping man, is such a sweetie. I bought embroidery floss (84 rupees for a bunch - maybe 15 colours?) and we made a bracelet together. :-) Martin, my tailor, is amazing. We sat in the shop for two, three, hours. He's making my salwaar by tomorrow, and dropping them off at the hostel for me. They're beautiful. I cannot explain the massive amounts of colour in that shop. Colours, patterns, material that's nearly impossible to find in America. Gorgeous. Why do we not wear these colours? Head to toe turquoise, orange, bright pink. It's beautiful. I bought lavender lace, olive green, turquoise, and burgundy salwaars. And a fancy one with a bunch of colours. I'm so excited. While choosing materials, the counter was piled three feet high with cloth - that's normal. It's supposed to take hours. I've found my shopping home. :-) Martin measured me there. Making my salwaars especially for me. Amy and I bartered the price waaaaaaay down. I love India.
Then the jewelery shop (for Amy) and the bakery to buy sweets for the children. And then back to the hostel.
I love India.
I'll get photos as soon as I can.
Okay, this took forever.
Done typing now.
Working again tomorrow.
I love those kids.
Thanks for your responses - they're lovely to read. :-)
God is so active here.
Love, drool-covered hand-holding, and hand sanitizer,
Stephanie
P.S. Matt went to Kalighat, the home for the destitute and the dying, today. Wow.
Gonna paraphrase from my journal entries again to start.
First off, after my blog post, I prayed this: "I did not like not moving today. Please throw me in tomorrow."
Oh goodness. Why do I pray these things...
Feel free to laugh at me for such a ridiculously exhaustion-inducing prayer.
Ten minutes later, I walked downstairs (from the roof), and met Amy. That's a link to her blog. Click it. She's AMAZING. 40 years old, six feet tall, been traveling for two years. Been EVERYWHERE. I had actually gotten in contact with her through her blog before I came here. I swiped her packing list, messaged her, and she gave me advice and what not. I talked with her for a loooong time two nights ago - and the next morning, woke up at 5:15 to go with her to mass at the Mother House. WOW. Literally, the mass that Mother Teresa went to when she was here. Saw Mother Teresa's tomb. Didn't go near it. Holy sight for some, creepy decomposing body in a box for others. Both for me. You know how I am with death.
Anyway, breakfast (chai, white bread, banana - remember that time I got addicted to chai at home, and now it's all they drink here? :-p) at the Mother House after mass, gave my email address to the priest, he will send me forwarded things he sends everyone. Then, a bus, an auto-rickshaw, and Daya Dan.
Daya Dan. Taking my journal entry. ... = skipping some writing. [clarification edits]
"1316 - Sunday 14 December 2008 (Daya Dan) - I'm lying on a pad [mattress] in the Daya Dan volunteer sleeproom. Wearing scrub pants, pink tank, white shirt bought from a booth [outside the market] with green stitching. Black bandanna. Black flip-flops. I fit. ... the scrubs are perfect. ... today has been exquisite. Went to bed @ 1ooish, ... woke up @ 500, went to mass, breakfast w/all the volunteers...they're all lovely. Amy and I rode the bus (5 rupees) to an autorickshaw to Daya Dan. Saw a dead man lying in the street. Weird. ... Walked into Daya Dan...Christmas music and 25 autistic, fetal-alcohol syndrome, wasting-away disease, blind AND autistic, "autistic" [many boys are clearly incorrectly diagnosed], epileptic, [cerebral palsy] boys, between 5-15 years old, running around an open room. Hitting. Drooling. Climbing. Laying on the floor. Amy introduced me to everyone ... for about ten minutes, I was sensory overloaded like whoa. Didn't feel like holding drool-covered hands. But [the constant call of] "auntie, auntie" got to me. I danced, walked around with, talked with nearly all of them [you know how I am with desperately trying to get every kid included - it was difficult, but possible]. One boy, Joy, maybe 7 or 8 [he's actually 5], was sitting against a wall rocking. Looking uncomfortable. I mean clearly, if you're a tiny autistic boy in a room full of movement and noise, you're gonna rock a little. Or a lot. I was instantly drawn to him...but a bunch of other, more energetic kids grabbed me away. I sat with Joy a few times - he didn't respond or literally pushed me away. We practiced songs, did children's mass - I helped a boy up the staris, came down and changed clothes and ate lunch. I fed Siban. Tiny, 3 maybe, NO muscle control. Took maybe and hour and a half. He could chew by himself, but occasionally (note: often) needed reminders and I had to hold his head up. I figured out, after he fell asleep while I was feeding him, that squeezing his foot wakes him up. Hehe. He's beautiful. Then I cleaned his face (mess panda) and I put him to bed. I may or may not have sang Sufjan to him. ...:-) "like a father to impress / like a mother's mourning dress / if you ever make a mess / i'll do anything for you" etc. and To Be Alone With You [i know those are about Jesus, and clearly I'm not even close to being Jesus - but they're pretty, and I like them] - gosh, he's adorable. Then I talked with Mongol a little. He's 15, really smart, but his body is disintegrating. ARGH! For lunch -rice (w/rocks :-)), yellow dahl, street samosas. Fanta. Water. W/Amy. Happy panda. :-) :-) :-). ... Okay, nearly naptime. The volunteers just ran in. And layed down. I love this. I love these people. I love this work. I love these children. I love this place. ... This. Is. Beautiful."
After the 15-minute nap, I was woken up by the noise from downstairs. The kids had woken up, Ankur had had a 5-minute grand mal seizure, and we were trying to dress the kids for their performance at the church. "Keeping an eye on AND dressing 25 mentally disabled kids = craziness. They were ALL OVER." It was fun, but RIDICULOUS. They kept running around and screeching. And Ankur was trying to recover, and the sisters wanted quiet for him. KLjdfjasiofdj! But wonderful. "Prince and I get along really well. He's the 18-year-old who is supposedly really violence." We talked for about an hour while the kids were getting ready. Well, "talked." He uses his own invented sign language. He needed the attention, because he hits people (hard) if there isn't someone with him. "And Rohib...man. He's awesome. Cerebral palsy ... but obviously really intelligent." This boy's eyes say it all - his brain functions normally. He's probably smarter than the average 15-year-old. But his body is contorted and doesn't move. He lies on the floor all day. He cannot speak. But I think he understands - I sit with him, and we talk. Him with his eyes, me with words, facial expression, and touch. He's wonderful.
The show at the cathedral - WOW. Maybe 30 church groups came to sing Christmas carols. In a place smack dab in the middle of the 10/40 window - wow. Four hours long. Everything in India moves slower and takes more time - I fit. :-) Groups sang, accomanied by synthesizers. So many repetitions of songs. It was craziness. Picture a bunch of Indian guys and girls, college-age, singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, with a synthesized techno beat, in a beautiful, ornate cathedral. FOR FOUR HOURS. I mean, there were some "traditional" performances. But not really. <3.
The kids STOLE THE SHOW. They had drums, and sang, and were AWESOME. They're so talented! Everyone stood up and cheered. It was fantastic. Like a movie scene, but so much better. :-)
Got back to Daya Dan around eight. Back to Modern Lodge by 8:30, via walking and the subway. 15.5 hour day - not bad considering I prayed to be "thrown in." I was exhausted when I got back. Didn't work today. Felt reasonable. Instead, I went to the market with Amy. Bought five salwaar kameez sets. They're gorgeous. I've decided to completely ditch Western clothes while I'm here. Just Salwaar. I feel awkward in Western clothes. They're too tight. Also, I have an Indian accent when talking with Indians. Helps them understand me, and I feel better about speaking English. I've learned a bunch of Bangla - everyone looks so tickled when I speak it. I can see their faces soften. :-) And I'm only eating Indian food, except the occasional granola bar. And I'm taking cold showers, and bathrooming in a hole-in-the-floor toilet. I'm so happy. :-) :-) :-)
The market today was amazing. I cannot say enough about it. It felt like the floating market from Neverwhere. Stall after stall after stall - had to say nehchehheeay a gazillion times. It means "do not need." Beggars all over. Some more legitimate than others. Kalim, our market-helping man, is such a sweetie. I bought embroidery floss (84 rupees for a bunch - maybe 15 colours?) and we made a bracelet together. :-) Martin, my tailor, is amazing. We sat in the shop for two, three, hours. He's making my salwaar by tomorrow, and dropping them off at the hostel for me. They're beautiful. I cannot explain the massive amounts of colour in that shop. Colours, patterns, material that's nearly impossible to find in America. Gorgeous. Why do we not wear these colours? Head to toe turquoise, orange, bright pink. It's beautiful. I bought lavender lace, olive green, turquoise, and burgundy salwaars. And a fancy one with a bunch of colours. I'm so excited. While choosing materials, the counter was piled three feet high with cloth - that's normal. It's supposed to take hours. I've found my shopping home. :-) Martin measured me there. Making my salwaars especially for me. Amy and I bartered the price waaaaaaay down. I love India.
Then the jewelery shop (for Amy) and the bakery to buy sweets for the children. And then back to the hostel.
I love India.
I'll get photos as soon as I can.
Okay, this took forever.
Done typing now.
Working again tomorrow.
I love those kids.
Thanks for your responses - they're lovely to read. :-)
God is so active here.
Love, drool-covered hand-holding, and hand sanitizer,
Stephanie
P.S. Matt went to Kalighat, the home for the destitute and the dying, today. Wow.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
day 2
Well, actually, I'm gonna start from last night.
Went to dinner with Australia and Ireland, and then stayed up talking with Germanyx2, Russia, and Seattle. Then talked with Spain for awhile. And then Italy. And then talked with Australia for an hour and a half (he's leaving Sunday...:-( ) and went to bed when Francex2, Seattle, and Australia started rolling giant hash joints.
It's probably weird that I refer to people by their countries, but their accents are easier to remember than their names.
Ireland is quite possibly the cutest girl ever. Ireland (Carmel) and Scott (Australia) make fun of each others' accents, which is silly, 'cause they're actually kind of similar. ...to me.
I'm gonna stick some journal exerpts on here from last night.
"I am here. I've been here for...10.5 hours. And it feels like I've lived here...in another life. There are people from Spain, Russia, Australia, Ireland, Italy, Germany, Holland, France...all living here, speaking English, eating, drinking, taking the same cool showers, peeing in the same holes in the floor. This. Is. Amazing. ... This place is so beautiful, so rich, so full of culture and life. Maybe I'm experiencing the backpacker life and not the Kolkata life. I saw the trash in the gutters. I felt the tug of children on the street. Is my heart hard? Am I dead? I thought God wanted me here, but why do I not feel the suffering? I mean...I feel...elated. Amazed. How do I focus on serving God (and people, obviously) here? In this city where 7-year-olds are getting raper, and us from Spain, Italy, Ireland, the States - we're sitting on a roof smoking joints. ... it's cheaper to smoke here than it is to eat..."
P.S., I didn't smoke. I'm still the Stephanie you all know. :-)
So...here's the thing. There is so much energy here, and I can't help but be positively gleeful. But then I feel awful about feeling gleeful, because there's so much suffering. But the thing is...you don't see the suffering as much as you see the colours, hear the music, smell the curry. So it's difficult to realize how much the city needs, when you're so enthralled by how much it has. And then I end up sitting on a roof at midnight, journaling, thinking about how beautiful it all is - listening to car horns and gunshots. I wish I realized the suffering more. Please pray that God completety breaks my heart for what breaks His. I don't want the illusion of backpacker life - I want to know the real Kolkata, and serve with continued joy, buy also a sense of complete reality. And I desire to keep the joy as a state of existance rather than as an emotion, and also be aware of, and actively alleviating, the suffering here.
Oh, P.S., Matt had an awesome day today. :-) He's a gazillion times more comfortable. Rather than starting work today, we slept - we needed it. I pushed myself way too much this past week. So we slept, got food, journaled, yep. I bought a skirt (200 rupees), pants (90 rupees), and a shirt (100 rupees). Bartered all those prices down. In Bangla. Nay-cheh-hee-ay mean "do not need." Use that one on the streets a lot.
Okay, all done.
This blog will not be updated this much every day, I promise. This beginning-post-a-day thing won't happen for much longer. :-)
Love and bangla,
Stephanie
Went to dinner with Australia and Ireland, and then stayed up talking with Germanyx2, Russia, and Seattle. Then talked with Spain for awhile. And then Italy. And then talked with Australia for an hour and a half (he's leaving Sunday...:-( ) and went to bed when Francex2, Seattle, and Australia started rolling giant hash joints.
It's probably weird that I refer to people by their countries, but their accents are easier to remember than their names.
Ireland is quite possibly the cutest girl ever. Ireland (Carmel) and Scott (Australia) make fun of each others' accents, which is silly, 'cause they're actually kind of similar. ...to me.
I'm gonna stick some journal exerpts on here from last night.
"I am here. I've been here for...10.5 hours. And it feels like I've lived here...in another life. There are people from Spain, Russia, Australia, Ireland, Italy, Germany, Holland, France...all living here, speaking English, eating, drinking, taking the same cool showers, peeing in the same holes in the floor. This. Is. Amazing. ... This place is so beautiful, so rich, so full of culture and life. Maybe I'm experiencing the backpacker life and not the Kolkata life. I saw the trash in the gutters. I felt the tug of children on the street. Is my heart hard? Am I dead? I thought God wanted me here, but why do I not feel the suffering? I mean...I feel...elated. Amazed. How do I focus on serving God (and people, obviously) here? In this city where 7-year-olds are getting raper, and us from Spain, Italy, Ireland, the States - we're sitting on a roof smoking joints. ... it's cheaper to smoke here than it is to eat..."
P.S., I didn't smoke. I'm still the Stephanie you all know. :-)
So...here's the thing. There is so much energy here, and I can't help but be positively gleeful. But then I feel awful about feeling gleeful, because there's so much suffering. But the thing is...you don't see the suffering as much as you see the colours, hear the music, smell the curry. So it's difficult to realize how much the city needs, when you're so enthralled by how much it has. And then I end up sitting on a roof at midnight, journaling, thinking about how beautiful it all is - listening to car horns and gunshots. I wish I realized the suffering more. Please pray that God completety breaks my heart for what breaks His. I don't want the illusion of backpacker life - I want to know the real Kolkata, and serve with continued joy, buy also a sense of complete reality. And I desire to keep the joy as a state of existance rather than as an emotion, and also be aware of, and actively alleviating, the suffering here.
Oh, P.S., Matt had an awesome day today. :-) He's a gazillion times more comfortable. Rather than starting work today, we slept - we needed it. I pushed myself way too much this past week. So we slept, got food, journaled, yep. I bought a skirt (200 rupees), pants (90 rupees), and a shirt (100 rupees). Bartered all those prices down. In Bangla. Nay-cheh-hee-ay mean "do not need." Use that one on the streets a lot.
Okay, all done.
This blog will not be updated this much every day, I promise. This beginning-post-a-day thing won't happen for much longer. :-)
Love and bangla,
Stephanie
Friday, December 12, 2008
Aqui!
Hello! I'm here. Ate food. Drank bottled water. Broke the seal on the water so I knew it was safe. Staying at Modern Lodge - 200 rupees per night, total. Which means it's really only 100 per night. It's a nice room.
Actually, it's only ten rupees for a half hour of computer usage, so I'm going to stop typing like it's a telegraph.
Anyway! I'm HERE!! The flights were great! Last night, we stayed over in the New Delhi airport. We met a group of missionaries - they're working in Nagaland, running schools and teaching kids so they can know enough to earn scholarships and go to larger schools. Awesome. :-) Actually, we've met and gotten to know a lot of people - from Spain, France, Australia - yeah. It's wonderful. My tiny bits of French and Spanish are helping. :-)
Prof. Hatcher - if you're reading this, you were completely right about language immersion = fast learning. I literally learned the entire Bangla alphabet in the taxi on the way from the airport. Hooray!
So...there are people everywhere. OMIGOSH I almost forgot!! We got here in time to go to orientation at the Mother House. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH AWESOMENESS!! I'm going to be working at Daya Dan, a home for older children / teenagers with physical and mental disabilities. I get to be a teacher. I don't know what that means yet, but I'm SO EXCITED!!! I start tomorrow morning. HOORAY!!
Anyway, I should go check my email and such, so I'm going to leave you with that.
Oh wait.
Just so you know.
I got lost today coming back from the Mother House. And people were really, really helpful. And now I'm back. So I know what happens when I get lost. Not that I'm planning on getting lost again. And! Be proud, Dad. There are children grabbing at me for money all over the place, and I haven't given them anything. It's sad. But we spent a long time at orientation learning about how giving people money encourages them to not become self-sufficient. Because most of them actually have money, and they're professional beggars.
I just typed this all in ten minutes. Hooray!
I haven't showered in two days. Proud of me, Domtar?
Okay, all done.
Love,
Stephanie
P.S. I'm so happy here, that I cannot put it into words. Thanks for being so supportive. I start working tomorrow. :-)
P.P.S. It's freaking hot. And freaking freaking humid. I need thinner clothing.
P.P.P.S. Prayer request: my friend Matt, who's traveling with me, is super-nervous about being here. Please pray for 1. safety, so he doesn't have to be so actively worried, 2. peace - like what Paul writes in Philippians 4 about not being anxious and presenting all requests to God - that transcends understanding, 3. that I would know how to be comforting, practical, and my usual ridiculously enthusiastic self all at the same time. Yes, I'm nervous, but I'm very confident in God's protection and provision, so it comes across as brash boldness. 4. Most importantly, the people of Kolkata. There's a lot of good going on here, and it's a beautiful city and culture. But there's also a lot of crap going on. Kids being used to get money for drugs, sex trafficking, a LOT of street kids. Please pray that God would provide for them, and that they would somehow be able to get off the streets and become independent.
Okay, now I've typed for 20 minutes. Sorry if this was repetitive. I'm not gonna read through it, because we need to go eat a safe, cooked dinner, made without contaminated water. Promise. :-)
Yes, I'm taking my malaria meds.
Love and samosas,
Stephanie
Actually, it's only ten rupees for a half hour of computer usage, so I'm going to stop typing like it's a telegraph.
Anyway! I'm HERE!! The flights were great! Last night, we stayed over in the New Delhi airport. We met a group of missionaries - they're working in Nagaland, running schools and teaching kids so they can know enough to earn scholarships and go to larger schools. Awesome. :-) Actually, we've met and gotten to know a lot of people - from Spain, France, Australia - yeah. It's wonderful. My tiny bits of French and Spanish are helping. :-)
Prof. Hatcher - if you're reading this, you were completely right about language immersion = fast learning. I literally learned the entire Bangla alphabet in the taxi on the way from the airport. Hooray!
So...there are people everywhere. OMIGOSH I almost forgot!! We got here in time to go to orientation at the Mother House. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH AWESOMENESS!! I'm going to be working at Daya Dan, a home for older children / teenagers with physical and mental disabilities. I get to be a teacher. I don't know what that means yet, but I'm SO EXCITED!!! I start tomorrow morning. HOORAY!!
Anyway, I should go check my email and such, so I'm going to leave you with that.
Oh wait.
Just so you know.
I got lost today coming back from the Mother House. And people were really, really helpful. And now I'm back. So I know what happens when I get lost. Not that I'm planning on getting lost again. And! Be proud, Dad. There are children grabbing at me for money all over the place, and I haven't given them anything. It's sad. But we spent a long time at orientation learning about how giving people money encourages them to not become self-sufficient. Because most of them actually have money, and they're professional beggars.
I just typed this all in ten minutes. Hooray!
I haven't showered in two days. Proud of me, Domtar?
Okay, all done.
Love,
Stephanie
P.S. I'm so happy here, that I cannot put it into words. Thanks for being so supportive. I start working tomorrow. :-)
P.P.S. It's freaking hot. And freaking freaking humid. I need thinner clothing.
P.P.P.S. Prayer request: my friend Matt, who's traveling with me, is super-nervous about being here. Please pray for 1. safety, so he doesn't have to be so actively worried, 2. peace - like what Paul writes in Philippians 4 about not being anxious and presenting all requests to God - that transcends understanding, 3. that I would know how to be comforting, practical, and my usual ridiculously enthusiastic self all at the same time. Yes, I'm nervous, but I'm very confident in God's protection and provision, so it comes across as brash boldness. 4. Most importantly, the people of Kolkata. There's a lot of good going on here, and it's a beautiful city and culture. But there's also a lot of crap going on. Kids being used to get money for drugs, sex trafficking, a LOT of street kids. Please pray that God would provide for them, and that they would somehow be able to get off the streets and become independent.
Okay, now I've typed for 20 minutes. Sorry if this was repetitive. I'm not gonna read through it, because we need to go eat a safe, cooked dinner, made without contaminated water. Promise. :-)
Yes, I'm taking my malaria meds.
Love and samosas,
Stephanie
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
First off, this is cute:
Secondly,
3 days.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Okay, that's all.
Time to do more homework. :-)
Love,
Stephanie
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
First off, this is cute:
Secondly,
3 days.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Okay, that's all.
Time to do more homework. :-)
Love,
Stephanie
Friday, December 5, 2008
আগ্রহান্বিত
My Facebook status currently says "Stephanie is আগ্রহান্বিত."
আগ্রহান্বিত --> Bengali for "eager; zealous; intent; intently desirous; inclined (to); wistful."
I honestly can't read every consonant in it, but it's something like ag...in.....yeah. I know some letters. Working on it.
Anyway, finals are next week. I'm done with classes right now. Literally just finished. The work I have to turn in gets turned in on Monday, or emailed over the weekend if I'm ambitious. School is almost done.
It's strange. My last practical criticism class was today. I'm gonna miss that class. I don't think I appreciated it enough while I was still in it. Oh well. I took good notes.
India in five days.
India in five days.
India in five days.
To do:
Open Citibank account.
Get traveler's checks.
Pick up work checks.
Deposit work checks.
Start taking malaria meds so I don't turn into mosquito-woman.
Find out what malaria does so I don't continue to think of it as something that might turn me into a superhero.
Pack (ha).
Learn Bangla.
Sorry, this post isn't very inspirational. It's really just me keeping a record of what I need to do before I leave.
Oh, and pray. I've been doing that, a lot. Not enough, but a lot. I've been told by about five different people in the past week that spiritual warfare is going on like whoa in India, specifically Kolkata, right now. I don't mean literal physical violence - I mean, people are actually doing exorcisms and stuff. There's so much idolatry that demon possession happens all the time. And then exorcisms happen. And demons leave. Lldksfjaljfdslkj!
If you're reading this right now, please pray for India.
Thanks. :-)
Love,
Stephanie
আগ্রহান্বিত --> Bengali for "eager; zealous; intent; intently desirous; inclined (to); wistful."
I honestly can't read every consonant in it, but it's something like ag...in.....yeah. I know some letters. Working on it.
Anyway, finals are next week. I'm done with classes right now. Literally just finished. The work I have to turn in gets turned in on Monday, or emailed over the weekend if I'm ambitious. School is almost done.
It's strange. My last practical criticism class was today. I'm gonna miss that class. I don't think I appreciated it enough while I was still in it. Oh well. I took good notes.
India in five days.
India in five days.
India in five days.
To do:
Open Citibank account.
Get traveler's checks.
Pick up work checks.
Deposit work checks.
Start taking malaria meds so I don't turn into mosquito-woman.
Find out what malaria does so I don't continue to think of it as something that might turn me into a superhero.
Pack (ha).
Learn Bangla.
Sorry, this post isn't very inspirational. It's really just me keeping a record of what I need to do before I leave.
Oh, and pray. I've been doing that, a lot. Not enough, but a lot. I've been told by about five different people in the past week that spiritual warfare is going on like whoa in India, specifically Kolkata, right now. I don't mean literal physical violence - I mean, people are actually doing exorcisms and stuff. There's so much idolatry that demon possession happens all the time. And then exorcisms happen. And demons leave. Lldksfjaljfdslkj!
If you're reading this right now, please pray for India.
Thanks. :-)
Love,
Stephanie
Request. (not a prayer request)
You know those silly little make-sure-you're-not-a-robot word verification thingies you have to type before you comment on a blog post?
When responding to something I've posted, please create a definition for the word your computer makes you type.
Thanks.
:-p
-Stephanie
When responding to something I've posted, please create a definition for the word your computer makes you type.
Thanks.
:-p
-Stephanie
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Homework, focus, and motivation.
"Slaves, obey your earthly masters in everything; and do it, not only when their eye is on you and to win their favor, but with sincerity of heart and reverence for the Lord. Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving." - Colossians 3:22-24
Okay, so. I know I'm not technically a slave. But, if you're a college student, you know that sometimes, it feels like we're slaves to school. Especially the week before finals. Like nearly every other student at IWU, I'm having difficulty finding the motivation to study, to revise papers, to prepare for finals. I just don't want to. It's even more difficult to do all this work when all I want is to hang out with my friends before I go to India.
The point of this post is not for me to complain about all the work I have to do - everyone has that. The point is to remind me, and you, that we're not really working to get the A or for our professors. We're working for something much bigger than Ed 255. In Colossians 3:23, slaves are told to work with all their hearts, because it's really the Lord they are serving.
And that's the mindset that I need to have.
Love,
Stephanie
Okay, so. I know I'm not technically a slave. But, if you're a college student, you know that sometimes, it feels like we're slaves to school. Especially the week before finals. Like nearly every other student at IWU, I'm having difficulty finding the motivation to study, to revise papers, to prepare for finals. I just don't want to. It's even more difficult to do all this work when all I want is to hang out with my friends before I go to India.
The point of this post is not for me to complain about all the work I have to do - everyone has that. The point is to remind me, and you, that we're not really working to get the A or for our professors. We're working for something much bigger than Ed 255. In Colossians 3:23, slaves are told to work with all their hearts, because it's really the Lord they are serving.
And that's the mindset that I need to have.
Love,
Stephanie
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