James 1:27, pistachio-cardamom kulfi, and I've got some friends that you should meet. Not in that order.

Oh wow. I have no idea how I'm going to write a sufficient update for the past few days. I think I'll organize it by topic. And add some bolded words and phrases. Yeah. Here we go........

Well, first off, I'm not sick anymore. I've been sick for the past week and a half, and I finally figured out why. Actually, that's a lie. Emilio (Spain) figured out that it was because I was taking my malaria meds at night, right before sleeping, with no food. And thus, every morning, I was sick. Good job, Stephanie. So now I take my meds with dinner, and I feel fannntastic! Hooray!

Lately, especially after starting at Apne Aap, I've had a few different concerns - all of which have been completely warped around, so don't worry, I don't think like this anymore. :-)
1. That I would be no help at all at Apne Aap, because I don't speak Bangla (yet).
2. That I wasn't actually helping anyone at Daya Dan, because I have no freaking idea what I'm doing, the kids don't listen to me, and there are seemingly an infinite amount of much more interesting, older, more capable volunteers.
3. That I would never make friends here, because I'm shy (surprise!) and bad at finding groups of people.

Uh...then I prayed about all of this. And now...

Apne Aap really wants me to teach English. Last I checked, that was my major. I'm planning on going to English class on Monday. More on that after it happens. Also, every kid I meet at Apne Aap is consistently fascinated by me, and gets super-excited when I talk with them / make silly faces at them. I don't know what it is. Maybe they're just not used to people paying kidlike attention to them. And I'm good at being a kid. And you don't have to speak the language to connect with kids. I learned that in Mexico. :-) It works to grab a sweatshirt and throw it in the air and pretend to be a bird.

Yesterday, I played guitar for meditation at Daya Dan. Meditation is when the hyperactive boys are all forced to sit in a room in the dark. Still. Quiet. Nearly impossible. So…sister had me play guitar! And it was wonderful! And everyone was so good! The two boys who seem to be the most severely autistic – Joy and Annan - both LOVE the guitar. They sit still and quiet (unless they're rocking a little, trying to touch the guitar, or singing) and smile smile smile. And Sister Jonifer was in meditation with us, and she saw how good they were. If I end up doing music therapy with Annan and Joy, that'd pretty much be the best thing ever.

Today, after arriving at Daya Dan, playing with the kids for awhile, and praying, Sister informed us that we were going to the park. With the kids. And we had to walk there. Sounds like trouble. But it was probably one of the most fun I've ever seen the kids have. Sister assigned each kid to one volunteer - there were a lot of us today. I got assigned to Annan, with whom I’ve never really done anything. He’s autistic and Albino. Before we left, he was singing, and I leaned in to listen, and then he peed on the floor. And me. So Jill and I changed his clothes, and then walked to the park. He was stared at a lot, but honestly, I get stared at just as much for being a single, white woman in Kolkata. So we're kinda in the same boat there. Annan and I held hands on the way to the park, ran around, and he found a stick! Hooray! So he tapped out rhythms with the stick on every surface he could find, and I repeated them back to him. And then we took turns singing back and forth to each other. I'm telling you, autism + music = good idea. He repeats musical patterns really well. And he seems to enjoy it a lot. He only got difficult to handle after awhile. He started climbing things, and I had to pull him down. But we made jokes out of it, so it was okay.

I talked with Rohid for a looong time today. He's eighteen, has cerebral palsy, and can't speak. But he clearly understands everything. So I sat with him for awhile and talked with him. And every time I walked somewhere else in the room, he stared at me and smiled. And he loves it when I sing to him. So I sang Come Thou Fount. Hehe. And he got annoyed with me when I stopped singing.

Also, this morning, Ankur decided it would be a good idea to climb on my shoulders (acceptable), ask me to stand up and run around (also acceptable) and pull my hair and try to bash my head in (unacceptable). Corner for Ankur. He refuses to apologize to anyone - he just throws massive temper tantrums and beats his head against the wall. This is the same kid who ran in front of the autorickshaw. I realize now that he's a huge ball of hyperactive, danger-seeking doom in a cute little eight-year-old costume. I have no idea how to help him, how to get him to behave safely. If he wasn't at Daya Dan, he would have gotten himself killed years ago.

Which leads me to a verse that’s really been convicted me to work my butt off lately. See quote at the top. "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." - James 1:27. This verse is changing my entire perspective on working here. The kids with whom I work are orphans, and I always forget that. They live at Daya Dan. A few days ago, I heard another volunteer say that if they weren’t at Daya Dan, they’d be dead in trash cans. That’s where a lot of the kids were found. Trash cans. Gutters. Alleyways. Their parents are the Sisters, Mashis (paid workers) and volunteers. But if the volunteers weren't there...the place would be a mess. I mean, God would provide. But God has provided already. Sister Jonifer talked with the long-term volunteers about this in meditation yesterday. We were all brought to Daya Dan, right now, for a reason. God knows what He's doing. And as I looked around the room at those of us who will be staying until March, April (Lydia, Amy, Jake, Me, Cecil, Jill), I realized that I'm not the 19-year-old girl who doesn't know what she's doing. We're a group of people all responding to God's call to take care of the orphans, and although I have no clue what I'm doing, God brought me, and the rest of the group, here anyway. And He's going to provide wisdom, patience, and all those other parts of the fruit of the Spirit. Yesterday, during lunch, I told Amy that I felt completely inept, and she said that's the best way to feel while working here. It's the only way to be completely open to God's direction. And my main prayer upon leaving Chicago was that God would wreck my pride. ...and now I'm working with unpredictable, hyper-active, autistic orphans, and a bunch of women whose language I don't yet speak. I feel my pride get a little more destroyed every day.

Also, for the first time today, I consciously tried to focus entirely on the kids. Sounds basic, but I've been having difficulty doing that. Today, rather than worrying that I wasn't doing something correctly, I changed Annan's clothes when he peed on the floor, fed Siban as slowly as he could handle ('cause he's small, and doesn't move other than chewing, and chokes easily), and firmly told Joakim that yes, he needed to use a spoon, I use a spoon, the kids who can barely walk alone use spoons, and you can easily hold a spoon. Use the spoon. Now. And no, Joakim, you cannot have a balloon, and I'm going to ignore you until you stop screaming and rolling on the floor, because I know you're faking it because you're obsessed with balloons. So deal with it and eat your food. ...and Joakim used a spoon. And stopped trying to get a balloon, for a little while. And I taught him "thumbs-up" and smiled at him. And he smiled back. I adore that kid.

As for friends - haha. God provides. :-) About a week ago, an entirely new group of volunteers started arriving. ...many of whom are in their early twenties. Yesterday, (oh gosh this is wonderful) this girl at Daya Dan and I started talking, and quickly realized that we had the same accent. And both freaked out. Her name is Jill, she's from Maine, and she’s here until April! Aaaaaaaah hooray! Two of her guy friends and her brother came with her, but one of her friends leaves in a week. So there'll be space in her room, which is a room for four, two separate bedrooms, and TWO bathrooms. And rent is 900, split four ways is 225. And after a day of working together, Jill and I were both like "okay, you're wonderful, let's live together kthanks." ...and her entire family is nurses. And she's currently a nursing major (but will be changing to counseling or something like that). Go figure. Also, Peter and I have started talking and Bible studying and such. And today, the first day that I've poured as much as I could into the kids, other volunteers and I really started getting to know each other. Focusing on the kids, and in the process, working together. It was wonderful. Everyone at Daya Dan right now seems to be so dedicated to the kids. Aaaaaaaaaah it's such a great atmosphere.

I should be done writing. I've written a ton. ...but I'm not.

I know I'm forgetting something.

Hmmmm.

Oh gosh! I just remembered. Okay, so this is a crazy story, but bear with me. When I moved into Paragon yesterday, I had to check in before ten, and before work, so I moved in at seven in the morning. And whacked some guy in the head with my bag as I walked in, and woke him up. It was a cramped, full dorm room with 8, 9, 10 (I don't remember) beds and a small table. Maybe two feet of space (oh imperial system, I'm used to meters now) between the beds. Tiiiny. But I figured I could deal with it, and I had prayed about going to the right room, the right bed…and I felt that God had been pretty clear on this room. So I apologized to the Korean guy who was swearing at me, left my stuff on the bed, paid the rent, and went to work. I came back later, and there were two very drunk Irishmen in the room, one on the floor, leaning on my bed. A few minutes later, the more sober one left, and Peter walked in. This was odd, because I purposefully didn't choose his room, because that would have been creepy and stalker-ish. Nice to meet you, that was a good talk we had, now I live with you. Nope. So anyway, Peter walked in, sat down, welcomed me to Paragon, and looked at Mark the Irishman and was like "hey man, how you doin'?" Apparently Peter and Mark are friends. So Mark wanted chai, but couldn’t really walk, so we tried to get him to stay in the hotel. He asked me how much I thought I was worth. And told me I was beautiful. And talked about how no one ever lets him do what he wants to do. Uh. So Peter, Mark, and I went out to get chai on the street. Mark stumbled a lot. Got chai. Got stared at. Went back to Paragon. Mark refused to stay there, so, after much effort of trying to get him to sit, and much protesting from Mark about how no one ever lets him do what he wants to do, he ventured out on his own. Another guy followed him. And I asked the front desk if any other 110 rupee rooms were free. Three people just left India and went back to wherever. ...all from Peter’s room. So I moved all my stuff, and now live with Peter, an old Japanese woman, and two empty beds. I did all my laundry and bug-proofed the window last night, and am in the process of getting over the fact that my underwear is hanging on a clothesline, outside, with everyone else’s underwear.

I write all this for a few reasons.
1. To explain why I live with Peter. I tried not to. But really, the first conversation we had in the room was about trying to find something Jesus said in one of the Gospels, and the old Japanese woman makes us go to bed early. So I think it’s fine.
2. My friends at school are right. I suck at taking care of drunk people. I'm just plain bad at it. I'm condescending, I don't know how to talk with them - it's just not good. Peter was awesome. Talked with Mark like he was sober. I need to learn how to do that.
3. What happened with Mark kept echoing in my mind as an image of me and God. I complain often that God doesn't let me do what I want to do...and then do the spiritual equivalent of stumbling into the street by myself. All the time. And I need to learn to trust God anyway, even if I don't want to, and think I have better ideas. Step one, come to India. Done.

One more thing. I found cardamom-pistachio kulfi today. It is my new favourite ice cream.

Okay. Now I've written way too much. This took me two hours. If you read it all, thanks. :-)

Love and learning (alliterative and cliché, but true),
Stephanie

[edit] And a few hours after I made this post, Amy was like "please live with me, Paragon's gross." Not quite in those words. And I'm living with Jill in a week. So now, after one night of living with Peter and a woman who constantly chops vegetables with a disconcertingly large knife and pretends she doesn't speak English until she says "i think you should not play guitar in the room," I'm moving back to Modern Lodge for a week.

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

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