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.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
New Year's, Bangla and peanut "butter".
New Years. God is cool. I was sitting in my room by myself at 8:00pm, without a clue what I was going to do that night. Decided to go to Hotel Ashreen to find out what other volunteers were doing, because a few had asked me what my plans were. Nearly everyone was gone already. Then this woman stepped out of her room and said "they've all gone to mass." Facepalm. Of course there's mass on New Year's Eve! So another guy and I walked to mass. And it was beautiful. Then to Hotel Maria's teeny roof for a ridiculously claustrophobic party.
Lesson learned: I still suck at parties, because I don't drink and large groups of people + me = dysfunctional Stephanie. And I'm terrible at smalltalk.
...then a guitar showed up. And I took it. And this guy Peter followed me. Subsequently, we sat in a corner for two hours strumming a guitar and talking about Irresistible Revolution, our tattoos, how Jesus has rocked and drastically changed our lives, the meaning of real service, why we're in love with Kolkata, how Christianity is all about admitting that we suck at following God and then desperately trying to do it anyway, and why he's banned from entering the United States. This type of socialization, I can do.
Apne Aap today. Oh gosh, I do not speak Bangla. I went to a self-help planning meeting with about thirty women, all sitting on the floor in an upstairs room in someone's house. This consisted of me sitting there listening to lots and lots of women arguing in Bangla for four hours. And going "oh crap oh crap I need to learn this language." And then I started writing down phrases, and translating, and spent the whole meeting in a notebook. And my Bangla got a little better.
Lesson learned: whatever I do with the rest of my life, it must involve children / teenagers. I'm better at being a kid than an adult. Three hours into the meeting, six or seven girls, maybe ages 9-14, showed up and sat against the wall. Quietly. So...we kept catching each others' glances and making slightly silly faces. After the meeting, the woman who brought me there invited me into a different room with five other women, while they recapped what happened (in Bangla, with each other). And then I noticed that the girls were all peeking around the corner at me. So I raised an eyebrow at them, excused myself, and kinda ran into the room with them. And they were like "Auntie Auntie Auntie!!!" so I said "kamon acho?" and they were like "aaaaaaaaaaaaaah you speak Bangla!" and I was like "...a little..." and they were like "tik ache tik ache, we speak little Englishes" and I was like *melt*. So we counted to ten in Bangla together, and I reeled off the few phrases I can say in Bangla, and they applauded, and asked me where I was from, and we pretended to be airplanes, and they asked me to dance so I danced, and then one of the girls sang a song and we all danced together, and then they asked me to sing, and I was about to sing but then one of the women called "Ani" from the other room. And we had to leave. So they all followed me out and yelled "bye!" and I couldn't stop smiling. In the taxi, I asked why the girls were there. Their mothers are all prostitutes, and so the girls stay in that house at night so they don't get abused by their mothers' clients.
...then I got shoved into an autorickshaw, and somehow made my way back to Sudder. On the way, I bought peanut butter, which is actually just a lot of peanuts in something that is kind of like peanut butter.
And tomorrow morning, I move to Paragon Hotel, because I realized that I'm bad at living by myself. So it's dormitory life for me. Also, the room is only 110 rupees, which means that my money worries are going *poof*.
Wow, that was a big blob of a post.
I hope you're all well, and that you have fantastic New Years.
Love and slight chaos,
Stephanie (or Ani, because Bangla's alphabet is very different from English's, and I enjoy being able to spell my own name, and other people enjoy being able to pronounce it)
Lesson learned: I still suck at parties, because I don't drink and large groups of people + me = dysfunctional Stephanie. And I'm terrible at smalltalk.
...then a guitar showed up. And I took it. And this guy Peter followed me. Subsequently, we sat in a corner for two hours strumming a guitar and talking about Irresistible Revolution, our tattoos, how Jesus has rocked and drastically changed our lives, the meaning of real service, why we're in love with Kolkata, how Christianity is all about admitting that we suck at following God and then desperately trying to do it anyway, and why he's banned from entering the United States. This type of socialization, I can do.
Apne Aap today. Oh gosh, I do not speak Bangla. I went to a self-help planning meeting with about thirty women, all sitting on the floor in an upstairs room in someone's house. This consisted of me sitting there listening to lots and lots of women arguing in Bangla for four hours. And going "oh crap oh crap I need to learn this language." And then I started writing down phrases, and translating, and spent the whole meeting in a notebook. And my Bangla got a little better.
Lesson learned: whatever I do with the rest of my life, it must involve children / teenagers. I'm better at being a kid than an adult. Three hours into the meeting, six or seven girls, maybe ages 9-14, showed up and sat against the wall. Quietly. So...we kept catching each others' glances and making slightly silly faces. After the meeting, the woman who brought me there invited me into a different room with five other women, while they recapped what happened (in Bangla, with each other). And then I noticed that the girls were all peeking around the corner at me. So I raised an eyebrow at them, excused myself, and kinda ran into the room with them. And they were like "Auntie Auntie Auntie!!!" so I said "kamon acho?" and they were like "aaaaaaaaaaaaaah you speak Bangla!" and I was like "...a little..." and they were like "tik ache tik ache, we speak little Englishes" and I was like *melt*. So we counted to ten in Bangla together, and I reeled off the few phrases I can say in Bangla, and they applauded, and asked me where I was from, and we pretended to be airplanes, and they asked me to dance so I danced, and then one of the girls sang a song and we all danced together, and then they asked me to sing, and I was about to sing but then one of the women called "Ani" from the other room. And we had to leave. So they all followed me out and yelled "bye!" and I couldn't stop smiling. In the taxi, I asked why the girls were there. Their mothers are all prostitutes, and so the girls stay in that house at night so they don't get abused by their mothers' clients.
...then I got shoved into an autorickshaw, and somehow made my way back to Sudder. On the way, I bought peanut butter, which is actually just a lot of peanuts in something that is kind of like peanut butter.
And tomorrow morning, I move to Paragon Hotel, because I realized that I'm bad at living by myself. So it's dormitory life for me. Also, the room is only 110 rupees, which means that my money worries are going *poof*.
Wow, that was a big blob of a post.
I hope you're all well, and that you have fantastic New Years.
Love and slight chaos,
Stephanie (or Ani, because Bangla's alphabet is very different from English's, and I enjoy being able to spell my own name, and other people enjoy being able to pronounce it)
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Uh...God works quicker than I do.
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!
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!
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
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