I'll post more about Christmas and the holidays later!
Links to other Volunteers
4 months ago
Monday, December 29, 2008
Finally, a few pictures!
From top to bottom, a picture of Ariel, Becca, and I at a wedding; some photos from the Thanksgiving visit of the fish workers; and two photos from my school Christmas program--a visit from Father Christmas and a few of girls in my choir and me.
I'll post more about Christmas and the holidays later!
I'll post more about Christmas and the holidays later!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Thanksgiving and the Christmas kick off...
We—volunteers, the site coordinator, and his wife—celebrated Thanksgiving on our monthly retreat with an attempt of re-creating the meal. First of all, we ate with silverware, and I felt confused and disoriented while using it because I have been eating with my hands for the past three months. Since turkey is rare in India, we ate two roasted chickens with roasted fingerling potatoes, and I have never enjoyed potatoes so much in my life. We savored the pumpkin pie and fought over it. Spoons were flying at that point. At this point, my fellow volunteers are family abroad, and we know each other’s quirks and feel comfortable with each other to the extent of bickering over last strip of pie crust. Although I do enjoy Indian food, it is very nice to eat something other than curry (which is anything cooked with a gravy/sauce) and rice.
During our reflection time before our meal, we spoke about what Thanksgiving meant to us, explained our typical celebrations, and mentioned things that we’re thankful for. Being the constant challenger of our norms, our site director, Thomas John Achen, asked if we choose to extend Thanksgiving to our communities and strangers around us. At first, I was somewhat confused but realized that most Thanksgiving celebrations are restricted to family and friends and are a day of indulgence. Often, we do not invite a complete stranger or bestow kindness. Although gratitude is a wonderful thing, does our gratitude move us to action? Does we feel so full of love and gratitude that it overflows to our neighbors—especially those who are less fortunate? I am not trying to preach, but these thoughts definitely crossed my mind during our celebration, which was lovely and memorable.
Over the holiday weekend, we were in Trivandrum, the capital of Kerala, and stayed in a center near the beach, and I relished in our beach time and closeness of the ocean. A few of us swam in our clothes—we already get enough attention so super-ridiculous modesty is often necessary—and played in the water. Very few people know how to swim here, and I have rarely seen any women who splash around in the water. To me, this feels like a tragedy. For those of you that know me well, I usually have to be dragged away from any body of water—lake, stream, pool, or ocean—because I will remain in it until I have to go. The combination of good food, good company, and beach time kept me in a state of bliss during the retreat.
On Saturday, we woke up early to observe the local fisher people. The small boats would come in on the beach, and a group of women and men would analyze the catch. Then they would wash their catch and auction their lots off. Using more traditional methods, other groups would spend around a half hour or longer to pull in their nets. I appreciate community activity and craftsmanship of small scale fishing. Most of these fisher people live in small settlements near the beach, but these settlements are rapidly disappearing. We visited a fish workers’ rights coalition and learned about the challenges and problems of the fishing sector. I cannot help but feel so angry because these people who have lived and fished on these beaches for generations are being displaced due to very harmful corporate fishing practices and tourist resorts. These native fishing practices contain a respect for the environment and keep many people meaningfully employed, and the fisher people have a vast local knowledge of the ocean and know how to live with the necessities. They only ask for subsistence living and legitimate ownership of their beach settlements. Why can’t the government and business people allow these people to live their peaceful lives? It saddens me that hundreds of thousands of people are told that their lifestyle has little value to their country because it does not generate massive profit.
To add fuel to the fire, the church and the Christian community did give some support to the fishers in 1980s, but most eventually left to cater to the needs and desire of the middle and upper class. As Jerome—the activist who spoke to us—sarcastically said, “They put a Bible in our hands and left. Now, the fisher people are being pushed off their land and rarely have enough to live on, but the church says that they at least have a Bible in their hands.” How can the church present such a hollow gospel and neglect their neighbors? There are some faith based organizations left to help the fishing communities, and we visited one place. I am thankful that a few people continue to fight and to love those who need support.
Although I have never participated in a debutante ball, this Sunday felt like my debut to Tiruvalla through my participation in the Tiruvalla Choral Society’s “Divine Incarnation Carol Program.” On Sunday, I sang in my local community choir’s Christmas carol program and finally wore my first sari, a choir uniform sari. Fortunately, the sari looked quite nice with a rich red color and simple embroidery. Unfortunately, two other volunteers, Ariel and Sudie, did not have my luck because they have orange and green or an odd shade of violet for their Christmas program saris. The sari is approximately 5.5 to 6 meters of fabric, and you have to go to a tailor to have the blouse (which is essentially a crop top) made. The folding, draping, and pinning process of the sari is an art unto itself, and two teachers had to help dress me. Due to my height, the sari was a little short on me, but everybody—my volunteer friends, the school teachers, students, and the choir—flipped out because I was wearing it and could somewhat pull it off. One of my students said, “Lindsey kochama, you look like a real Indian woman.” A guy in the choir said that I looked “really cute because of my taper.” I had a little trouble walking in it because I can’t take a normal sized step. I do not know how some women can wear the sari every single day. Regardless of a woman’s body type, saris look great, and I do appreciate having a dress standard which makes everyone look nice. In two weeks, my school has our Christmas carol program, and my students have asked me to wear a sari for that.
During Sunday’s carol program, I enjoyed the combination of English and Malayalam carols in our repertoire but was quite embarrassed because I drew so much attention during the evening. I know that everyone means well, but sometimes, being a novelty item does grow a little old. However, how could I hide? I am a six-foot, white woman who sings much louder than the average person. They formally announced my presence about 3 times, and even, the speaker (a pastor giving a short Christmas kick off homily in Malayalam) mentioned me impromptu. They—choir and audience—were so excited by the global representation and that I sang the Malayalam songs so well. Also, we were featured in the newspapers, and now, I am the foreigner pictured in the Tiruvalla Choral Society. On Monday, a few random people called the school phone line to congratulate my performance. I never expected this kind of welcome! Now, the Tiruvalla Choral Society has asked me to find some music for our spring program, and I may even conduct a song or two for the next concert.
P.S. I will post pictures when I able!
During our reflection time before our meal, we spoke about what Thanksgiving meant to us, explained our typical celebrations, and mentioned things that we’re thankful for. Being the constant challenger of our norms, our site director, Thomas John Achen, asked if we choose to extend Thanksgiving to our communities and strangers around us. At first, I was somewhat confused but realized that most Thanksgiving celebrations are restricted to family and friends and are a day of indulgence. Often, we do not invite a complete stranger or bestow kindness. Although gratitude is a wonderful thing, does our gratitude move us to action? Does we feel so full of love and gratitude that it overflows to our neighbors—especially those who are less fortunate? I am not trying to preach, but these thoughts definitely crossed my mind during our celebration, which was lovely and memorable.
Over the holiday weekend, we were in Trivandrum, the capital of Kerala, and stayed in a center near the beach, and I relished in our beach time and closeness of the ocean. A few of us swam in our clothes—we already get enough attention so super-ridiculous modesty is often necessary—and played in the water. Very few people know how to swim here, and I have rarely seen any women who splash around in the water. To me, this feels like a tragedy. For those of you that know me well, I usually have to be dragged away from any body of water—lake, stream, pool, or ocean—because I will remain in it until I have to go. The combination of good food, good company, and beach time kept me in a state of bliss during the retreat.
On Saturday, we woke up early to observe the local fisher people. The small boats would come in on the beach, and a group of women and men would analyze the catch. Then they would wash their catch and auction their lots off. Using more traditional methods, other groups would spend around a half hour or longer to pull in their nets. I appreciate community activity and craftsmanship of small scale fishing. Most of these fisher people live in small settlements near the beach, but these settlements are rapidly disappearing. We visited a fish workers’ rights coalition and learned about the challenges and problems of the fishing sector. I cannot help but feel so angry because these people who have lived and fished on these beaches for generations are being displaced due to very harmful corporate fishing practices and tourist resorts. These native fishing practices contain a respect for the environment and keep many people meaningfully employed, and the fisher people have a vast local knowledge of the ocean and know how to live with the necessities. They only ask for subsistence living and legitimate ownership of their beach settlements. Why can’t the government and business people allow these people to live their peaceful lives? It saddens me that hundreds of thousands of people are told that their lifestyle has little value to their country because it does not generate massive profit.
To add fuel to the fire, the church and the Christian community did give some support to the fishers in 1980s, but most eventually left to cater to the needs and desire of the middle and upper class. As Jerome—the activist who spoke to us—sarcastically said, “They put a Bible in our hands and left. Now, the fisher people are being pushed off their land and rarely have enough to live on, but the church says that they at least have a Bible in their hands.” How can the church present such a hollow gospel and neglect their neighbors? There are some faith based organizations left to help the fishing communities, and we visited one place. I am thankful that a few people continue to fight and to love those who need support.
Although I have never participated in a debutante ball, this Sunday felt like my debut to Tiruvalla through my participation in the Tiruvalla Choral Society’s “Divine Incarnation Carol Program.” On Sunday, I sang in my local community choir’s Christmas carol program and finally wore my first sari, a choir uniform sari. Fortunately, the sari looked quite nice with a rich red color and simple embroidery. Unfortunately, two other volunteers, Ariel and Sudie, did not have my luck because they have orange and green or an odd shade of violet for their Christmas program saris. The sari is approximately 5.5 to 6 meters of fabric, and you have to go to a tailor to have the blouse (which is essentially a crop top) made. The folding, draping, and pinning process of the sari is an art unto itself, and two teachers had to help dress me. Due to my height, the sari was a little short on me, but everybody—my volunteer friends, the school teachers, students, and the choir—flipped out because I was wearing it and could somewhat pull it off. One of my students said, “Lindsey kochama, you look like a real Indian woman.” A guy in the choir said that I looked “really cute because of my taper.” I had a little trouble walking in it because I can’t take a normal sized step. I do not know how some women can wear the sari every single day. Regardless of a woman’s body type, saris look great, and I do appreciate having a dress standard which makes everyone look nice. In two weeks, my school has our Christmas carol program, and my students have asked me to wear a sari for that.
During Sunday’s carol program, I enjoyed the combination of English and Malayalam carols in our repertoire but was quite embarrassed because I drew so much attention during the evening. I know that everyone means well, but sometimes, being a novelty item does grow a little old. However, how could I hide? I am a six-foot, white woman who sings much louder than the average person. They formally announced my presence about 3 times, and even, the speaker (a pastor giving a short Christmas kick off homily in Malayalam) mentioned me impromptu. They—choir and audience—were so excited by the global representation and that I sang the Malayalam songs so well. Also, we were featured in the newspapers, and now, I am the foreigner pictured in the Tiruvalla Choral Society. On Monday, a few random people called the school phone line to congratulate my performance. I never expected this kind of welcome! Now, the Tiruvalla Choral Society has asked me to find some music for our spring program, and I may even conduct a song or two for the next concert.
P.S. I will post pictures when I able!
Thursday, November 20, 2008
To be or not to be...
When I decided to serve abroad, I had this wild yet fantastic notion that the experience would resemble my previous mission and service trips with a longer time frame. Each day, I would wake up with a feeling of liberation and exuberance to rush forth and to restore the world. My days would be full of warm, fuzzy feelings about I felt God’s constant presence and how my neighbors and I have developed mutual relationships of love and respect. Each night, I would drift to sleep with the satisfaction of a day’s hard work. How reality shatters all preconceived notions!
During my interview with Thomas John Achen—my site director, he asked if I knew what ministry of presence meant because my year was a ministry of presence. Unfortunately, I have the uncanny ability to usually respond to questions—even to ones which I do not know anything about the subject—with some sort of answer that sounds remotely intelligent or that gives the impression of confidence to the listener. (Not always a good thing!) At the time, I replied with some pat answer about how God can use a person’s mere presence to bring change, comfort, or a myriad of other things. From my past experiences with my college UrbanPromise spring break service trips, I had an inkling of an idea what ministry of presence meant, but a few week-long trips do not truly embody the concept of ministry of presence. After being here for two and a half months, I am only beginning to truly understand, to know, to see, and to feel this slippery yet slightly mysterious ministry of presence, which is the essence of my time in India thus far.
Ministry of presence is the confidence of knowing that your entire existence’s value does not lie in tangible results. Ministry of presence will probably not give you statistics that will satisfy donors. Ministry of presence does not care about how many houses that you build, how many people that you feed, the number of churches that you plant, or the amount of social services that you provide. All of those tasks are important and necessary but are not ministry of presence. However, ministry of presence is attempting to learn hundreds of names, many of which you cannot pronounce correctly, in a place where a child is often nameless and is a number. Ministry of presence is inviting your students to celebrate Halloween with you. Ministry of presence is walking down the road to visit the old age home—more delicately known as nursing home or something of that sort in the U.S.—and talking or even simply sitting with those who never have visitors or any family. Ministry of presence is listening to a child’s sorrows and giving her a safe place to cry as you hold her. Ministry of presence is cutting part of your spoken English class in order to greet and to speak with a visiting elderly woman who rarely leaves the house due to illness. Ministry of presence is making a fool out of yourself while directing your fledgling choir in rehearsal because you have to convey your musical thought with a cultural and linguistic barrier. Ministry of presence is sharing a piece of your self with over 100 eleventh and twelfth graders each morning during devotional chapel. Ministry of presence is engaging with a person or a community in his or her or their joys, concerns, and even the mundane activities over a significant period of time. (Note that significant is a relative term here.) Ministry of presence will never solve the world’s problems or bring complete social justice, but instead, it provides hope and demonstrates Christ’s love.
Sometimes, I think that it would be easier to have a more concrete goal, such as vaccinating of people. Each day, I could have a task to do and would not have to figure out how I am going to build relationships with people. My day would have a set objective and routine work. Some sort of statistic could provide a means of accomplishment or could prove my productivity to someone else. And I could reflect at night and say that I worked for social justice for God’s kingdom through the pursuit of public health. But I am not in that position with my volunteer placement.
Perhaps, I am a product of American upbringing because I have been taught to do and told that my value lies in my doing. When I sit alone at night or am with a bunch of students, I struggle because no one has taught me how to be. It does not help that I am an extrovert and even have trouble sitting still. Ministry of presence relates more to being than doing. Having mastered the doing part of life, I am learning how to be. The concept seems simple yet indescribable. How do you explain that to someone? Do you normally ask your friends, “How are you being?” or “What are you being?” The English language does not have a sufficient, common idiom or interrogative for expressing the idea of being. How can I become content with simply be-ing?
Looking back at Jesus’ life, I see that He had no problem with ministry of presence or being. His whole life displayed to humanity that God wanted to be with us, and the gospel of Matthew (and Isaiah 7:14) gave Jesus the name Emmanuel, meaning “God with us.” Jesus understood human grief and wept with Mary and Martha when Lazarus died (John11:33-37). When a woman poured an expensive ointment or perfume on His head, Jesus allowed her to touch him, enjoyed the experience, and defended her gift when the disciples thought it was wasteful and unproductive (Matthew 26:6-13). Jesus knew when He needed to stop doing things and could retreat into solitude with God, but being with people or being alone was not a struggle for Him. I now see that Jesus mastered the balance of both being and doing. From my experience, the church often teaches Christians and people what to do or how to do something but rarely touches the idea of being. How did we overlook this?*
Ministry of presence and being takes more discipline and mental clout than I expected and does not come naturally to me. Each morning after leading the 11th and 12th grade chapel, I have added a centering prayer (i.e. meditating and being still for twenty minutes) to my personal devotional regime because I realized my need to learn how to be. At first, I could barely handle ten minutes of centering prayer but have slowly worked up to twenty. When I have missed a morning chapel for various reasons, my students later ask where I was and said that they missed me, and I suppose that my presence adds something to our school community. At night, I know that I may go to bed without a specific number of people that I have served that day or without something to tangibly display that day’s activities. To my surprise, I am becoming more content with that reality.
*Isn’t obvious that being is important when God tells Moses that God’s name is “I am who I am” in Exodus 3:14? I Am Who I Am stands for Yahweh, the Hebrew divine name of God.
During my interview with Thomas John Achen—my site director, he asked if I knew what ministry of presence meant because my year was a ministry of presence. Unfortunately, I have the uncanny ability to usually respond to questions—even to ones which I do not know anything about the subject—with some sort of answer that sounds remotely intelligent or that gives the impression of confidence to the listener. (Not always a good thing!) At the time, I replied with some pat answer about how God can use a person’s mere presence to bring change, comfort, or a myriad of other things. From my past experiences with my college UrbanPromise spring break service trips, I had an inkling of an idea what ministry of presence meant, but a few week-long trips do not truly embody the concept of ministry of presence. After being here for two and a half months, I am only beginning to truly understand, to know, to see, and to feel this slippery yet slightly mysterious ministry of presence, which is the essence of my time in India thus far.
Ministry of presence is the confidence of knowing that your entire existence’s value does not lie in tangible results. Ministry of presence will probably not give you statistics that will satisfy donors. Ministry of presence does not care about how many houses that you build, how many people that you feed, the number of churches that you plant, or the amount of social services that you provide. All of those tasks are important and necessary but are not ministry of presence. However, ministry of presence is attempting to learn hundreds of names, many of which you cannot pronounce correctly, in a place where a child is often nameless and is a number. Ministry of presence is inviting your students to celebrate Halloween with you. Ministry of presence is walking down the road to visit the old age home—more delicately known as nursing home or something of that sort in the U.S.—and talking or even simply sitting with those who never have visitors or any family. Ministry of presence is listening to a child’s sorrows and giving her a safe place to cry as you hold her. Ministry of presence is cutting part of your spoken English class in order to greet and to speak with a visiting elderly woman who rarely leaves the house due to illness. Ministry of presence is making a fool out of yourself while directing your fledgling choir in rehearsal because you have to convey your musical thought with a cultural and linguistic barrier. Ministry of presence is sharing a piece of your self with over 100 eleventh and twelfth graders each morning during devotional chapel. Ministry of presence is engaging with a person or a community in his or her or their joys, concerns, and even the mundane activities over a significant period of time. (Note that significant is a relative term here.) Ministry of presence will never solve the world’s problems or bring complete social justice, but instead, it provides hope and demonstrates Christ’s love.
Sometimes, I think that it would be easier to have a more concrete goal, such as vaccinating of people. Each day, I could have a task to do and would not have to figure out how I am going to build relationships with people. My day would have a set objective and routine work. Some sort of statistic could provide a means of accomplishment or could prove my productivity to someone else. And I could reflect at night and say that I worked for social justice for God’s kingdom through the pursuit of public health. But I am not in that position with my volunteer placement.
Perhaps, I am a product of American upbringing because I have been taught to do and told that my value lies in my doing. When I sit alone at night or am with a bunch of students, I struggle because no one has taught me how to be. It does not help that I am an extrovert and even have trouble sitting still. Ministry of presence relates more to being than doing. Having mastered the doing part of life, I am learning how to be. The concept seems simple yet indescribable. How do you explain that to someone? Do you normally ask your friends, “How are you being?” or “What are you being?” The English language does not have a sufficient, common idiom or interrogative for expressing the idea of being. How can I become content with simply be-ing?
Looking back at Jesus’ life, I see that He had no problem with ministry of presence or being. His whole life displayed to humanity that God wanted to be with us, and the gospel of Matthew (and Isaiah 7:14) gave Jesus the name Emmanuel, meaning “God with us.” Jesus understood human grief and wept with Mary and Martha when Lazarus died (John11:33-37). When a woman poured an expensive ointment or perfume on His head, Jesus allowed her to touch him, enjoyed the experience, and defended her gift when the disciples thought it was wasteful and unproductive (Matthew 26:6-13). Jesus knew when He needed to stop doing things and could retreat into solitude with God, but being with people or being alone was not a struggle for Him. I now see that Jesus mastered the balance of both being and doing. From my experience, the church often teaches Christians and people what to do or how to do something but rarely touches the idea of being. How did we overlook this?*
Ministry of presence and being takes more discipline and mental clout than I expected and does not come naturally to me. Each morning after leading the 11th and 12th grade chapel, I have added a centering prayer (i.e. meditating and being still for twenty minutes) to my personal devotional regime because I realized my need to learn how to be. At first, I could barely handle ten minutes of centering prayer but have slowly worked up to twenty. When I have missed a morning chapel for various reasons, my students later ask where I was and said that they missed me, and I suppose that my presence adds something to our school community. At night, I know that I may go to bed without a specific number of people that I have served that day or without something to tangibly display that day’s activities. To my surprise, I am becoming more content with that reality.
*Isn’t obvious that being is important when God tells Moses that God’s name is “I am who I am” in Exodus 3:14? I Am Who I Am stands for Yahweh, the Hebrew divine name of God.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Death, Schedule, and House Visiting...
Death
Finding a time and place to blog is more difficult than I anticipated!
During the end of our end of October retreat, Becca (one of my volunteer comrades) received a phone call and found out that her local supervisor’s wife, Mrs. Mathew, died from sudden kidney failure. Although she lived a long and full life, no one expected her death because she looked healthy and had a considerable amount of energy. When I visited Becca during the last weekend of September, Mrs. Mathew showered us with tea time snacks and talked with me briefly. Less than a week later upon meeting her, she was gone, and her death reminds of how fragility and temporal nature of life.
Since Mrs. Mathew was a wife of an Achen (pastor) and former college principal, her funeral became quite the social gathering. My local supervisor knew her and ran in the same social circle, and I went with her to the funeral. After a long, sweaty auto-rickshaw ride, we arrived to the Madriram Society, a compound composed of an orphanage, hospital, senior citizens’ home, and church, and the place was teeming with people. The day was unusually hot and sticky, and the crowding felt even more sweaty, congested, and muggy in the Madriram Society church and grounds. Mournful, wailing hymns continued throughout the afternoon and were amplified through the buzzing speakers. Although I sat with my Thomas John Achen, his wife, John, and Becca during part of the long service and the viewing of the body, I saw and chatted with many different acquaintances. The funeral displayed this intricate, long web of social networking in Kerala. Everyone seems to know everyone else and feels obligated to participate in the mourning process. I did not expect to attend a funeral or thought that I would learn so much about culture through a funeral. May Mrs. Mathew rest in peace.
My Current Weekday Schedule:
5:30ish a.m. Wake-up, plan my morning devotional for the 11th and 12th graders, hopefully go running if it isn’t too dark or raining
6:45-7:20 a.m. Lead morning prayers and devotional for 11th and 12th grade (yay, for daily 5-7 min. mini-sermons)
8 a.m. Breakfast
9 a.m. Morning teachers’ prayer
10 a.m.-1 p.m. I usually teach a spoken English class or two (they only last 40 minutes) for any age group varying from preschool to 8th grade. Since I have such a lack of resources (no printer, no copier, very few English children’s books, etc.; I am lucky if I have blackboard with chalk available), I find difficulties in teaching some of my classes because I want to do things such as making Halloween crafts. The preschool students are especially difficult to work with due to the language barrier.
1 p.m. Lunch
2-4 Another class during this time
4:30-6 Playing on the playground, teaching volleyball, or working with English Club (we’re working on a Christmas carol program—rehearsals start this week)
7:30 p.m. Teachers’ prayer
8 p.m. Dinner
9-9:30 Bedtime
The Ultimate House Visit
Since October 10th-13th was the holiday of Puja (a Hindu festival which celebrates education and learning), I went to visit my fellow volunteer, Ariel, in a town—Mavelikara—about an hour away. Ariel lives in a college women’s hostel (dormitory) and was alone because all of the college students went home for the holiday. On Sunday, we decided to visit Ariel’s teacher friend, Saloma. In Kerala, you do not usually call or tell someone that you are coming to visit their house; instead, you simply drop in, say hello, and are given massive amounts of food. Using the hostel auto-rickshaw, we were dropped off at Saloma’s home, and Saloma welcomed us into her home and introduced her family: her husband and two sons. After a house tour, conversation, and trying to put together a puzzle, we also met several of the neighborhood children and a few of the neighbors. Although we ate lunch not much earlier and expressed that we felt full, Saloma cooked some tapioca and fish curry for us. (Here, kappa—tapioca—is prepared and eaten like potatoes. A classic Kerala cuisine pairing is kappa and meen, fish and tapioca.)
Soon, Saloma suggested that we go visit her sister who is named Bina and also teaches with Ariel and her. After getting permission from Ariel’s hostel mother because we would get back probably after dark, Saloma, Ariel, her two children, and I piled into an auto-rickshaw and traveled to the south where the roads kept growing narrower and bumpier. After about an hour, we arrived to Bina’s house. Since it was close to tea time, Bina brought out fried bananas, sticky sweet rice balls, Kerala rice coconut cake, some mix (an Indian version of Chex mix), and tea. Bina’s family (husband, two children, and mother-in law) gathered around us in the living room and asked general questions, and then a neighbor came and brought us some appam, another Kerala version of rice and coconut cake. Waiting in expectation, everyone stared us and wanted to watch us eat the abundance of food before us. Being an excellent guest, Ariel started sampling everything, and feeling already way too full from the meen and kappa, I followed suit because of the peer pressure and the staring. I love and appreciate the hospitality of Kerala but struggle with these near force feeding situations of hospitality.
After Ariel and I finished our sampling of food, the collective household went to the neighbor’s house to meet all of the fellow neighbors. Suddenly, a woman brought out this sticky brown mass of rice, molasses, and spices on a plantain leaf—a special biysam which was dedicated in their Hindu temple earlier in the day--and someone grabbed my hand and slapped a blob of the biysam in my hand. At this point, I began to panic because I could not take any more “hospitality” (i.e. eating), and also, the biysam looked incredibly unappetizing and not sanitary*. However, I quickly swallowed down the biysam in order to avoid offending the neighbors who offered their special, holy biysam to me.
Then the 21 year old neighbor invited us to her wedding on January 21st and ran quickly inside her house to get something. Soon, she proudly presented a photo album to Ariel and me. Inside the album, we saw photographs of her fiancé who is in the Indian army. Although this young woman has met and corresponded with her fiancé, this whole situation baffled me because I would be terrified about marrying a man who I have met only a few times. Then we met some other neighbors who were walking up the road. Since it was getting late, all of Saloma’s and Bina’s family hopped into the auto-rickshaw and on a motorcycle (I never knew that it was possible to fit four people on a motorcycle), and we traveled about two kilometers in order to reach the beach.
With all of the children and adults, we played near the shore and enjoyed the sunset. One of the children took hold of my hand, and we jumped in the waves. Then a larger wave came, and we got soaked. Then, Saloma, her two children, Bina’s two children, Ariel, and I crammed into one auto-rickshaw and headed home. During our ride, Saloma told us that she wanted to take us to Hyderabad for Christmas, said that she would teach us to cook Indian food, and asked when I could come back to visit.
Although I do grow frustrated with the force-feeding, the hospitality of Kerala astounds me. In one day, I received an invitation to a wedding, was asked to spend Christmas with a family, and met about 30 people in six hours. What a crazy day!
*A day later, I got some sort of food poisoning and had to rest for a few days. It was probably from something that I ate during from this house visit; in my opinion, I blame the biysam.
Finding a time and place to blog is more difficult than I anticipated!
During the end of our end of October retreat, Becca (one of my volunteer comrades) received a phone call and found out that her local supervisor’s wife, Mrs. Mathew, died from sudden kidney failure. Although she lived a long and full life, no one expected her death because she looked healthy and had a considerable amount of energy. When I visited Becca during the last weekend of September, Mrs. Mathew showered us with tea time snacks and talked with me briefly. Less than a week later upon meeting her, she was gone, and her death reminds of how fragility and temporal nature of life.
Since Mrs. Mathew was a wife of an Achen (pastor) and former college principal, her funeral became quite the social gathering. My local supervisor knew her and ran in the same social circle, and I went with her to the funeral. After a long, sweaty auto-rickshaw ride, we arrived to the Madriram Society, a compound composed of an orphanage, hospital, senior citizens’ home, and church, and the place was teeming with people. The day was unusually hot and sticky, and the crowding felt even more sweaty, congested, and muggy in the Madriram Society church and grounds. Mournful, wailing hymns continued throughout the afternoon and were amplified through the buzzing speakers. Although I sat with my Thomas John Achen, his wife, John, and Becca during part of the long service and the viewing of the body, I saw and chatted with many different acquaintances. The funeral displayed this intricate, long web of social networking in Kerala. Everyone seems to know everyone else and feels obligated to participate in the mourning process. I did not expect to attend a funeral or thought that I would learn so much about culture through a funeral. May Mrs. Mathew rest in peace.
My Current Weekday Schedule:
5:30ish a.m. Wake-up, plan my morning devotional for the 11th and 12th graders, hopefully go running if it isn’t too dark or raining
6:45-7:20 a.m. Lead morning prayers and devotional for 11th and 12th grade (yay, for daily 5-7 min. mini-sermons)
8 a.m. Breakfast
9 a.m. Morning teachers’ prayer
10 a.m.-1 p.m. I usually teach a spoken English class or two (they only last 40 minutes) for any age group varying from preschool to 8th grade. Since I have such a lack of resources (no printer, no copier, very few English children’s books, etc.; I am lucky if I have blackboard with chalk available), I find difficulties in teaching some of my classes because I want to do things such as making Halloween crafts. The preschool students are especially difficult to work with due to the language barrier.
1 p.m. Lunch
2-4 Another class during this time
4:30-6 Playing on the playground, teaching volleyball, or working with English Club (we’re working on a Christmas carol program—rehearsals start this week)
7:30 p.m. Teachers’ prayer
8 p.m. Dinner
9-9:30 Bedtime
The Ultimate House Visit
Since October 10th-13th was the holiday of Puja (a Hindu festival which celebrates education and learning), I went to visit my fellow volunteer, Ariel, in a town—Mavelikara—about an hour away. Ariel lives in a college women’s hostel (dormitory) and was alone because all of the college students went home for the holiday. On Sunday, we decided to visit Ariel’s teacher friend, Saloma. In Kerala, you do not usually call or tell someone that you are coming to visit their house; instead, you simply drop in, say hello, and are given massive amounts of food. Using the hostel auto-rickshaw, we were dropped off at Saloma’s home, and Saloma welcomed us into her home and introduced her family: her husband and two sons. After a house tour, conversation, and trying to put together a puzzle, we also met several of the neighborhood children and a few of the neighbors. Although we ate lunch not much earlier and expressed that we felt full, Saloma cooked some tapioca and fish curry for us. (Here, kappa—tapioca—is prepared and eaten like potatoes. A classic Kerala cuisine pairing is kappa and meen, fish and tapioca.)
Soon, Saloma suggested that we go visit her sister who is named Bina and also teaches with Ariel and her. After getting permission from Ariel’s hostel mother because we would get back probably after dark, Saloma, Ariel, her two children, and I piled into an auto-rickshaw and traveled to the south where the roads kept growing narrower and bumpier. After about an hour, we arrived to Bina’s house. Since it was close to tea time, Bina brought out fried bananas, sticky sweet rice balls, Kerala rice coconut cake, some mix (an Indian version of Chex mix), and tea. Bina’s family (husband, two children, and mother-in law) gathered around us in the living room and asked general questions, and then a neighbor came and brought us some appam, another Kerala version of rice and coconut cake. Waiting in expectation, everyone stared us and wanted to watch us eat the abundance of food before us. Being an excellent guest, Ariel started sampling everything, and feeling already way too full from the meen and kappa, I followed suit because of the peer pressure and the staring. I love and appreciate the hospitality of Kerala but struggle with these near force feeding situations of hospitality.
After Ariel and I finished our sampling of food, the collective household went to the neighbor’s house to meet all of the fellow neighbors. Suddenly, a woman brought out this sticky brown mass of rice, molasses, and spices on a plantain leaf—a special biysam which was dedicated in their Hindu temple earlier in the day--and someone grabbed my hand and slapped a blob of the biysam in my hand. At this point, I began to panic because I could not take any more “hospitality” (i.e. eating), and also, the biysam looked incredibly unappetizing and not sanitary*. However, I quickly swallowed down the biysam in order to avoid offending the neighbors who offered their special, holy biysam to me.
Then the 21 year old neighbor invited us to her wedding on January 21st and ran quickly inside her house to get something. Soon, she proudly presented a photo album to Ariel and me. Inside the album, we saw photographs of her fiancé who is in the Indian army. Although this young woman has met and corresponded with her fiancé, this whole situation baffled me because I would be terrified about marrying a man who I have met only a few times. Then we met some other neighbors who were walking up the road. Since it was getting late, all of Saloma’s and Bina’s family hopped into the auto-rickshaw and on a motorcycle (I never knew that it was possible to fit four people on a motorcycle), and we traveled about two kilometers in order to reach the beach.
With all of the children and adults, we played near the shore and enjoyed the sunset. One of the children took hold of my hand, and we jumped in the waves. Then a larger wave came, and we got soaked. Then, Saloma, her two children, Bina’s two children, Ariel, and I crammed into one auto-rickshaw and headed home. During our ride, Saloma told us that she wanted to take us to Hyderabad for Christmas, said that she would teach us to cook Indian food, and asked when I could come back to visit.
Although I do grow frustrated with the force-feeding, the hospitality of Kerala astounds me. In one day, I received an invitation to a wedding, was asked to spend Christmas with a family, and met about 30 people in six hours. What a crazy day!
*A day later, I got some sort of food poisoning and had to rest for a few days. It was probably from something that I ate during from this house visit; in my opinion, I blame the biysam.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Vignettes from the past two weeks...
It's been a while since I posted because finding internet is more difficult than I thought. The first two weeks have been extremely challenging, and I did not anticipate the amount of psychological adjustment that I would have to make. I can deal with things such as mosquitoes, weird food, lizards, bathing from a bucket, power cutting out often, and the heat. But I often talk to people and am not understood. People tell me that I'm sad when I am not, and I cannot read their nuances easily. The culture within my school (I live and work at a girls' boarding school with 475 girls from ages 7-17 and 25+ teachers) is difficult to penetrate. Each day has its ups and downs. I love recess, my spoken English classes, and interacting with the children. I am trying to take one day at a time and am in the process of establishing my daily rhythms. Each morning, I pray, "Lord, please get me through today." I celebrate each night when I slide under my mosquito net and fall asleep because I survived the day and usually learned something new. I asked God for a challenge, and God swiftly answered my prayer by kicking my butt these past two weeks.
Right now, I am in Aluva at my Achen's house for our retreat for the next five days. I love that our group is back together again.
To best illustrate my experiences, I wrote some vignettes based on objects and customs here. Some were written at much earlier times and may display some of my cognitive dissonance upon my arrival at school. Please realize that I am being stretched and am growing, and despite the confusion, I have no regrets about my experiences or my presence here. During orientation, I was warned that the first few months are difficult, and my orientation leaders were right about it. (Thanks, YAV staff and orientation leaders for being honest. I did not believe you at first. Now, your stories are very valuable to me.)
Laundry
Squeeze, rinse, and scrub. Rinse again. When doing my laundry by hand, I feel romantic and nostalgic for an earlier time period which I never knew. The physical act of my hands firmly wringing and rinsing each article of clothing evokes a feeling of satisfaction. Hanging the laundry up, I see the sun shining through the iridescent, thin cotton, and the birds whistle in the nearby trees. Dozens of white cotton shirts and uniform skirts billow and blow in the afternoon breeze.
Occasionally, a young girl peaks through the portico with her dark eyes quizzically staring at the situation. Without words, her face says, “Who is this strange person? Why doesn’t she speak the same English as me? Why does she look so different?” If I catch her eye and say hello, she shyly smiles and emits a short giggle. Maybe she will stare more or dares to say hello, a good afternoon, or good evening back. Then she flits away because she is worried about her English, wants to spread word about this tall madama who now lives at the school, or is simply afraid of a stranger.
Whatever the case and means of her departure, I am left alone. Hoping that maybe she will come back to talk, I wring and hang my wet churidar because my clothes need the sun to dry. No monsoon rains are forecasted today, and I must take advantage of the weather. It is difficult being a curiosity and a novelty to other people. On days like these, I desire a warm, intimate conversation so that I can exchange thoughts and ideas about my confusion about this school, this culture, this unusual form of Christianity, and this world. But at this point, I will even settle for anything beyond a greeting or an interrogation about my marital status or family.
(Written on Sept. 18th, 2008; third day of being at the school)
Rice
Rice is the staple of the Kerala diet and is featured in some form at most meals. Rice dosha (a pancake flatbread), idly (fermented, steamed rice and sorghum pillows), idlyappam (rice noodle and coconut nests), putta (ground rice and coconut steamed in a metal cone), parboiled rice, biryani, and the list of rice preparations go could on and on. However, I have not spent a day in Kerala without a heaping serving of parboiled rice, but my heaping serving of rice seems small compared to the mountains of rice on the Keralites’ plates.
During my first few days, I ate only with Sara kochamma and Susamma kochamma (my supervisors; principal and retired headmistress of the school) in the teachers’ mess hut because I needed to adjust to the school and eat more slowly than everybody else. Usually, the teachers would eat their meals before us, wash their plates, and go. Both Sara kochama and Susamma kochamma hinted at my small portions, mentioned my small bites, were surprised at my water consumption, and were concerned that I did not take enough rice. (I am over a foot taller than Susamma kochama and am at least 30 years younger; she eats more rice than me.) However, I continued eating my normal manner: eating when I was hungry and stopping when I felt full.
Around my fourth day at school, the kochammas decided that I should eat with the other teachers at lunch. One of the teachers started heaping rice on my plate, and I said the customary mathi, mathi (enough, enough) to signal the server to stop putting food on my plate. Instead, she kept shoveling rice onto my plate and then handed me a
All of a sudden, a teacher left her seat and went to the kitchen. She quickly returned and thrust about three more curries at me. “Do you not like? Here are more curry. Eat more. You did not eat enough. Eat! Eat!” she insisted. I tried my best to politely respond that I was full and did not want any more food. However, she kept shoving the food at me, and everyone was staring at me. I did not know what to do. Again, I attempted to explain that I was not hungry and did not need any more curry. “Eat! Eat! Eat!” We never reached an understanding.
Growing frustrated, I grabbed my plate and went outside the mess hut to empty and to wash my plate at the sink. All the teachers started murmuring to each other as I walked out. I did not want to be rude and did not desire to be forced to eat. Tears started forming, and I tried to hold them back until I reached my room. Someone noticed my sniffling and emotional struggle while washing at the sink and asked why I was crying. This comment only caused me to start weeping, and I tried explaining my frustration at this culture clash but sounded like a blubbering mess. A teacher who had the best English tried to explain that giving food was a Kerala expression of love, but I found that the insistence and near force feed situation felt threatening. In orientation, I was warned about this potential situation about food, but alas, there was little that I could do due to my emotional state. I fled to my room and felt more alone than before. The incident reminded me that I was an outsider and showed how I did not comprehend all of the nuances of this new culture.
Emotional and psychological confusion resulted from some uneaten parboiled rice. Who knew that rice could make someone cry?
From conversation and observation, Indians have a deep fondness for routine and daily rhythms, and four o’clock tea is an important marker in each day. In one of my seventh standard (standard is the equivalent for grade) classes, we discussed the differences between the foods, diets, and food cultures in
When I mention tea, please do realize that chaya (tea) is much different than our tea bags steeped in a mug for a few minutes. Tea steeps, and the leaves are strained out. The tea maker swirls and mixes in generous amounts of milk—powdered or real—and sugar. For me, I take much less sugar than most people, and some days, my tea has no sugar at all. Most Keralites have an extreme sweet tooth, and tea and treats are often syrupy, overwhelming sweet. The sweetness coats the tongue and clogs the throat at times, and I cannot handle it most of the time. (Around the kitchen and among the teachers, I am known as the one who does not like sweets. The reality is that I do not enjoy “Kerala sweet.” I do like my chocolate, cookies, pie, and cake.) Some people use tea cups, but most serve tea in small glasses without handles. On average, I drink about three glasses of tea each day: bed tea before or during my 11th and 12th standard morning devotional at 6:45 a.m., a glass with breakfast, and a tea time glass.
At school, I go to the students’ mess for my glass of tea at 3:30 p.m. each day. During this time, the mess is quite quiet because the girls are still in class. I sit down at the bench of a table with some of the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th grade boarding students who attend a primary school on the compound and are finished with school for the day. We chat and munch on a snack, and I drink my tea. (Little girls are not allowed to have tea at school.) Some days, I have to leave to teach a last period class, and other days, I can linger and enjoy the afternoon. Tea time signals a winding down and a moment to slow because the day will end soon. Having grown up in a rushed culture, I am refreshed by tea time. In addition, it also signals that playtime on the grounds will begin soon, and I look forward to the hour and a half of games and recreation with the girls. (Next week, I will start teaching some basic volleyball!)
During our orientation, I loved tea time at Achen’s house because we had an opportunity to gather as a community and sip tea together. Tea time was a break from the massive cascade of information thrown at us. Through the means of tea time, I do love how this culture has a built in, assumed moment for slowing and gathering during the day. This past weekend, I had the opportunity to meet with three fellow volunteers (Becca, Ariel, and John) in Kottayam, a bustling city, and John made us tea in his room. We drank our chaya, ate butter and cashew biscuits, and lounged on the bed and chairs. Exchanging stories and dilemmas of experiences at our different volunteer sites, we enjoyed each others’ presence and relaxed at the knowledge that we could clearly understand each others’ speech patterns and could speak with little reservation. I cherished that tea time with them and thank God for their continual support, their earnest hearts, their ears for listening, their honesty, their humor, their laughter, and their company. Even though I feel along at my site, they remind me that I am not alone in my frustrations and challenges of serving abroad.
Thank you, God, for the blessing of tea time.
(Written on Sept. 29th, 2009.)
Churidar
Churidar literally translates as pants, but a churidar is a women’s outfit containing a pair of pants, a long tunic, and a shawl. Each day, I pull on my baggy, drawstring pants and a matching tunic and then pin on my shawl across my shoulders. Sometimes, I am glad to wear a churidar, but more often, I rip off my churidar as soon as I get inside my room and put on a tank top and shorts. The humidity and heat makes one sweat constantly, and the shawl feels like a blanket at times of excessive heat. Since the teachers at my school must wear a sari at all times, I am lucky to wear my churidar because it is more comfortable and is easier to wear than a sari.
The churidar perplexes me, and I am unsure if it looks strange on me or is even flattering in its baggy glory. I do not even know how to judge what is beautiful anymore because the standards of fit in clothing and beauty are so different. The school girls often ask if I like wearing the churidar, and I do not know how to respond. When I finally wore my first churidar, my Achen said that I looked better in a churidar than the Western dress clothes that I brought with me. (First of all, I did not bring many or very nice looking clothes with me because I probably will not bring much of them back with me.) To make the situation awkward, David, another volunteer, said something of this sort: “So you’re saying that she looks hot in her churidar?” Confused by David’s comment, Achen is a grandfather of two and is very fatherly toward all of us, and I wanted to smack David (who is—normally—a lovely person) for that awkward comment and the explanation following. But I kept wondering, “Do I really look decent in this churidar?”
On the whole, I do get a positive response from my churidar, but this could result in my effort to accommodate to the culture. During recreation and play time on the grounds, I often wear some fitness capris and a t-shirt (not a very glamorous outfit by any means), and some older girls said that I looked good and pretty in my fading blue t-shirt. While walking through the 5th and 6th grade hostel, another girl said that I looked “very beautiful” when I wore a churidar. The variation in comments show how some people embrace a more Western perspective of beauty and fashion while others stick to a more Keralite aesthetic.
When I have talked to girls from more Northern Indian states, they tell me how they normally wear jeans and more westernized clothing at home and in places such as
Maybe it is a blessing that my concepts of beauty, fashion, and appearance are currently out of whack. I think that the girls’ thick, black hair is gorgeous and shiny, and they think that my brown hair is fantastic and often reach out to touch it. They do not understand freckles and moles and asked how I got the “spots.” One 12th grade girl told me that she wanted to diet, and I wanted to scream because I thought that I would escape that toxic mentality from home. This young woman is beautiful in her current state and looks healthy. Since I have struggled and continue to struggle so much with issues of body image and appearance, I pray and wish that no girl or woman has to become so unhealthily obsessed with appearance. Conveniently enough, I had picked out a passage about the selection and anointing of David for the 11th and 12th grade devotional for the next morning, and here’s the crux of the passage:
“But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”—1 Samuel 16:7
I think that God likes to play these little jokes on me by connecting moments of my life together. The girl and I talked after that morning devotional, and I realize that I will never really know if I do look decent in a churidar, which is comfortable in its shapeless looseness. (Do not get me started on how annoying the shawl is…) I am guessing that God is blurring my perceptions of appearance so that I can remember what matters the most: our hearts.
(Written on Sept. 30th, 2009.)
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Relief washes over my mind...
For the past two days, we've had the privilege of having Anne, Jaco, and Steve with us. Anne and Jaco (which is short for "Jacob") are professors of English in some local colleges and have spent the past five years helping YAVs get acquainted with potential classroom situations. Steve is their young son and is a riot due to his precocious nature and zeal for aiding us in our knowledge of India and Malayalam. Anne and Jaco gave us lots of fun games, materials, exercises, and ideas for teaching conversational English and working in either a elementary age or college classroom. Since I do not have any formal training in this avenue, their insights brought me so much relief, and I am so thankful that they have been helping us. With their great sense of observation, sense of savvy, and good senses of humor, they are excellent educators and taught us much more about our individual sites and Indian culture.
In the afternoon, we started talking about Applachia for some reason, and eventually, the subject of American poverty began to permeate the conversation. To Jaco and Anne, the idea of American poverty seems strange to them because the U.S. has the reputation of being the land of plenty. Many Keralites go abroad to work in the U.S. and make decent money--especially because exchange rate of the rupee to the dollar is about 44/43 Rs. to $1, and to my surprise, I found out that many middle or middle-upper class Indians do happen to love the U.S. and that Indians who emigrated to the U.S. do like George W. Bush and the Republican party. In these relationships, the Indians prospered and are content to maintain their prosperous standing. Who wants to give up or to change their position if everything seems to be going well? Complacency is a slow but deadly poison to the soul, and we usually do not realize that it is killing us before it is too late.
However, we had to explain to Jaco and Anne that U.S. poverty exists in the rural United States and the inner-city, and these situations are deplorable because we allow these conditions to exist. For example, India has affirmative action for the Dalit (the untouchable caste) in colleges, but the students rarely graduate from college because they lack the resources and support system in order to adjust and to cope with the university setting and the continual prejudices--even when the caste system is considered illegal. A similar situation occurs in American colleges and universities with inner-city students, and in name, we say that students have opportunity but still remain with so many disadvantages; it's difficult to succeed. In some ways, the United States has a similar sort of caste system--a rigid racial and socio-economic order which structurally puts groups of people at a disadvantage. I'm surprised at how the U.S. and India share many social problems and structural clashes. I guess that it's a small world after all because we all suffer from greed, the corporate agenda, poverty, structural inequality, and the inability to listen. Although I do not want to sound fatalistic and hopeless, these issues display the reality of the human condition: that humans miss the mark again and again.
Maybe that's why I keep pursuing Jesus and desiring to live like Him. Although I do not have the capacity to save the world by myself, I do what I can : look at my world with a critical eye, ask questions, constantly evaluate myself and my choices, realize that a material world cannot satisfy, attempt to obey the Lord's commandments, seek my neighbors, want justice for my neighbors, attempt to quiet my mind in a world of chaos, choose to become less, pursue and depend on God, choose to take up my cross, engage with the world around, have confidence that another world is possible, teach people that there is life before death, befriend the overlooked, encourage the weary, pray for something better, and most importantly, love God and people with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength. Some days, I feel like this path can appear to be losing battle, but the moments of pure unadulterated joy are the glimpses of the Kindgom of God which will never pass away.
(I do not mean to sound like a horrible televangelist right there. Although I am committed to being a disciple of Jesus, certain discussions force me to evaluate and to re-evaluate what discipleship means and why I continue to follow this strange rabbi-carpenter-lover of people from 2000 years ago.)
----------------------------
Tomorrow is our last day in Aluva at Achen's house, and I will move to Tiruvalla and arrive at the school. Excited and terrified, I cannot wait for Monday and the upcoming adventures of living in a community for the rest of my time in India. Anne told me that the school is divided into ten houses named after precious gems (Jaspers, Rubies, etc.), and these ten houses compete throughout the year for points. So now I am caught up in a Harry Potter house fantasy and cannot wait to see the competition and spirit!
"He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God."
And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God."
--Micah 6:8
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
CULTURE SHOCK!!! India Orientation...
If I could sum up the past few days in a two words, they would be:
SENSORY OVERLOAD
Foreign sights, smells, sounds, and textures bombard me. I feel like a three year old who is discovering basic life skills and is full of wonder at the smallest things.
To be honest, I have never felt so vulnerable in my life and feel so dependent on other people to help me. Our site director told us that Jesus displayed that vulnerability in all his relationships, and through his vulnerability, he invites and empowers other people. When I get frustrated about my helplessness, I hope to remember that pearl of wisdom. I'll figure out more things over time. I wish that I eloquently describe everything in detail, but I will start a rambling list of interesting things.
Our site director, Thomas John, and his wife, Betty, taught us how to eat with our hands, and you're supposed to mash up the food with your fingers and compress it together to blend the different flavors. Its funny how playing with your food is culturally acceptable! I cannot expect anything to be similar to my American life. Even Indians even use toilet differently (if you really want to know the process, you can ask me). Each night, the power shuts off for a half hour or so at a designated time, and the current can be unreliable at times. I've learned to shower/bathe using a bucket of water, and the humidity is extreme. Monsoon season is upon us, and pouring rain falls often. Banana and coconut trees are everywhere, and the verdant, lush landscape impresses me with its beauty.
During the past few days, our group (Rebecca, Sudie, Ariel, John, David, and I) has been struggling with learning Malayalam, the language of Kerala, and has had the opportunity to learn about Indian economics, education, politics, and history through Achen (an Malayalam address term for a pastor who is Thomas John, the site director) and a few of his friends who are professors at local colleges. I am still processing all of the information but love the emphasis on social justice and finding ways to bring more equality through structural changes. Although it may sound a little nerdy, I cannot wait to learn more on a more first hand basis. Also, I am determined to have a working knowledge of Malayalam at some point, but the hardest part is mastering the alphabet and the unfamiliar sounds.
Hopefully, I will post a better update later along with some video and pictures. Please keep me in your prayers as I travel and get settle at my permanent site, the
Monday, September 1, 2008
Reality has set in...I am leaving!
I cannot believe that I am leaving the United States of America for the next year. During these past few months and orientation, India seemed so far in the future, but now, I will physically reach my destination. This is a surreal feeling.
Questions are flooding my brain, and my neurons are over-sensitized. Why has God called me to go to Kerala, India? Why was I placed in a girls' boarding school for the year? Will I have a Western toilet? What will my room look like? Will I shop for my saris when I get off the plane? Will I handle the spiciness of the food? Will people understand my English? Will I ever have any grasp on Malayam, the local language? I must wait and have patience because time will tell.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Orientation fun...
After being stuck in the Atlanta airport for over nine hours yesterday, I finally arrived to Louisville, Kentucky for the international Young Adult Volunteer Program orientation. Fortunately, two other west coast YAVs (Young Adult Volunteer) and I had each other's company while waiting for our flight. Unfortunately, the orientation is moving full speed, and I did not have an opportunity to recover from yesterday's travel, which lasted over 20 hours. However, I enjoy seeing all of the international YAVs for the second time (there's about 40 of us with sites in India, Peru, Northern Ireland, Kenya, and Guatemala) because everyone has interesting stories and is together in the shared bond of simultaneous excitement and nervousness for our upcoming year of service. It's strange to realize that I have left home and will not be back until August 2009.
Now, I must go to enjoy the lovely cafeteria of Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary for dinner. I'll give more interesting updates when possible!
Friday, July 25, 2008
Welcome!
This is the beginning of my journey to India...I will post more details as time progresses.
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