Safe & Sound

For those who have heard of the attacks on foreigners in Mumbai, please be reassured that I am nowhere near that part of South Asia. Several friends are living/traveling in that general vicinity, however, so please keep them (as well as, all the hostages and families of those killed) in your thoughts and prayers.

I spoke with one expat in the city, and he let me know all our co-workers are fine, but that they are not able to leave their homes yet. This is purely precautionary. I will keep everyone posted whenever our power comes on (its been in and out all day due to the rains/wind where I am).

Read more at: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=97537819

As for our office, we ALL (expats & nationals) have the day off, due to the weather. Our streets are flooded, making it difficult for anyone to come in, and with all the power failure (and occasional lack of running water) even working from home is a challenge. Man, its rough being forced to relax! Ha!

Do keep those without shelter or stone homes in your thoughts & prayers, as well. Its cold for the nationals right now, and many are living in conditions made wholly unsanitary during this season of rain and flood.

Happy Thanksgiving to all in the States...xoxo

A funny thing happened...

It’s official. My skin, my hair, and my clothes all HATE my current home. As for me, I like it just fine, thank you. Though, I do have to keep a good sense of humor about, well, pretty much everything. For instance, today I took my clothes that I had hand-washed (yes, again-but that’s ANOTHER story) off the drying rack, and they were cardboard-stiff; which is basically how my hair feels these days, as well. I’m just grateful I haven’t lost chunks of it yet, as one of my roommate’s did her first year here. Not to worry though: in her case, the main spot has supposedly grown back as baby-fine hairs and is well on its way to recovery.

Then, there’s my face, which is reacting to the pollution in the air and hard water like it did when I first hit puberty. Gotta love a pockmarked-face at the age of twenty-eight (an age which, by-the-way, makes me older than at least two-thirds of the office staff). Add on the splotches covering my body left by every single mosquito bite…all in all, the talk I heard from author Philip Yancey tonight about even the “ugly” being worthy of love hit very close to home (okay, that wasn’t his whole point, but he did mention it at least once).

Actually, tonight’s adventures (for lack of a better word) are a great example of the importance of finding the humor in many-a-situation. First off, there was our driver. A sweet man, who MUST have just gotten his license, because there is no way he has been driving in this city for any length of time: He actually obeyed all the “rules,” such as driving slow and not trying to get around every moving thing in front of him. Of course, this was his downfall, as we were twenty minutes late to the service (which we found out, shortly thereafter, didn’t actually matter; however, more on that later); he hit an auto (our version of the tuk-tuk or rickshaw-a covered motorbike with a bench attached behind the driver’s seat)…and kept driving; and then, he hit a man! Yep, “we just hit a man” were the exact words I used in response to my friends’ confused looks. Luckily, the man was large and, despite yelling angrily at our poor driver, he was smiling as he walked on. I’ll spare you the rest…but really, if we didn’t laugh, we’d have cried.

Now, the humor in the speaking event where Philip Yancey, author extraordinaire, was the guest of honor began with realizing we were attending a full on church service (read: no idea when, or if, it will end), rather than simply a speaking engagement. And it was NOT in English for the first hour; thus, our being late was insignificant. But once the actual program started, it was interpreted from English. The hilarity of these next couple of hours was mainly due to the interpreter, who seemed to translate rather liberally and added in several “Hallelujahs” that Mr. Yancey had most definitely not.

We also enjoyed the use of the phrase “And next is Mr. Philip Yancey, but first…” or “And now for Mr. Philip Yancey…right after a brief word from…” which we heard at least four times (and one and a half hours) before “now” came to pass. Sharing about the event with two roommates who had stayed home helped cultivate a fuller appreciation of the evening; especially, as we found ourselves laughing throughout our entire re-telling.

Working amidst the dark world of human trafficking and slavery, it is God’s grace that allows us to maintain a sense of humor. Mr. Yancey also spoke on this grace, and how it can be found in: the smile exchanged with a small child on a home visit (as opposed to making small children cry because they can’t figure out if I’m a ghost or something less freakishly scary); the invitation to share a meal at a new national friend’s house; a sweet and encouraging note from a friend back home I have severely neglected to communicate with, an auto driver willing to take me for a fair price on the first try, a co-worker who referred to himself as “Uncle Hugs” in an office-wide congratulations note to another co-worker; the local market selling cheddar cheese, of the non-spreadable variety; or having the electricity stay on all day; just to name a few. Seriously, there is plenty I find not-so-amusing, which makes it even more important not to dwell too long in the dark places. Been there, done that. No thank you.

Humorous images (well, to me, at least):

Okay, so I know I'm not five, but seriously? If this was the name of a soup at Marie Calendar's, I'm fairly certain the cauldron would remain full for the entire evening.

A friend sent this to me from our Diwali celebration. The over-dramatic grimace most definitely comes from growing up in an insurance agent's house. Limbs lost due to a sparkler mishap, however, is one statistic of which I have yet to be made aware...

The picture below is from my layover in Korea. Again: REALLY? Why is this a slogan? Did I say these were humorous images? Because this one kinda makes me sad...

"Stop thinking. Feel it!" (for those who cannot read the small print)

For my mom...

Eating my greens.
You're welcome. ;o)

Bittersweet

The young man dropped to the ground outside the airport without warning. One second he was talking, joking; I blinked, and he was crumpled on the tile.

As people came running, either to help, or gawk (we may never know), my friends and I pulled out cameras and started to snap some photos...while laughing hysterically.

NO, we were not being callous, ugly Americans...although to the many onlookers, I'm sure that was exactly what they were thinking (sorry). In reality, this young man was a friend, on his way home to the States, who had the misfortune to be struck by another friend's "dart" out-of-doors. According to the rules of the game (and he HAD to follow the rules...even if it meant missing his flight), if one is struck by the "dart" (an imaginary dart, no worries) he/she must fall to the ground immediately. The individual must remain here, until some kind soul "removes" said dart. There is no need to explain the entire game, nor to explain how I shudder at the thought of laying on the ground here.













A rather large crowd had gathered in the few minutes he remained on the ground. What I wouldn't give to know what the masses made of our idea of a good time...oi vey.

When someone finally showed him mercy, and he was allowed to get up, we said our farewells: He was sent on his way with an enthusiastic "golf clap" and echoing cheer as he stepped out of our vision. Now, when I think "golf clap," I think "marshmallow clap"....you know the one? Where hands never touch? So, for those not in the know (such as myself), this is actually the clap that starts slow and loud; but gets progressively faster and raucous. I'll be the first to admit we were obnoxious. But, oh, was it fun.

And such is the bittersweet nature of life abroad. In one short month, I have had to continue the trend started in May with saying goodbye to grad school friends, followed by June goodbyes to my East Coast soulmates, and those painful September goodbyes after a quick stint back in the Bay Area...here I am connecting with folks who will steadily slip out of my daily life until I take my turn next Fall.

Despite the sad farewells, I do rejoice in the fact that I can even call these admirable souls my friends. And, don't think for a second that we don't make the most of their last days...below are some images from the first "a dieu":

Goodbyes are awkward. So, this is our made-up sign to capture such an emotion. Because obviously our expressions don't cut it.







And here is evidence that there is life in a land without cable...or not, depending on how you look at it. This was the goodbye dinner dessert. We were mesmerized by the slowly tipping box. To be clear: when I say "we," I don't mean me...nope. Nuh uh.

Hey, you come visit for a month, THEN you can judge...

What to wear...What to wear?

(Written last weekend...)
My wardrobe of long pants and short-sleeve, loose-fitting tops has also been tolerable despite what the thermometers read. Today’s excitement involved picking up my new “South Asian” wardrobe from a nearby tailor, all “stitched” and ready to go. Five outfits made just for me, all for the price of a shirt back home. Niiice.

While this may seem excessive, this was the staff’s recommendation for the work I have been (and will continue) doing. The wardrobe I am referring to consists of drawstring pants called “salwar.” Salwar put every other pair of drawstring pants I’ve ever owned to shame…they could easily fit around a baby elephant and still have enough string to make a bow. Besides having to tie them around my ribcage, they are extremely comfortable during the long road trips that are a regular part of my job.

There is another popular style of pants, which boasts a similar waste to the salwar. I will have nothing
to do with these, as I’m pretty sure they were originally intended for circus-performers on stilts. Being
on the short-legged side, these tight, mile-long leggings that barely allow my feet to pass through are best avoided.

Over the salwar, women wear dress-like tops called “kurta.” These can be short or long-sleeved depending on one’s preference and/or the material. The tailors cut wildly imaginative collars in the kurta. No, no. “V-neck” and “crew-neck” would not compliment the loudness of my cloth’s pattern. All the poor tailors’ efforts seem to be in vain, however, as we then hide the intricate details of our collar under the “dupatta” (we “cool” folks simply call it the “dup”…actually, in my case, its more because I cannot seem to pronounce “dupatta” the same way twice).

This light, scarf-like piece of material hangs over both shoulders, with the center pulled down in somewhat of a v-shape over the chest. Two things are still a mystery to me: 1) what exactly I’m supposed to keep covered (my collar, or other “things”…or all of the above-and sadly, this would be a rather inappropriate question); and 2) how the national women manage to keep the ends from constantly falling off their shoulders. Some pin them, but what about the rest?? Balancing the dup in place for an entire work day is a skill I strongly desire...perhaps even covet. Please forgive me.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

Saris, or sarees, are actually more common, and I’d say, even more beautiful. But, when I consider the challenges I face in the supposedly easier number, I don’t have a hope in the world with these mounds of fabric. For some reason, however, I dropped off nice material for just such an outfit today. I need something appropriate for a co-worker’s upcoming wedding.

My first outfit took 5 days to make, and it was awesome (I’m wearing it in almost every photo in the field-see above). This particular tailor took fifteen days, which seemed reasonable for such a large order. So, when she asked me when I would need my saris by, I thought “I have at least fifteen days,” so I said, “oh, there is no rush.”

Now, the tailoring on a sari involves stitching the edges of the material, and making a tiny little blouse to avoid total indecency. While I cannot even make a simple A-line skirt (as my Mercy Ships buddies can attest to), this does not seem like an enormous task (especially compared to arranging it on one’s body!). When I asked the date, however, that I should expect my sari to be ready, the proprietor told me “right before Christmas, on the 20^th.” Hoping I had heard her wrong, I clarified, “you mean November 20^th?”

“No, December.”

“Um, well, I actually need it by December 3^rd!”

“You said there was no rush.” Darn, she was right. Strangely enough, I had thought 18 days would be plenty of time to not feel rushed. Silly, Kim.

In the end, she said she would do the stitching on the sari, but could not get me the blouse by December 3^rd. Well, lesson learned: clarify from the start what the terms “long time” and “no rush” mean…Grrr. Oh, and don't go back to that tailor, as she certainly gets plenty of business.

Please say hi to Target for me!

So, what exactly is it that you do over there?

As a fellow, my role is being constantly developed based on skills that I bring to the office and the ever-changing needs of our clients. For now, I am assigned to provide support for Aftercare Managers (or, national social workers) during home visits. These homes are located in very traditional and remote villages. “Support” at this point has meant taking pictures of the families, suggesting follow-up questions after seeing the Aftercare Manager’s written notes, playing with kids while the parents speak to our staff, and simply being an extra body accompanying the female staff for long trips.

Most of the villages I am assigned to are anywhere from two and a half to four hours away from the office. Trips to the field are the best AND the worst days. Sitting for hours at a time on roads with tanker-sized pot holes has to be the most aggravating part of the aftercare department’s role. I woke up the morning after my first field experience with a severe headache from what I can only guess was whiplash (not only do we rock side-to-side constantly, but we also enjoy sudden stops regularly…for which I must be grateful: the less-appealing alternative is slamming head-on into large trucks). Being in the field, however, spending time with the families, getting to hear their stories firsthand, and seeing their smiles when I commend their bravery for speaking out against their oppressors** has, by far, been my favorite part of the job.

Along with these home visits, I am currently re-defining our curriculum for using local social work students as interns and trying to build relationships with reputable schools of social work in the region. Through focus groups, I’ve been able to solicit ideas from the entire Aftercare staff. And just yesterday, I met with the head of the social work department at one local university. Starting November 18^th, I will be responsible for supervising the students and trying out the new curriculum.

Other projects in the works include building up our resource library for training the national staff and, ultimately, better serving our clients; providing support for and participating in various aftercare initiatives, such as our recent medical camps, and upcoming children’s festival; and being a liaison between our organization and other local NGOs.

> On our way to a village.












> A cluster of some really nice homes in one village.












> One family even rigged up a pretty sweet "restroom" in which to bathe...it is NOT used as a toilet. That's gross. THAT business is typically taken care of on the edges of the villages, thank you very much.











**The victims we work with risk everything to speak up about their circumstances. They must claim their status as forced laborers to government officials, who often have little or no compassion for people of their caste. Many times, the government officials have allowed the perpetrators to be present at this hearing, and the bonded laborers are threatened throughout. In one instance, it took a small child to tell the truth before any of the adult laborers would finally admit to the daily abuse they endured. In another instance, freed laborers were surrounded by an angry mob paid by their former owner as our staff was returning them to a village. When I think of how intimidated I get speaking in front of a group of supportive peers, I just cannot even begin to understand the courage it must take for those who have been taught they are worthless from birth to demand justice. Humbling.

Fahrenheit 451? Try Celsius 232.8, Mr. Bradbury.

Attention all future visitors! NOW is the time to come. The weather (on non-rainy days) is absolutely delightful. It almost feels like a warm Spring day in the Silicon Valley…almost. That is, if that Spring day causes head-to-toe perspiration on a person walking from her front door to the street.

Speaking of the street…the word on ours is: do NOT come in May-the hottest month of the year. By arriving in October, my hope is to grow accustomed to the heat as it bears down on us in the coming months leading to this region’s summer. Thus far, it’s been quite pleasant. I have only lost sleep one night due to the heat.

Superman

An afterthought on our washing machine's status...

Yesterday, I finally broke down and hand-washed five buckets full of clothes, sheets, etc. There was no alternative. I'm not complaining, mind you. It's what I was expecting to do for every wash. No, the reason this is noteworthy stems from our landlord's response to the death and destruction of our machine:

Superman, as my roommates have lovingly** dubbed him, has decided we are lying about the irreparable damage done and refuses to replace it until he is able to assess it personally. As he is on holiday until who knows when and I was down to ZERO clean clothes options, I was forced to finally hike my skirt up (and tuck it in) while I squatted over the buckets. At least I get to count the scrubbing as my second workout this week! You should see the size of my guns now!
Prepped ahead of time by my roommates, Superman's assumption that we were lying to him did not come as a surprise. Normally, I would have been indignant. In his case, I just had to nod and say "that sounds about right."

Apparently, the girls had requested some help in eradicating the colony of cockroaches that had settled comfortably into the kitchen's cupboards (where they still remain-I see at least 4 every time I enter the kitchen). Despite the presence of a large cockroach scuttling across the floor in front of him, Superman insisted there were no cockroaches. Similarly, he was convinced they had lied about being volunteers until he was informed by one of our co-workers that they, in fact, were NOT being paid for their work. Oh, Superman...how far the mighty have fallen.

**The nickname sounds fairly close to his "good name," as they say here. I personally think he earned this nickname out of sheer irony.

**Also, my roommates asked me to point out the inaccuracies in the image above: apparently, one should add a large, rotund belly, rather than bulging pecks; and a flapping comb-over on his head, rather than a red cape off his back...

BWahahaha!

Just wanted to show off these FABULOUS pics sent by loved ones back home:

Kara (as Share Bear) and Siena (as Cheer Bear) Piro's first Halloween...This pic kills me because a) the twins are adorable and its so fun to watch them grow, even from afar, and b) I totally had Cheer Bear! Good choice Grandma Hofmockel (the costumes' maker). Mom and Dad Piro (Alissa, my freshman year roommate at Pepperdine, and Squale, her uber-talented hubby and now a dear friend) went as Jem and He-Man to complete the children's toys theme. LOVE IT!!
The pic below is one of the girls in summer dresses from Auntie Kim that Alissa sent to me-are they NOT just the cutest??!

And this sweet cherub was born a month after the twins, to my cousins, Mark and Robin Martin. Annika got to buzz through Mark's office in her bee costume. I'm pretty sure I know how the office reacted, but I wonder what she thought of it all...Rob?

Thanks for sending those you guys!! Keep 'em coming....

Don't mess with the Mast-ah!

At first appearance, our office is incredibly thoughtful, joyful, professional, self-less, and any other number of positive descriptors. But don't visit us on Friday mornings! From 9 am to 10 am, our staff regularly divides itself into six ruthless, power-hungry teams...all set on one thing: winning. My normally mild-mannered cohorts, who have regularly given up a night of sleep for the others, epitomize the word "competition" in our weekly trivia game.

Following the raucous chanting, during week one in the office, I came upon this scene and honestly had no idea how to respond! I felt like the bartered price of an auto ride as the teams "discussed" who got the newbie.

The game is administered by "the master," a wisened, old monkey...carved into a coconut. His rules prevail-he can award points as he sees fit, and just the same, he can take points away. And, what, you may ask, is the prize? Why, pride, of course...and the honor of being responsible for "the master" until the next round. We're pretty simple folk.

It is amazing to me how much you can learn about others in such a setting. Husbands have stooped so low as to blame their wives for their tardiness (an automatic deduction of points), and in the same breath claimed they should get points for their chivalry in entering the room last...At the other end of the spectrum, there is an ample amount of grace given during the game, as well: we got points despite my giving the wrong answer because I had at least made an attempt in my first week; and teams have gotten points for breaking into spontaneous song.

Seriously, though, I see this ritual as a necessary part of the work. To be able to let go and laugh in spite of the wickedness we see day to day restores hope for the world, and builds trust (strange, but true) among us. It is a part of our culture to work hard, but it's healthy to not take ourselves too seriously. And this transfers to the field.

The victims see these bonds among my teammates, and are comforted. They seem to appreciate the willingness of our staff to laugh with them, and share their burdens and fears openly (NOT usually the case in the wider culture). So, really, the master's game is essential to our mission ;o).

Okay, maybe/maybe not, but I have acquired a delightful amount of useless knowledge!

Did you know that:
- Hong Kong is made up of 235 islands??
- the Phillies are the losing-est team in sports history?? And that they've lost over 10,000 games?? (Congrats Phillies)
- the Tasmanian Devil cartoon character was created by WB to help save the endangered Australian critter from going extinct?

Working hard over here...Honest.

A nibble here, a nibble there

Staring up at me, with those beady little eyes, he seemed to be saying, “Do you mind? Your monstrous tush is in my way.” For that, he got his picture taken and posted here (see below) for all to view the uppity fellow who dared to pinch my rear this Sunday.

There I was, sitting on a local beach (YES, we have beaches!) listening to the unfolding story of one of our visitors, when I suddenly felt a painful sting. Despite my efforts to swat the source of my discomfort away, it struck again. Scrambling to get away from whatever was feasting on my flesh; my tiny nemesis boldly stood his ground. The fact that he was the size of my thumbnail had not deterred him from claiming the right-of-way...

Now, I can add the welt left by his attempt to move boulders to the ever-growing collection of leprosy-looking splotches covering my body. While I could post a picture of this new addition, that does not seem even remotely appropriate. Ahh, crab bites. Good times.

Some call it pumpkin bread, I like to call it "a little slice of Heaven"

Bearing teeth-rotting (but oh-so-delectable) candy corn and other fall delights, three compatriots joined us this weekend from another field office. The assembly line pictured, as well as the abundance of non-traditional (a.k.a. WESTERN) foods were the result of our iron chefs creativity...Martha Stewart would have been put to shame by the tastiness of our feast, which served about fifteen ravenous adults.

Following this goodness was a rousing game of Trivial Pursuit: Globetrotter Edition...it was strangely reminiscent of Thanksgiving, so we decided to say a big THANK YOU to all our supporters (my apologies for the "turkey-coma"-esque posture of the models ;o)) . We are truly grateful for your sacrifices and generosity.

And thank you, guests, for bringing HARVEST with you...what a treat!