Thanksgiving: Part Deux (as promised)

28.Nov.08: Despite the lack of electricity during most of the day, and the unstable situation in Mumbai, four expats gathered together last Thursday evening for a celebratory feast. Nothing would stand in the way of gluttony! Not even the fact that no hired-cars were available because they were not about to risk driving in the rains. Donning our ostentatious Wellies, rolled-up pants, and overnight bags (just in case), my roommate and I juggled the prepared dishes, extra groceries, and single umbrella, as we made our way up the driveway to flag down (with what hands??) an auto-rickshaw.
How this unsteady mode-of-transportation seemed to be the only viable option that stormy night is beyond my non-engineering mind. Yet, there we were. If I’d had a free hand, there would have been more visual documentation of how ridiculous we must have looked! Any attempt to keep water off my good-natured roommate was futile. Every time I shifted bags to shake an elbow towards the on-coming autos, she became my umbrella’s dumping ground.

Most of the yellow-painted three-wheelers were already packed full. The wait for a ride was so long; my roomie had to sit on the side of the muddy road before she dropped our increasingly heavy dessert. By the time an empty auto pulled over for us (probably for a good laugh), we were completely drenched…and willing to pay whatever fortune our driver requested. The fortitude produced by the promise of a large meal, laced with nostalgia, is incredible!

Our friend’s warm, clean apartment was such a welcome sight. Another friend arrived shortly after us, and together, the four of us shared a glorious meal. My roommate (a Kiwi, who lived in the States for a couple Thanksgivings as a child) generously provided two essentials: the cranberry sauce (which came in a jar, but we were in no position to be choosy) and the stuffing. Our hostess managed to acquire and/or produce two large chickens, mashed potatoes, homemade gravy, fruit salad, and broccoli (the first I’d seen here!!!) smothered in Velveeta cheese (a treat from home). It was beautiful.

After making ourselves sick from eating more food in one sitting than we were used to, we returned to watching the news about Mumbai. I’d followed the reports via the internet whenever we’d had power throughout the day, but it was fascinating to watch the news unfold on a television. We called friends in the area to make sure they were still okay. We discussed the implications for the rest of South Asia. And we were devastated for the citizens of India and Pakistan.

We are in an area that is traditionally known to be fairly peaceful. Despite our feeling of safety, we are not naïve to the fact that anything is possible. A local law college was shut down last month due to riots between castes. What may appear to be a religious conflict is, in actuality, a clash between the have and the have-nots; between those who believe they have power over others, and those who have grown tired of being oppressed. It is an issue that has been brewing for centuries.

At first, this was cause for hesitation in moving here: how can I only live for a year in a culture just waking up to its overwhelming social problems, and expect to make an impact? How can I expect to find any hope? But despite the risks and my fears, my heart has been changed. I cannot imagine a better time to be here. Among the youth, there is an openness to discuss these issues; and for me, the opportunity for a deeper understanding of those which I have barely even scratched the surface.
~~~~~~~
Part of my hesitation came from the mixture of rich and poor. Despite my being a volunteer here, I am living in one of the nicer neighborhoods. Granted six of us live there to make it affordable, but we feel safe, and it came furnished.

Every day, I take an auto to work. It picks us up at the edge of our driveway, and put-puts for ten minutes past a river, which smells like a soiled diaper. Thousands of families have set-up house on the slopes that border this river. Their coconut-leaf roofs peak just above the “sidewalk,” so that the home life of the many street children and beggars we pass each day is easier to ignore. The suffering right outside my door (literally, two buildings down) is appalling.

What I find even more appalling is learning how I have become one of those “rich” people who appears complacent to the “poor” around me: it took two whole days before I heard about the damage inflicted upon these families by the recent record-breaking rains of a passing cyclone. Apparently, a nearby reservoir had reached its capacity of 22-feet, and had to be opened to relieve pressure. Waves gushed forcefully through the opened shutters from ten o’clock Thursday (Thanksgiving) morning until later that evening.

Water levels rose quickly, leaving families occupying the river bed with little time to evacuate. The current swept through their fragile shelters, indiscriminately snatching whatever it could find, including, in its greed, human life. Overall, 51 (documented) lives were lost; approximately 1,380 areas were affected; and at least 168,000 people have been impacted by the flooding.

[A picture of the water being released, from the local paper]

When I first heard this from some local friends, I was told the families most at risk were given no warning. While I cannot verify this fact, I simply cannot imagine how these particular families would have gotten “the message” (most can’t read, probably don’t have phone access, certainly don’t have internet or television…so if the government sent a warning, they would have had to go door to door, which is highly unlikely!) .

The river level covered all but the little bit of roof that we see poking over the sidewalk for several days after the initial release. There was no chance of ignoring the increase in numbers of cows and families that now occupied the edges of the streets. Massive relief efforts, however, are supposedly in full swing. The Government is dispensing funds for families to rebuild damage done to their homes. Moreover, the deceased’s’ next-of-kin will receive an equivalent of US $2,060 for the life lost. Um, yep, I’m sure that should about cover it…?????? Sigh.

To think that this happened right down my street without my realizing it frustrates me to no end. What am I doing if I’m not interacting with my neighbors? If I don’t know what’s happening in my own neighborhood? At least my eyes have been opened to my weakness in this area. I have hope that I will not continue to waste any opportunity to learn about the good, and the bad of my temporary home; to really understand how the choices we make impact those around us; and how important it is to see the whole picture, not just what’s on my immediate right and left. Ooh boy, is this gonna be fun…

A friend of mine, an amazingly energetic human rights lawyer, models her "formal" saree for you all...in her hair is a strand of jasmine, which are sold on the side of the road. Many women will wear these flowers in their hair on a daily basis. For her, it's just a special occasion. The strands smell soooooooo good (especially in contrast to the nearby garbage dump/public restroom...oh, I mean, river).

Wouldn't you know I'd go and ruin a perfectly sweet photo?

Surprise...

Last Friday, we were able to throw a western bridal shower for a friend flying home to get married next week! Luckily, we were able to pull it off-it was meant to be a tea party, but it wouldn't have felt right if everything went as planned...our electricity went out just as we were going to boil the water. So, the majority of the party was done by candlelight, but it was still fun to celebrate with her.

"the surprise"

For all of our national guests, it was their first "shower." We had fun sharing about different wedding traditions, which were explained through a couple games:

Her fiance had answered a series of questions about his future-bride. She heard the questions, and then had to guess what his response would be: as this picture demonstrates, certain questions (even despite our attempt to censor the questions/responses, so as to be audience-appropriate) still managed to fully embarrass the guest-of-honor. Such a good sport!

A simple game of "wedding word charades" proved to be very educational...can anyone guess what she's acting out here??

Thanksgiving 2008: Part I

As Monsoon Season comes on full force, so do the beanies and wool coats. Yes, even here. Even in the humidity. Several of my miniscule co-workers wear three layers of clothing under their jackets. I shudder at the thought of one moving to Australia in February, where she will live for three years. Okay, in reality I envy her for having this opportunity; but I do fear for her losing limbs due to frostbite during the winters down under. It is currently 75 degrees Fahrenheit as I write, and yet, she told me she had worn socks, gloves, and six layers of clothing to bed this week! Ah, winter in South Asia.

We experienced thunder and lightning the other night. Waking up in the wee small hours of the morning to what sounded like the aluminum roof of our building cracking open, our awe and wonder was best expressed by one of my roommate's deep "WOAH." By the time we got up for work, that particular, powerful storm had passed.

Schools were closed yesterday because the streets were too flooded. Whereas at home, flooding is seen as a nuisance, here it is a major hazard. There are exposed wires, basically everywhere, and very close to the ground. On more than one occasion, I have almost choked on some strung at chin-level in my neighborhood. The water-and- electrical-wire combo does not bode well for the large quantities of humans wading through the city to get to work, school, food, higher ground…wherever. Plus, the pathways most frequented by pedestrians contain manholes every ten feet, or so.

In an effort to speed up the draining process, these death traps are often left wide-open throughout the season. Luckily, I had been warned of this and, therefore, steer clear. On the ride home from work yesterday, however, I witnessed the rescue of a pitiful soul, who could not have known the manhole was even there due to the gallons of rain water that had accumulated around it into a ten-foot-wide pond. Others watched a woman walking in front of them disappear completely, as she was submerged in one such hole. Luckily, people were close enough to fish her out. And still another friend was horrified to see a man fall into a ditch hidden on the side of a road by the muddy waters and have to be rescued by others that literally dove in after him. Can you imagine? Not knowing how to swim, as most of my co-workers confess to, and having to talk about nearly drowning in a drainage ditch? Ugh.

My biggest concern, however, is for the number of released laborers who live at the bottom slope of their villages. An aspect of the everyday oppression this group of people experience, and (sadly) expect, is being treated as the lowest-of-the-low in their society. So low, they are not even considered a part of the caste system (which is illegal here, but so ingrained, even educated people do not realize they are perpetuating the problem). As a result, they are given the worst land to build their homes upon: the most vulnerable, lowest, and furthest away from any roads or towns. Essentially, they are told to wait at the back of the line…for everything.

Home types range in the villages (just like in the city), but the most common materials used by our families are mud, straw, and tree-branch roofs. The community works hard to keep these clean and presentable, and the homes are well-made. But when the storms come, they are not able to withstand the elements. Rebuilding takes time, energy, and money that most of our families work very hard to earn and save. Not long ago, one middle-aged couple proudly took me on a "tour" of their newly-upgraded home. Their neighbors had all pitched in, and they had saved for months to build this exquisite mud structure: one AND A HALF rooms, with tall reeds that held up other reeds in what resembled a covered-porch. It was impressive. I'm anxious to visit their village this month to see how it has fared.

Today, Thanksgiving, I have much to be grateful for, as I sit at home high and dry. Due to the flooding, our office has been closed-so I actually HAVE to take the day off. Well, if I must…Cars are staying off the streets because of the high waters, so my co-workers that ride scooters and motorcycles to the office wouldn't stand a chance. Plus, many are without electricity (including us, on and off, as mentioned in my earlier post) and several inches of water are covering the floor of others' homes.

Oh, there is so much more to say about today alone. I've written a small novella already, however, and will, therefore, save the rest for another post. Stay tuned…

The latest...

Thank you for all your concerned messages, and for your prayers. Tensions are still high, but everyone on staff is accounted for and we are all safe. My apologies for the delayed update! Here are just a few glimpses of the roads before the worst of the flooding:

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!

Life, as we know it...

The good news: we own a washing machine! No quarters necessary; no sitting on dingy, cracked plastic chairs during the final spin; no bending over a bucket full of suds, rubbing my clothes together in the hopes that the caked-on layer of dirt will relent before I do…oh, no…we know how to live it up.

The bad news: an electrical fire consumed the top of our precious machine two nights ago. It is no more. Apparently, the burden of keeping six women clean was just too much for our cream-colored box of j-o-“oy” (yes, j-o-“oi” – it’s a new favorite term). Well, it was sure wonderful while it lasted.

Pop, drop, and lock it...or something like that...

The time on my phone said “7:00 AM.” Really? For the second day in a row, the incessant popping sound of firecrackers had started at sun-up. Can anyone explain the appeal of setting off these colorful explosives in broad daylight? Seriously. Alas, such is Diwali (pronounced: “Dee-vawl-ee”). The Festival of Lights-well, the OTHER festival of lights- is a three-day celebration of the triumph of good over evil (**Read the note below for more information). Those of us without family to celebrate with were invited to a feast, followed by chaos, at our director’s home.

About twenty of us gathered on their apartment building’s rooftop to gain a better understanding of why the United States (well, I can only speak for California) has so many restrictions on where and how firecrackers can be set off. Emerging from the stairwell, it sounded like we had entered the civil war (and I ardently praised God that this is a peaceful part of the country)…booms and pops surrounded us. It was truly an amazing sight.

As someone with ADD, it was almost like torture: where do I look first?!? We’d hear a steady flow of cracks from one side of the building and turn to look, but see nothing; then, hear a boom on the other side and catch the fading dust of what must have been a giant green explosion. This went on continuously for hours! Much of the excitement originated from our group on the roof.

Reason was momentarily abandoned for the joy of playing with fire and watching things explode. One building next door must have felt under attack as several bottle rockets went awry. Thank goodness they didn’t retaliate! And thank goodness for tin roofing, cement walls, and steel window frames. Words cannot capture the experience, but I am so glad I was able to witness (and live through) this holiday.

Boy, was I grateful to find our apartment building still standing as we pulled in later that evening. Some neighbors had decided it was a good idea to set their small collection of “crackers” off in the covered carport. Awesome.

**Wikipedia (the oh-so-trusted source of information…ummm) shares that Diwali, or Deepavali, is “a significant festival in Hinduism, Sikhism, Buddhism, and Jainism.” The “victory of good over evil within every human being” is symbolized by the use of lights or lamps.
For some, “it is the homecoming of King Rama of Ayodhya after a 14-year exile in the forest, after he defeated the evil Ravana.[5] The people of Ayodhya (the capital of his kingdom) welcomed Rama by lighting rows (avali) of lamps (deeva), thus its name: Deepavali. This word, in due course, became Diwali in Hindi.”
There are other significant reasons for the celebration, which can be found at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diwali. This site is also to be thanked for the photo.

Beautiful words...

If I can stop one heart from breaking,

I shall not live in vain:

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.

-Emily Dickinson

(This commercial break has been brought to you while I await approval on my latest posting. I'd planned to put a really inspiring picture of a national social worker in action, but my friend's caped-crusader pose won out. Please note: the pants sparkle. Oh, yes...it's true.)

Mossie Woes

Disgusted. Disturbed. Concerned. The expressions on the villagers' faces as they pointed and gawked at my swelling mosquito bite (see the self-portrait) were actually rather amusing; especially considering they had just been laughing about the fact that the mother had birthed her seventh child the week prior to this home visit. No doctors, no midwife: Just her and a neighbor woman. She had thrown that bit of information in after talking for a good twenty minutes (this was also amusing, though troubling). Mere minutes before this, I had met a man missing part of his second toe, as a result of leprosy. And they were showing ME pity? It was priceless.

Later that night, while sharing this story with my roommates, they enlightened me a bit. Apparently, the horrified looks were most likely brought on by the villagers' belief that the grotesque red bulge on my arm WAS leprosy, as my bite looked similar to the early stages of the disease.

So, yes, the mossies (a new Australian term I learned yesterday) seem to enjoy feasting on me…and, after watching the bite pictured grow for two more days, I finally made a visit to the doctor's. He was a pleasant man, who reassured me that "this is the normal reaction to our bug bites. For another three to six months, it will be like this." Fabulous. He then listed many useful tips, such as 1) sleep in a mosquito net (now, why hadn't I thought of that?); 2) wear long, 100% cotton sleeves (in THIS heat?! You've got to be kidding!); 3) use mosquito repellent (what if I WAS wearing repellent? What then??). At this, I paid him the grand equivalent of US$5.00 for his kindness in humoring me and made my way to work. Note: My ex-pat co-workers tell me that none of their reactions to bites have been like mine.

Medical Camp: Day 1

Tuesday was Day 1 of our medical camp. It went really well-I was worried when I woke up to a torrential downpour and severe lightning/thunder that no one would attend, as they had to travel from their distant villages to reach the "marriage hall" (usually a huge temple-esque building used for-you guessed it-weddings). Luckily, God provided...we had plenty of supplies, incredibly dedicated volunteers, and around 120 individuals received medical attention! The families were adorable-they came dressed in their best. I was part of the registration team, which basically meant I wrote their token numbers on a sticker that was then placed on their shirt with an explanation from a national social worker on staff (and perhaps the most adorable person in the world). "Token numbers" are like the ticket you'd pull at the DMV, declaring your number place in line. "Now serving #240 at window 7" was not quite how it worked for us today, but you get the idea...total, 35 families made the trek to our location.
My favorite parts of day 1 were seeing the excitement of the visiting medical team. They were just thrilled to be a part of helping us build relationships with local, national doctors (who were required to be in attendance by the government if we were to have such an event), so that our clients will receive continued service at local hospitals and so that it will be more likely that we could do medical camps in the future.
One story told by the visiting team leader, with tears in her eyes, was that one victim asked the translator to tell her thank you for being here because normally they would have to wait for hours on end in the hospital before being seen. Today, I believe the longest waiting period was about 20 minutes, and then they had free access to: a family practitioner, nurse practitioner, dentist, physical therapist, HIV/AIDS testing, health counselors, and the appropriate medications dished out by the visiting pharmacist (also the fiance of our legal director!!!). When the American visitor heard this man's thank you, she asked that the translator inform the man that it was HER honor and privilege to be here with him. Apparently, the huge grin on the man's face at hearing this made the entire trip worthwhile.
Another positive from the day: the local doctors informed our staff leader that this was the most organized and well-done medical camp they have ever seen. That is exciting news for future victims we work with-hopefully they'll receive better care from local hospitals now! It's also fun to hear volunteers so excited about the work being done for the victims, that they are already talking about how to educate folks at home and bring in more funding for the victims.
And the last story I will tell: We have one young girl suffering from elephantitis (spelling??) in her leg. No one has been able to help her. Luckily, one of the visiting doctors knew of an organization that another team member has a connection to that specializes in such cases. So, we may be able to get this precious girl the help she truly needs. Yay for good ol' networking!
Let's pray for similarly successful days Wed. and Thurs., and that the excitement for our exhausted volunteers/staff continues...(another favorite part of the day was interacting with the little kids, naturally. The people are some of the most beautiful people I have ever seen...and we had a coloring area for the kids-they proudly showed me their work afterward-LOVED that!)

How one survives monsoon season...

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Ladies' Craft Night at the token Aussies'...minus the craft. Oh, well-next time, perhaps? This shows of few of the ladies hard at work preparing our feast.







That same night, we had 8 girls crowded around a laptop watching a live sonogram...who knew that was even an option?? Only ONE of the eight even knew the baby's mama, mind you.







This image makes me happy: gotta love the pink, child-sized rain suit...

Election 2008

Last Thursday, I was able to vote for our future (fingers-crossed) president. Some brilliant ex-pats (other non-nationals) working at the local U.S. Consulate figured out how to provide absentee ballots for those of us who had not received ours yet. To save time on returning our ballots (and increasing the likelihood that our votes will count), they planned to send them with the weekly consulate mail.

It was quite weird to see so many (non-roommate) ex-pats in one space, but it felt great to be able to exercise my civic duty, even from afar. In a way, I felt like I was surrounded by family. Thank goodness for well-informed roomies who were able to help me find this random event!

Please be encouraged to take the time to participate in this election...whomever you chose to vote for~

*Side note: A comment made by one of our national staff today to my roommate was that he likes Gov. Palin because "she's funny...she doesn't seem to take it seriously...I think she should be your vice president," to which my roommate could only reply with: "I am deeply offended by that comment." HAHAHA!

Keeping it light...

While awaiting approval from HQ on my latest blogspot, I wanted to pass along a link to just one example of how we've kept ourselves entertained over here during the last few rainy nights...
A flash mob is apparently a phenomenon that, sadly, I JUST heard about. These are a few of the original FLASH MOB images. While I feel for the poor individuals that are singled-out in each clip, I do bust out in uncontrollable fits of laughter every time I see it. Oh, the simple things that bring one joy...
http://www.liveleak.com/view?i=e65_1199304869

Greetings from South Asia!

This Saturday marked the one-week anniversary of my arrival. Although it seems like forever since I left San Francisco, it has only been a week and a half...wow, really?! It's true what has been said about days spent in another culture actually being the equivalent of weeks, due to the amount of new information/experiences an individual is taking in...hopefully, by keeping this blog, I will better remember and be better able to process what is happening here on a daily basis.

Thus far, I have been acquainted with my new roommates (yes, all five...count them: FIVE), and co-workers; oriented to my new office, flat (i.e. apartment-extraordinaire), and role as a Fellow. I'll be working on becoming acquainted with the neighborhood for a good while....I can't even remember how to pronounce my street name yet! Oi!

In the coming weeks, I will try to post entries detailing my life here, as much as I am allowed;o). If you have any particular requests for information, please feel free to email me directly at: kjwhitta@gmail.com.

Thanks for keeping up with what's happening...

For now, here's my Top Ten of Living with Five (other) Girls:
10) There is a collaborative appreciation for dancing...
09) There is always someone to talk to...
08) Our place is always well-stocked for life's necessities...
07) Our apartment complex security guards are very protective of our group.
06) We all fit in an auto...whether on laps or side-bars.
05) There are plenty of shoes to choose from...
04) There were plenty of traditional outfits to choose from for my first day in the field...
03) Collectively, they have been through it all! So, I am saved from a number of embarrassing occurrences daily...
02) I have yet to cook a meal for myself (everyone is very generous, thoughtful, and seem to have uncanny skills in the art of cooking).
01) I have yet to be late to work...with four people depending on you, there's no way I want to be the last one ready!