A hard day's night...

Well, a funny story about my Sunday evening two weekends ago, at least...

Sunday was spent catching up a) on sleep, and b) on work. Yes, I was working. Preparing for our "Freedom Training" that was starting on Monday. We are constantly updating the curriculum (hopefully improving it) and I hadn't yet finished all the updates we'd planned. After working for awhile, I took a short break to attend house church (a small group of us meet for church at my friends' apt), which was actually a mini birthday party for a friend's daughter, Sneha. She turned 7 (but her size is more like that of a 5-year-old).

I walked in to her wearing the most elaborate princess gown full of golden roses and singing "happy birthday to ME" at the top of her lungs....she was the most strung-out-on- sugar child I have ever seen. And this was PRE-sugar. She's a hoot. Seriously. We had all brought her "princess" gifts, which she gushed appropriately over...until she opened her gift from our hosts: a birthday princess Barbie. Holy toledo! I thought for a second that she was literally bouncing off walls...it was a sight to behold. The dogs in MY neighborhood (five minutes walking distance away) were barking in response...okay, not really. We ate cake and then dug a wee bit into 1 Peter 2.

An hour later, it was back to the office....at 1 AM, as I was pressing print on the first of several documents that I needed to print, the POWER went out in the entire building. Printing was out. Luckily, we have small back up batteries so I was at least able to keep working on the computer. But these batteries don't last forever, and as the back-up- generated lights began to flicker out, I decided I should save my work as is and shut down before I lose it all. It was now 2:30 am and I had to be back at the office no later than 7 am....with tons to do still, I figured I would simply go home, shower, get ready for the day and ride my bicycle straight back to the office to complete my work.

We usually have mandatory hour and a half power outages, but we hadn't had any for awhile now. For some reason, even though these things are totally unpredictable, I simply thought it would turn back on after a short while. So, I shut down, packed up, locked up our office (padlocks and all) and headed downstairs to retrieve my cycle...our building has a night watchman and a gate. I''ve worked late many nights and the gate is never locked...shut, but not locked. Tonight, however, it was. Padlocked. And our "guard" was sleeping soundly on the steps in front of our office building.

I felt guilty waking him up, but I tried to make the normal "okay, I'm getting ready to leave now" noises...nothing (apparently, my fears that the sad little bell on my bicycle is useless are true; I had better replace it soon before I get run over). Yes, my attempts were pathetic, but honestly, if the pulling-the-gate-down-over-the-office-door-and-padlocking-it racket didn't wake him, nothing would! That process sounds like the tin man pre-oiling tripping over himself in a greek amphitheater. It's just painful! Well, to me, at least. Doesn't seem to phase our guard one bit.

After some time, I gave up: if the dogs barking up a storm and the unregulated car horns (that can also be heard in Sri Lanka) weren't causing him to stir, I didn't stand a chance. Defeated, I headed back up into the office...I feel safe here in general, but I'm not stupid; and walking back at this hour to my house sans bike, while possible, is not a wise thing to do...I undid the fallen tinman, worked a bit longer, and then arranged three desk chairs as a makeshift bed (you all have been there, done that, right?) for a brief nap....

I woke up (with the help of my wonderful boyfriend and fellow co-worker's calls/texts) an hour and a half later to find the electricity still had not returned and I again attempted to leave the grounds. Luckily, this time was much more successful...I had just enough time to clean up and then ride back to the office with the hope of printing something before our car left at 7. The power, however, did not return until midday, apparently...sigh. Oh well. I tried. Oh, and I got home that day (Monday) from our day in the field by 9:30 pm....after a LONG, de-licing shower and a quick call from Ben, I was finally able to get some sleep in a bed.

Protecting the Master...

A previous post describes the Friday trivia/team building game we play in our office, which we fondly refer to as "The Master's Game." The team that wins each week earns the honor of caring for the monkey-carved-out-of-coconut that we know only as "The Master" (of Ceremonies, essentially). After a recent win (and prior to our more recent losing-streak, I am sad to report), a few of us decided it had been awhile since the master had been properly "dressed" for the Friday fun.

To explain the photos below: Our team is called "Toast" (the nickname for one of our teammates), which is displayed as a classy tattoo on the master's backside in one image. His tuxedo offers him some cover from the coming monsoons, and his mask is simply to protect him from the onslaught of swine flu-even the guards outside of our buildings have been wearing masks of late.

Yes, we DO work...most of the time. :)

Sri NO Ka (Part 1)

Below are some images (pre-camera dying) from a recent, brief excursion with friends to the tropical island-nation of Sri Lanka. It is a beautiful land, of which I only saw a very small piece. We stayed near the old Dutch colonial town of Fort Galle in the south, which is still enclosed within the Fort's ramparts. Most of the images below are from our day around the Fort, itself. "Sri NO ka" became our catch phrase after running into several snags, as any good adventure would. We say it fondly now, of course...

Medical Camp 2009

Some more images from the day: over 200 families served in one village. The team of national and non-nationals worked tirelessly all day, in extremely hot, unventilated "cubbies." Several families from the operation I was a part of back in December live in this village, which is an hour from the nearest hospital/clinic- one reason it was selected for the camp. The other main reason, however, is our desire to improve community relations for our clients as they reintegrate into free society.

The Girl Child

My sister is expecting! You wouldn’t know it though-even with her preggo belly, she’s still about half my size. It’s slightly awkward telling people “she’s pregnant” when I show them her picture, because I feel as though I’m insulting their intelligence...but really, on her, you can’t tell!! So, come mid-October, or somewhere thereabouts, my parent’s first grandchild should grace us with his presence. I cannot wait to meet “Peanut,” as he is affectionately referred to for the time being. Yes, Peanut is a boy...



[One of his earlier ultrasounds!]

When I share the news of my sister's pregnancy with folks back home, I can usually expect to hear the question: “Is she having a boy or girl?” Parents-to-be can elect to know the sex of their unborn child ahead of time in the U.S. Some prefer to be surprised, but others would like to choose a name, prepare a nursery, or begin a wardrobe deemed gender-appropriate (whatever that may mean).

Here, however, that is not the case. To be more accurate, that is simply not an option. Parents are not allowed to know the sex of their child before it is born; there are laws against it. Labs performing ultrasound scans, for example, are forbidden to reveal any details as to the sex of a fetus. The reason behind such a law is rather sobering.

Female infanticide is a problem of epic proportions, especially in this state. Despite the laws that are currently in place, bribes are still paid to lab technicians. In cases where abortions due to pre-determination are not possible, midwives may be paid to provide “female deselection” services (where the baby’s spine is snapped after birth), or female babies are blatantly murdered in infancy, through neglect, poisoning, or other torturous abuse.

Economic, cultural, and religious factors have resulted in a son being valued over a daughter. In many communities, a bride’s family is expected to provide a dowry* to the groom’s family, leading to a great economic burden for her parents. Extremely poor families may sell their daughters to local temples as Devadasi, or "brides to the gods" (which essentially means they will be used by the temple priests as a means to make money through prostitution...a fate any girls born to the Devadasi are doomed to share) to avoid the debt of paying her dowry later in life. Another blow to the parents of girls is that the bride leaves her family, along with her dowry, and joins her husband’s. As a result, his parents are guaranteed caretakers later in life, while the bride’s parents are not. His parents gain capable hands, which can help with the household chores. Her parents are down a labourer. The familial line passes through the male, where a man is known as “the son of so-and-so” and the female is either “the daughter of so-and-so” (her father) or “the wife of so-and-so.” In the Hindu religion, certain rites (such as the lighting of his parents’ funeral pyre) can only be performed by a son, again making a boy child preferred over a girl. In some cases, women have reported seeing their lives as so invaluable, that they see killing a baby girl as doing the child a favour. If the girl child survives infancy, she may still be at risk of abandonment. Orphanages in the region are overflowing with young girls. A friend here is starting a non-profit to raise awareness about female infanticide, and to raise funds for the few local organizations that are already trying to combat the issue. It is a disturbing phenomenon, and a sad, sad reality.

Recently, I read an article in the paper here about a village in a northern state, where there is a shortage of brides; so the men have built a road to ease the travel of women from other villages into their own. Now, I don’t really know the cause of this “shortage” of women, but I certainly have a guess...there are frightening statistics highlighting the overall imbalance between genders country-wide.

Watch out, Peanut! I may be bringing a girl cousin home for you...make that five girl cousins...okay, not really. Well, maybe....

*There are also laws banning the giving of/expectation of dowry, but in many rural, very traditional communities, the practice continues. Female infanticide and Devadasi are just two of the many issues that stem from the giving of a dowry. Another is when a groom’s family demands more from the bride’s family. The bride will often suffer beatings, burnings, and other forms of torture until her family is able to meet those demands...

The pictures below are of some girls in a nearby village, where we recently held a medical "camp" (a day of free medical services)-it was my second since arriving last October. I just can't fathom the idea that these darlings could be viewed as worthless by some...

The Namesake

As a result of our recent wave of rescue operations, we had five straight days of Freedom Trainings. Despite the long, hot days, it was a great week. After several days of dancing with kids during our downtime; having them explain their drawings to me (in a language I could not understand, mind you....it’s poor social work, but amazing how a simple “oh?” or “wow, super!” can satisfy the desires of the child showing off his/her work...just to be acknowledged seems to speak a million words to the children); carrying various toddlers (who reached for ME to hold them!!) on our trek to the local farmhouse; and listening to the endless giggles of all ages as they watched a Disney film, I’ve decided that perhaps I should rethink my career and become a pre-school teacher? My arm was pleasantly sore for several days from all the child holding. It was divine.

The week held many stories and highlights, but for the sake of time (and your sanity), I will share just one: about a ten-year-old boy, M., rescued from a rock quarry. When asked to draw pictures of life in the quarry, the children drew themselves carrying heavy boulders over their heads. During an early session with the kids, M. claimed he had no desire to go back to school (having dropped out in the third grade).

Later that same day, one of our social work graduate student interns led a session on the importance of education. This particular group of kids was so attentive that she quickly got through her material; and had time to work with each child individually. It turned out that M., the oldest child in this group, had never learned to write his name! So, D., the intern, spent several minutes teaching him how to write the characters that make up his name in his native tongue.

After his first time drawing the entire sequence of characters on his own, we all clapped for him (including M. himself!). He was so pleased with his accomplishment that he continued to practice and practice until he could draw it all from memory. Every time he finished his name, he would smile broadly and clap for himself...until we’d all join in and celebrate with him. He even learned to write his sister’s name that afternoon.

The kids were called away from our room, after awhile, to join their parents for family activities. Since they all seemed so intent on practicing their writing, we let them each keep one marker for the night. Once the room had been cleaned up, I walked outside to observe the game-playing. Instead, I saw the kids face down over their papers scribbling away on the edge of the field. When M. caught sight of me, he snatched up his work and ran over to show it off. He pointed out his carefully crafted characters, and pronounced each one clearly. We cheered together over his feat, and then he whipped around to hurry back to his spot on the ground.

But, with his back to me, he suddenly froze. I saw him pat his back pocket with sharp, frantic movements. Then, as I watched, he sighed deeply and, looking over his shoulder, he flashed a relieved smile as he held his marker up for me to see. He had not lost his new prize. All was well. The pen was tucked away in that pocket, once again, as we laughed together about his near-tragedy. Again he turned away, and again, he jolted to a stop. I observed the same hesitation, the quick check of the back pocket, and the deep breath of assurance that yes, his marker STILL remained safe in his pocket, before he finally walked away.

In social work, there is a theory that if we can help our clients succeed in one area (for example, in the therapeutic school setting, if a teen who is struggling with staying in a classroom for longer than five minutes manages to stay in a room for ten minutes, he or she might be “rewarded” and that extra five minutes in a room would be considered a success), they will learn that they are able to do something they had previously thought impossible or see themselves as "capable." The theory continues that this will encourage the client to continue working towards further success. Now, I’ve worked in the therapeutic school setting, and this is a slowwwwwww process. To see this theory play out in a span of less than two days, with M. realizing his ability to learn, floored me!

The following day, he could not stop talking about school and how he wanted to become a teacher, just like the gentleman we have leading a majority of the children’s sessions, J. If only words could truly convey M.’s excitement over his achievement...Watching how he cared for his newest tool on the grassy field was such a sweet moment. No matter how tiring the week, witnessing M.’s experience alone would have been worth it all.



Puppet shows used during discussion on child sexual abuse. Amazingly, there were no tears this time (puppets can be scary sometimes! I remember being afraid of Chuck E. Cheese...that was one BIG mouse...it just made no sense!).


A child working on the "touching rules" workbook.


One of the piggies at the farm. We also saw geese, turkey, love birds, cows, and flowers. But mostly pigs. It smelled niiiice.



Running to catch up with the group-we'd been distracted by a peacock sighting! And then there were the deer...eventually we caught up to the group making its way to the farm.

Culture Shock: Chennasty Days

Culture shock can be depicted as a curve, much like a “u.” Imagine, coming into a new culture. At first, you are in the “honeymoon stage” of oohs and aahs...everything is cool and interesting. That’s the left-side top of the “U.” After a bit, the differences between your home culture and this new culture start to become more apparent, and tolerance for these differences begins to wear thin. When one is at his/her lowest, or at the bottom of the “U,” he/she may prefer to be alone and seclude him/herself; or view everything in a negative light. As time wears on, one typically will begin to understand the new culture better or become more comfortable with the differences and begin to climb out of the “U.” The theory goes on to explain that once an individual reaches the right-side top of the “U,” he/she has successfully adjusted to the new culture.

This is not to say that there is only one “u” for an individual to overcome. They come and they go. When living in community, it is important to remember that people experience the highs and lows of culture shock at varying points. To assist our little community of transients in staying aware of when one of us is experiencing a high or low, we have had t-shirts made sporting the terms “Chennice” (for good days here) and “Chennasty” (for days when we’ve just about had it, and people would be wise to steer clear).

Until recently, I cannot remember a day where I felt like I had reached the depths of the cultural “U” enough to sport my “Chennasty” shirt. During this period of shifting, however, I have had more days wishing I had a closet FULL of that particular shirt than I would like to admit.

Let us all praise God that my friends and co-workers made it through this time. I am happy to report that the shirt has been officially tucked back down to the bottom of my clothes pile. May it rest there in peace for the next four and a half months.



[Sometimes the crowds on the streets can just be too much...other times, it's kinda fun. This image from T. depicts the shopping district preferred by locals, which a friend of ours/local yoga instructor took us recently.]



[Waiting on the cows/water buffalo/whatever to cross the road can lead to explosions of anger on your more Chennasty of days...other times, it just looks like a great photo op!]