Excerpts from the Journal

(The following are truncated excerpts from my journal.  I should note that it's all out of order, I lost track of time there and stopped using dates after a couple of days...)

December 29:  We arrived in Mumbai last night... or this morning... (after 31 hours on airplanes, does it really even matter?)  It was dark, that's all I know.  The airport was dim and quiet.  No stores.  No restaurants- just security points.  Lots of them.  But once you got through them all, you walked outside into an explosion of people and lights and music.  India is an assault on all of your senses and so it can't be adequately described with any amount of words or media.  It simply has to be experienced.   I was exhausted and a little green around the gills, but straight out of the plane I was enamored with my surroundings: the the colors, the crowds, the people. (What are they doing having a party in the parking lot of the airport in the middle of the night, anyway?)

December 30: We had training this morning and then went to lunch.  We only found a rickshaw for three of us, so Laura and I walked- which I relished, actually.  It gave me time to take in the surroundings.  It's hard not to look men in the eye.  At one point, I actually winked at one!  (Oh, the horror!) I was really just trying to make light of one of my other America Faux Pas, but I'm sure what I've actually done is just reinforce his belief that all American women are promiscuous.  (Darn Hollywood, anyway.)   Because you eat with your fingers, they bring you a bowl with warm water and a lemon to soak your hands in after the meal.  I'm learning that Indian's don't really use soap either.  In fact, the water-lemon substitute is actually indicative of an upscale establishment.   After that, we went shopping and to the Taylor to purchase fabric and be measured for proper Indian attire.  While there, I was amused to come across a very large public nativity display, complete with pyramids... and "snow".   Awesome.  

December 31:   The children's home is alive with critters.  This evening we had a meeting to prepare for the Christmas celebration.  Sitting on the concrete floor, for hours, while trying to follow all of the rules is hard:  adjust your duppata, don't point your feet at anyone, don't look the men in the eyes, don't hand your glass to anyone with your left hand, don't turn down the food.   And there were bugs: mosquito's, aunts, moth worms/maggots.  Surprisingly, even they didn't bother me much.  (Ok, the maggot's bothered me some, but then the little guy just wouldn't die and I became mostly fascinated.)  And we actually do have a western toilet on the ground floor- but when I get up in the middle of the night and go down there, the "pets" are all very active.  Dogs, rats and who-knows-what-else, all begin scurrying.  I usually close the door and decide the squatty is perfectly sufficient.  And it is- they aren't nearly as bad as I had feared. In fact, in some ways they are.... refreshing.  (We won't go there today.)

December 31:  Tonight we decided to brave the streets and check out the New Years celebrations.  And then we got smart (read: scared) and came home.   We stood in our laundry well upstairs instead and listened to the music and countdowns.  The sweet kids across the street yelled up: "Happy New Year!" and then the men began lighting fireworks.   Soon, they started shooting the fireworks sideways while the boys ran down the road to try and catch them.  (Only in India.)  Next thing we know, a firework shoots down the street, up the side of our building, into our well, and under Jolene's blanket- next to her ankle.  Definitely time for bed!

January 1:  Early this morning there was some commotion on the street.  I went out to the well to see and a group of men were carrying on.  Another rode up on his motorcycle and playfully ran into the group.  The men began shouting and shoving and just when I thought a fight was about to break out- they began a game of what can only be described as red rover!  (If that's how you resolve things when you're almost hit with something- we handled the firework situation all wrong:  "Link arms girls, we're goin' down!")

January 2 (I think):  Another day in the district.  There's no way to describe it.  Food prepared on rocks.  Children bathing in the ally's.  Sewage running in open wells- and rats bathing in that.  Emaciated dogs everywhere you turn- breathing erratically and coughing up worms.  Fecal matter every few feet.  Random livestock running loose.  Loitering men undressing you with their eyes (and occasionally snapping pictures).  Tin roofs and curtain doors.  Blue tarps for rain guards.  Smells of sweat and rot and sewage.     And then.  ...and then a little hand taps you from behind.  "Teacher!" and you turn into the sweetest hug you've ever received.  And suddenly this place becomes almost beautiful.

January 3 (perhaps):  Oh, these people.  These precious people.  The way the love... they way they serve.  I am so smitten.  The girls bring us Chai Tea every morning and often stay to collect water or just hang out.   One of the girl's loves to practice writing her English... on our hands.  I love walking down the street to take the trash out and hearing "DiiDii!  DiiDii!" (Big Sister). I look up to the windows and see our sweet girls waving enthusiastically.   And the way the women at the district welcome us so graciously into their community!  This week, one of the girls turned 13.  It was amazing to watch her humility and hospitality and joy and love.  She came to the center for her birthday party carrying a surprise lunch for us all.  A full-on lunch.  Then after serving everyone, she went around the circle feeding us with her fingers.  She even "shared" her birthday with another girl who is leaving to go back to her home village.  She laid her head in her friends lap and wept.  She loves and gives so freely.  This 13-yr-old woman is modeling the woman I aspire to be.  What have I done to deserve the honor of standing witness to all of this? 

Later on "January 3" (or whatever):  Today Christina and I had our first excursion to the market on our own.   We needed to pick up the Sari's from the Taylor.  After playing with the street kids for a moment, we found an available rickshaw.  I learned a valuable lesson.  Always negotiate the cost before getting inside.  You're the only white people in a 50 mile radius and you still have the deer-in-the-headlights look.  Let's be honest- you have "clueless" written all over you.  They know you don't know the tricks of the trade, or your way around for that matter.   Savvy up, otherwise you'll be driving in circles around Mumbai for an hour before you realize it.   Once we made it to the market, we wove our way through the numerous crowds and vendors (that all look alike, by the way) trying to find the ONE two foot alley that leads back to the textiles.  Somehow, we made it and, luckily, they recognized us first and called out to us.  It was a new guy and so I didn't believe him at first (all of the vendors call out to us) but Christina recognized the booth.  I still have no idea how.  Bless her.  More bartering.  Valuable lesson number two: if you find the oldest man in charge, call him "Uncle" and get a little bit whiny- they almost immediately soften up and you can get just about anything you want.  But don't go overboard: no eye contact or smiling. Then you're no longer pitiful, but flirtatious.  While waiting, we purchased a couple of coconuts and drank the water straight from them.   And then we lost our appetites when a goat was slaughtered.  We finally made it back and never had to use the emergency cell phone at all!  Later we had dinner at Alka's house and accidentally took someone's parking spot.  In true Indian Fashion, he handled it by simply parking us in.  Alka went to his place and explained away "those poor confused white girls".   A few "I'm soo sorry, Uncle"'s later, and we were golden. 

Might be January 4:  I am hesitant to write, because how do you put this day into words?  It was the day of our Christmas Celebration.  About 75 women and madams were present.  They closed the brothel doors and loaded the buses.  Each with her own story that I can't begin to record.  They came with humility and thanksgiving- in itself, a miracle.  It was beautiful.  The leaders intentionally had the men from the church serve the women.  It was powerful for all involved.  Most of these women have never had a man treat them with dignity and honor and respect.  And as is usually the case when you serve others, then men were deeply touched by the women and came away with new commitments and convictions of their own.  They shared about them the next day.  At one point, one of the women ran across the center and grabbed arm, nearly dragging me back to the other side.   I assumed she had a photo op (they loved the camera!!)  But instead, she sat me down in a chair, removed my sandals, and began washing my feet.  Being served by those I came to serve.  Just. Too. Much.  Feet washing is a fairly major thing- Indians have some pretty strong rules about feet. Afterwards, we stood praying together simultaneously, through tears, each in our own respective languages.  It was one of my most very favorite moments.

I realized on the bus ride home that I won't see most of these women again.  I was overcome with grief and thankful for the privacy the seats afforded me.  For the first time I fully acknowledged the question that I've been afraid to ask.  Do I belong here?


January 5 (or something like that):  I've been remiss by not talking about the traffic.  It is noteworthy.   The streets are chaos, even at night.  Seemingly without rules or direction, cars move erratically, honking their way through traffic, narrowly avoiding other cars (/buses/rickshaws/motocycles/pedestrians/cattle/straydogs...)   There are no lanes.   As much traffic flows as can fit- and the general rule is that "there's always room for one more".  Red lights are more of a suggestion than anything.  And back in the States- we don't know how to use a horn.   Here, it is an absolute necessity and the sole means of communicating with other drivers:  honk. (I'm over here!)  honk-honk. (I'm going around you!) HOOONK. (don't even think about cutting me off!) 

On or about January 6 (I'm almost certain it's still January.. although it feels like August):  Today we went to South Bombay.  It's more diverse and we saw the first white people since arriving in India.   This only makes me want to go back to the Children's Home and the districts.  It's much more touristy and western.  Lots of shopping, the Gateway to India and the Taj Hotel.  I do appreciate the abundance of western toilets here.  The beggars are much more sophisticated and determined- which only suggests to me that the business of trafficking is more sophisticated and organized- and likely more violent.  Today I saw the saddest sight yet:  a young girl, maybe 5 or 6, riding a unicycle on a tight rope, while balancing things on top of her head.  I didn't even see what she was balancing because I couldn't take my eyes off of her little face.  Void of any emotion at all.   I asked Laura how long she has to do that... "all day, every day", she said.  So hard.