India
Truth. Perspective. Experience. Sorrow. Learning.
How do you write about an experience that you still don't fully understand ? An experience in which you've tried so hard to keep every memory in your mind hoping it will never escape because there will likely never be this experience again? An experience you'd love to forget because of the pain and suffering you've seen but need to remember for the same reasons?
This is not meant to frown upon India, nor is it meant to deter people from travelling here. But some experiences are not pleasant. Don't expect tales of a tropical paradise with the crisp fresh air and the clear aqua seas.
This is a reflection of my personal experience and perspective. Of learning from, and submerging myself in, a culture so vastly different from my own... It is how India can break and mend your heart in a day. How it can be shocking and beautiful, rich and poor, devastating and enlightening.
When you prepare yourself for a trip to multiple developing countries it's safest to expect the worst. Expect devastation, poverty, sickness. (Expect Sarah McLaughlin playing in your head at every site of a small child or starving animal).
That's not preparation enough. I'll skip the airport, the moment of arrival, and the overwhelming amount of people, because those experiences are minuscule compared to the ones I was about to have.
The first 5 minutes in the surroundings of Delhi international airport says it all. As we drove away from the airport through the sky high buildings with flashing lights the darkness and clean streets reminded me of Las Vegas. This isn't so bad.
One quick turn of a city block and people were dressed in rags sitting around fires at the side of the streets with their canvas draped over sticks to create a tent. Their homes. The lucky ones. Others lay in the streets wrapped under blankets and against walls, and each other, to keep warm. Garbage. Sewage. Pollution. Car horns screaming through 6 'lanes' of traffic. Drive where you want, when you want, just make sure to honk the horn. A lone donkey on the median staring into the traffic coming near in either direction. Stray dogs hit by cars and left in the road.
5 minutes.
Open your eyes.
Catch your breath.
Learn.
My first day volunteering was nothing as I had planned. I had planned to be nursing everyday and had some sort of vision of a clinic that was well organized and gave hope and healing to so many people.
Instead I was presented with something entirely different, a new concept to grasp, I had settling in to do. This is how adventures and plans often go, isn't it? Completely opposite than we have foreseen.
My first impression of the slum was cold, grey, damp, and a very strong odour. The slum lines a river black with garbage, toxins, feces and anything else people fancy throwing in it. There is a hand pump at the river side in which people bath from in the early afternoon 'warmth' which at this time of year still sits about 13, maybe 17 if they're lucky, degrees. The houses have doors but nothing to cover the windows aside from bars to keep anyone unwanted from entering.
The rickshaw came to a stop. It's freezing out... India's cold? I missed that memo.
The moment I walked into the slum school the children run up to greet you with ear to ear smiles, bundled up in their winter clothing because they learn outdoors with only a roof and a wall to shield them, not even four walls, definitely no heating. This is in temperatures as low as I've seen go to 6 degrees while I'm here. Some mornings I can see my breath. I sit cross legged so that I can keep my feet warm in my flip flop sandals.. The children don't seem to notice the temperatures.
'Hello madam' they beam, I'm getting a hand shake from each one. They do warm up exercises in the morning, a song or a dance. I was completely overwhelmed the first time I walked in. I had to actively stop myself from thinking about their environment and lack of necessities to keep from crying.
Some children, young children, are not lucky enough to come to school because they stay home to watch their infant siblings while parents work. When they do show up to visit in the afternoon they have dirty hair, faces and clothing, often wearing no pants and no shoes. The older siblings carrying the infants on their hip as a mother would.
Teaching in the slums proved to have it's own difficulties. Indian children often memorize rather than learn, so a change of routine or a test can be very difficult when the concepts are not actually understood. The colours and spelling of colours are memorized. There is no primary colours. There's no plural or past or present. Him and her are interchanged. Sister and brother are understood but not 'sisters' and 'brothers'. The handbooks the children read from and learn from are grammatically incorrect with frequent spelling mistakes. This is how children learn, not only in the slum schools but public schools as well.
Visiting the hospital I walked into a mosh pit of people all being directed by guards and workers. One door to the next. A new paper in hand. Scrambling. No filing, no organization. Skin diseases we don't see in Canada .. Hopefully won't ever see in Canada. The OR reminds me of a horror film I once watched .. Tourists in Brazil are kidnapped and put through torturous surgeries. The surgeons in India appeared to have the same techniques as Canada however the standards of the OR were shocking. As I sat in the room watching people come and go, I tried not to lean on bloody counters while trying to figure out who was who, some in street clothes some in scrubs. I didn't see anyone wash their hands all day. Louis Pasteur would roll over in his grave if he could see this. People eat and drink tea in the OR, equipment was minimal, the smell of formaldehyde overpowering. No one really paid me any attention as I sat in the corner making mental notes of what was unfolding before my eyes.
The medical clinic is in a slum. It is in a mud room .. Holes in a wall serve as windows. A flickering light. The patients line at the door to come in. Healthcare is free in India and medication is very affordable. These patients either cannot reach a healthcare facility or choose not to. It is cold. They line at the door. Maybe 40, plus, patients are seen in a couple of hours. Young translators from the slum bridge the gap formed by languages. They help to piece together the assessments and findings. They're young, they don't know the impact they're having or the health opportunities they're creating.
I take out my camera as I leave to snap a few photos, I feel guilty that I'm in awe of this life. The slums are a life I'll never see in Canada. The children go wild, the fastest game of telephone has unfolded and all of a sudden there's many children all around. 'One photo, one photo'. I've heard this so much in India. They're all smiling and happy. They're important behind a lens. They're famous. It's fun to take pictures of them, they're reinventing themselves in that moment, perhaps, whatever they want to be.
When you're submerged in the act of volunteering you're too busy thinking about how much more you can give. The endless possibilities. The schooling that could be funded with Canadian dollars, the futures children could have in Canada or in India with funding, with a promise that school would come first. How cleanliness and infection control could go such a long way.
It's hard, in the moment, to think what your presence might mean now, how's your acts are impacting, the smiles, ideas and hopes that have been created.
Where we lived in Faridabad was generally safe for us. We could walk the streets and to the markets, bring the children and they could play in the street behind their home. The streets were still lined with rubbish and mud. Cows and dogs wandered around amongst the busy traffic and rikshaws. People rode bikes pulling large wooden flat decks covered with fresh fruit and vegetables. Cows and donkeys were also used to pull large cargo decks or decks with food or people on them. The days were cold and generally hazy. There was never blue sky just dirt and pollution giving a dusty bronzed look to the sky. The people stared but didn't take pictures of us in this area. Here you could almost feel normal, when comparing with places like Agra and Varanassi. It may have helped that there was often a few local children in tow coming from the orphanage for a trip to the market.
I won't speak to every child in specific but I will speak to my experience as a whole in the orphanage, slum schools, and families.
Children are resilient, optimistic and brilliant... They can make the world out of nothing. They're happy without materialistic things that children in Canada actually believe they 'need'. In India they share beds, clothes, food, and toys. Looking out for one another the way parents do. Young children are put in positions where an adult should be doing the decision making, they're making decisions that will impact themselves or their loved ones for the rest of their lives. I hope for a bright future for them all, and for the girls who may not ever finish their education I hope for safety. Playing badminton in the dusty street among cows and cars, or taking them to the market for a sweet treat at the bakery, could be the highlight of their day. Testing them for upcoming exams, how they're so eager to learn and have everything be perfect is such a great feeling to be apart of.
One of my funniest experiences was bringing all the children at the orphanage to a cinema for the afternoon and having all the children and all the volunteers in the rikshaw at one time. 17 of us. The kids love it.
Visiting a family outside of our 'volunteer loop' was a highlight of mine. Three wonderful daughters and one son, plus mom and dad, lived in essentially a one room home with one bed, with spotty electricity, an approximately 7x7 slab of concrete for a front yard where there was a water pump and room for a bike and clothes line. Barred windows, one door, no table or chairs, a wicker style mat on the floor for sitting on while eating meals. Dad works on the concrete out front making beautiful hand sewn bags. They couldn't have given more love and happiness to their children if they tried. Three girls so full of life and hope, always dancing, studying and drawing, new ideas sprouting faster than weeds can grow. The young boy was quite quiet for most of times but would come out of his shell. The days consisted of dancing, helping them with studies and one evening heading to the market to purchase all the fittings for a feast. This was an adventure that I won't disclose... We had chicken, is all I will say.
The parents cooked a fabulous dinner right there on what I would consider a camping stove.
My experiences in India were diverse from day 1 to day 19. Each city held a different feel, some of safety some not. The work I was involved in, though not what I'd planned for, will be memories I cherish forever. Faces I'll never forget. Fulfillment.
However, the 'normalcy' and comfort I felt in Faridabad could never have prepared me for the experiences if have on my weekends traveling to surrounding areas. The cultural aspects are so diverse, so invasive, and at times very shocking.
I'm thankful I had hearty people by my side and was able to roll with my experiences, which were things I couldn't have prepared for.
Spending the holidays in India, so far from home, was a tad hard but with good people and all the wonderful children at the orphanage it made for such a memorable day. Their little faces as they opened gifts from across the world was absolutely priceless. The way they were so unsure of the process of opening gifts and having their photos taken was so beautiful.
Volunteering in India was one of the best things I've ever done. It was fun, fulfilling and I've learned so much. Leaving behind the children was definitely one of the hardest things I've done. They'll be forever in my memory and perhaps we'll meet again one day.
How do you write about an experience that you still don't fully understand ? An experience in which you've tried so hard to keep every memory in your mind hoping it will never escape because there will likely never be this experience again? An experience you'd love to forget because of the pain and suffering you've seen but need to remember for the same reasons?
This is not meant to frown upon India, nor is it meant to deter people from travelling here. But some experiences are not pleasant. Don't expect tales of a tropical paradise with the crisp fresh air and the clear aqua seas.
This is a reflection of my personal experience and perspective. Of learning from, and submerging myself in, a culture so vastly different from my own... It is how India can break and mend your heart in a day. How it can be shocking and beautiful, rich and poor, devastating and enlightening.
When you prepare yourself for a trip to multiple developing countries it's safest to expect the worst. Expect devastation, poverty, sickness. (Expect Sarah McLaughlin playing in your head at every site of a small child or starving animal).
That's not preparation enough. I'll skip the airport, the moment of arrival, and the overwhelming amount of people, because those experiences are minuscule compared to the ones I was about to have.
The first 5 minutes in the surroundings of Delhi international airport says it all. As we drove away from the airport through the sky high buildings with flashing lights the darkness and clean streets reminded me of Las Vegas. This isn't so bad.
One quick turn of a city block and people were dressed in rags sitting around fires at the side of the streets with their canvas draped over sticks to create a tent. Their homes. The lucky ones. Others lay in the streets wrapped under blankets and against walls, and each other, to keep warm. Garbage. Sewage. Pollution. Car horns screaming through 6 'lanes' of traffic. Drive where you want, when you want, just make sure to honk the horn. A lone donkey on the median staring into the traffic coming near in either direction. Stray dogs hit by cars and left in the road.
5 minutes.
Open your eyes.
Catch your breath.
Learn.
My first day volunteering was nothing as I had planned. I had planned to be nursing everyday and had some sort of vision of a clinic that was well organized and gave hope and healing to so many people.
Instead I was presented with something entirely different, a new concept to grasp, I had settling in to do. This is how adventures and plans often go, isn't it? Completely opposite than we have foreseen.
My first impression of the slum was cold, grey, damp, and a very strong odour. The slum lines a river black with garbage, toxins, feces and anything else people fancy throwing in it. There is a hand pump at the river side in which people bath from in the early afternoon 'warmth' which at this time of year still sits about 13, maybe 17 if they're lucky, degrees. The houses have doors but nothing to cover the windows aside from bars to keep anyone unwanted from entering.
The rickshaw came to a stop. It's freezing out... India's cold? I missed that memo.
The moment I walked into the slum school the children run up to greet you with ear to ear smiles, bundled up in their winter clothing because they learn outdoors with only a roof and a wall to shield them, not even four walls, definitely no heating. This is in temperatures as low as I've seen go to 6 degrees while I'm here. Some mornings I can see my breath. I sit cross legged so that I can keep my feet warm in my flip flop sandals.. The children don't seem to notice the temperatures.
'Hello madam' they beam, I'm getting a hand shake from each one. They do warm up exercises in the morning, a song or a dance. I was completely overwhelmed the first time I walked in. I had to actively stop myself from thinking about their environment and lack of necessities to keep from crying.
Some children, young children, are not lucky enough to come to school because they stay home to watch their infant siblings while parents work. When they do show up to visit in the afternoon they have dirty hair, faces and clothing, often wearing no pants and no shoes. The older siblings carrying the infants on their hip as a mother would.
Teaching in the slums proved to have it's own difficulties. Indian children often memorize rather than learn, so a change of routine or a test can be very difficult when the concepts are not actually understood. The colours and spelling of colours are memorized. There is no primary colours. There's no plural or past or present. Him and her are interchanged. Sister and brother are understood but not 'sisters' and 'brothers'. The handbooks the children read from and learn from are grammatically incorrect with frequent spelling mistakes. This is how children learn, not only in the slum schools but public schools as well.
Visiting the hospital I walked into a mosh pit of people all being directed by guards and workers. One door to the next. A new paper in hand. Scrambling. No filing, no organization. Skin diseases we don't see in Canada .. Hopefully won't ever see in Canada. The OR reminds me of a horror film I once watched .. Tourists in Brazil are kidnapped and put through torturous surgeries. The surgeons in India appeared to have the same techniques as Canada however the standards of the OR were shocking. As I sat in the room watching people come and go, I tried not to lean on bloody counters while trying to figure out who was who, some in street clothes some in scrubs. I didn't see anyone wash their hands all day. Louis Pasteur would roll over in his grave if he could see this. People eat and drink tea in the OR, equipment was minimal, the smell of formaldehyde overpowering. No one really paid me any attention as I sat in the corner making mental notes of what was unfolding before my eyes.
The medical clinic is in a slum. It is in a mud room .. Holes in a wall serve as windows. A flickering light. The patients line at the door to come in. Healthcare is free in India and medication is very affordable. These patients either cannot reach a healthcare facility or choose not to. It is cold. They line at the door. Maybe 40, plus, patients are seen in a couple of hours. Young translators from the slum bridge the gap formed by languages. They help to piece together the assessments and findings. They're young, they don't know the impact they're having or the health opportunities they're creating.
I take out my camera as I leave to snap a few photos, I feel guilty that I'm in awe of this life. The slums are a life I'll never see in Canada. The children go wild, the fastest game of telephone has unfolded and all of a sudden there's many children all around. 'One photo, one photo'. I've heard this so much in India. They're all smiling and happy. They're important behind a lens. They're famous. It's fun to take pictures of them, they're reinventing themselves in that moment, perhaps, whatever they want to be.
When you're submerged in the act of volunteering you're too busy thinking about how much more you can give. The endless possibilities. The schooling that could be funded with Canadian dollars, the futures children could have in Canada or in India with funding, with a promise that school would come first. How cleanliness and infection control could go such a long way.
It's hard, in the moment, to think what your presence might mean now, how's your acts are impacting, the smiles, ideas and hopes that have been created.
Where we lived in Faridabad was generally safe for us. We could walk the streets and to the markets, bring the children and they could play in the street behind their home. The streets were still lined with rubbish and mud. Cows and dogs wandered around amongst the busy traffic and rikshaws. People rode bikes pulling large wooden flat decks covered with fresh fruit and vegetables. Cows and donkeys were also used to pull large cargo decks or decks with food or people on them. The days were cold and generally hazy. There was never blue sky just dirt and pollution giving a dusty bronzed look to the sky. The people stared but didn't take pictures of us in this area. Here you could almost feel normal, when comparing with places like Agra and Varanassi. It may have helped that there was often a few local children in tow coming from the orphanage for a trip to the market.
I won't speak to every child in specific but I will speak to my experience as a whole in the orphanage, slum schools, and families.
Children are resilient, optimistic and brilliant... They can make the world out of nothing. They're happy without materialistic things that children in Canada actually believe they 'need'. In India they share beds, clothes, food, and toys. Looking out for one another the way parents do. Young children are put in positions where an adult should be doing the decision making, they're making decisions that will impact themselves or their loved ones for the rest of their lives. I hope for a bright future for them all, and for the girls who may not ever finish their education I hope for safety. Playing badminton in the dusty street among cows and cars, or taking them to the market for a sweet treat at the bakery, could be the highlight of their day. Testing them for upcoming exams, how they're so eager to learn and have everything be perfect is such a great feeling to be apart of.
One of my funniest experiences was bringing all the children at the orphanage to a cinema for the afternoon and having all the children and all the volunteers in the rikshaw at one time. 17 of us. The kids love it.
Visiting a family outside of our 'volunteer loop' was a highlight of mine. Three wonderful daughters and one son, plus mom and dad, lived in essentially a one room home with one bed, with spotty electricity, an approximately 7x7 slab of concrete for a front yard where there was a water pump and room for a bike and clothes line. Barred windows, one door, no table or chairs, a wicker style mat on the floor for sitting on while eating meals. Dad works on the concrete out front making beautiful hand sewn bags. They couldn't have given more love and happiness to their children if they tried. Three girls so full of life and hope, always dancing, studying and drawing, new ideas sprouting faster than weeds can grow. The young boy was quite quiet for most of times but would come out of his shell. The days consisted of dancing, helping them with studies and one evening heading to the market to purchase all the fittings for a feast. This was an adventure that I won't disclose... We had chicken, is all I will say.
The parents cooked a fabulous dinner right there on what I would consider a camping stove.
My experiences in India were diverse from day 1 to day 19. Each city held a different feel, some of safety some not. The work I was involved in, though not what I'd planned for, will be memories I cherish forever. Faces I'll never forget. Fulfillment.
However, the 'normalcy' and comfort I felt in Faridabad could never have prepared me for the experiences if have on my weekends traveling to surrounding areas. The cultural aspects are so diverse, so invasive, and at times very shocking.
I'm thankful I had hearty people by my side and was able to roll with my experiences, which were things I couldn't have prepared for.
Spending the holidays in India, so far from home, was a tad hard but with good people and all the wonderful children at the orphanage it made for such a memorable day. Their little faces as they opened gifts from across the world was absolutely priceless. The way they were so unsure of the process of opening gifts and having their photos taken was so beautiful.
Volunteering in India was one of the best things I've ever done. It was fun, fulfilling and I've learned so much. Leaving behind the children was definitely one of the hardest things I've done. They'll be forever in my memory and perhaps we'll meet again one day.
