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[With 3 of the teachers from Christava Mahilalayam Public School]
Today was my last day at Christava Mahilalayam Public School . . . The inevitable task of saying ‘goodbye’ has arrived, and with it has come a realization: that language is a truly inadequate means of expression. Words can not communicate the feelings of gratitude, fulfillment, loss, and joy that I am currently feeling, nor can they describe how deeply a part of me Kerala has become. And yet, words seem to be the only medium I have . . . Here is the letter that I read to the students and staff of Christava Mahilalayam during this morning’s assembly:
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As a child my favorite book was Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney. It is the story of a little girl named Alice whose grandfather tells her there are three things she must do with her life: travel the world, live by the ocean, and make the world a more beautiful place. Of course, I do not solely credit Miss Rumphius with shaping my life ambitions. However, as a person who loves the ocean, yearns to travel the world, and has a commitment to facilitating change, I do strongly identify with Alice’s journey and the goals that guide her experience. When Alice Rumphius aims to complete her final task of making the world more beautiful, she does so by planting lupines throughout her community; my idea of beautifying the world tends toward other methods of planting seeds - through an active commitment to social justice, advocacy for the marginalized, fostering relationships, and service.
The goals I share with Alice Rumphius are the same ones that led me to India. I came here fueled by a hope that steers so many young adults toward volunteer service: the hope that I can, indeed, make a difference. During my period of preparation last summer, I imagined a year in which I would contribute to the needs of India’s people. In addition to a 12-month supply of sunscreen, I packed hopes of helping underprivileged children and women’s groups take strides toward creating change in their communities. Yet, as I settled into relationships and this culture’s way of life, I realized that Kerala was changing me far more than I would ever change it.
When I arrived at Christava Mahilalayam Public School eleven months ago, a group of students welcomed me at the gate with excited smiles and warm ‘hellos’. This was the first of many displays of genuine hospitality, something I have come to identify as the most beautiful aspect of Keralite culture. Never before have I been in a place where people stop you on the street to offer a cup of tea, where children share their food with strangers on crowded trains, where families offer to buy extra beds so they can host you and your friends. Members of this community have prepared me meals at inconvenient times, come to school bearing gifts of chapathi and motta curry, and sent me home with packages of nuts to ensure I’m never caught hungry. You have presented me with gifts of flowers, escorted me to bus stops to see me home safely, and come along when I needed someone to translate. Most importantly, you consistently ask how I’m doing, and meet me with a smile. By welcoming me so openly, you have offered the most gracious gift a foreigner can receive: a true sense of home. These acts of hospitality have taught me so much about fostering relationships and building community.
In a few days I return to the United States – a country that typically sees tangible results as the only measure of success. Just as I left with expectations about all I would contribute during my volunteer year, I imagine I will return home to many questions about what I accomplished. And while the achievements are important, the stories I share will be of a people who welcomed me into their homes, their communities, and their lives. Through your amazing ability to welcome the stranger, you have given me the tools to eventually achieve the third goal I share with Alice Rumphius – the goal of making the world a more beautiful place. But, more importantly, you have given me new eyes to see how much beauty already exists.
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Thank you to all who have traveled with me during this journey.
Read comments (0)It is with great joy that I announce the inauguration of Paitrakam (Heritage) Community Library! As is the tradition in Kerala, we celebrated this new beginning with a small ceremony, including the lighting of the Vilakku (lamp) and an address by our chief guest, Prof. K.K. Abraham.
With the help of fellow YAV, David Buco, and Christava Mahilalayam Public School, the library has a growing collection of English story books and Malayalam magazines. And this is only the beginning! I am so thankful for the way my home community has embraced this project - offering encouragement, spreading the word, and mailing off boxes of books. Achen will deliver these upon their arrival. Though I will not be here to watch it take root, I will follow the library’s growth with great joy from half-way around the world.
Thank you for making this a reality.
[Chief Guest, Prof. K.K. Abraham, lights the lamp]
[Lighting the lamp]
[Geena with the Paitrakam Community Library]
[Some of the community children]
[with some of the community children]
[with the mothers of some of the children I tutor]
Every Wednesday and Thursday evening, I head to the Dalit (Untouchable) Community that lies across the street from Chacko Homes. There I join a small group of children and teenagers on one of their porches; they gather every day after school for ‘tuition class’ – a time when one of the community members voluntarily helps the children with their homework. When I can, I assist with English writing assignments or read with the children to help them grasp the complexities of pronunciation. On days when homework loads are lighter, we work on conversation skills or simply play together. This is the place in Aluva where I have found the most joy.
Last week the mother of two of the tuition class children shared a rather accurate comment: “We’re a small village of happy people.” This is a community that keeps its doors open; neighborhood children (who have become like siblings) claim the road for games of cricket or badminton, and adults spend their evenings perched on rock walls talking together. This has created a space of vibrant energy and sincere friendliness. Whenever I walk down the road into the Dalit Community, I arrive to screams of Chechi (older sister) and waves or handshakes - usually from adults who speak no English at all.
Most of the adults who live in the Dalit Community are auto-rickshaw drivers, laborers, cooks, or cleaning ladies . . . When I opt for a rickshaw ride into town, it is often the father of one of the tuition class students who drives me. And the woman who cleans my room at Chacko Homes also hosted the tuition class on her porch last year. Their children attend government-funded schools, all of which use the Kerala state syllabus and conduct classes in Malayalam. This community is predominately Hindu, and most families designate a corner of their homes as shrines to favorite Gods and Goddesses. Their religious affiliation, I’m sure, is mostly a product of tradition and devotion. However, it may also be a result of legal consequence: with conversion, Dalit people lose recognition as members of a scheduled caste and, with it, all the benefits of affirmative action by the government, associated with their deprived caste status.
The material poverty in which my friends in the Dalit Community live is shocking to Western eyes; when I first walked into their homes in September it was impossible to overlook the size and relative emptiness of their concrete block houses. I think these tangible factors are easy for us to fixate on as the most identifiable signs of economic injustice. But the real tragedy of the Dalit people’s situation lies not in a lack of material possessions, but in a lack of opportunity, especially in terms of education. The children I tutor use state-issued textbooks rife with grammatical errors that keep them grade-levels behind their peers at private institutions (like Christava Mahilalayam). And, while Union Christian College holds seats for them upon their completion of secondary school, most will not matriculate due to insufficient knowledge of the English language. It has been my hope that the supplementary English practice will better equip them to pursue a college education, but I am also realizing a need for resources . . .
We are creating a library for the children of the Dalit Community. I will purchase a metal wardrobe to house the books, and have gone shopping with the children for some necessary items (such as an English-Malayalam Dictionary). But I also need your help! . . . I am requesting English books to contribute to this ‘community bookshelf.’ The tuition class children range from grades 4 – 12, but because of their current reading levels, I think books geared toward children from Kindergarten to 8th Grade would be the most useful. Additionally, because of the sensitivity surrounding religion, I ask that these be secular stories. If you are interested in sending along a book or two, please leave a comment on this post and I will email you the mailing address.
As always, I am so grateful for your continuous support in all its various forms.
On June 1st students returned to Christava Mahilalayam, filling the corridors with the familiar, smiling faces I so greatly missed during the holiday. While the school’s reopening brings with it the less-loved aspects of teaching (after the first week, my voice is a bit tired), I am thrilled to return to my community and my routine. Yet, amid the joy of this reunion, conversations often turn to my quickly approaching departure and the task of saying goodbye.
After school I have been visiting the home of one of my students. This particular student used to live near U.C. College and, therefore, shared my bus stop. Because of her family’s close proximity to my apartment, I spent many afternoons at their home – enough that I began referring to them as my ‘pseudo host family.’ Recently they moved out of Aluva, increasing the commute from a five-minute walk to a half-hour drive. Thus, I now reach them by school bus. As I talked with my student and her parents over tea on Monday afternoon, the topic turned to my remaining days in India. We discussed our time together and the upcoming task of saying goodbye; by the end of the conversation, I found that my ‘host mom’ and I were both on the verge of tears. Two months suddenly feels so short.
A couple weeks ago I had to say my first goodbye: a friend from the Mandiram Society (Becca’s site) left for Utter Pradesh (UP) where he will be serving as a missionary for the next year. Just next to Delhi, UP is a two-day’s train journey from Kerala; they have different food, a different language, a different climate, and a different culture . . . In many ways, my friend’s year of service within his own country is comparable to mine in a foreign land. The weekend before he left for UP, my friend invited us (the other YAVs and me) to his home. We spent two days visiting with his family, eating delicious and exotic fruit (much of it straight from the back yard), and playing in the rain. On Sunday we worshipped with his home church and were able to celebrate in his commissioning. As I participated in the congregation’s prayers and watched them say goodbye, my thoughts drifted back to my own commissioning last August. At that point I was experiencing a mix of emotions - excitement, fear, sadness, anticipation. India was a great unknown, but I was coming with the support of a loving family and faith community.
Now it seems I have returned to that place of mixed emotions. I am excited to return home to friends and family, most of whom I will have not seen for eleven months. I am excited to begin the next phase of my life at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary and The University of Texas at Austin’s School of Social Work. And, yes, I am excited for my skin color and my native tongue to be signs of belonging rather than signs of foreignness. Yet coming home means leaving another loving and supportive community and relationships I have come to truly cherish.
Last Sunday was Pentecost, a day when we celebrate the Spirit breaking down barriers and reaffirming our oneness as God’s people. Though a tongue of flame has not yet rested upon my shoulder enabling me to speak Malayalam (I’m still waiting), I have taken great comfort this year in a certain universal language. Hospitality and welcome, smiles and laughter, the wonder of children and the waves of strangers are all things that transcend cultural divides. These are the things that have helped create home in a foreign land.
For one week of May, John and I (along with some Malayalam-speaking friends) joined Ariel at her site to host a camp for her Lower Primary students. These children, many of whom come from the nearby Dalit community, attend the C.S.I. (Church of South India) Kallumala School where Ariel teaches a few days a week. We spent our mornings with the children reading stories, singing ridiculous English songs, playing games and (my favorite) doing arts and crafts. In the afternoons we visited the homes of children and teachers in Ariel’s community. Although the India YAVs live within 100 kilometers of each other, share common challenges of cross-cultural living, and act as a support network as we navigate life in Kerala, the nature of our site placements allows for great diversity of experience. Each of us will certainly come home in August bringing memories of a YAV year that was entirely our own. Though I have visited all the sites, Ariel’s is the first I truly experienced. It was wonderful to participate in the life of her community, meet her friends, and see how Ariel and her site have embraced each other.
[Playing Red Rover!]
[Some of the girls working on their paper-bag puppets]
[One of our campers showing off his puppet]
[All our campers with their puppets]
[John, Ariel, and me with Salama (one of the teachers at the Lower Primary School) and her Grandmother]
[Bijo helping one of our campers with his painting]
[Story time with Sudie and Prajod]
[The ants go marching 2 by 2 hoorah, hoorah . . . ]
After a surprisingly pleasant forty-eight hours on the train (we traveled in AC) the six of us arrived in Delhi. Sue and David Hudson, who are living in Delhi while they serve as the PC(USA)’s regional liaison and coordinator for South Asia, offered to host us during our stay. Having embraced the practice of Indian hospitality, the Hudsons welcomed us into their home with hugs, delicious (sometimes American!) food, and lively conversation. We were extremely grateful for their boundless generosity, especially when a bout of food poisoning caused us to cancel our trip to Rajasthan and recover on the Hudson’s couch. As Ariel, John, and I lay on our deathbeds, we could not have asked for better honorary parents.
Our time in Delhi, Agra, Mussoorie, Dharamsala, Amritsar, and Goa was a wonderful (and intense) discovery of India’s diversity. We witnessed new people, religions, languages, and landscapes, all of which contribute to the country’s rich and multi-faceted culture. As with our visit to Andhra Pradesh at Christmas, this tour highlighted Kerala’s relative development and offered new insight into the desperation of many of India’s citizens. For instance, in Kerala beggars (mostly adults who have lost an appendage or the ability to walk) frequent train and bus stations. Yet, in Delhi, beggars line street corners waiting for traffic to stop so they can approach auto-rickshaws and car windows. Many of these are children bearing the scars of abuse and mutilation - scars that will theoretically attract the sympathy of passengers. These people are evidence of a country that is becoming increasingly polarized; much like in the United States, the gap between India’s rich and poor is only widening.
Agra, the home of the country’s most majestic monument, was a striking example of the discrepancy between rich and poor. After an early morning visit to the Taj Mahal, Team India decided to scrap the city’s remaining tourist sites and visit ‘the real Agra.’ At this point we were traveling with Pulkit, my best friend from Miami University who is currently living in Delhi with his parents. As a Hindi speaker, Pulkit was able to explain to our auto-rickshaw drivers that we were traveling on a budget and preferred not to pay a fortune on entrance fees. Thus, they gave us a non-traditional tour including a riverside farm with a view of the Taj, a local Hindu temple, and a couple craft shops. This revealed a crumbling city full of laborers who have likely never been inside the gates of India’s main attraction. Yet the nation’s signs of poverty stand against a backdrop of immense natural beauty, rich history, and vibrant culture. India is a land of contrast.
To view my pictures from our ‘All India’ tour, visit my web album.
Because April begins India’s summer holidays, the six India YAVs leave today for our ‘All India Tour.’ For those who would like to follow our travels, I have included our itinerary below. I will be back with stories and pictures at the end of April!
Wed 01 April TRAVEL ALUVA => DELHI
Thu 02 April TRAVEL
Fri 03 April ARRIVE in DELHI
Sat 04 April DELHI
Sun 05 April DELHI
Mon 06 April AGRA
Tue 07 April DELHI
Wed 08 April MUSSOORIE
Thu 09 April MUSSOORIE
Fri 10 April MUSSOORIE
Sat 11 April MUSSOORIE
Sun 12 April MUSSOORIE
Mon 13 April DHARAMSALA
Tue 14 April DHARAMSALA
Wed 15 April DHARAMSALA
Thu 16 April AMRITSAR
Fri 17 April DELHI
Sat 18 April JAIPUR
Sun 19 April JAIPUR
Mon 20 April JAIPUR
Tue 21 April JAIPUR
Wed 22 April TRAVEL => GOA
Thu 23 April GOA
Fri 24 April GOA
Sat 25 April GOA
Sun 26 April GOA
Mon 27 April GOA
Tue 28 April RETURN
A couple weeks ago storm clouds rolled into Aluva and the sky opened up for the first time since November. My rain-loving self immediately ran outside to play, but Honorary Grandpa, Philip, promptly called me inside for fear I’d catch a cold. Thus I pulled out my camera to document the event and enjoyed the sound and smell of the rain from a dryer spot on the porch of Chacko Homes.
The summer rains (or ‘Mango Showers’) have returned a couple times since, bringing with them the promise of cooler mornings. In the midst of Kerala’s hottest season, such times are welcome moments of relief from the heat and humidity and offer the possibility of NOT sweating at 7:30 am. However, there is a much more important reason to welcome the rain . . . With insufficient rainfall during the last monsoon season, a water shortage has affected Kerala for the past several months. Although I have gone relatively unaffected, other YAVs have shared stories of getting into the shower to find they were missing an essential ingredient, or have lost water mid-bath (they resorted to water bottles). A few weeks ago, Lindsey’s school sent students home because there was not enough water to support everyone. The rain is certainly needed.
Such stories have made the global water crisis blatantly apparent. At home I was able to ignore this inconvenient truth; yes, I turned off the faucet while brushing my teeth and opted out of car washes, but the length of my showers went unchanged and I washed clothes when they weren’t actually dirty. The drought in Atlanta a few years ago did bring water concerns to the forefront, especially when I talked with my brother and sister-in-law about their attempts at conservation, but it was still business as usual in St. Louis. However, the view from the other side of the globe looks a bit different.
March 22nd was World Water Day. To mark the event, “The Hindu” (India’s English newspaper) had been running some articles pertaining to the water crisis. One discussed a free market system in Chile that allows multinational corporations to purchase water rights. As a result the public loses access to this basic necessity, and towns dry up with their water source. Reading this reminded me of a similar situation here in India, one I learned of from a documentary we watched with Achen soon after our arrival. Some of the country’s villages are facing problems of severe water scarcity. These do not come from insufficient rainfall (although I’m sure this doesn’t help), but from Indian subsidiaries of Coca-Cola whose bottling operations over-exploit and pollute water resources. Like in the towns of Chile, corporations here have left the people of forgotten villages thirsting for water.
As I learn more about the social factors affecting India, there is one thought that finds constant expression: the people of this world are deeply interconnected. Though we carry different passports and speak different languages, we are all members of one creation - a diverse community bound by common hopes, needs, and experiences. Yet, in our brokenness, we have lost sight of this connection, making decisions without knowledge or consideration of how they impact others. Right now we face the shared crisis of depleted water resources. For some this goes largely unnoticed, for others it is a daily reality. But as stewards of God’s creation, caring for the earth and all its people is a task of our global community.
In a many colored garden we are growing side by side,
We will rise all together, we will rise.
With the sun and rain upon us, not a row will be denied,
We will rise all together, we will rise.
We will rise like the ocean, we will rise like the sun,
We will rise all together, we will rise.
In our may colored fabrics made from strands of common thread,
We will rise all together, we will rise.
- From “Common Thread,” a song we sing at YAV retreats
Barrionuevo, Alexei. “A Chilean Town Withers in Free Market for Water.”
See also Srivastava, Amit. “Communities Reject Coca-Cola in India.”
On February 27th I left for Sri Lanka with the other five volunteers; by nature of the Indian tourist visa, all non-citizens must leave the country every six months. Thus, having arrived in September, we reached our limit on March 4th, and were off for a weeklong vacation in our closest neighbor to the south. Here is an overview of our trip:
Days 1 & 2: The City
We arrived in Colombo on Friday morning and immediately made our way to the guest house that Chenoa, a former India YAV and employee of the PC(U.S.A.) in Sri Lanka, had reserved for us. With a gracious hostess, an eclectic art collection, and impressive views of the city, our accommodations proved quite welcoming and we spent the majority of our first day in Sri Lanka resting and enjoying Colombo from our apartment balconies. We did venture out for meals with Chenoa, one at ‘The Cricket Club’ where we fed well-developed cravings for hamburgers and French fries.
[Ariel and I on our balcony in Colombo]
[Our apartment in Colombo]
[At the Buddhist Temple in Colombo]
[At the Buddhist Temple in Colombo]
[At the Buddhist Temple in Colombo]
Days 3, 4, & 5: The Beach
By the time Sunday rolled around, the six of us were ready to trade in Colombo for the beach. We caught a bus to Hikkaduwa, a town south of Colombo that obviously caters to the tourist population. Here we capitalized on the ‘typical beach vacation,’ splitting our time between the ocean and seaside cafes (some of which had ‘real’ cappuccinos!). We spent two days in Hikkaduwa before heading even further south to a quiet and pristine beach at Marissa (between Weligama and Matara).
[The beach in Marissa]
[Marissa at dusk]
[Ariel after a day in the ocean]
Days 6 & 7: The Mountains
After a full day on buses, we found ourselves at the base of Adam’s Peak, a mountain located in Sri Lanka’s Central Highlands. A footprint-like rock formation near the summit has won this peak a place in all Sri Lanka’s commonly practiced religions: Buddhists believe the footprint belongs to Buddha, Hindus attribute it to Lord Siva, and Muslims see it as evidence of Adam’s first step on earth. Because of its religious significance (particularly to Buddhists), Adam’s Peak has become a pilgrimage site; devotees begin the 7 km trek at 2 am in order to reach the summit by sunrise, and then (many) spend the early hours of the day in prayer at the mountaintop shrine. For our last day in Sri Lanka, the six of us couldn’t pass up this opportunity.
As we hiked it became increasingly evident that this was a perfect activity to mark the YAV-year midpoint. I know I’ve previously used the ‘mountain metaphor’ in attempts to both visualize and explain this journey and, after experiencing the uphill climbs and pleasant views of our first six months, this image continues to feel appropriate. Adam’s Peak offered me an opportunity to frame this entire year within one 14+ kilometer hike.
I met the gradual incline of the hike’s beginning (September, October) with excitement and energy; I think all of us were (superficially) aware of the trail’s difficulty, but possessed a spirit of confidence that was stronger than any desire to turn back. A few kilometers up the mountain (November) the doubts started to set in. I had begun the hike with reckless abandon and my legs and stomach were now putting up a violent fight, threatening to fail me if I didn’t give them a chance at recovery. (A banana and some of John’s electrolytes proved a suitable remedy). Like they did during retreats and phone calls in November, fellow YAVs came to the rescue here on Adam’s Peak and provided some necessary reassurance and support that encouraged me to keep on trekking . . . And then it only got steeper. With the trail turning into one long staircase (December, January), I was beginning to wonder if I was crazy to even attempt the climb. Yet, at this point, we could look behind us to see a path of lights curving off into the distance, marking how far we’d come. The struggle melded with a feeling of accomplishment that motivated me to keep going. The final steps (February) felt like they were taking us closer and closer to the stars that still shone above, and the excitement of reaching the peak overshadowed the challenges we had faced to come this far. Of course, watching the night turn into day from atop the mountain reminded us that the climb was indeed worthwhile. Though I have only begun the downhill trek of my metaphorical journey, I imagine it will be something like my descent from Adam’s Peak: the pain will probably set in for brief moments, but it will be a time to take in a newly sun-lit landscape and rejoice in both the challenges and accomplishments of the experience.
[The sunrise from the summit of Adam's Peak, Take 1]
[The sunrise from the summit of Adam's Peak, Take 2]
[The sunrise from the summit of Adam's Peak, Take 3]
[The YAVs (sans Lindsey, ze Photographer) at the summit of Adam's Peak]
[Adam's Peak from the trail]
[Monkey Sighting! These are becoming increasingly common, but they are still exciting.]
I’ve been a bad blogger. I apologize for neglecting you, my faithful readers, and for putting my parents and siblings in the position of explaining my absence. In my defense, a chain of events (including a ripped cable that denied all of Asia access to my blog, the Christmas holiday, my family’s visit, and a January due date for one graduate school application) did make it rather difficult to write. But that is really no excuse; I shall try to be better from now on. Although, I do not make any promises about my blog activity until I have completed another application . . . The posts starting with ‘My Aluva Family’ from December 8th should update you on the last 2 months. They are dated for the day they were written or should have been published.
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I partially blame my disappearance on what I am calling ‘The January Slump.’ I spent the first part of last month focused on life outside India . . . With the arrival of the Niesen clan, I distracted myself with the comfort of family; then my graduate school application steered me to thoughts of the future. On top of a ten-day holiday for Christmas, this made for a difficult transition back to life in my site. And this was not helped by an increasingly obvious realization that I am not called to be a teacher; while I love my students and my school, I was feeling rather burnt out with the routine. Ultimately these factors led me to be generally ‘un-present.’
For months I have been conscious of my need for self-care and have responded to my exhaustion by making room for relaxation and recovery. However, now I also realize that this sometimes became a convenient excuse for withdrawal. As a fellow YAV recently reminded me, fatigue is a symptom of culture shock (something which is still affecting us whether we admit it or not). The cruel reality is that, by retreating to my room to take rest, I both remove myself from the people with whom I must build relationships and prevent myself from claiming this community as ‘home.’ Thankfully, with this self-diagnosis, I can now make the conscious decision to reengage.
I am (I believe) confidently on the road to recovery. A relaxing and interesting January retreat to Wayanad, one of Kerala’s northern districts, gave me space to both process with fellow volunteers and reflect on my reasons for being in India. As I’ve mentioned before, a primary reason I applied to the YAV program is my commitment to social justice, and spending our retreat time with an organization called T.U.D.I (Tribal Unity for Development Initiative) reminded me of this passion. The staff of T.U.D.I. introduced us to the issues facing the Tribal or Adivasi communities in Kerala; much like the Native Americans in our own country, these people fell victim to waves of migration that both displaced them and forced them to adapt to foreign social and economic structures. As the government takes control of forests where the Tribal people have lived for centuries, their communities become increasingly disenfranchised; they lose all claims to the land and are left without the tools needed to function within dominant society. T.U.D.I. works to give them these tools and to preserve traditional Adivasi culture.
After retreat I was able to make some adjustments to my schedule at Christava Mahilalayam. I believe I’ve restructured my time in a way that will help me stay energized, and will save me from a relapse into the world of burnout. Even if I am not called to be a teacher for the long term, I am for this year. And each day in the classroom does teach me valuable life lessons that will better prepare me for future endeavors.
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