I spent the week I returned to the states giving the same speech, showing the same pictures, and recounting the same anecdotes over, and over, and over, like a scratch on a CD that I just could not get past. Sure, I owed it to the people I left behind to do it. But I’ve long since made those concessions and, quite honestly, I’ve been avoiding any thought of them ever since.
I know I can never forget my experience, but part of me refuses to engage in overkill, to ruin it. There are things I remember and smile to myself about all the time. Do I harbor them close like fragile eggshells, or do I throw them up into the sky and let them burst for all to see? Of course I throw them up. I want to continue sharing and spreading this part of my life as far out as I can reach.
Because of the wonders study abroad did for me, I want to ensure that as many people around the world as possible get to the same. Everyone should go at least once in their lives, and I do and will advocate that. One of the most surprising things to me was not my lack of jetlag or aversion to most American foods upon return but the number of people who have asked me for help and advice. Are not our schools pressing for programs abroad? Is there no information out there? America certainly lags now in science and some technologies, training fewer scientists and mathematicians and sending fewer students out into the world. It has become lazy and comfortable at the helm of the world, and its no small wonder things have begun to go awry.
Go out into the big, wide world! You’re only doing yourself a favor. The loans will find a way to repay themselves, I promise. But please, ask me anything. I also promise to help you as best as I can. The hardest thing? The easiest thing? The best thing? Ask me anything. I’m yours, if it serves to guide you.
littleladyluck
Not The End
musicI’m not in Japan any longer. In fact, I’ve been home for nearly two weeks. My environment, my atmosphere, my world is completely different again. It feels good to be back. But I left no regrets across the sea, only my childhood.
Everything I did in Japan and in India, they were worth every penny, every tear. There’s nothing in the world that I could have done that was more worthwhile last spring than leaving all I know behind and going to live in a country of strangers who speak a strange and difficult language. I am better able to handle myself and the people around me, to communicate with the world, to see through the perspectives of others, to understand the lives of people outside of America, and to live as a citizen not of a city or a country, but of the world. And we all are, it’s just that some of us have yet to recognize it.
We live in an age in which things are coming together, becoming more interconnected. Some of us hate globalization and would fight it, but it should be recognized that some forces are simply larger than ourselves. A person cannot stand up against the face of a tsunami and expect it to turn back. Globalization is here and it’s real, and while some are being harmed by it, many more are gaining. I’m not saying that I approve of every little detail, that I’m some austere capitalist. I’m just saying, if you can’t fight the rising tide, help others to safety. Go out and see what there is to the world, understand it as well as you can, and say, well I like this, but I intend to make it my job to fix this. And then, do it.
And that’s the life I’ve chosen, because now I’ve seen what it’s like on the other side. It’s not for everyone. It’s not glamorous or profitable, but then, it’s not about the recognition either.
This isn’t an advertisement to all of you to go do exactly what I did, and come back thinking you want to do exactly what I want to do. This is my statement of what study abroad did for me. It changed me. It made me into a better person. It gave me a cause in life. If one person can find so much in only five months, imagine what it could do for any one of you.
During my last week in Japan, I drove to Osaka with a friend for what I imagine is the last time for a very long time. We spent the drive practicing the music we had made. We spent the next day in and out of studios and rehearsals. We spent even the following morning in agonizing prep work for the show, and I was terrified. I was shaking, I couldn’t eat, my notes kept going flat, I was losing my grip on the dance moves … I was so scared that I threw up before the show. But I told myself that if I couldn’t do this one small thing on this one insignificant day in history, even though I knew everything by heart, then I was never going to be able to do anything in the world.
So that night, I did it. We were the opening act to the boxing tournament, myself and two friends standing behind me. Just one song, just one dance, and maybe eight hundred people watching whom I couldn’t even make out because of the brilliant spotlight trained on me. They had hired a professional film crew and were filming us for a music video. That was my debut. And I did it.
Six months ago, I would have failed.
So take that home and chew it, kids. If you were considering something like this in your future and you ever had a moment of doubt, I hope that my humble opinion on the matter may be of some help as you make your decision. Don’t consider the consequences of going. Consider the consequences of not going.
Everything I did in Japan and in India, they were worth every penny, every tear. There’s nothing in the world that I could have done that was more worthwhile last spring than leaving all I know behind and going to live in a country of strangers who speak a strange and difficult language. I am better able to handle myself and the people around me, to communicate with the world, to see through the perspectives of others, to understand the lives of people outside of America, and to live as a citizen not of a city or a country, but of the world. And we all are, it’s just that some of us have yet to recognize it.
We live in an age in which things are coming together, becoming more interconnected. Some of us hate globalization and would fight it, but it should be recognized that some forces are simply larger than ourselves. A person cannot stand up against the face of a tsunami and expect it to turn back. Globalization is here and it’s real, and while some are being harmed by it, many more are gaining. I’m not saying that I approve of every little detail, that I’m some austere capitalist. I’m just saying, if you can’t fight the rising tide, help others to safety. Go out and see what there is to the world, understand it as well as you can, and say, well I like this, but I intend to make it my job to fix this. And then, do it.
And that’s the life I’ve chosen, because now I’ve seen what it’s like on the other side. It’s not for everyone. It’s not glamorous or profitable, but then, it’s not about the recognition either.
This isn’t an advertisement to all of you to go do exactly what I did, and come back thinking you want to do exactly what I want to do. This is my statement of what study abroad did for me. It changed me. It made me into a better person. It gave me a cause in life. If one person can find so much in only five months, imagine what it could do for any one of you.
During my last week in Japan, I drove to Osaka with a friend for what I imagine is the last time for a very long time. We spent the drive practicing the music we had made. We spent the next day in and out of studios and rehearsals. We spent even the following morning in agonizing prep work for the show, and I was terrified. I was shaking, I couldn’t eat, my notes kept going flat, I was losing my grip on the dance moves … I was so scared that I threw up before the show. But I told myself that if I couldn’t do this one small thing on this one insignificant day in history, even though I knew everything by heart, then I was never going to be able to do anything in the world.
So that night, I did it. We were the opening act to the boxing tournament, myself and two friends standing behind me. Just one song, just one dance, and maybe eight hundred people watching whom I couldn’t even make out because of the brilliant spotlight trained on me. They had hired a professional film crew and were filming us for a music video. That was my debut. And I did it.
Six months ago, I would have failed.
So take that home and chew it, kids. If you were considering something like this in your future and you ever had a moment of doubt, I hope that my humble opinion on the matter may be of some help as you make your decision. Don’t consider the consequences of going. Consider the consequences of not going.
A Recounting of the Divergence in Paths
A Recounting of the Divergence in Paths
Taylor Benjamin-Britton
India, April 20th to May 3rd, 2006
Arrival
The air is thick. The airport at Delhi smells of humidity and air conditioning, and the sky outside the dirty windows is hazy as the sun lingers on the verge of disappearing behind the trees. As it sets in the pink-orange haze, we step out into this country. Tonight feels like the dead of summer.
This is the first time that I have been to any place that I could not predict. I know America, the entire northern half of the western hemisphere, pretty well. I expected all that I experienced in Japan. But I have been on the ground here for a few hours now, and I have yet to find anything even vaguely familiar. As we pass lanes of shops and houses built from salvaged bricks and garbage, we also pass lush greenery. Cows and people move together in scattered waves down the sides of the crowded streets. The Coca-cola signs are faded and peeling, but they are there; they serve only to remind me just how far from home that I am.
The colors and people that I am taking in are rich and lively, and the faces I pass do not look sad, but the crumbling and dying structures that surround them, the rubble and the garbage, make my heart ache in a way that I have never felt before. There is no reason in this day and age that any child should be picking through the garbage, returning home to a lean-to. I am not sure yet how to react, but it feels as if my life is about to change again. I am overjoyed to be in India, yet I am sad and ashamed, knowing that I have looked down on run-down buildings, beggars, and rusted cars as distasteful in my own country. I am angry with the disparities between here and home. I am filled with the sense that despite life’s disparities, people here are making the happiest lives possible, and I am happy. I don’t know how to respond, so I just cry.
I had been jaded with my hopes and aspirations as of late, fairly certain that I would not find a place to make a difference, if a difference could be made. But I have decided today that I can, and will, and indeed, have to. What good am I as a person if I do nothing to help make better the world around me?
Red City
Agra is sweltering. The air feels so heavy it weighs one down. The red brick buildings and sandy streets only serve to drive the point home. Dust is everywhere, covering everyone. The city gives off a feel which is unlike that of Delhi. It’s still aggressive, but in a different way—maybe as San Diego is to Los Angeles. I can’t put it to words.
Children and elderly people follow us everywhere, waving their trinkets and shouting over one another. Eventually, I have to shout “no!” although it feels guilty. I can’t always say “yes”, right? It’s easy to become desensitized; they are so persistent, so aggressive, that I can’t bring myself to believe that they are desperate. They have such powerful spirit. I can’t help feeling things are going to be alright.
We came to see the Taj Mahal, but we managed to come on a day that it was closed. One of the locals led us around behind it to the river, and we came as close as we well could. Though I was heartbroken about our mistake and missing the grounds and interior of the Taj Mahal, I still feel extremely fortunate to have actually seen one of the wonders of the world. How many people can say they have? Being there still gave me an incredible feeling of perfection. I didn’t want to stop looking. People really can do amazing things.
The red fort and mausoleum we visited were equally beautiful and impressive. I still marvel at how fortunate I am to have walked these stones. Kings and queens walked these stones, and I am only a girl.
The Squall
The rain only lasted for several minutes. At first the dust suddenly billowed in and filled the air with grey clouds; eventually I noticed that the trees and grasses had bent near horizontal. The sky was nearly dark with it. In the background, someone uttered “sandstorm”. Without warning, it broke into rain. Water sheeted off the windows so strong that the bus had to come to a halt. Hail followed. For a few moments we were in a hurricane, and then without warning it stopped again and the sun returned. We started off again, passing from time to time the seemingly-empty straw huts that dotted the fields—which at one time were simply on fire.
Farewell to Delhi
Today is hotter. We could only spend a few moments at the India Arch, before the street peddlers overcame us and we had to leave. Memorable is the snake charmer who was sitting on the curb with his cobra. The poor animal was defanged, and probably terrified each time it was picked up or pestered by the man. I am reminded of a man who was standing at the side of the road on the way to Agra, who had a bear on a chain. He forced it to stand in an unnatural way just hoping for pocket change from us. Maybe it’s a living for these men, but it’s cruelty, even slavery. Isn’t the environment important here? Doesn’t that include the wildlife?
Delhi gives me an uneasy feel. It’s more desperate. People grab your arms and beg as you walk down the street, no matter how many people are with you. I get more of a sense of hopelessness in this city. Maybe that makes sense. The biggest cities always have the most desperately poor living in them at home too. Help is needed badly here, maybe even moreso than in the villages—though I have yet to see for myself what the real disparity is. People are lying in the streets, half-naked. I wonder, “What hope does one have of finding a job in an already overcrowded city?” It is in Delhi that I first cried for the world’s poor. My own city at home is full of beggars, many of whom I have pushed off in distaste. Again, I feel ashamed of myself.
The Third City
Southern India is entirely different from the northern part. There are women riding mopeds alone down the highway, or guiding the tourists, depending on one’s experience. Big billboards and brilliant lights line the streets. There is a lot of money here, but I also get the feeling of higher hopes and greater possibilities for everyone. It is beautiful here.
We visited a complex containing models of the various styles of homes in villages across south India. While it was interesting, I couldn’t help feeling like a tourist. I guess nothing but the real thing will satisfy me. I will say that the number of women working at the complex and driving their own mopeds surprised me, and I am impressed with what seems to be an improved position of women here. It isn’t perfect, but it’s something.
For example, we attended inaugural ceremonies for a conference on small and medium sized enterprises. They heralded that over half of the participants were women, and how important that was, but at the same time a nameless pretty girl was placed at the podium to nicely introduce the speakers. It just says to me that whatever progress is made for equality of status between genders, anywhere in the world, there’s still a long way to go. The conference was lovely otherwise.
I’ve been thinking over the past few days that I might like to learn to speak this language. I’ve already completed all the Japanese courses at Temple, and I’m really becoming interested in this country quickly. Beyond just my personal interest, it is the case that India is becoming much more important in the scheme of the world in recent years as it grows and develops: I imagine people who speak Hindi are going to come into demand in the next ten years. It is something that I am considering seriously, at least.
As I finally become ill with over-activity and unfamiliar foods.
A Day of Learning
I am quite afflicted today, unfortunately. Maybe it was the heat or the food or the water, or a combination of the three. I was interested in all of the lectures, and I know they were valuable to me, but I had to get up and leave the room at short intervals. I did not want to miss a moment, any small detail that I could take with me into the villages, but all I could think about was my stomach. I am quite afraid that working out in the sun for the next several days is going to harm a lot of the group members if they remain as sick as they are, and quite possibly myself.
So my day came in fits and starts. I learned. I slept. I finally rejoined the group at the end of the dinner hour. I think perhaps the most enlightening part of the trip thus far was the conversation I had with Jonathan out on the steps of the guest house. We talked about many things, about ourselves and our lives, how people wonder at the ends of their lives, “what have I done with myself?”
Although we are cynics and political buffs, every one of us on this trip has already realized that they have to do something for the world, whether or not we can change it. I’m proud and honored to be amongst peers such as this. Apathy just doesn’t cut it anymore. What would we want for our children and grandchildren? It isn’t war. It isn’t a world that suffers. If no one else will act, how can we not? Even if each one of us makes a tiny insignificant change somewhere in the world, together those little changes will add up and become something. I don’t need to worry about not winning the Nobel Peace Prize, so long as people are still working for those goals and winning peace prizes.
My Heroes
This morning I woke feeling quite a bit better. Maybe it was from sleeping in the air conditioning. I kept returning to last night’s conversation in my mind, wondering about my potential and what my path should be.
We were set to head to the women’s biotech park on the way to Pondicherry. The weather was terribly hot and humid, and the wind on the bus didn’t manage to help all that much. My health started to slip, but when we arrived and had something to drink I felt a little better. We were told about the biotech park and the women who work there over juice produced at the park. I have to say I was really impressed with the work being done there. I admit that I imagined, before seeing it, that the work would have been more high-tech. It was fairly simple work that local women could also be employed in. It’s better being that way, because it allows the women entrepreneurs to bring in other women, who were not given the opportunity or who were not able to have the opportunity, to become entrepreneurs. It’s not just women helping themselves and their families, but also helping other women. I love it.
In the afternoon, we visited a self-help group making terra cotta crafts under a teacher. The room was dark and cool, and six or seven women were sitting on reed mats in a circle, each in different stages of little horses or cows or birds. One woman’s infant son and secondary school age son were peering wide-eyed around her shoulder at us as she worked; the rest tried to continue their work without staring, although one could see their smiles. All around them, hundreds of little animals and Hindu figures stood, framed by the light streaming in the window. We watched the work and talked a while, and they brought us sodas.
Eventually a crowd of curious children appeared in the back of the room, surrounding Damion. Yuki and Damion engaged the kids in conversation in a lively fashion; while I tried to speak with some of them, we were unable to communicate clearly. I understand now that the way that Yuki and Damion managed it was simply through play, very little words—they were by this time dancing to “head, shoulders, knees and toes”. I will try this next time we meet children. I always wave to kids from the bus, because I know that a wave hello is a wave hello in any language. A smile is a smile in any language. I just need to work harder to find these commonalities to make that connection. I know that Yuki has experience and Damion is a teacher; I don’t feel unable to do these things, I just need to develop myself more as we continue to interact, just as they have already done. That will be one of my resolutions.
While I was watching the kids play, I was asked if I might like to join the ladies to make a small piece. Of course I was thrilled to. I love clay and crafts. I sat down with Catherine to work. So with very little words and very slowly, we were taught to make a small, simple statue of Ganesha. There were so many smiles. I felt as though I had made their day by joining in their work, just as Yuki and Damion were making the kids’ day. I felt so utterly happy. They told us our slightly stunted little statues came out beautiful, and to keep them. I thanked the women profusely.
As we were making to leave, the teacher revealed that he had packed a piece of art and a terra cotta whistle for each of us, as a gift. He refused even though we tried to pay him. I was moved by his generosity. Although his home is full and he has many children to feed, he still has room in his heart to be generous to a silly lot of pale strangers. His wife, too, painted our foreheads with the red and placed flowers in our hair. I cried. This is the sort of person I hope to become, I thought. Even during this time, the children were showing us clever little toys they had made of simple things. I still couldn’t get over my emotions as we left the house, waving and waving as we went, and the children waving back until they were out of sight. Catherine said, “What an amazing experience we just had,” and I agreed with a nod. Every moment of my time here, I am growing in ways and feeling things I never even anticipated. I have no regrets in India.
Paradise
He told us, “We are going to paradise, where you will only find goddesses and angels.” We woke in time, but we were late to the M.S.S.R.F. field research center. The ride was beautiful, as we passed sea salt cultivation areas, fields of sugar cane and fruit trees, and people doing their daily work. We turned into what I thought first to be a jungle, and I wondered for a few moments if we really were going to paradise. A temple on either side of the entrance path protected the village within. Mr. Rosario was teaching us different plants as we drove.
Presently, we arrived amongst buildings of white and beautiful greenery: guava and bananas, coconut, jack fruit, the list goes on. Butterflies of every color were fluttering around. Women in saris were waiting for us, waving and smiling. The rice powder design outside the building was beautiful. We were welcomed in and seated around on mats on the floor; the building was much cooler than I expected, despite a lack of air conditioning. Or perhaps I have become accustomed to the humidity of India, which is a permanent sauna to the likes of me.
We spoke for a few moments, before ducking back out to have a tour of the center’s biovillage models. They were growing many things, and not only that, but also things that could be used in later stages in the growth of other things. They were natural. These were plants and systems that villages across India would be able to replicate to improve their lives. I have not ceased yet to be impressed with the work of the foundation. Before I began the study of this kind of work I never imagined that such simple things as vegetable gardens could be the solution to people’s problems of hunger or just stunted nutrition.
We circled the center, then returned back to the first room, where we learned that a group of women leaders from a nearby village were waiting for us. We gathered on one end of the mats, while the women gathered on the other end, smiling white smiles back at us. I admit I was a little nervous at first, but I was happy too. Then came the questions.
They asked us all sorts of everything, about self help groups at home, and what kind of jobs we women can do, and how we pay for college, and how much education we would like to engage in and what that would cost … Mr. Rosario translated for us between each question and answer. We countered by asking them questions back, and really, we were all enjoying ourselves and talking indirectly with these girls and women. As they all spoke, I sketched several of the women sitting closest to me. They wanted to see. I think that from their smiles they liked the drawing, and the feeling it gave me was wonderful. I love to bring happiness into the world. I think that’s why I chose this career to begin with. But when I actually succeed at it, well, it’s something altogether different. At last in the discussion came the big question to us: why were we on this program in India? Why were we here? And I thought about this, and I wrote down a little essay to myself. We were all supposed to answer, although we got sidetracked. Here is my answer:
I am American. My life has been too privileged. I feel, more strongly as of late, that I should give back what I have received from the world. In the future I want to work for a foundation like this one, helping people to make their lives better. It doesn’t matter to me which way I help. I’ll help in as many ways as I can. I have come to India to see and meet its strong people, and to reaffirm what it is that I am working for.
We asked them to sing a song for us, and eventually they decided on something that we could all join in. The words were in Tamil, which none of us could speak. But we could dance. We stood in a circle holding hands for a moment. Without warning, the women began to sing and move, walking in a circle and clapping high and low. It was easy to catch on. Only four of us were brave enough to join in, but it was worth it. I felt so energized and rejuvenated by the end of it that I could have run a mile. We said our goodbyes, and settled down for an afternoon of lectures but my mind kept returning to all the people I had met.
In the evening we went to a Hindu temple. The bazaar of crafts and temple goods reminded me a little of Japan. There was an elephant standing outside, unchained, and painted, accepting money from people passing by. The lights were bright and people were everywhere. What I felt, unlike what I felt in temples in Japan, was jovial. We removed our shoes and entered, taking part in a ceremony I did not understand. The temple interior was, however, beautiful. The roof over where the holy people were working was made of gold. Amazing, I thought, that in a country with so many hungry people—with beggars outside its gates—that they have gold such as this in their temples. Maybe it just shows how much people believe. I still strive to understand.
From the temple, we drove down to the waterfront, which Jon rightly pointed out was a little like the beaches at home. It was dark, but there was a great statue of Gandhi surrounded by white and bright lights, all over and around which small children were clamoring. I felt as though I were at a festival. The water was beautiful at night. I could have sat there for hours, but hours we do not have.
The Village
Today we were separated into two groups, the configuration of which groups I believe was no mistake. I was surrounded by idealists and planet protectors today, none that would complain of the work or the heat because their lives are slowly becoming geared toward the work which we are doing here. I was quietly grateful to be paired with Damion, Yuki, Catherine, and Tony.
The people here are beautiful. They were decked out in their finest saris to meet us, their brows painted. Many of the women I remembered from the day before. Their smiles are impressed on my mind, probably forever. I don’t forget a moving smile. I still remember the smile of the one holocaust survivor I have met. These women will stay with me too.
We talked for a while, while I made sketches of the children sitting with us on the tarps beneath the palm trees. Butterflies were flitting about us. Smiling kids and interested husbands gathered on the outskirts of our circle, conversing in the quick, indiscernible notes of Tamil. We were set to work together, learning the work of the self-help women that helps to raise their quality of life and put their daughters through school.
I knelt with one woman who looked barely older than myself and wove a palm frond into thatch under the hot sun. I strove learn quickly and do well, but certainly nothing compares to daily practice. She was patient with me, and sent me off once to go have a drink, but we eventually completed our little piece. The others were doing the same nearby.
In a small break between this and our next job, we found ourselves surrounded by children. I was determined not to be shy anymore. We played some counting games, and then London Bridge, in which I led the kids around and around. They were so happy to play! I wished that we had more time to play other games, but by then we were being called back to work.
My legs were shaking a little by this time, but I wasn’t sure why, so I ignored it. They taught us their method of mushroom cultivation, the kids running about and helping on the outskirts of the tarp. I felt a little dizzy now, so finally I went and informed someone. Geeta-ji helped me to one of the nearby houses with a fan and laid me down on her scarf to rest a while. Villagers were all around me as I lay there, worrying over me. A gecko skittered across the wall and ceiling. They were making me feel more important than I was, I thought to myself with a little humor. Why are they so kind and generous? They may not be rich materially, but they were certainly rich in heart and soul. Rarely have I experienced people such as this.
The group came for me when it was time to leave. I felt burdensome for having missed out on the remainder of the work, but they made me feel welcome, sending me off with flowers for my hair and smiles and waves. I wish I could thank the people with something more than just words: words just aren’t enough to express it.
That evening we all went out to the Promenade to have a nice birthday dinner for Catherine and Rieko. It felt odd to be back in the “rich” part of town and section of society. This was food that would have cost us sixty dollars a plate back home. I felt oddly wasteful and ridiculous. It was nice, and social, but I was just a little off. I guess the whole point of it is to talk with one’s new friends anyway.
The Knowledge Center
Today was something different. I am not sure how I feel about it at this point. We returned to the field center late because some group members were inconsiderate of the rest of us, to learn about the creation and function of Village Knowledge Centers. I was impressed with the quality of the center’s VKC, the radio program, and the government subsidy of the internet—although I was sure this was a phenomenon unique to the center.
We visited after this Aravind Eye Hospital, and learned about some incredible work being done to reduce blindness in India, which has an absurdly high percentage of needless blindness cases in comparison with other countries. I was extremely impressed with the free eye care and the eye camps being provided throughout southern India, the system it ran on, its expansion, and actually, its applicability to other states and other problems. Here, I thought, is an idea that really worked. Why isn’t it being used more? Why isn’t everyone doing this? Our session was brief, but it was plenty to filly my thoughts. From here, we left for the villages.
Sure enough I was right about the computers. The VKC we visited in the first village of the day was much smaller and hotter than the MSSRF field center. We were all suffering in the heat pretty badly. Although I had already drank at least a liter of water that morning, I am certain I sweated it all back out in that one-room VKC. It was difficult to concentrate on what was being said around us due to the discomfort, although I did my best to keep attention. I was moved by the tsunami stories, at least. One of the things that turned my future to development work was the earthquake/tsunami in 2004 and the insufficiency of the attention that Americans paid it, so I have a special place in my heart for these stories.
We moved again after this to another coastal village to do an activity, the merit of which I have not managed to weigh out yet. We talked a little with the local youth leaders, before heading out into the sun for a village mapping activity. While it was interesting to walk the village, I felt very conspicuous, and almost as though we were being mocked. The translator wouldn’t tell us a lot of what was being said around us, and communication was poor. We did our activity mostly in silence, then returned to that village’s VKC. There was just a combination of a lot of things that brought us down here. I know it should have gone better.
I was feeling extremely unwell, though I had the feeling that my sentiment was shared by much of the group. I was given a drink and medicine, and moved outside to catch the breeze, but the heat exhaustion and the headaches weren’t going away.
We wandered off somewhere in the middle of the map-making session to go look at the temple built on the shoreline. It seemed as though it had not been used in ages, and there were no people anywhere nearby. Only a lit stick of incense gave away the secret. As the sun began to set, we started down to the water. I had forgotten my camera, but I didn’t have the heart to go back for it by then. Hesitantly we approached the sea, afraid to stray too far alone. Only when Damion came down from the VKC did we venture all the way.
I stood with my feet in the Bay of Bengal, trails of black and grey sand spinning rivulets back into the water. I remembered when I had heard that tsunami had brought with it black sand. I wondered where the black came from, some murky deep primordial depth of the sea perhaps, as I squelched my toes in the sand. The sky was streaking soft blues and oranges, striking the temple and the coconut trees beautifully. I paced an abandoned boat, picking up shells, as the others stood thinking. Those moments almost made forgivable the discomforts of the day.
Together we returned, unspeaking. Rieko had come to retrieve us; as we walked, she picked up a bit of jewelry someone had dropped. The local women placed it around her neck with smiles.
Still feeling unwell, we spent the night in our room.
The Survivors
Today is important to me. We were to meet tsunami survivors and talk about their lives after the disaster. The tsunami was one of the reasons I became interested in aid and development work, watching helplessly from afar two years ago. An image drawn to mind is a photograph of a Starbucks in Thailand, completely destroyed, shown to me while I was working at that coffee company in my hometown. I sent my textbooks in for tsunami relief that year, wore the tsunami bracelet, and helped to raise aid money at my job—but it still felt insignificant. So many died, and our country didn’t do enough at all to help. It was shameful. So here I was today, grown up a little and come to do my piece.
We sat on the floor of a temple in a coastal village, surrounded on all sides by fisherwomen and fishermen. After a moment, we were separated into smaller groups for discussion. First we were asked why we had come to seek knowledge from these people; we all answered as honestly as hearts would allow. I told them I sought to work in development, and I needed to learn from the people who were living these lives day by day, the things I couldn’t learn in school. They were satisfied with us after this.
We asked what their experiences were, what happened in the aftermath, the interaction of the NGOs, the adequacy of the NGOs, aid, counseling, everything. I wasn’t sure at first what to ask, but the moment they began to tell the stories, my mind filled with hundreds of questions and thoughts. We probably could have talked about these things for hours. I wonder if anyone even wanted to have these thoughts re-conjured, or how painful it must have been to do so. One woman said she had run from the beach, where she was working with the nets with other women. Of her group, she was the only one to survive. It makes my heart ache.
All too soon, it ended, but I felt as though a connection had been made in my mind. Ah, this is it, I thought. This is the reason I wanted to do this. I needed the reminder more than I knew before I came to India.
They took us down to the shore, to show us all that had been built by the NGOs after the disaster and how different the area had become. It was growing quite uncomfortable again, and we had a difficult time keeping our attentions focused. I was more interested in the movements of the trees and people than in the map on the floor. We were driven back to the temple because of our health and said our goodbyes at the doorway of the nearby VKC.
I probably complained too much of my condition that day, but in some fairness I’ve been sick with the same symptoms since the second day of the trip with little relief. It makes me wonder if my body can take this kind of work daily in the future, if I can become used to extreme heat. The other day was record hot. Yet most of the world that needs help is under a burning sun. I have survived, albeit with some consequences. I decided to myself that perhaps I will have to begin a little further north and work my way down over a period of time. I know I can’t help much when I am sick all the time. I will simply have to get used to it. I will do it.
Lanes of Mangroves
We were woken at the crack of dawn for a day that was unclear about the plan of for a good part of the morning. I was really ill, and hadn’t bothered even to shower. I slept uncomfortably on the bus for almost three hours, until we came to what looked like a shoreline with a line of long and narrow boats. We were instructed to bring our bags and board one of the boats, and informed that we were going out to see the mangrove forest. Children and young men helped to set us on our way.
The water was grey-green, but sparkling brilliantly in the still-early morning sunlight as we set out. The true ocean was farther out, and we could see the crests of the waves as they rolled in beyond the sandbar that separated the slightly-salinated water in which mangroves grow. The sun beat heavily down on our shoulders, but the breeze rivaled it enough to keep us from growing uncomfortable. We came quickly into the canals that ran through the forest, which we were told was one of only two forests in Tamil Nadu. The mangroves would have saved many lives from the tsunami in 2004—now they are re-growing it to prevent future disasters, both water spouts and tsunamis.
I love the shape of them, their wide green canopies and the long masses of tangled roots reaching down into the water. We were lectured as we rode, thought I found myself paying most of my attention to the flora and fauna, and the way my skin was baking in the sun. Almost too quickly we approached the next town on the water, little fish leaping across the water alongside our little boat. We debarked and headed off to be lectured for the remainder of the day.
Three Worlds Converge
Today we had real work to do. We drove forever, riding along the highways from the break of dawn until the sun had risen high into the sky, until we reached Kovalam. Here was a village of people from different classes and religions all living and working together without conflict. We were here to clean up the garbage around the streets of the city, to help start to create a sense of pride in the beauty and cleanliness of the town, and perpetuate it.
We went to look at the beautiful old church which was part of the large mission and school that seemed to be the heart of the city. There we met people we would be working with and talked a little about our own mission. Then, together, we donned gloves and headed out.
The work was real tough, and the sun was beating down on us mercilessly, and at first we were working alone. I was literally dripping, which is an experience which was new to me. But then, gradually, children came and started to help, picking up little bits and sweeping up after us. It didn’t seem like we were getting anywhere at first, but slowly, bit by bit, the curb began to come clean.
Then suddenly a flood of women and children came rushing in. All of a sudden we were clearing a lot of ground, and quickly. We could see the ground below the trash. Somewhere during this, I heard a plaintive meowing and discovered a small, orange kitten hiding in the trash. I coaxed him out and lay him in my shirt for a while, while I worked. I’m sure the village ladies were giggling at my antics.
Eventually I needed to stop for a bit. The blood was pounding in my temples and I was feeling a bit dizzy so the kitten and I went to sit with some of the other girls beneath a large tree by the church. We talked and were brought delicious melon juice, while Catherine and I played with the kitten. The children asked me to keep the kitten, and bring him to Japan with me. He was skinny and had a few little wounds—I would have loved to take him in, but I knew it was impossible. I had to let him go. For me, this was a little symbolic of the things that I can’t accomplish in life that I just need to accept. I can do the best that I can for as long as I can, like playing with and taking care of a kitten, but someday I have to let it go. I know there are other cats in the village and that things will turn out all right.
We weren’t feeling well enough to work much more, and Kohei had gotten sick, so we went and stayed with him until lunch. I really worry about everyone in the group like my own family now, we’ve just grown that way.
We were served a beautiful lunch and spoke for a time with the Father at the heart of the mission in Kovalam. They gave us some sweet gifts and spoke to us a little more, before sending us on our way. I felt, as always, so well cared for here. We boarded the bus to go back to Chennai and lay quietly watching the sun go down through the windows.
The Last Day
No work today. No jobs. No interactions. Today was the last day, and it was time to buck up and show what we had learned. We had four hours, PowerPoint and our minds. Jennifer and I were going to go with the idea that I had been forming in my mind for the last week, the sustainability of the village knowledge centers that we had been visiting since we arrived. Because I know it can be done, and I believe it needs to be done. I had no way of knowing what Jenny wanted to do with this project, but I came in knowing that this was my mission, and she just said, “okay”. So we went to it.
We went through the definition of the centers, a needs assessment, and created a plan that not only develops the center but the village at the same time. So here’s what we said, and we called it the Britton-Inoue Plan:
Through seeking to meet the needs of both the village and the village knowledge center, and by bringing in income as these needs are met, the village knowledge center can be improved to a level where self-sustainability is a possibility. By removing the village knowledge center from outside funding, the government revenue being spent previously on these village knowledge centers can be freed up for the creation of new centers, and promulgate and perpetuate the village knowledge center idea throughout India. If self-sustainability can be attained, then this model can be modified and used everywhere that it is needed.
I was actually pretty proud of how our project turned out given the time and resources we had in one small room. I felt vindicated when a member of the audience seriously lauded my plan, recognized my name as the name given on the plan. It makes me feel like I have something in my mind, something real that I can offer to people and make happen. That’s everything to me, that’s everything. I need to make a difference.
And I guess that, in the end, is really the meaning of this trip to me. I’m going to make a life out of working to help others. It’s a life that may be empty of recognition and gratitude, wealth and fame, and I honestly don’t care. This is it for me. I’ve just come to feel so strongly about needing to do something, and it doesn’t even matter to me in what field or where that something turns out to be, so long as I can make a contribution to the greater picture. There is no reason in this day and age that people should suffer curable diseases, that people should go hungry, that children should be in hard labor. If everyone does some small part to make things better, things will get better. We all need to realize this. The village knowledge center is just one way to make people realize it: I’m going to make this my life, and nothing is going to stop me.
Taylor Benjamin-Britton
India, April 20th to May 3rd, 2006
Arrival
The air is thick. The airport at Delhi smells of humidity and air conditioning, and the sky outside the dirty windows is hazy as the sun lingers on the verge of disappearing behind the trees. As it sets in the pink-orange haze, we step out into this country. Tonight feels like the dead of summer.
This is the first time that I have been to any place that I could not predict. I know America, the entire northern half of the western hemisphere, pretty well. I expected all that I experienced in Japan. But I have been on the ground here for a few hours now, and I have yet to find anything even vaguely familiar. As we pass lanes of shops and houses built from salvaged bricks and garbage, we also pass lush greenery. Cows and people move together in scattered waves down the sides of the crowded streets. The Coca-cola signs are faded and peeling, but they are there; they serve only to remind me just how far from home that I am.
The colors and people that I am taking in are rich and lively, and the faces I pass do not look sad, but the crumbling and dying structures that surround them, the rubble and the garbage, make my heart ache in a way that I have never felt before. There is no reason in this day and age that any child should be picking through the garbage, returning home to a lean-to. I am not sure yet how to react, but it feels as if my life is about to change again. I am overjoyed to be in India, yet I am sad and ashamed, knowing that I have looked down on run-down buildings, beggars, and rusted cars as distasteful in my own country. I am angry with the disparities between here and home. I am filled with the sense that despite life’s disparities, people here are making the happiest lives possible, and I am happy. I don’t know how to respond, so I just cry.
I had been jaded with my hopes and aspirations as of late, fairly certain that I would not find a place to make a difference, if a difference could be made. But I have decided today that I can, and will, and indeed, have to. What good am I as a person if I do nothing to help make better the world around me?
Red City
Agra is sweltering. The air feels so heavy it weighs one down. The red brick buildings and sandy streets only serve to drive the point home. Dust is everywhere, covering everyone. The city gives off a feel which is unlike that of Delhi. It’s still aggressive, but in a different way—maybe as San Diego is to Los Angeles. I can’t put it to words.
Children and elderly people follow us everywhere, waving their trinkets and shouting over one another. Eventually, I have to shout “no!” although it feels guilty. I can’t always say “yes”, right? It’s easy to become desensitized; they are so persistent, so aggressive, that I can’t bring myself to believe that they are desperate. They have such powerful spirit. I can’t help feeling things are going to be alright.
We came to see the Taj Mahal, but we managed to come on a day that it was closed. One of the locals led us around behind it to the river, and we came as close as we well could. Though I was heartbroken about our mistake and missing the grounds and interior of the Taj Mahal, I still feel extremely fortunate to have actually seen one of the wonders of the world. How many people can say they have? Being there still gave me an incredible feeling of perfection. I didn’t want to stop looking. People really can do amazing things.
The red fort and mausoleum we visited were equally beautiful and impressive. I still marvel at how fortunate I am to have walked these stones. Kings and queens walked these stones, and I am only a girl.
The Squall
The rain only lasted for several minutes. At first the dust suddenly billowed in and filled the air with grey clouds; eventually I noticed that the trees and grasses had bent near horizontal. The sky was nearly dark with it. In the background, someone uttered “sandstorm”. Without warning, it broke into rain. Water sheeted off the windows so strong that the bus had to come to a halt. Hail followed. For a few moments we were in a hurricane, and then without warning it stopped again and the sun returned. We started off again, passing from time to time the seemingly-empty straw huts that dotted the fields—which at one time were simply on fire.
Farewell to Delhi
Today is hotter. We could only spend a few moments at the India Arch, before the street peddlers overcame us and we had to leave. Memorable is the snake charmer who was sitting on the curb with his cobra. The poor animal was defanged, and probably terrified each time it was picked up or pestered by the man. I am reminded of a man who was standing at the side of the road on the way to Agra, who had a bear on a chain. He forced it to stand in an unnatural way just hoping for pocket change from us. Maybe it’s a living for these men, but it’s cruelty, even slavery. Isn’t the environment important here? Doesn’t that include the wildlife?
Delhi gives me an uneasy feel. It’s more desperate. People grab your arms and beg as you walk down the street, no matter how many people are with you. I get more of a sense of hopelessness in this city. Maybe that makes sense. The biggest cities always have the most desperately poor living in them at home too. Help is needed badly here, maybe even moreso than in the villages—though I have yet to see for myself what the real disparity is. People are lying in the streets, half-naked. I wonder, “What hope does one have of finding a job in an already overcrowded city?” It is in Delhi that I first cried for the world’s poor. My own city at home is full of beggars, many of whom I have pushed off in distaste. Again, I feel ashamed of myself.
The Third City
Southern India is entirely different from the northern part. There are women riding mopeds alone down the highway, or guiding the tourists, depending on one’s experience. Big billboards and brilliant lights line the streets. There is a lot of money here, but I also get the feeling of higher hopes and greater possibilities for everyone. It is beautiful here.
We visited a complex containing models of the various styles of homes in villages across south India. While it was interesting, I couldn’t help feeling like a tourist. I guess nothing but the real thing will satisfy me. I will say that the number of women working at the complex and driving their own mopeds surprised me, and I am impressed with what seems to be an improved position of women here. It isn’t perfect, but it’s something.
For example, we attended inaugural ceremonies for a conference on small and medium sized enterprises. They heralded that over half of the participants were women, and how important that was, but at the same time a nameless pretty girl was placed at the podium to nicely introduce the speakers. It just says to me that whatever progress is made for equality of status between genders, anywhere in the world, there’s still a long way to go. The conference was lovely otherwise.
I’ve been thinking over the past few days that I might like to learn to speak this language. I’ve already completed all the Japanese courses at Temple, and I’m really becoming interested in this country quickly. Beyond just my personal interest, it is the case that India is becoming much more important in the scheme of the world in recent years as it grows and develops: I imagine people who speak Hindi are going to come into demand in the next ten years. It is something that I am considering seriously, at least.
As I finally become ill with over-activity and unfamiliar foods.
A Day of Learning
I am quite afflicted today, unfortunately. Maybe it was the heat or the food or the water, or a combination of the three. I was interested in all of the lectures, and I know they were valuable to me, but I had to get up and leave the room at short intervals. I did not want to miss a moment, any small detail that I could take with me into the villages, but all I could think about was my stomach. I am quite afraid that working out in the sun for the next several days is going to harm a lot of the group members if they remain as sick as they are, and quite possibly myself.
So my day came in fits and starts. I learned. I slept. I finally rejoined the group at the end of the dinner hour. I think perhaps the most enlightening part of the trip thus far was the conversation I had with Jonathan out on the steps of the guest house. We talked about many things, about ourselves and our lives, how people wonder at the ends of their lives, “what have I done with myself?”
Although we are cynics and political buffs, every one of us on this trip has already realized that they have to do something for the world, whether or not we can change it. I’m proud and honored to be amongst peers such as this. Apathy just doesn’t cut it anymore. What would we want for our children and grandchildren? It isn’t war. It isn’t a world that suffers. If no one else will act, how can we not? Even if each one of us makes a tiny insignificant change somewhere in the world, together those little changes will add up and become something. I don’t need to worry about not winning the Nobel Peace Prize, so long as people are still working for those goals and winning peace prizes.
My Heroes
This morning I woke feeling quite a bit better. Maybe it was from sleeping in the air conditioning. I kept returning to last night’s conversation in my mind, wondering about my potential and what my path should be.
We were set to head to the women’s biotech park on the way to Pondicherry. The weather was terribly hot and humid, and the wind on the bus didn’t manage to help all that much. My health started to slip, but when we arrived and had something to drink I felt a little better. We were told about the biotech park and the women who work there over juice produced at the park. I have to say I was really impressed with the work being done there. I admit that I imagined, before seeing it, that the work would have been more high-tech. It was fairly simple work that local women could also be employed in. It’s better being that way, because it allows the women entrepreneurs to bring in other women, who were not given the opportunity or who were not able to have the opportunity, to become entrepreneurs. It’s not just women helping themselves and their families, but also helping other women. I love it.
In the afternoon, we visited a self-help group making terra cotta crafts under a teacher. The room was dark and cool, and six or seven women were sitting on reed mats in a circle, each in different stages of little horses or cows or birds. One woman’s infant son and secondary school age son were peering wide-eyed around her shoulder at us as she worked; the rest tried to continue their work without staring, although one could see their smiles. All around them, hundreds of little animals and Hindu figures stood, framed by the light streaming in the window. We watched the work and talked a while, and they brought us sodas.
Eventually a crowd of curious children appeared in the back of the room, surrounding Damion. Yuki and Damion engaged the kids in conversation in a lively fashion; while I tried to speak with some of them, we were unable to communicate clearly. I understand now that the way that Yuki and Damion managed it was simply through play, very little words—they were by this time dancing to “head, shoulders, knees and toes”. I will try this next time we meet children. I always wave to kids from the bus, because I know that a wave hello is a wave hello in any language. A smile is a smile in any language. I just need to work harder to find these commonalities to make that connection. I know that Yuki has experience and Damion is a teacher; I don’t feel unable to do these things, I just need to develop myself more as we continue to interact, just as they have already done. That will be one of my resolutions.
While I was watching the kids play, I was asked if I might like to join the ladies to make a small piece. Of course I was thrilled to. I love clay and crafts. I sat down with Catherine to work. So with very little words and very slowly, we were taught to make a small, simple statue of Ganesha. There were so many smiles. I felt as though I had made their day by joining in their work, just as Yuki and Damion were making the kids’ day. I felt so utterly happy. They told us our slightly stunted little statues came out beautiful, and to keep them. I thanked the women profusely.
As we were making to leave, the teacher revealed that he had packed a piece of art and a terra cotta whistle for each of us, as a gift. He refused even though we tried to pay him. I was moved by his generosity. Although his home is full and he has many children to feed, he still has room in his heart to be generous to a silly lot of pale strangers. His wife, too, painted our foreheads with the red and placed flowers in our hair. I cried. This is the sort of person I hope to become, I thought. Even during this time, the children were showing us clever little toys they had made of simple things. I still couldn’t get over my emotions as we left the house, waving and waving as we went, and the children waving back until they were out of sight. Catherine said, “What an amazing experience we just had,” and I agreed with a nod. Every moment of my time here, I am growing in ways and feeling things I never even anticipated. I have no regrets in India.
Paradise
He told us, “We are going to paradise, where you will only find goddesses and angels.” We woke in time, but we were late to the M.S.S.R.F. field research center. The ride was beautiful, as we passed sea salt cultivation areas, fields of sugar cane and fruit trees, and people doing their daily work. We turned into what I thought first to be a jungle, and I wondered for a few moments if we really were going to paradise. A temple on either side of the entrance path protected the village within. Mr. Rosario was teaching us different plants as we drove.
Presently, we arrived amongst buildings of white and beautiful greenery: guava and bananas, coconut, jack fruit, the list goes on. Butterflies of every color were fluttering around. Women in saris were waiting for us, waving and smiling. The rice powder design outside the building was beautiful. We were welcomed in and seated around on mats on the floor; the building was much cooler than I expected, despite a lack of air conditioning. Or perhaps I have become accustomed to the humidity of India, which is a permanent sauna to the likes of me.
We spoke for a few moments, before ducking back out to have a tour of the center’s biovillage models. They were growing many things, and not only that, but also things that could be used in later stages in the growth of other things. They were natural. These were plants and systems that villages across India would be able to replicate to improve their lives. I have not ceased yet to be impressed with the work of the foundation. Before I began the study of this kind of work I never imagined that such simple things as vegetable gardens could be the solution to people’s problems of hunger or just stunted nutrition.
We circled the center, then returned back to the first room, where we learned that a group of women leaders from a nearby village were waiting for us. We gathered on one end of the mats, while the women gathered on the other end, smiling white smiles back at us. I admit I was a little nervous at first, but I was happy too. Then came the questions.
They asked us all sorts of everything, about self help groups at home, and what kind of jobs we women can do, and how we pay for college, and how much education we would like to engage in and what that would cost … Mr. Rosario translated for us between each question and answer. We countered by asking them questions back, and really, we were all enjoying ourselves and talking indirectly with these girls and women. As they all spoke, I sketched several of the women sitting closest to me. They wanted to see. I think that from their smiles they liked the drawing, and the feeling it gave me was wonderful. I love to bring happiness into the world. I think that’s why I chose this career to begin with. But when I actually succeed at it, well, it’s something altogether different. At last in the discussion came the big question to us: why were we on this program in India? Why were we here? And I thought about this, and I wrote down a little essay to myself. We were all supposed to answer, although we got sidetracked. Here is my answer:
I am American. My life has been too privileged. I feel, more strongly as of late, that I should give back what I have received from the world. In the future I want to work for a foundation like this one, helping people to make their lives better. It doesn’t matter to me which way I help. I’ll help in as many ways as I can. I have come to India to see and meet its strong people, and to reaffirm what it is that I am working for.
We asked them to sing a song for us, and eventually they decided on something that we could all join in. The words were in Tamil, which none of us could speak. But we could dance. We stood in a circle holding hands for a moment. Without warning, the women began to sing and move, walking in a circle and clapping high and low. It was easy to catch on. Only four of us were brave enough to join in, but it was worth it. I felt so energized and rejuvenated by the end of it that I could have run a mile. We said our goodbyes, and settled down for an afternoon of lectures but my mind kept returning to all the people I had met.
In the evening we went to a Hindu temple. The bazaar of crafts and temple goods reminded me a little of Japan. There was an elephant standing outside, unchained, and painted, accepting money from people passing by. The lights were bright and people were everywhere. What I felt, unlike what I felt in temples in Japan, was jovial. We removed our shoes and entered, taking part in a ceremony I did not understand. The temple interior was, however, beautiful. The roof over where the holy people were working was made of gold. Amazing, I thought, that in a country with so many hungry people—with beggars outside its gates—that they have gold such as this in their temples. Maybe it just shows how much people believe. I still strive to understand.
From the temple, we drove down to the waterfront, which Jon rightly pointed out was a little like the beaches at home. It was dark, but there was a great statue of Gandhi surrounded by white and bright lights, all over and around which small children were clamoring. I felt as though I were at a festival. The water was beautiful at night. I could have sat there for hours, but hours we do not have.
The Village
Today we were separated into two groups, the configuration of which groups I believe was no mistake. I was surrounded by idealists and planet protectors today, none that would complain of the work or the heat because their lives are slowly becoming geared toward the work which we are doing here. I was quietly grateful to be paired with Damion, Yuki, Catherine, and Tony.
The people here are beautiful. They were decked out in their finest saris to meet us, their brows painted. Many of the women I remembered from the day before. Their smiles are impressed on my mind, probably forever. I don’t forget a moving smile. I still remember the smile of the one holocaust survivor I have met. These women will stay with me too.
We talked for a while, while I made sketches of the children sitting with us on the tarps beneath the palm trees. Butterflies were flitting about us. Smiling kids and interested husbands gathered on the outskirts of our circle, conversing in the quick, indiscernible notes of Tamil. We were set to work together, learning the work of the self-help women that helps to raise their quality of life and put their daughters through school.
I knelt with one woman who looked barely older than myself and wove a palm frond into thatch under the hot sun. I strove learn quickly and do well, but certainly nothing compares to daily practice. She was patient with me, and sent me off once to go have a drink, but we eventually completed our little piece. The others were doing the same nearby.
In a small break between this and our next job, we found ourselves surrounded by children. I was determined not to be shy anymore. We played some counting games, and then London Bridge, in which I led the kids around and around. They were so happy to play! I wished that we had more time to play other games, but by then we were being called back to work.
My legs were shaking a little by this time, but I wasn’t sure why, so I ignored it. They taught us their method of mushroom cultivation, the kids running about and helping on the outskirts of the tarp. I felt a little dizzy now, so finally I went and informed someone. Geeta-ji helped me to one of the nearby houses with a fan and laid me down on her scarf to rest a while. Villagers were all around me as I lay there, worrying over me. A gecko skittered across the wall and ceiling. They were making me feel more important than I was, I thought to myself with a little humor. Why are they so kind and generous? They may not be rich materially, but they were certainly rich in heart and soul. Rarely have I experienced people such as this.
The group came for me when it was time to leave. I felt burdensome for having missed out on the remainder of the work, but they made me feel welcome, sending me off with flowers for my hair and smiles and waves. I wish I could thank the people with something more than just words: words just aren’t enough to express it.
That evening we all went out to the Promenade to have a nice birthday dinner for Catherine and Rieko. It felt odd to be back in the “rich” part of town and section of society. This was food that would have cost us sixty dollars a plate back home. I felt oddly wasteful and ridiculous. It was nice, and social, but I was just a little off. I guess the whole point of it is to talk with one’s new friends anyway.
The Knowledge Center
Today was something different. I am not sure how I feel about it at this point. We returned to the field center late because some group members were inconsiderate of the rest of us, to learn about the creation and function of Village Knowledge Centers. I was impressed with the quality of the center’s VKC, the radio program, and the government subsidy of the internet—although I was sure this was a phenomenon unique to the center.
We visited after this Aravind Eye Hospital, and learned about some incredible work being done to reduce blindness in India, which has an absurdly high percentage of needless blindness cases in comparison with other countries. I was extremely impressed with the free eye care and the eye camps being provided throughout southern India, the system it ran on, its expansion, and actually, its applicability to other states and other problems. Here, I thought, is an idea that really worked. Why isn’t it being used more? Why isn’t everyone doing this? Our session was brief, but it was plenty to filly my thoughts. From here, we left for the villages.
Sure enough I was right about the computers. The VKC we visited in the first village of the day was much smaller and hotter than the MSSRF field center. We were all suffering in the heat pretty badly. Although I had already drank at least a liter of water that morning, I am certain I sweated it all back out in that one-room VKC. It was difficult to concentrate on what was being said around us due to the discomfort, although I did my best to keep attention. I was moved by the tsunami stories, at least. One of the things that turned my future to development work was the earthquake/tsunami in 2004 and the insufficiency of the attention that Americans paid it, so I have a special place in my heart for these stories.
We moved again after this to another coastal village to do an activity, the merit of which I have not managed to weigh out yet. We talked a little with the local youth leaders, before heading out into the sun for a village mapping activity. While it was interesting to walk the village, I felt very conspicuous, and almost as though we were being mocked. The translator wouldn’t tell us a lot of what was being said around us, and communication was poor. We did our activity mostly in silence, then returned to that village’s VKC. There was just a combination of a lot of things that brought us down here. I know it should have gone better.
I was feeling extremely unwell, though I had the feeling that my sentiment was shared by much of the group. I was given a drink and medicine, and moved outside to catch the breeze, but the heat exhaustion and the headaches weren’t going away.
We wandered off somewhere in the middle of the map-making session to go look at the temple built on the shoreline. It seemed as though it had not been used in ages, and there were no people anywhere nearby. Only a lit stick of incense gave away the secret. As the sun began to set, we started down to the water. I had forgotten my camera, but I didn’t have the heart to go back for it by then. Hesitantly we approached the sea, afraid to stray too far alone. Only when Damion came down from the VKC did we venture all the way.
I stood with my feet in the Bay of Bengal, trails of black and grey sand spinning rivulets back into the water. I remembered when I had heard that tsunami had brought with it black sand. I wondered where the black came from, some murky deep primordial depth of the sea perhaps, as I squelched my toes in the sand. The sky was streaking soft blues and oranges, striking the temple and the coconut trees beautifully. I paced an abandoned boat, picking up shells, as the others stood thinking. Those moments almost made forgivable the discomforts of the day.
Together we returned, unspeaking. Rieko had come to retrieve us; as we walked, she picked up a bit of jewelry someone had dropped. The local women placed it around her neck with smiles.
Still feeling unwell, we spent the night in our room.
The Survivors
Today is important to me. We were to meet tsunami survivors and talk about their lives after the disaster. The tsunami was one of the reasons I became interested in aid and development work, watching helplessly from afar two years ago. An image drawn to mind is a photograph of a Starbucks in Thailand, completely destroyed, shown to me while I was working at that coffee company in my hometown. I sent my textbooks in for tsunami relief that year, wore the tsunami bracelet, and helped to raise aid money at my job—but it still felt insignificant. So many died, and our country didn’t do enough at all to help. It was shameful. So here I was today, grown up a little and come to do my piece.
We sat on the floor of a temple in a coastal village, surrounded on all sides by fisherwomen and fishermen. After a moment, we were separated into smaller groups for discussion. First we were asked why we had come to seek knowledge from these people; we all answered as honestly as hearts would allow. I told them I sought to work in development, and I needed to learn from the people who were living these lives day by day, the things I couldn’t learn in school. They were satisfied with us after this.
We asked what their experiences were, what happened in the aftermath, the interaction of the NGOs, the adequacy of the NGOs, aid, counseling, everything. I wasn’t sure at first what to ask, but the moment they began to tell the stories, my mind filled with hundreds of questions and thoughts. We probably could have talked about these things for hours. I wonder if anyone even wanted to have these thoughts re-conjured, or how painful it must have been to do so. One woman said she had run from the beach, where she was working with the nets with other women. Of her group, she was the only one to survive. It makes my heart ache.
All too soon, it ended, but I felt as though a connection had been made in my mind. Ah, this is it, I thought. This is the reason I wanted to do this. I needed the reminder more than I knew before I came to India.
They took us down to the shore, to show us all that had been built by the NGOs after the disaster and how different the area had become. It was growing quite uncomfortable again, and we had a difficult time keeping our attentions focused. I was more interested in the movements of the trees and people than in the map on the floor. We were driven back to the temple because of our health and said our goodbyes at the doorway of the nearby VKC.
I probably complained too much of my condition that day, but in some fairness I’ve been sick with the same symptoms since the second day of the trip with little relief. It makes me wonder if my body can take this kind of work daily in the future, if I can become used to extreme heat. The other day was record hot. Yet most of the world that needs help is under a burning sun. I have survived, albeit with some consequences. I decided to myself that perhaps I will have to begin a little further north and work my way down over a period of time. I know I can’t help much when I am sick all the time. I will simply have to get used to it. I will do it.
Lanes of Mangroves
We were woken at the crack of dawn for a day that was unclear about the plan of for a good part of the morning. I was really ill, and hadn’t bothered even to shower. I slept uncomfortably on the bus for almost three hours, until we came to what looked like a shoreline with a line of long and narrow boats. We were instructed to bring our bags and board one of the boats, and informed that we were going out to see the mangrove forest. Children and young men helped to set us on our way.
The water was grey-green, but sparkling brilliantly in the still-early morning sunlight as we set out. The true ocean was farther out, and we could see the crests of the waves as they rolled in beyond the sandbar that separated the slightly-salinated water in which mangroves grow. The sun beat heavily down on our shoulders, but the breeze rivaled it enough to keep us from growing uncomfortable. We came quickly into the canals that ran through the forest, which we were told was one of only two forests in Tamil Nadu. The mangroves would have saved many lives from the tsunami in 2004—now they are re-growing it to prevent future disasters, both water spouts and tsunamis.
I love the shape of them, their wide green canopies and the long masses of tangled roots reaching down into the water. We were lectured as we rode, thought I found myself paying most of my attention to the flora and fauna, and the way my skin was baking in the sun. Almost too quickly we approached the next town on the water, little fish leaping across the water alongside our little boat. We debarked and headed off to be lectured for the remainder of the day.
Three Worlds Converge
Today we had real work to do. We drove forever, riding along the highways from the break of dawn until the sun had risen high into the sky, until we reached Kovalam. Here was a village of people from different classes and religions all living and working together without conflict. We were here to clean up the garbage around the streets of the city, to help start to create a sense of pride in the beauty and cleanliness of the town, and perpetuate it.
We went to look at the beautiful old church which was part of the large mission and school that seemed to be the heart of the city. There we met people we would be working with and talked a little about our own mission. Then, together, we donned gloves and headed out.
The work was real tough, and the sun was beating down on us mercilessly, and at first we were working alone. I was literally dripping, which is an experience which was new to me. But then, gradually, children came and started to help, picking up little bits and sweeping up after us. It didn’t seem like we were getting anywhere at first, but slowly, bit by bit, the curb began to come clean.
Then suddenly a flood of women and children came rushing in. All of a sudden we were clearing a lot of ground, and quickly. We could see the ground below the trash. Somewhere during this, I heard a plaintive meowing and discovered a small, orange kitten hiding in the trash. I coaxed him out and lay him in my shirt for a while, while I worked. I’m sure the village ladies were giggling at my antics.
Eventually I needed to stop for a bit. The blood was pounding in my temples and I was feeling a bit dizzy so the kitten and I went to sit with some of the other girls beneath a large tree by the church. We talked and were brought delicious melon juice, while Catherine and I played with the kitten. The children asked me to keep the kitten, and bring him to Japan with me. He was skinny and had a few little wounds—I would have loved to take him in, but I knew it was impossible. I had to let him go. For me, this was a little symbolic of the things that I can’t accomplish in life that I just need to accept. I can do the best that I can for as long as I can, like playing with and taking care of a kitten, but someday I have to let it go. I know there are other cats in the village and that things will turn out all right.
We weren’t feeling well enough to work much more, and Kohei had gotten sick, so we went and stayed with him until lunch. I really worry about everyone in the group like my own family now, we’ve just grown that way.
We were served a beautiful lunch and spoke for a time with the Father at the heart of the mission in Kovalam. They gave us some sweet gifts and spoke to us a little more, before sending us on our way. I felt, as always, so well cared for here. We boarded the bus to go back to Chennai and lay quietly watching the sun go down through the windows.
The Last Day
No work today. No jobs. No interactions. Today was the last day, and it was time to buck up and show what we had learned. We had four hours, PowerPoint and our minds. Jennifer and I were going to go with the idea that I had been forming in my mind for the last week, the sustainability of the village knowledge centers that we had been visiting since we arrived. Because I know it can be done, and I believe it needs to be done. I had no way of knowing what Jenny wanted to do with this project, but I came in knowing that this was my mission, and she just said, “okay”. So we went to it.
We went through the definition of the centers, a needs assessment, and created a plan that not only develops the center but the village at the same time. So here’s what we said, and we called it the Britton-Inoue Plan:
Through seeking to meet the needs of both the village and the village knowledge center, and by bringing in income as these needs are met, the village knowledge center can be improved to a level where self-sustainability is a possibility. By removing the village knowledge center from outside funding, the government revenue being spent previously on these village knowledge centers can be freed up for the creation of new centers, and promulgate and perpetuate the village knowledge center idea throughout India. If self-sustainability can be attained, then this model can be modified and used everywhere that it is needed.
I was actually pretty proud of how our project turned out given the time and resources we had in one small room. I felt vindicated when a member of the audience seriously lauded my plan, recognized my name as the name given on the plan. It makes me feel like I have something in my mind, something real that I can offer to people and make happen. That’s everything to me, that’s everything. I need to make a difference.
And I guess that, in the end, is really the meaning of this trip to me. I’m going to make a life out of working to help others. It’s a life that may be empty of recognition and gratitude, wealth and fame, and I honestly don’t care. This is it for me. I’ve just come to feel so strongly about needing to do something, and it doesn’t even matter to me in what field or where that something turns out to be, so long as I can make a contribution to the greater picture. There is no reason in this day and age that people should suffer curable diseases, that people should go hungry, that children should be in hard labor. If everyone does some small part to make things better, things will get better. We all need to realize this. The village knowledge center is just one way to make people realize it: I’m going to make this my life, and nothing is going to stop me.
I can’t stay long. This café only has four computers and I only have so many rupees with which to pay. I just wanted to let you know what happened to me, after that mysterious e-mail that I had packed up and run to India.
You see, actually I won a grant through my university and a kind donor to work and study for a few weeks in this country, all expenses paid of course. I and ten other students have come with our professor to work at the M.S. Swaminathan Research Foundation in Chennai, India. MSSRF works in the over 600,000 villages of this country to create self-help groups, village knowledge and resource centers, sets up scholarships, aids in rebuilding tsunami-damaged villages, and so on. It’s a leader in development,
and they’re constantly innovating. We’re here to learn the ropes of development work, particularly those of us who will be going into that field (myself included).
MSSRF has put us up, fed us, and taught us a lot already. We have spent a lot of time just talking to villagers, about the groups they have formed and the side jobs they have taken up to help pay for their children’s education. I have had so many amazing experiences just talking with and doing traditional work and crafts with the natives of India. For me it’s just been a reaffirmation of my goals and dreams, which college life and world events have jaded. I’m certain now that my life’s work lies here in
the field, making smiles and rebuilding dreams. I can see it in the smiles of the children around me. I am no longer afraid.
Take care. I have kept a diary of my time here on my laptop, and I promise to share it with you.
You see, actually I won a grant through my university and a kind donor to work and study for a few weeks in this country, all expenses paid of course. I and ten other students have come with our professor to work at the M.S. Swaminathan Research Foundation in Chennai, India. MSSRF works in the over 600,000 villages of this country to create self-help groups, village knowledge and resource centers, sets up scholarships, aids in rebuilding tsunami-damaged villages, and so on. It’s a leader in development,
and they’re constantly innovating. We’re here to learn the ropes of development work, particularly those of us who will be going into that field (myself included).
MSSRF has put us up, fed us, and taught us a lot already. We have spent a lot of time just talking to villagers, about the groups they have formed and the side jobs they have taken up to help pay for their children’s education. I have had so many amazing experiences just talking with and doing traditional work and crafts with the natives of India. For me it’s just been a reaffirmation of my goals and dreams, which college life and world events have jaded. I’m certain now that my life’s work lies here in
the field, making smiles and rebuilding dreams. I can see it in the smiles of the children around me. I am no longer afraid.
Take care. I have kept a diary of my time here on my laptop, and I promise to share it with you.
Checking In
I am writing to you from a closet Internet cafe with only three computers from Pondicherry, Tamil Nadu, India. Violently beautiful music is thundering in the background speakers. Outside I see terra cotta and coconut palms. I am in a permanent sauna. Last week I saw the Taj Mahal. Today I danced a traditional dance with village women.
Life here is amazing, sad and joyous. My life is changing rapidly.
I am exremely aware now that my life is meant to be devoted to saving the world.
I will write to you again when I return to Japan, filled to burst with emotion and experience.
Life here is amazing, sad and joyous. My life is changing rapidly.
I am exremely aware now that my life is meant to be devoted to saving the world.
I will write to you again when I return to Japan, filled to burst with emotion and experience.
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