true life planet

I can hardly think of blogging right now..still recovering from what has been an endless Christmas celebration…but so much has happened to me int he space of two weeks that I MUST write some of it down.

I don’t really know where to begin. Being here, working with the kids, it’s changed me in so many fundamental ways that I sometimes don’t recognize myself.

Of course, at each junction in this journey-in each country, at each volunteer posting- I’ve felt similiar to the way I feel now.

But here, it seems so drastic. Maybe it’s the environment I find myself in, or maybe it’s just that all the experiences I have had up until this very point have somehow prepared me and made me ready for the changes that are happening right now.

One thing is certain: This place has turned my life upside down and made everything topsy turvy. Not in an uncomfortable way, but in a unforseen way.

Just a few months ago, I was entirely committed to the Ngobe of Panama. I still am committed to them but something has changed.

The thing that has changed is me.

I just don’t think helping the Ngobe is enough. I feel like I want–and can–do more..in an intimate, personal way.

Being here, being with the kids, it’s taught me more about love and patience and gratitude than at any other point in my entire life. I can quite honestly say that although I’ve had many peak experiences on this trip, volunteering at Daya Dan has actually been the peak experience of my entire life.

So, I am making some adjustments.

Big ones.

Huge ones.

Changes in my life and to my earlier goals(which sounded so good and made so much sense 90 days ago but now seem completely inappropriate to who I have become.)

The major, enormous adjustment is that I have decided to adopt a child.

From here, from Daya Dan, if it is possible.

This is quite a drastic change from my earlier thoughts on the subject, but then again..I had never spent time with kids like this and seen, felt, known..how much I would enjoy it.

How this impacts my life, and those in my life, I can only begin to think about. The last few days have been clear only in the sense that I know, simply know that it is what I will be doing.

There is a sense of peacefulness about the entire process that I find to be entirely unexpected. I am actually not worried about it in the least. In fact, I am comfortable in knowing that it is along process that takes alot of planning and patience, and that proper discernment is part of that process. And believe me, I have been discerning about this for quite awhile.

There is one boy in particular that I am interested in adopting, who is named Mitun. He is of unknown age-perhaps 8, perhaps 12- who is the child that has captured my heart.

He is very new to Daya Dan..in fact, he is rarely there, as he attends a special school for the hearing impaired. He is here for the holidays and then going back to school on the 6th. Until then, I am managing to get to know him and have many special moments with him.

He seems to be very intelligent. He simply was not educated in the past because he could not hear and so his speaking skills are poor. He is only just learning his ABC’s now.

He has a hearing aid, which he does not use regularly(perhaps because the other children would break it) and when he uses it he can hear much better. If he was in the States, had a proper hearing aid and so on he would have a chance to have a much more normal, higher functioning life.

He is mischevious and funny and a wonderful dancer, very well socialized and seems to be the sort of child who charms everyone.

Including me.

He was obviously in a very loving family up until very recently, when he was given up. He is warm and affectionate, plays well with others and is helpful.

It is obvious that he is..in the wrong place, in the sense that he has more intelligence than the children he is with. He simply has speech difficulty..the sisters say he has mental retardation as well, but he doesn’t seem like it to the volunteers. There is not much understanding of children with his special need here.

If any of you met him, you would immediately understand why I am changing my entire life to do this.

It is a very time consuming process, adoption. It takes several years. Luckily it seems I have the support of the sisters in this enormous task ahead.

The whole trip has been about “saving the world” but being here has taught me that I can’t really save the world..but I can drastically improve the conditions of someone’s life…and give them a chance. A real chance.

I never considered myself that kind of person-the person capable of giving a child that chance. But now I realize alot of those feelings were about others’ perceptions of me in the past and not about the person I have become on this incredible journey.

So much to do! My goodness!

I end 2008 as a person who never, ever considered doing anything like this…and I begin the New Year with entirely different goals.

I wish all of you a very Happy New Year, and hope for each of you to be as  happy and content as I am in making this decision.

love to all,

gigi

I’m a bad blogger..bad! It’s been two weeks since my last entry.

I’ll try to cover everything this time in a single one. let’s hope I do a decent job of explaining how everthing here at this moment and how I’m feeling about it all.

The last two weeks have been so busy that I literally can’t pick out any day in particular to tell you about-everything has just blended into one blob.

What’s odd is that two weeks ago I was going on and on about how lovely Christmas was here–no American greed, no shopping for gifts, no bombardmentwith red blow-up plastic Santas, Christmas light overload, Christmas carols nonstop, plastic trees, and shop til you drop.

That has all changed. It would seem India loves Christmas–and the hectic frantic pace it brings–as much as Americans. At least in Calcutta, anyway. We’ve got plastic blow up Santas, Christmas carols, busy shopping malls…

The Christmas tree in the shopping center is fabulous, made up entirely of plastic water bottles that have been cleaned and attached to a bamboo frame, then filled with plastic lights. A fabulous testament to Indian ingenuity and recycling.

We may have to try it in Winters, my tiny town back in America.

Well, I thought I would not have to shop for gifts. Wrong.

Just when I was really enjoying not shopping, the head Sister at Daya Dan asked me to do all of her Christmas shopping this year! I was handed some money, a budget, and a list. A very long list, full of strange items.

It took three days–three days!–to find it all, and that list took me all over the city.

Not only was I to buy things for the children, but I had to buy things for the Sisters themselves. Forexample, 12 matching hankerchiefs. 12 pairs of scissors of a certain length. 12 bolts of fabric. 70 childrens sweaters, 70 coloring books, shoes, etc. Everything to exact specifications.

Sound easy? It wasn’t. The Sisters have strangely specific requirements for every single item. For example, a hanky must be of a certain quality, of a certain size, of a certain color, and without design. Impossible!

The Sisters also get special food around Christmas. Speciality food, things that have to be imported. They don’t get much, just a taste. It’s the one day they have  afew luxuries, like American peanut butter for the American nun, Italian pasta for the Italian nun, and so on. But I had to buy enough for twelve nuns. And the hardest part was the bargaining.

I’ve learned to bargain but this time I had to bargain hard. So hard that it tired me out!

But I did manage to get everything on that two page list!

I have turned out to be such a good shopper that the Sisters have asked me to do their shopping again next year! Oh joy!

Well, didn’t I tell you? Yes, I am already planning on coming back here next year for Christmas. The Christmas here is so amazing..being with the kids…and doing the work we are doing. I love it, simply love it.

The Sisters also asked me to come back! So it looks like I’ll be doing all the shopping next year, too….

Other than shopping I have been very busy with the Daya Dan Big Band. That’s the name of the band of the kids from Dya Dan that have been practising for months on end numerous carols for Christmas, and we have been going out to perform almost every other day.

It’s been an interesting way to see the other Sisters and Brothers’ homes in the Calcutta area..we’ve been to most of the homes for sick, mentally ill, dyingpeople; as well as orpahanages and so on. The breadth of work being done by these women and men is astonishing, and the people that they are helping would not be helpied by anyone if these nuns and monks were not devoting their lives to this task.

The concerts are quite hectic, as all the children must get bathed and then dressed in special concert clothes, then have their hair done and be made up….yes, they put make up on them! This seems to be the norm in this country. The job has fallen to me, I am the “make-up girl” putting makeup–lots of it–on loads of little squirming wiggling boys, wearing white trousers and satin shirts withred sequin vests and bow ties. It’s a hilarious chaotic scene, believe me.

Then we have to get them out of Daya Dan, walk down the alley, load them onto the bus, and keep them out of trouble, keep them from vomiting, wetting their pants, htting each other, putting their hands out the window, and so on..for up to an hour or so, while we breathe in foul air and wrestle with terrible traffic.

The bus rides are adventures in themselves. Seatbelts and car seats are not used here. Volunteers simply are told to hold on to the shoulder of that child and keep that child on their lap as we lurch through traffic.

The main safety featureof these bus rides seems to be the painted “Missionaries of Charity” sign painted on the side(hopefully keeping other drivers from hitting us) and perhpas..the constant blaring horn of the driver. Apparrently a truly skilled driver will just keep his hand on the driver the entire time.

Once we get to the place we are going to perform, we have to manageto keep the children altogether and behaving until the concert starts.

When the concert finally does begin, all my attention focuses on Binoy, who is a fantastic drummer, but only if I am sitting there beside him. As far as I am concerned, it’s just Binoy and me for the next 40 minutes.

What’s amzing is that when I look up and see the audience, see the tears in their eyes, see the kid’s enormous effort…it’s really beautiful.

It’s what Christmas is all about for me, that one shining moment.

After the concert, kids are carted off to be fed ChowMein or something else that is delicious, and the volunteers get a short break.

Or rather, we are supposed to. But Joy(the little autistic boy I have mentioned before) has taken a liking to me and refuses to be parted from me at any time before of after the concert. This includes during Chow Mein time.

After we eat, we load them all up on the bus again. Joy has to sit next to me or he gets very upset.

He also gets upset if he can’t get off the bus right away when he finally gets home to Daya Dan.

The other day, he had to wait to get off, and in his worry and stress, he bit me. On the face. he bites when he is upset, and I suppose my face was the nearest thing to him at the time.

Needless to say, I had to spend the night with the Sisters, for I needed to ice it all night long. I am happy to say that it is recovering nicely, thankyou.

Everyday here is one colorful adventure after another. Face biting included.

For Christmas Eve, I am very excited to go to Midnight Mass at Motherhouse, where Mother Theresa’s tomb is. That will be the experience of a lifetime. Then on Christmas day, we have planned a very nice day with the children, including watching Finding Nemo in Hindi and generally spoiling them a little bit.

Christmas night, a group of the volunteers are coming over to my rooms. I’ve bought a tiny tinsel tree and some candles and will ask everyone to light a candle, eat some food, and package up some food for street children, too. Then we’ll go out and see and American movie.

Being here..it’s been an amzing experience. Not only do I adore India, but I have discovered that I am actually great with children! Especially difficult and special needs kids. Who would have known?

There is nothing quite like showing up for work, opening the door to the orphanage, and being hugged, called out to, and generally loved like the way I am with this group of kids.

This makes up for the difficulty I seem to always face here in other areas–right now, I am dealing with a bad case of bronchitis. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another.

Oh well.

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas.

gigi

From terrorism to my room filling with smoke every morning to discussing my bowels with complete strangers …a taste of Calcutta life for those readers who are still with me!

 Bits and pieces…

For all of you who have written in with your concerns about the Mumbai incident, thankyou.

I cannot say that I am not worried-I am. If something happens here in the city, some terrorist activity, I will come home early.

However, the feeling in general(amongst Indians and Westerners I have spoken to) is that that is not going to happen here anytime soon. It would seem that the terrorists would prefer to attack bigger targets, with more rich tourists and with more Western influence. Calcutta is a struggling city, teeming with poor people living on the street. It doesn’t have the city feel of Mumbai or Delhi.

However, you never know.

Certainly since the attack–and since it was discovered that some of the equipmetn the terrorists used was bought here in Calcutta(this according to Indian newspapers) the security here stepped up.

It wasn’t overnight, of course, as this is India. But within several days, there certainly was a different presence in this city, that mainly being the presence of armed soldiers.

They are everywhere, in particular at night, walking the streets and near the more expensive areas with hotels and nicer venues.

There are also many more police, armed guards and so on at all of the nicer hotel entrances, where they now also have bomb sniffing dogs sniffing both people and cars.

Metal detectors are now used-as well as (seemingly random) bag searches on the metro.

I am still walking around the city, even walking home at night sometimes if I get off early enough to do so.

You have to realize just how big India is. It’s huge.So what happened is the equivalent of, say, Chigago getting a terrorist attack and then me worrying about it in very far away California.You can only worry so much.

But I will keep you all posted…

Other news:

My room was filled with smoke the other morning. What am I saying? Actually it’s been every morning since I rented the rooms.

It turns out that some very poor people come every single day(except sunday) and burn the trash in the alley(to make charchol, and to fish out bits and pieces of things they can sell), and the smoke curls it’s tentacles into my room.

I always wake up coughing.

Don’t go and suggest I change rooms now.

The whole city is fuill of smoke now-they burn oil in the streets to keep warm, they burn effigies of their gods in the river which covers the city in a thick haze that chokes one, they burn tar on the streets in huge barrels while they work on the roads at night.

The air quality is so bad that it makes my chest hurt. I find myself coughing alot. I was coughing so much that I stopped walkign home from work(which takes an hour, through the city streets) due to the smoke I was inhaling on the way home–but then I started feeling a real loss of energy, so I’m back to walking again. I need the exercise.

It’s hard to exercise in a place like this. There are no outdoorsy places, except a large strip of park which is quite out of my way. Walking down the streets , one needs strict concentration to not get hit by cars, autorickshaws, or busses. People stare, and men groping you as you wait to cross the road is not uncommon. There are holes everywhere one can fall into(remember my accident a few weeks ago?) and of course, human poop all over the place.

Exercising in my room is kind of funny. I try, but it’s not easy, and anyway, leg lifts while your room is smoky can’t be good for my health.

Also in the news this week, I discovered I had worms.

I probably got them at work, as handwashing is close to impossible at times. How I discovered them I will not disclose, except to say that I had figured it out before I actually saw them because I had a constant urge for pizza (there is a Domino’s pizza here) and ate about 20 of them without gaining a pound. I ate that many over a month or so, of course.

I went to a pharmacy to get some wormer. That was simple, right?

Wrong. Nothing, absolutely nothing, can be simple here.

I got the wormer, easy, no problem. Amazed, I Then asked them for some malaria medicine, which I just started taking again. (I had stopped taking it for awhile due to stomach problems etc.) You take one a week and uit’s so strong it knocks my socks off, but, hey, that’s better than malaria, right?

Then I asked them for some laxatives (I know, I’m a living breathing medicine cabinent) because I gave mine away and that’s not something one wants to be without here.

The man in the pharmacy yelled out across the counter “LAXATIVES, PLEASE, FOR THE LADY AT THE COUNTER.”

All head turned to me. I burned a whole into the ground with my shame and embarrassment. This in spite of the fact that I really didn’t need them at that moment.

Apparently the man at the other counter, where laxatives were stored, was a deaf mute.

Again, Man no1 called out “LAXATIVES, FOR THE LADY AT THE COUNTER… PLEASE, LAXATIVES!”

The second man suddenly was near me, waving many packages of laxatives in his hands.

” HOW MANY LAXATIVES DO YOU WANT, Ma’am? “, he’s shouting at me.

I look blindly at Man no1. “Why is he shouting?” I ask.

“He’s partly deaf, ma’am.”, is the reply. He continues, “Tell us about your problem ma’am. How is your stool feeling?”

My stool is feeling fine, I am thinking, wanting to end this conversation about the quality of my poop quietly. I can’t leave, they have my malaria meds, my wormer meds…

” They are for later. My stool is fine, thankyou”, I say.

“Ma’am, you can talk to us. We are here to help you. Tell me how your stool is feeling.”, Man no.1 continues.

Oh, I am so tired . I am so tired of india today. How come nothing can be easy here?

I dive in.

“My stool is..weak and tired. It feels unhappy.”, I say.

This gathers a crowd of pharmacists(or paharmacy employees?) who ponder what to do about my “unhappy” stool.

I stand there, in utter shame and embarassment, and particially in wonderment that I am so embarrassed talking about my poop (which is actually quite happy, thankyou very much) in a country where men poop in front of each other while talking about cricket matches and politics at any time of the day, in any direction I look.

The city, in fact, in covered in poop every morning.

As I pondering the pooping habits of Calcuttans, the pharmacists have decided I need 3 packets of Milk of Magnesia packets.

I buy everything, thank them, and as I am leaving. Man no1 calls out after me,

” Come back, ma’am. We are happy to discuss your body problems with you. I hope the pills cheer your bowels.”

gigi

The Top Ten Things I love About This City….

(in no particular order whatsoever)..

1. The Indian “head nod”.

This is a slight nod, usually to the left. It means everything and anything, yes, no, maybe. It takes practice, but after being here for several months, I find I am doing it myself.

2. The Indian “head wobble”.

More famous than the Indian “head nod”, probably because Westerners cannot master it so easily. This head wobble literally makes the head of the person doing the wobbling look like it is only loosely attached to the neck. It usually means yes.

3. It’s a dog’s life, here in Calcutta.

Oh, the dogs! I spend hours photographing them, because they are everywhere and anywhere. Fat ones. Skinny ones, Little ones, Sick ones, Hairless ones, Black ones, Spotted ones. Packs of dogs. Single stray dogs.Dogs lying in the middle of sidewalk. Dogs curled up in the street, oblivious to the goings-on around them. Dogs on leashes, being walked by their owners in the early morning, sniffing for the best trash in ther steaming trash heaps. Dogs waiting outside of butchershops, never tearing their eyes away from the butchers hands, waiting for a morsel.

I have never seen so many dogs in one place in my life.

3. Shopping.

Oh, yes, this place is fantastic for buying things, but it’s even better for window-shoping. Except there are few windows.

You can find whatever you want, if you’re willing to go to bother of actually finding it. And although the buying part isn’t that fun, the looking part is really wonderful.

A whole cultural experience, that many people find intimidating as proper bartering here takes time. You need to sit, look, think, then have soda, then think some more..then maybe decide on something, then change your mind, then almost walk away…

4. The colors of the clothes.

Never before have I been around so many colors , just saturated colors, day in and day out. Western clothes seem so, well, boring.

The other day as an experiment, I wore Western clothes–a classic travel outfit, black pants and shirt. I felt so dull and depressed.

Hopefully some of this color will rub off on to me at home. Even black things here have patterns and texture, always something interesting. At home everyone looks the same. Here, everyone’s saying something , just by their headscarf, sari, bangles…all noisily creating one big concert of messy colors. I love it.

5. The kindness of the Bengali people.

In general, people here are the nicest of anyone I have ever met on my travels to third world places. If you are in trouble, say, in a disagreement about a taxi ride price or whathaveyou, you will soon be surrounded by a crowd who will either set you straight(but kindly) or the taxi driver.

6. The metro. It’s actually clean. It’s actually fast. It’s better than the metro in the USA.

Makes my life so much easier, and as long as I stand in the women’s compartment I can usually avoid the occasional groping hand on my bottom!

7. The view from my window.

I’m on the third floor, looking down into a busy alleyway, which always has something going on, even at 3 am. (I’m writng a long journal entry about the goings-on in the alleyway at the moment, hoping to post it on the blog at some point).

8. Kit kat choclate bars, which are vastly superior to the horrible ones we have at home.

They are actually real chocolate and taste non plastic-y, unlike the kitkats at home. I’m a convert. I’ll have to have those kitkats shipped from India to California, now.

9. My job at Daya Dan.

Although at first I felt like it was too much and was ill at ease (Me with autistic kids for 8 hours a day?) It’s turned out to be a good fit. I’d actually (if my home life was different) consider adopting one of these kids-or a child with a disability like autism-someday. I love what I’m doing and I can truly say that it has changed me for the better.

10. The time for reflection that being here has given me.

This may sound odd, buit in spite of being so insanely busy here I have probably thought more about my life and what I want from it and even what I think about things here than at any point so far on the trip.

Maybe it’s becasue you are so confronted with such extreme scenes of poverty and so on, and you soon learn that whatever you would normally do in a Western culture will not work here. It wil not solve things.

So you are just left alone with your thoughts, all of them, some of them terrible dark depressing thoughts and others are golden, rising up from this mess like steam.

I’m so used to keeping my thoughts to myself most of the time, and frankly just having to be with them, that I have found I am thinking more clearly and efficiently here.

I am able to see myself as separate and distinct from what I see around me.

This in turn has led me to define myself more and more in almost every other area of my life.

Being here I have a very strong sense of who I am and what I am willing to do for others and what I am not.

All, in all, a very good top ten list.

gigi

A special project on my day off leads me through winding alleys to find clay, then to Daya Dan to spend the afternoon witha very unusual and smart young boy, and finally, a long chat with the head Sister at Daya Dan over cups of hot chai and Christmas cards leads to a small victory….

This last week I had the wonderful opportunity to work with a very special child at Daya Dan, named Mongol.

Mongol is 15 years old, a very small boy with tiny limbs and gnarled hands who is in a wheelchair.

He has a wasting illness.

He has lived with the Sisters since he was 3 years old, along with his sister Meghan, who also has the same wasting away illness.

Mongol and Meghan were found by Mother Theresa’s tomb after a Christmas celebration. Although the room is quite small, it becomes very crowded for the Christmas celebration and the two children were not discovered until after everyone had left.

They were left in small basket.

The Sisters took them in and they lived at the orphanage for small children, Shisu Bhavan, until they were a bit older, when they were both moved to Daya Dan.

Now, brother and sister are still together, just living on different floors, although they spend time together each day.

Mongol has the mind of any 15 year old boy. Perhaps he is even smarter than the average 15 year old–it is hard to say, for although he is a quick learner he only recently(within the last few years, with a change in nuns in charge of the place) began recieving proper lessons and learning difficult subjects.

His prognosis is not good, and it is assumed that he will die there, along with his sister, at an early age.

He, of course, doesn’t know that. He has the goal of becoming a priest–although this would require special dispensation and so may be unlikely.

Sister Jonafa is trying to encourage him to study a great deal so that not only will he pass his exams, but so that he will also be able to teach the other children for as long as he is with us.

Mongol spends so much time studying that he rarely does anything fun and relaxing.

Sister had the idea that Mongol make something to present to the people we are performing the Christmas program for…and we decided on little Jesus’ in mangers.

An appropriate gift from a represnetative of the Sisters of Charity!

But how to go about making them?

I had to first spend several hours finding and buying the supplies. I went to New Market-the large public market nearby- and asked my friend, Martin (the tailor) to help me.

He sent his guys running around trying to find everything from plaster of paris to paintbrushes.

I needed swaddling for the baby Jesus and other supplies, and Martin (being a very good Muslim) promptly provioded me with everything for free. Amazing.

Finding clay proved close to impossible, which was surprising in a city where entire sections of the streets are permanently devoted to making clay effigies of Hindu gods all day and all night!

I decided to make my way to this neighborhood and buy clay from these makers of gods.

I took the metro the next morning to the stop closest to where I thought the neighborhood was. oh, wait a minute..I’m making it sound so easy.

Well, it wasn’t.

You see I was loaded up with big bags of white powder. Big heavy bags of white powder.

And since the terrorist attack in Mumbai, things here have gotten incredibly more interesting insofar as bag checks and guns and armed men running about. Especially after it was discoverewd that the phone card the terrorists used was actually bought here, in this very city.

Therefore, they 9the armed guards–the very armed guards) did not want to let me onto the metro.

In fact I was searched 3 times.

The white powder was poked a few times with sticks, but that was about it.

I was delayed and missed all three trains, each time.

And each time, a metro employee came to my rescue and told them I took the train everyday and worked for the Sisters.

Thank goodness!

Anyway, finding the neighborhood was easy, as it’s near Daya Dan.

Explaining what I wanted was impossible. I attracted a huge crowd of on lookers and an equally huge crowd of dogs (I had a big bundle of samosas for the children in my bag!)

Think about it: a big white woman wearing a a bright orange salwaar suit, carrying 6 bags of stuff and also 60 samosas shows up in a very Hindu neighborhood that doesn’t see any tourists and starts waving her arms around wildly trying to explain that she wants to make baby Jesus statues. It would attract a crowd. Logical.

I decided that the samosas would be better put to use at that moment, and after sharing the bag with the crowd and a few lean dogs and puppies, I was promptly whisked to a tea shed where a tiny man brought me several bags of powder (and the requisite cups of chai as we talked over the price, of course!).

Apparently I was to mix the powder with water and glue, and then it would magically become clay.

At least that’s what I thought he was saying.

The clay and supplies were so heavy that I hired a rickshaw driver to carry them(not me. Just the supplies, which weighed as much as I did. Whoever knew plaster of paris could be so heavy?) and we walked to Daya Dan.

As soon as I walked in, Sister Jonafa sent me up to Mongol, who was waiting in the art room. He was so excited he had this giddiness about him that I have rarely seen. He is normally a very serious boy.

I explained what we were going to do–how the man had said to make the clay–and that we would make little baby Jesus forms out of the clay, let them dry, and then paint them.

We started to mix the clay, water, and glue…would it work? Oh, I was a bit wary, I have to admit, and nervous that if it didn’t I would have some explaining to do to Sister Jonafa (which I was not looking forward to whatsoever).

Mongol thought I would be doing the mixing.

“Oh no”, I said. “We’ll be doing it together.”

“But my hands”, he protested, looking down at his hands like they were useless foriegn objects that had just appeared on his lap.

” Well, it’s true that you can’t do it like me. But you will have to figure out which part you can do. You’ll just have to think creatively.”, I said.

He looked extremely forlorn.

But minutes later, when we had sucessfully mixed the clay together, using teamwork, he was glowing and laughing.

“I did it! I did it!” , he sang out. He was so happy that his happiness filled the room.

I told him that now we were going to knead the clay like dough.

“I can’t do that.”, he sighed.

“You know, Mongol, you can do it. We will do it together.”, I said.

And we did–we kneaded the clay, formed it into a loaf, cut it into pieces, and wrapped them in plastic..all doing every step of the way together.

He was so jubiliant that I figured he’d be ready for the next step.

Making the forms themselves.

He started to tell me that he couldn’t do it, and I interrrupted him.

I showed him how to make the first form, a simple figure of a baby, lying down, arms folded.

Then I sat and watched as Mongol spent the afternoon making 10 of these little figures, using his hands that he had seen as worthless in this task only a short while ago.

It was an amazing afternoon, and we spent it completely quietly, not speaking, just being creative, stopping only to eat chocolate bars and steaming hot milk in metal cups.

The boy was smiling and laughing more than I had seen him do the entire time I had been at Daya Dan.

Sister Jonafa came upstairs and examined his handiwork, and said to me out in the hallway, “Now, when he’s finished you will stay behind and “fix” them, right?”

I told her, no, there would be no “fixing”. The figures were Mongol’s gift, they were perfect as they were. These were not store bought things, they were made with love and such concentration that I thought they were in fact bettert than anything I could have made.

“Yes, you are right.”, she said, after doing the Indian head-wobble several times and thinking it over.

I told her that Mongol had something he wanted to ask her.

She went in to see him.

“What is it, Mongol?”, she said.

“Sister..I would like to have real art classes with Auntie Amy. Please.”, he said.

I stood there, somewhat surprised but happy.

Sister said, ” I will think about it. You have your studies.”

After Mongol left, Sister Jonafa came up to the art room and we sat talking for a long while while we both worked on our own art projects. It was the only time I have ever actually been alone with her, and the only time I have ever had a conversation with her that was deeper and more intimate.

The conversation that afternoon was wonderful–we talked of what her life is like as a nun, what she is hoping for for the children, and we even managed to talk about some of the disipline practices they use which I don’t agree with.

It is a difficult life, being a Sister of Charity. They live like the poor, they have no luxuries, they work daily and they get little time for rest or relaxation. They rarely see family members and they are not encouraged to develop freindships even amongst the Sisters they live with.

They would be lonely at times if they were not so busy. they do not have time for the luxury of loneliness, it seems to me.

Talking to the Sister was good for me…I developed more compassion for her, which I needed, as I have not always found her easy to work with. I actually ended up liking her very much!

I steered the subject to Mongol and the possibility of art lessons.. She didn’t think he should have “proper” art lessons. She wanted him to keep to more formal study.

I told her that I thought a once a week time of learning some sculpture, painting, or more formal art would probably be relaxing and fun for him. Up until now, the only art he has made has been when his assigned volunteer teacher is able to make the time for it, and then it has been simple projects like making cards.

She replied that it had seemed like he was really having fun, that was true.

But she wasn’t going for the art lessons.

“Well, he needs to use his hands. It’s good for him to use them. He also could learn to paint on a canvas holding a paintbrush with his mouth. That would be a god skill for him to have as well.”, I said.

She smiled a big smile.

Mongol starts art lessons next week with me. I’m going to buy some stretched canvases and proper paints so he can learn to paint.

It’s moments like these when you know you are really making a difference. These kind of small moments where you can see the impact you are having and the goodness that is coming from your efforts.

These kind of small victories keep me going in this city that seems to confront me with problems so immense one does not know where to begin.

Working with Mongol is a very nice begining.

gigi

Tired, so tired…..but  I have the day off and I’m so behind with the blog that I am determined to write up at least a few entries.This entry is all about Binoy, the spunky little autistic child that I have been assigned to work with one on one for five months.

The last few weeks have gone by in a blur. Each day looked like the one before, with a general pattern emerging of get up, grab something to eat, get to work, work, go home, grab something to eat, fall asleep. Then wake up and do it again.

Christmas here is actually more hectic than it is at home. It’s different, of course, as it’s not all some big mad rush to bake cookies and buy presents.

I think it’s a very busy time for anyone working with the Missionarities of Charity here, especially if you are working with children.

At Daya Dan, we are preparing for a special Christmas program, which has been designed by Sister Jonafa, the sister in charge of the children’s day to day activities.

In the past, the kids just wore costumes and some played the bongos.

This year Sister Jonafa has her sights set extremely high, with a full fledged band and 6 perfomances throughout the city. Some of the performances are at Daya Dan and others are at Prem Dan, the Motherhouse, and so on. One is at the Governor’s Mansion.

The kids we are working with need to learn 7 songs, stand still, introduce themselves, bow altogether, play instuments, sing, and behave in an extremely orderly fashion.

The kids we are working with are dealing with a myriad of disbilities, from autism to mental retardation to speech impediments to an inability to stand still for 2 minutes.

My child, Binoy, who I work with everyday, is supposed to play the drums for six of the songs. During one of the songs he is supposed to sit quietly in front of his drum set and not move. Trying to figure out how to get him to do this has been nothing short of a miracle, but I have succeeded(or rather, he has!) by turning it into a game and counting to 500.

Binoy was very blessed this week as a group of volunteers generously bought him a real drum set. Previous to this he had a drum set worthy of the trash heap, a toy drum set that was missing parts and whose few parts were attached would actually fly off as he played, causing me to either continue holding it together for the rest for the rest of the set..or nose-dive to rescue to part and quickly reattach it.

His new drum set is enormous and actually made for adults. Binoy is such a tiny boy that you can’t even see him behind the drums!

Binoy was at first afraid of his new drums..they are not only enormous but intimidating. He has needed alot of practice just to get used to playing them. It requires that he use his whole little body to play them. He has needed alot of encouragement to gain confidence.

My job has been to practice the drums with Binoy for hours everyday. Hours and hours of drumming and sitting still, interrupted by breaks and playtime, and then it’s back to drumming again. I am going deaf from telling him to play softer and from sitting next to a drumset for hours on end.

Not only do we practice alone together, but we have “dress rehearsals”, almost every single day, for hours, of the entire concert with all of the participants. My job is to sit next to Binoy for the entire concert as he beats his drums, tell him when to start playing, when to play, keep him playing the song, keep him from playing too loudly and so forth.

Sound easy?

It isn’t.

I have mentioned before that I have absolutely no musical talent. I have told the nun in charge that I am not a suitable candidate for this job, as there are numerous volunteers who are actually drummers and would be much better.

However, Binoy has grown very close to me and he actually listens to me. He doesn’t seem to care to listen to anyone else.

Therefore, I am the only person suitable for this deafening and tiring task.

So, other than being hoarse and losing my hearing (and sometimes my patience) what else is going on?

Well, at Daya Dan, we stil have our normal work schedule of morning to afternoon, with all the activities we normally have to do: Dressing, bathing, cleaning the children; making beds; changing diapers and dirty underwear; feeding and assisting children to eat; walking and exercising chidren; and school.

Since Binoy is the main child I am assigned to, I have private classes with Binoy. We are now up to simple addition problems and simple reading. This is amazing, as a year ago, Binoy could hardly speak, and his tongue was so under used that his last volunteer has to do mouth exercises with him to foster speech.

Now he is shouting out(when he sees me walking in the door in the morning):

“Auntie, 1 plus 1 is two! Auntie, 2 plus 3 is five!Auntie, Peter is a boy! Auntie, Jane is girl! Auntie, There is a shop!”

He is a bit like a proud little peacock, strutting his stuff-his new vocabulary and his new knowledge-in front of the other kids and volunteers…

It’s very exciting. I feel like Binoy and I work so well together, and that he is able to learn with me. He is enjoying learning and he is excited to open his school bag and start class everyday.

I feel like Binoy is growing. He’s got the potential to really learn a few skills and have a useful and interesting life in spite of the fact that he will be in an institution his entire life. He’s finding things he enjoys doing, and he’s seeking out more information, asking more questions. It’s an exciting time.

For me, it’s exciting too, as I am simply in love with this child. I really care about him, so very much that it surprises me. One day I just realized that I loved him.

Otherwise, how could I spend so much time with him, day in and day out?!

He is not easy. He has many behavioral problems.

When I first arrived, he was always in trouble…he was always in the corner… was often being punished by the Sisters or by the Indian women who work at Daya Dan.

Although I don’t agree with some of things and tasks Binoy is being asked to accomplish, I soon discovered that the fact that I agreed or not made no difference to the Sisters..he would still end up having to do those tasks and things, even he got “punished” in the process.

It was a big learning curve for me,when I realized that I was going to have to help Binoy figure out how to do what was expected of him, and teach him some survival skills and some ways of coping so that he can consistently do what is expected of him in what can sometimes be a very inconsistent and unfair environment to a small autistic boy with a two minute attention span.

To make it work for Binoy and for the Sister’s expectations, I have discovered that turning positive behavior into games works. Also we spend alot of time memorizing things and behaviors, doing the same thing over and over again until Binoy actually corrects himself on his own.

The past few weeks have been very busy for me, sometimes ten hour days, with few days off(today is my first day off in nine days) and what has made that time easier is that for the most part, Binoy has been able top stay on task and most “punishments” have ceased.

For when I see Binoy punished, for each time I see him being hit with a stick or a hand by a Sister, I lose my mind temporarily. It pains me, as it is such an inefficient way of teaching a child anything.

Each time I see it happen, I try now to look carefully at what is happening and why. Then I try to come up with ways to teach him a new behavior. After practicing several times, Binoy will still do the old behavior, but he will stop immendiately if corrected and begin to do whatever new behavior I have encouraged.(Not everytime! But most of the time!)

I am so surprised at his progress and mine in this regard that it kind of blows my mind.

Working with Binoy has so far, taught me that almost anything can be learned, and that patience–infinite patience–is required.

I also have come to the point that I understand that although there may be better ways of doing things, that things are going to continue going as they are at Daya Dan for some time. The only way to change anything is to first change how I am looking at it and secondly, figure out a loophole, a way to shift things subtly from within.

Another thing that I have learned is that volunteering long term has so mauch more value in this kind of situation than volunteer for just a few days. That is not to say that one can’t make a difference at a place like Daya Dan in just a few days…it’s just that staying long term builds the children’s trust, the Sister’s trust, and you really develop relationshps with the kids that you could not do in a week.

You are like family.

Binoy is such a blessing to me that he has been my greatest teacher on this trip.

gigi