The Sunderbans

The brochure for the Sunderbans reads like an advertisement for a theme park, bone-chilling, do so at your own risk etc.
After reading The Hungry Tide, I knew if I traveled anywhere in India, it would be the Sunderbans, the most dangerous place in the world.
The Sunderbans is located just south of Calcutta and consists of the world’s largest mangrove forest. The many rivers and rivulets in this area come from the Hoogly better known as the Ganga River. Saltwater from the Bay of Bengal mixes with the fresh water of the rivers during the high tides providing habitats for many marine animals such as crocodiles, dolphins, otters, monitor lizards, and sharks. In the forest there are monkeys, many birds, spotted deer, wild boars, and of course, the Bengal tiger.
Had Elizabeth Tester from Western North Carolina not come to India prior to the NC delegation, I probably would not be writing this story. A simple conversation over lunch about why I hadn’t done any traveling in India raised the question “if you did want to go somewhere, where would it be?”
Without hesitation, I said, “The Sunderbans.”
Elizabeth made all the arrangements and the last week in January found us headed to the Sunderbans for three days and two nights.
We had a two hour bus ride from Calcutta and then another two hours by boat to The Tiger Camp. Our group seemed friendly enough and came from all over the place, Sweden, Italy, India, America, and Holland. Most of them however came for just a day and a night.
Our hut was pleasant enough and we shared it with a young woman from Holland and an American male from Colorado. That was a bit strange, sharing a room with a total male stranger. Needless to say, I left my jamies in my bag and slept in my clothes. Is that un-American or what?
We were back on the water right after lunch with our eyes peeled for The Tiger. Actually we saw very little except some spotted deer and birds. Our one day trippers were not too happy about that and seemed to think the tiger camp staff could conjure up tigers at will. I think they got a refund.
I loved the quiet of the river and the possibility of seeing something from the observation decks. We did see some monkeys and some cool birds.
In the evening, before supper, we were entertained by tribal dancers.
The Sunderbans also has the largest delta in the world. It is full of rivers, rivulets, and creeks. These are tidal rivers and all who live in the Sunderbans know exactly when the tides are. Animals take advantage of the low tide to swim across the river to different areas of the forest, and fishermen know not to get caught away from home at low tide.
It was at low tide that we saw tiger tracks entering the river from one side and emerging on the other.
At one point on the river, the captain pulled us very close to the bank, shut the engine off and let us just look. A whole boat full of people, and not one sound for some twenty minutes. It was wonderful! But there was no tiger, at least not yet.
Even though we had been instructed not to all run to one side of the boat or the other, when the captain whispered “TIGER”, we did exactly that. We did it quietly though, so I guess it was okay, and we didn’t capsize the boat.
Seeing a tiger in the wild was truly amazing. The importance of camouflage became clear. The tiger was lying in an opening with the sun shining down on him, but he was still hard to see with his stripes looking like shadows and his fur blending in with the foliage. Through binoculars, he was clearly visible and oh, so majestic looking. After a short time, he got up and ambled back into the forest. Several people in our group had zoom lenses on their digital cameras and all promised to share the photos, which they did.
This is a tiger preserve, but to actually see a tiger is quite an event, very rare.
Many people visit the Sunderbans but few ever get to see the tiger.
We kept being told, “You are very lucky!” Indeed, I felt lucky.
The next morning we were back on the river early and again enjoyed breakfast on the boat. I think that was my favorite part, eating breakfast at sunrise on the river.
Could we see another tiger? That would have been really rare, so we were happy with our one sighting. We did see lots of spotted deer and some more monkeys, and some kingfishers. And then it was time to head back.
One afternoon, we visited a neighboring village which was well maintained. The houses, mud and some brick with straw and tile roofs were larger than most village houses I had seen. Many folks kept gardens. All had to fetch their water from a community well, but what was striking was this village got its electricity from solar panels. How strange to see solar panels on a straw roof and a TV dish nearby. I found myself wondering a lot how things like affordable solar panels and probably homemade can be done in rural villages in India but not in the US where we like to boast about how clever we are. We have a lot to learn from our brothers and sisters here.
So, that’s the story of the Sunderbans. I’m glad to have gone there.

Back in India

Greetings from Durgapur!
I left a very cold, snowy North Carolina on Jan. 4th.
I know this trip by heart and pretty much know what to expect at each airport as I make my way east, but the flight from Dubai to Kolkata was a bit more interesting and in some ways unnerving.
I was seated in seat D30 which is an aisle seat in the middle section of the cabin, not my favorite place to sit. Next to me was a young Indian man, a Muslim. Next to him was another Indian man, maybe a little older than the man next to me. These two men were friends but were obviously from different castes/classes. The younger man looked to be from the scheduled caste which is the caste that most of India’s poor belong to. I’m guessing this by his appearance, not his dress, but his features. The poor have definite facial features that those in the higher classes don’t have.
The young man, whom I will call Mr. Impatient, was, I think, a first time flyer. He couldn’t get the TV monitor to work and was busy pushing every key available, but to no avail. Actually, it wasn’t turned on yet, but he kept fiddling with it so I tried to help him. I usually have trouble with this stuff myself, but anyway, I gave it a try, and nothing. He couldn’t get situated in his seat, kept dropping things like the headset and rearranging his blanket. Finally he was settled for awhile, and I watched UP.
Breakfast was served at about 3:00 AM and this presented Mr. Impatient with some more things to fret about. First, the meal was not to his liking, he wanted a vegetarian meal, but the Flight Attendant had a little trouble communicating with him. She kept asking him if he wanted veg. Of course he had no idea what she was talking about. His friend helped him out here and the change was made. I was wishing I had ordered veg, because it looked quite nice. After the man in front of Mr. Impatient finished his breakfast, without thinking, tilted his seat all the way back. Mr. I’s containers started toppling over, and he began to bang on the back of the seat and yelling at the man to put his seat up. In his surprise, the man became flustered and couldn’t get his seat up. It took help from his neighbor and three of us behind to get the seat back up. Whew! By now, the folks sitting around us are tuned into Mr. Inpatient’s every move. All of us are wondering, “What’s next?”
Being a Muslim, Mr. I wanted to pray at the 5:00 prayer time, but his breakfast tray is still sitting there. He stands up and shouts “Hello, hello?” Everyone turns to him and stares. The flight attendant comes quickly. There is a lot of loud talking on the part of Mr. I., but the flight attendant is calm and tries to calm this man down explaining that the cart is on the way and to wait just a few more minutes. Nothing doing. He wants out of his seat now, so he plops his tray on top of mine pretty much forcing the flight attendant to take it away. I explain to him in body language that the cart is in the aisle and he can’t get by it so he must stay in his seat. Soon the cart passed our aisle and the two friends get up and head straight to the bathrooms, Mr. I on the left and his friend on the right. Now the bathroom on the left apparently is in a mess, so Mr. I heads straight through the cabin to the first class bathroom. At this point the two men sitting on the aisle seats in the row in front of us get up simultaneously and head after Mr. Impatient.
We’re all rubber-necking trying to see just where Mr. Impatient has gone. I’m guessing he was praying in the space between the cockpit and the first-class cabin. He was gone quite awhile, but his friend returned after using the bathroom.
While Mr. I was gone, the man in front of me called the flight attendant over and expressed his concern about this man. All the while the man was talking, the flight attendant was patting him on the shoulder, rubbing his arm, and generally trying to console him. “It’s okay.” The flight attendant asked me if the man had been abusive to me. Well, no. A bit of a nuisance, yes, but rude or abusive, no, but when he finally returned, I found myself watching him out of the corner of my eye, just in case…
It wasn’t until the plane touched down that I felt more at ease. I guess he was just a confused, first time flier. Alhamdulilah!
Things went smoothly through customs and my bags were there and in decent shape and Rev. Swagata Das was at the gate to greet me.
The ride back to Durgapur was fast with our driver doing all the typical things I have come to expect from Indian drivers: blowing the horn non-stop, tail-gaiting (really tailgating), passing recklessly, etc. We had a flat which the driver quickly changed, but the spare was warped or something so the ride became very rough. Did the driver slow down to compensate for this? Not on your life!
I was happy to see the children but sad to learn that some of the older girls had left the hostel. New children had taken their place, and so the work continues.
The sewing center is almost finished and is really nice. It will be dedicated when Bishop Taylor comes in February.
If you get too cold and are tired of shoveling snow, come on over. The weather here is very nice this time of year.
Blessings to all,
Lynn

The Visitor

Nature Event I
Yesterday I went to the little basti (slum) down the street from the diocesan compound to check on a sick baby. When I entered the basti, several children came running up to me telling me excitedly that a monkey was in the village. That excited me too, and I wanted to know where it was. It didn't take long to find out. As I was talking to the mom about the baby, the monkey appeared. He very casually planted himself at my feet and became very interested in what I had in my hand. This is not a small monkey. He looked up at me and said something, which I did not understand, but that is not unusual for me in India, revealing lots of very sharp little teeth. I told him he would not like what I had, so I eased around him, and the mom and I went into the little room and shut the door. After a few minutes I went out to make sure the stuff in my basket was still there, and the monkey was sitting on the ledge of the house next door. When the door opened, he hopped down from his perch and came into the room. Those of us in the room moved out the other door and watched to see what he would do. Well, he made himself quite at home. He went over to the cooking area of the house where a pot was still sitting on the "stove". Remember the food is cooked campfire style on the ground, so it is just the right height for this visitor to have a look-see. He lifted the lid off the pot and I tell him "No!" He replied with his little grunt and showed me his teeth. Well, maybe he won't eat too much.
The grandmother came into the room with a tin plate, scooped some rice from another pot onto the plate and set the plate in front of the monkey. Lunch was served.
The monkey ate from the plate for a few minutes and then grabbed a handful of rice, went to the door and propped his legs up on the door frame and continued to eat.
He left this little hut and went to visit some other folks. When I was leaving, lots of people were gathered at the entrance to the basti. The monkey had decided to rest a spell on the porch of what used to be the school room before the eviction notice arrived. A man was also resting there, but that didn't bother the monkey, and it didn't seem to bother the man. I was watching from the walkway and chatting with folks when the monkey decided to come and check out my bicycle. He acted like he wanted to climb up on it, but he was content to fool around with the wheels and the pedals. I cautiously made my way to the front of the bike still holding onto it while he made his way around the back and to the spot where I had been. Then he was finished. He left the basti and headed toward the little tea stall down the road.
Of course my camera was back at my house. Twice now I've missed great pictures of monkeys because I haven't wanted to lug my camera around. This event was just too cool and even without the pictures, I am not likely to forget it.

Event II
Last year when I was living in one of the guestrooms at the compound, a wasp decided to make her home under my plastic dining table. She always came at breakfast and lunch; I guess she liked to keep me company while I was eating. She was never agressive so I let her come and go.
This year, a different kind of wasp has taken a liking to my little wooden table in my kitchen where I eat. This wasp, and maybe it's not even a wasp but something else in that family, is huge. I mean really big. The first time it flew by me, I felt a big gust of wind on my face. I have some fake flowers in a vase on my table and she seemed very curious about those flowers. I told her they were fake and that there were some real ones in the living room, but she didn't bother to listen. Then she disappeared. I looked around but couldn't find her not even under the table. All of a sudden she was back and right in my face. But she wasn't interested in me and she didn't care that I was having to do some shifting to let her pass. She has been working several days now and the other day when she came in, she had a large green caterpillar suspended from her body. At first I thought it was her body, but I got a good close up look at it and it really was suspended from the wasp's body and was curling up and uncurling. She had to work a long time to get this thing stuffed into her house. She is still working coming regularly at breakfast and lunch. I don't plan to remove this home once she is finished. I have no idea how long it takes for the baby to go through all its stages and emerge from its home. Maybe I'll be back in the states by then. If not, I hope it's a friendly little wasp, like its mom.

There is a third nature event with a sad ending.
Last year, I made a box doll to use for teaching body parts. This doll has arms and legs of toilet paper rolls. I made some clothes for her so she is dressed decently.
I decided to use her this year to teach prepositions to one of the classes. We named her Behula and when I picked Behula up to put her on a chair, a tiny egg fell out of her body. I had to forget prepositions for a minute and scoop up the egg and show it around to a bunch of squeamish kids. Things calmed down and once again I began to move Behula to different places and once again, another little egg came tumbling out of her body. I then searched her hollow arms and legs to make sure there were no more eggs to go "splat" on the floor. These were lizard eggs, and a lizard lives in the computer lab which is also where Behula lives. I am sorry this mom decided Behula would make a good safe place for her eggs, but you can be sure, I will be very careful the next time Behula gets put to use.

simple pleasures

If you have ever spent time in a developing country, then you know about simple pleasures. I want to share some simple pleasures that I have observed here in Durgapur.
When the kids first moved into the hostel, I was especially concerned about the girls and their feminine needs, so I bought them each a package of sanitary napkins. You cannot imagine the excitement that simple gift caused. There were hugs and squeals of "Oh, thank you, Miss, thank you." When was the last time you gave thanks for a sanitary napkin?
Or when did you thank someone for giving you a dose of medicine that didn't taste especially nice? We've had some children suffering from coughs, fever, headache, the usual childhood ailments, but we have also had a couple of kids who really required medical attention. One little girl had a urinary tract infection, but we thought maybe it was typhoid fever from drinking some bad water. When her fever shot up to 105 we put her in the hospital, a good one. Every time I gave her medicine, before the hospital stay and after, and every time I took her temperature, she never failed to thank me. One of our older girls required surgery on her leg to remove a tumor which we treated as a carbuncle for over a month. This was a painful thing, and I had to apply hot compresses, cream, and a bandage twice a day. These moments were not pleasurable, but she never failed to thank me for inflicting this pain on her. I know these are not simple pleasures as such, but the act of caring for someone and about someone here is recognized, and the response is always "Thank you, Miss."
I am amazed at how the simplest thing excites these kids. They don't need thriller rides or game-boys to make them happy. A face cloth for mopping the sweat off your face, a packet of pocket tissue, a new needle for sewing are all received with exuberance.
On the 26th of March, Manju celebrated her birthday. If you live in the slums, most likely you don't even know when your birthday is or how old you are, but Manju knew.
I am not as adept as the Indians when it comes to putting together a party on short notice, but I made some barely edible sugar cookies and found a little gift from the things left behind by the NC delegation and we had a party for Manju. It was indeed a simple affair but greatly appreciated. There were no gift bags for those attending the party, no theme, no trip to the bowling alley, just two cookies apiece, the birthday song, and two simple gifts. It was joyous, and it was enough.
Now my birthday was a different matter. I was not even planning to tell anyone that it was my birthday. Last year, you may recall, I spent my birthday in the office of foreign affairs in Calcutta because of a lapsed visa. Anyway, after Manju's party, the girls started asking me when my birthday was and my response of "I don't know" was getting me nowhere, so I told them. They immediately began planning something, and it wasn't long before everyone here at the compound knew about my birthday.
On Saturday, my doorbell rang early, but I couldn't answer the door right away, and when I did, I found the children all sitting on the floor facing my door with smiles on their faces and they began singing happy birthday to me- simple pleasures,
It was visiting day at the hostel, and the moms of the kids kept coming into the computer lab to wish me a happy birthday. Then when they all left I noticed a small crowd of people beginning to gather, and the girls were running about collecting flowers. Hmmmmmm, this day is not going to pass so quietly after all.
On request, I headed up the stairs to the hostel, and in the big room there were balloons, a small table with a birthday cake on it with my name on the cake, all the children from the hostel, and my friends from the compound. Of course there were candles on the cake, which I had to blow out, and of course, these were those candles that never go out. Everyone enjoyed that part immensely. Then there was the cutting of the cake and the birthday song, and then a traditional little ritual I could have done without, someone stuffing your mouth with a piece of the cake, not just one, but several.
The children wanted me dressed in an outfit I had recently bought, kind of a wild Punjabi thing, but just right for a party, so I excused myself for a moment and changed into that outfit. When I returned to the party, there were cheers from the kids.
We set up the CD/cassette player and put on our one tape and danced. There were other things to eat as well, and it was fun. Simple by our standards, but enough.
The really fun part for me was watching the children get so excited about this party.
"Tis the gift to be simple."

Muleeta

I want to tell you a story about Muleeta.
When I was here last year, Muleeta won my heart. I'm not sure exactly why unless it was because she was so tiny and seemed so vulnerable. She lived in the village closest to the Diocesan Compound and her daughter, Manju attended the Child Study and Development Centre.
Muleeta was in her forties and for lack of a better word, Manju's stepmother. Muleeta was the first wife in the marriage, but since she couldn't have children, wife number two entered the scene. These two women became like sisters and while the second wife gave birth to two children, Muleeta was the one who took care of them, especially Manju.
When I arrived in Durgapur in January, Muleeta was noticeably absent. I asked Manju how her mother was and she told me "Not fine." She went on to tell me that Muleeta had been bowled over by a bull in the market, not Wall Street but Muchipara, and her knee cap had slipped out of place. The family took her to my favorite government run hospital where a doctor pushed the knee cap back into its place. Muleeta was in the hospital a long time but received no medical help and so the family moved her back to the village.
I went to the village to visit Muleeta and found her squatting on the ground, not able to walk at all. Since she was no longer able to get to the market to beg her bread, and wife number two spent her earnings as a construction worker on alcohol, there was nothing for them to eat. I was pretty upset by this so I went to the market and got them some food.
When the second delegation from NC came for their visit, I learned that a doctor was among the group. I asked him if he would check Muleeta out and see what, if anything, could be done to get her back on her feet. He agreed to do this and with a borrowed rickshaw van, Basu, a worker here, and I went to the village to get Muleeta. We loaded her up on the van and headed back to the centre. We located the school's stethoscope and blood pressure cuff and the doctor examined her. All the injuries seemed healed, but what she needed was some simple exercises to strengthen her legs and hopefully, that would get her back on her feet.
So I began going to the village a few mornings a week, and we did leg lifts and bends and with manju and I supporting Muleeta, we got her on her feet and started walking her around the small space in front of her house. I even found a chair back complete with the back legs which I thought might be a good walker. It really worked quite well and Muleeta was able to walk by herself with it.
Then the hostel opened and Manju left the village and moved into the hostel, leaving Muleeta pretty much at home alone. I continued going to the village and soon picked up another client, Khandi, a seventy something woman whom I had met last year. She was complaining about her back hurting and so I started giving her a back massage. Well, now I am a physical therapist and a massage therapist, and I have absolutely no idea what I am doing. But Muleeta is making progress, and she is excited about being able to walk even though it is with help, and she does seem to be getting stronger. Khandi enjoys her massage and even under my untrained hands, I can feel the tightness in her back ebbing somewhat.
To fully appreciate this story you have to know what these women look like. First of all they stand about 3' tall. They both have short, wild, gray hair, and they both wear the white sari of the widow. Sometime they wear the little sari blouse under the sari, but most of the time, they don't, or if they do, the blouse isn't buttoned so it doesn't really make a difference. Basically, they are exposed from the waist up although they attempt to stay covered with the end of the sari that goes over the shoulder. Half the time, Muleeta can't keep her sari tucked in very well so she is losing it a lot. These saris could stand a good washing, but I don't think they have anything else to wear. It would be comical if it weren't so sad.
One day when I arrive at the village, Khandi is there and begins to gather her styrofoam mat, some packing material she has scavenged, getting ready for her massage. Muleeta is not in her usual spot and I ask about her. Khandi tells me that Muleeta is not well and she is sleeping. After the massage and some simple exercises, I check on Muleeta. She is being plagued by a stomach thing and hasn't eaten or drunk anything for awhile.
I go back to the centre and pick up some safe water, a banana, make some toast, grab some hand sanitizer and head back to the village. Manju is with me and we get her to drink some of the water. We leave her resting.
The next morning, Manju and I take her another banana and some rehydration salts. She actually eats the banana and drinks some of the salts and I am feeling encouraged. Later in the morning, Manju's bio mom comes to the centre where she has been working on the cathedral, but instead of working she squats down at the sand pile and begins crying. Basu comes to get me and tells me that Muleeta isn't drinking anything and she isn't talking.
I head back to the village and find Muleeta very weak and cold to the touch. When I get back to the centre, I have Mrs. Kobiraj call some doctors she knows, but they are all out of station. Getting her to the hospital isn't out of the question, but there is no one to stay with her. I offer my mornings, but the villagers decide to call a doctor from a town which is a considerable distance from Durgapur, and he won't come until the evening.
At 2:30, Mrs. Kobiraj and I go back to the village and Muleeta is not good at all. She is thrashing about and grabbing at anything close to her, and she is very cold to the touch. I should recognize these signs by now, but I bury the recognition in the hope that she will get better. We go back to the centre and a very short time later, maybe thirty minutes, Manju's mom comes to the centre to tell us that Muleeta has died. Just like that. Gone.
Back we go. Manju and I go into the little hut where Muleeta is lying on her thin mat on the hard ground. I lift the cover from her face and I'm amazed at how different she looks in death, more like the forty years she was than the sixties look she carried through life. All the pain and anxiety has melted from her face, and she truly does look peaceful.
The little group of villagers gathered around the hut start giving orders about the things that need to be done. First, the body must be removed from the house. The only space to put her is filled with kindling, so we begin moving it to another
spot. The villagers are only too happy to direct this process but not willing to participate in it. Then Manju, her mom, and I lift Muleeta from her bed and carry her to her resting place. Moving her is awkward because the hut is dark and the ceiling is so low even I cannot stand up straight, but we get her moved.
Manju hands me the incense sticks and the little incense holder. She lights the sticks and puts them in the holder. Then I place the holder close to Muleeta's head on what I hope is a level enough spot to keep the holder from toppling over.
We keep a short vigil and then leave. Already there are men there collecting information and the papers needed to get Muleeta buried.
I miss Muleeta. I feel so helpless here in this place where Death just hangs out waiting for someone to become weak so he can make his move.
The days of mourning are over, Manju is back at the hostel, and life in the village has returned to its definition of normalcy. I still go and massage Khandi's back and lead her through some simple exercises, but I am very much aware of Muleeta's presence in that little space in front of her hut where she spent so many hours just squatting.
The picture is of Manju.

India, round 2

Nomashkar,
I have been back here in Durgapur for over a month now, and it has been busy, busy, busy..
Leaving Charlotte on Jan.3rd, I was in the majority of travelers mostly all westerners headed for the UK. In Gatwick, I switched to Emirates Airlines and immediately became a part of the minority. That's quite humbling to be knocked off your western pedestal, but I loved being with the Arabs and as we made our way east, the population changed again, and I was mostly with Indians.
Fr. Halder met me in Kolkata and we headed to Durgapur. I had been here maybe an hour when several children from the different villages arrived to present me with a garland of marigolds and a bouquet of flowers and lots of hugs.
My flat is very comfortable. The plumbing in the bathroom has been fixed and the geyser or maybe geezer (hot water heater) works most of the time. The pipe in the kitchen still leaks, but the floor is just concrete and there is a drain hole so I don't worry about it too much.
I've ridden my bike to the market and to the hospital to visit Mrs. Kobiraj's son who was quite ill. I was excited that I remembered how to ride in traffic yielding to every other moving thing along the lane.
Mrs. K's son was in the government run hospital. You may remember my experience in that place. Nothing has changed. The hospital has no medicine to speak of, so if you need more than an IV of saline solution, you're in big trouble. Munti, the son, was suffering from jaundice probably caused by alcohol abuse. When I first visited him, he was going through withdrawal, not pretty. The doctor recommended shifting him to the private hospital just down the road. I was there when this happened, and those of us who were visiting, including Mrs. Kobiraj trekked down to this hospital, which is quite new. What a difference!
This place actually looks like a hospital. It's clean, polished, and lots of friendly and competent looking people running around doing their work.
Munti received very good care there. He was in an IC unit complete with a monitor keeping track of all his vital signs. He began to improve rapidly and was soon moved to a private room with a TV.
One morning when I was visiting, Munti was surfing through the channels (a universal syndrome) when I caught a glimpse of UNC playing Clemson. "WAIT" I whispered loudly. "Go back to that channel." Sure enough, it was ESPN and I was watching the game live at 9:30 in the morning of the next day. Mmmm, maybe this could be a new mission, introducing NCAA basketball to India.
I'm sure you're curious about My Dog. Well, she remembered me and makes frequent trips to my flat to get her supper. She waits patiently at the door and so far we have managed to keep this little secret quiet. She is the mother of seven puppies. She gave birth in a very protected spot, the space under the driveway but above the drainage ditch. It's like a cave. The puppies have yet to make their debut to the greater world, eventhough they are big enough now to be out and about. Guess she remembers losing her whole litter last year to cars and bigger creatures.
I spent all of January working on a grant from the Episcopal Church's United Thank Offering. We want to construct a sewing center on top of an existing building. The women are already coming to the center for classes two days a week. When they saw the girls from their villages who attend our project learning how to sew, they came and asked for training as well. If we get the grant, we will be able to have a nice space for instruction along with tables for cutting fabric, and several sewing machines. We hope this center will be a production facility as well allowing the women to contract their work in addition to making things to sell at church gift shops in the US and the UK. Keep your fingers crossed.
The hostel is finished, the beds are made, the curtains are hung, the forms have been filled out, the warden has arrived, and the cook, although temporary, has also arrived. The whole space has been blessed, and the kids have moved in.
Thank you Diocese of Western North Carolina. This is the hostel that you built.
Of course, my quiet little sanctuary will be no more, but that's okay. I'm excited!
Now, I want you to imagine what moving into the hostel might feel like to these kids.
They have been sleeping on the ground, or if they have had a bed, it was shared by however many bodies could crawl into it. They've had no sanitation, unsafe water, meager meals, lots of mosquitos and no guarantee of being safe, warm, or dry.
All that has changed, except for the mosquitos, but now they have nets.
They came to the center on moving day with their bags, boxes, and some even had little suitcases complete with a lock and key. They know a little bit about security, or rather the lack of it. Some of the moms left teary-eyed, but for the most part, handing over their children into our care went very smoothly.
It was quite something to watch them unpack their things and organize their space. They smiled the whole time. Even attaching the mosquito nets was fun.
On Friday morning, my doorbell was ringing at 6:30AM. UH OH, not good. After dressing, I entered the big room where they were all having breakfast and demanded, in a somewhat growly voice, to know who had rung my bell.
Lots of laughing and giggling, finger pointing and cries of "Not me" (there's one in every family) ensued.
Soon they were off to school, different groups at different times.
It's been challenging to keep the water tank full. Taking showers is a relatively new thing and they, especially the teenage girls, are taking full advantage leaving the rest of us high and dry. Time to introduce the 3 minute shower.
When the kids are not in school, they are studying. Did you get that? They study all the time. Lights out is at 10:00PM but by 9:00 they are begging to go to bed.
One of the members of the 2nd North Carolina delegation visiting Durgapur is a doctor, and he graciously examined, not just the hostel kids, but all the children who attend our project. It was an all day event.
On Sunday, we watched the Jungle Book in Hindi in our nice big room. Twenty-two children ranging in age from 5 to 14 sat on the floor mat and actually watched this DVD. There was no fighting, pushing, shoving, whining, or any of those things we are familiar with when the family gathers to watch something on TV.
So, my mission this time around is quite different, but I'm much more experienced in this area; I'm a mom!

blogging off

Well, I am back in Blowing Rock and trying to adjust to this culture, although I don't plan to get too comfortable. I will be heading back to Durgapur in January for another 6 months.
Knowing that I would be going back made leaving a little bit easier.
I am already missing the children, the projects the diocese is involved in,my teacher friends, and the folks at St. Michael's Church.
When I go back, I don't think I will keep a journal in the blog format. I realize that responding to a blog requires a registration which most of you did not want to do. I understand that completely. With that in mind, I think I will write articles for the Highland Episcopalian for those of you in the Diocese of WNC and The Franciscan Times for those of you in TSSF. For those of you who want to hear from me via e-mail, I will need to hear from you and will put you on a new e-mail list.
If I don't hear from you, I will assume you don't want to be on my list and I will drop you.
I will be changing my e-mail address before I return to India to get rid of the hundreds of spam messages about viagra of all things. Never respond to any message that says Congratulations, you have won a laptop!
I really appreciate those of you who took the time to respond to the blog either on the site itself or through e-mail. Your comments and your own news helped me stay connected. Thanks!
Nomashkar,
Lynn