cold noses

I know some of you have been worried about me and I apologize that I haven’t had much time to write lately...I still don’t. I feel like I should reflect poetically and profoundly on the disaster that happened in my region but I can’t do it justice. My organization has Member Associations in 8 countries of South Asia, including Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, India and Maldives and, obviously, we’ve been concerned about our colleagues and coworkers that are working in the regions affected. I think the death count is at 68,000 but by the time you read this probably around 70 - 75 thous....but that really isn’t the worst of it. I could comment on the small villages stuffed with dead bodies, with no help and no way of burying/burning their dead, have no choice but to let the dead distend while family members lament. In places that the relief workers have reached - Hindu bodies are buried and Muslims are cremated and the divisions of rich and poor are even further breached. Many people see the number of dead and concentrate on figure but, millions of people lost the material possessions that took them a lifetime to acquire. In this region, in this culture, those things are never going to be regained. Even with relief there are gaps, judgements and biases. Obviously, my organization is desperately trying to find a niche in which to help the people affected. We don’t deal directly with clean water, construction or food but we do deal with issues that will come to, if not already, affecting the sufferers – rape, sex work (yes, many women and children are either forced into this or resort to this out of desperation and in attempt to survive). We can also provide health care under the guise of pregnancy or reproductive health check-ups. We can give clean water and food to young mothers and children. We can join with other organizations to help them assist in whatever way. It maybe strange to hear these boarders but it comes down to donors, funding and counting the paise (pennies).

That was a rant. Clearly I’m feeling a bit helpless and angry (why do humans kill each other when there is many other things killing us?) and I have been really down lately – this all seems self-centered. I don’t know what to say, just thought I’d better write so that you all would know that I’m doing fine.

In other unrelated and of lesser importance news: I’m still between places but you can send packages or letters to my work address. I’ll email it to anyone who needs it. One of these days I’ll finally write those of you who have sent me wonderful cards, letters and books in the mail. For now, I’m heading to Udaipur (in Rajasthan – it’s a desert, no where near the coast) for New Years. It seems ridiculous but that was my plan before so I’m sticking with it. It might be nice to get away and reflect.

Take care everyone. Email me sometime and tell me what’s new.

Love,

Shifting

Hi all. Things are getting a bit dicey.

Just a bit of background info: I wanted to move out of my place because it is waaaaay too much money and things with my neighbor-boy have gotten a bit frightening. To make a long story short, I had to speak with my director about this because she is friends with my landlady's daughter. Two friends from work came with me to discuss things with Mrs. Singh (that is just how things are done here when regarding a young single girl) Needless to say Mrs. Singh blew everything out of proportion. I had no idea such a sweet old lady could say such nasty thing about someone (especially me) Oh well, I'll be out by the end of the month and moving in with either my Canadian friends in Safdarjung or Arnav and Anjali in Gautum Nagar.

As such, please, nobody send me anything in the mail until I get a new address? Thanks!!!!

p.s. I do want to mention how wonderful it is receiving mail from you all!!! I will write back one of these days, I promise!!! And I hope you continue to send me mail once I get a new address!

Fog

I’m tired and cranky. Had a fight with my landlady this morning – no matter. First, my little vacation. I’ll try to make this short, I’m sure you’re tired of my incessant chattering about my trips…plus I really need to get some real work done.

We headed to Gwalior on an early morning chair class train on Saturday. The thick, thick fog that northern India has been experiencing the last week caused our train to crawl along the track reaching Gwalior something like 6 hours after it was due. I enjoyed most of the trip in the chair-class seats staring out the open window, hanging out the door of the train and playing with a little boy named Tej. Gwalior wasn’t much of a town for 2 young women. I don’t think I even want to reiterate any of the “interesting” experiences I had I’ll just stick with the touristy stuff we did. Jen and I found a nice, cheap hotel and headed up to the fort (the largest one in India) to watch the “light and sound show” (yes light and sound show does sound corny and yes it was but it was interesting). The next morning we wondered around the massive (and impressive fort) taking way too many pictures.

In the afternoon we visited an old palace of the Scindi’s (the decedents actually still live in a section of the palace but the rest is left for us tourists) it was fascinating, weird and eccentric.

We left Gwalior soon after that, taking a local bus to Jhansi (or original plan was to stop at Datia and surrounding areas but with the fog we didn’t have time) I love Indian buses. Sure they’re a bit bumpy and the non-existent padding on the chair = a really sore ass but you see so much and they’re so cheap! Once we reached Jhansi we tried desperately to ward off persistent Tempo and auto drivers and headed on another local bus to Orccha. Orccha proved to be a small bustling town. The views were amazing, temples and forts poking out from the trees and landscape in every direction. We spent a day and a half wondering around the “ruins” eating pancakes and looking at the expensive little shops that have popped up obviously to try and take in the tourist dollar.



Then we headed back to Jhansi, realized with the fog and such there was nothing to see and changed our ticket for the more expensive train, hoping it would get us into Delhi at a reasonable hour. 2:30am I finally headed home.

I know that was horribly boring, but I can’t help it. At least this way I remember things.

On another note today is the anniversary of the day I left India 4 years ago and the longest night of the year. Is that suppose to be symbolic?

Anywhoo off to work…so much to do!!

December

I’m trying not to be so complacent towards things. The auto rickshaw rides, the tiger striped diseased dogs, the beggars, the men perched on top of burlap sacks on a wooden cart, lazily leading the hauling bulls down crowded streets, even the vastness of the colourful and multi-ethnic merchandise available in Delhi doesn’t startle or astonish me. In fact, I would say I’m starting to see this all as an annoyance. O.k., why am I whining about all this? Well, I’ve made a conscious effort to start to notice what is going on around me, look for the beauty in all of it. What better way to do this then to record what I see in a journal? And you folks are the unlucky readers of that journal.

The topic of today –traffic:

Day before yesterday, two men (members of one of the many minorities here – tibetian looking) faces and heads wrapped tightly in woolen scarves, their dirty sweaters layered around their sleeves were riding down the road, single file. Perched on the top of the back wheel of the (as typical) old, rusty peddle bicycles were large cages holding squawking pure white chickens. Their 50ish faces and bright eyes stretched with smiles, singing a punchy hindi song at the top of their lungs.

Day before yesterday, stopped in traffic around the Moolchand flyover. A man wearing a Spiderman paper face mask with 3 shinny green party favours (you know, the type that when you blow into them they extend?) popping out from the top of the mask like a horribly drawn Spiderman who’s head had just exploded. A tall stack of boxes of these masks balanced in his hand while he tweeted and weaved in and out of the traffic

Day before yesterday, riding home from Janpath shopping area with a friend, stopped once again in traffic. An older women holding a baby comes up to my side of the auto asking for “one rupee” a small girl (maybe 9, 10 years, but who knows…it’s very hard to tell - weathered faces at any age, always a slim androgynous build) comes to my friend’s side of the auto, asks for money with a slight smile on her face. I’ll never know why. She then bows her head and kisses my friend’s feet (while my friend tries frantically to move her feet out of the way) The girl stayed prostrated bobbing and kissing my friends feet until the moving traffic threatened forcing her to step off the street. One red light down and not one rupee earned.

Last night: bright lights, a couple of dozen men in white and red marching band suits lined up parallel on the street playing loud out of tune music, a large circle of people at the end of the line women in beautiful lehanga and saris dancing in the centre, two elephants standing at the ends painted, jeweled and festooned (isn’t that a great word!) for riding. Further down the line a white decorated white horse led by a small dark man with a funny hat…but no groom on the horse. A typical upper class wedding (the groom precession)

~

In other news: I’m in Delhi for Christmas. I feel a bit like I should be doing something big and exciting for the holidays since I’m in “exotic” India and all but I'm rebeling against the mainstream (and I secretly just feel like moping about my first Christmas away from my family). Goa was full and I couldn’t convince any friends to wait in the early morning que for the off chance that we would be granted emergency tickets (and there was no way I would go down to Goa alone – where they’re Christian and full out celebrate Christmas - meeting drunk traveler after traveler). Kerala would have cost me about $150 Canadian just for the train ride down (and along a horrible train route) I couldn’t justify spending that money (the trip normally costs around $25 CND). So, Delhi, here I am. Christmas isn’t really alive in Delhi so it’s quite easy to forget that it’s the holiday season. Although, work is giving us the 24rth off, which is nice. Anyway, I do have other things to do: This weekend the last of my good friends left here in town (she’s leaving for Germany on Christmas eve) and I are going down to Gwalior (the biggest fort in India - supposedly) then through some small sites to Orccha. Orccha’s supposedly really chill, beautiful and relaxed so I’m looking forward to it. I’m leaving on the Taj express tomorrow and getting back on an over night train arriving on the 22nd morning (I’m sure you’ve all heard of the recent train crashes and deaths but India rail is assuring they’re doing everything they can to make sure it doesn’t happen again). I’ll have a little Christmas Eve get-together for a few Indian friends and I’m having dinner with a new Canadian friend on Christmas day and then Pooja (from TAP India 2000) comes into town around the 27th for awhile to do some wedding shopping. I’ll probably travel to Udipur with said new Canadian friend for New Years. So, not so lonely! :( I guess I just feel like anything is going to be lonely without my family. Oh, speaking of that, I’m house-sitting for a colleague and it’s a beautiful home! Hundreds of movies and books (I haven’t had much time to just sit and watch movies, read or relax in a long, long time (haven’t even had time to wash cloths! I’m running out of underwear and I brought over 20 pairs!) As an added bonus, the kitchen actually has a stove!! I can bake cookies! And there’s a landline for you guys to call me cheap on and a broadband internet connection, webcam and mike so I can talk with you guys online at any time of day!

Anyway, back to work...moved to the HIV/AIDS team of the office so lots of exciting new projects! Also, I got to get that Male Involvement training manual out by July!!

Love you guys!

Mumbai Mumbai (part 2)

I figured I better finish my Mumbai story before the memories get buried behind my excessive worrying. So December 2...

As I’ve mentioned before, my colleague and I’s goal for attending the conference was to create a manual on male participation in reproductive health but, in relation, we were also to go and observe some of our member association’s (MA) projects. The MA is a leader in the region on SRH and even more specifically, male involvement. My org. can actually thank its some-what subordinate for getting our name on the map. In fact, the specific MA was the basis of my org. - created when a group of “brave and angry” women gathered in Bombay and started the fight for sexual reproductive health and family planning.

Enough history. The MA headquarters was a large and old office (picture any 1 floor long office in the 1950s). We sat and chatted with the essential program managers (well, I should say my colleague did. They didn’t take anything I said seriously – how could an outsider really understand the social-cultural barriers to SRH in this region? Rather then listen to my thoughts on SRH they wanted to hear about how long I was in India, where I came from, if it was cold there, etc.) Throughout the day my label as an outsider stayed with me. Not sure if it’s my issue or “theirs” but it was/is an obstacle. Nevertheless, from then on the day was mind-blowing. First, we went one of the MA’s clinics. It was deserted, old, classic, wooden staircases up to the fourth floor clinic (the lift was frequently out of service. I bit of a trouble for pregnant or in-need women). I have to say compared with some of the hospitals I’ve seen here it was quite sterile…just outdated – peeling “paint” on walls, small dusty-looking lab, an operating room out of the 50s. Spoke with the doctors and staff of the clinic, heard their traditional gender views, pro-sterilization talk, and their pasts at the vasectomy camps. Their strengths (training, experience) and their weaknesses (up-to-date sensitivity on the right’s based approach) were clear. The women lying in the “recovery” room, cot after cot lined up like some cheap version of a king-sized bed, dazed, tired, confused, gazing over their heads at the white curious face peeking in while the “tour guide” rattled on about the greatness of the clinic unconcerned about objectifying the clients. From there we visited a near-by slum to observe a HIV/AIDS project, it was our second choice. The slum we were going to visit was off limits due to a gang rape of a 14 year old girl the night before. We walked past the tin and tarp towards the blue and yellow colourful “heart” of this more “upper-class” slum towards the small cement hut at the tip of the slum which held the project. A group of male “peer educators” perfectly demonstrated putting a condom on a fake penis while informing us of the HIV/AIDS risks and what “high risk” behavior is. My colleague interviewed them in Hindi while I sat colonialist-ic waiting for the interpretation. I have to say that not one of those men looked at me with the sexual interest or the leering of their counterparts in the more “civilized” parts of the city. Then a group of women entered the hut and sat down - much more curious and awed. The project hadn’t advanced as much with the females of the slum and the majority of them had just sat in to see what the “strangers” were doing in this part of town. Here I understood more of the hindi and I was surprised to hear, almost verbatim, statements I have read in case studies. I watched as women shy away from the condoms blushing, I watched them become more comfortable and confess to reproductive health issues, ulcers, pains, STIs. I laughed along with the group as one lady humorously described why there’s no point to handing her condoms since her husband comes home drunk and demanding. How one lady was too scared of (misconceived) stories of birth control methods to try any female-centered BC and rather committed to tending to her seven children. I tried hard not to be shocked or saddened when another woman asked the counselors to speak with her truck-driver husband who would come home and force himself on her daughter. I do have many negative things to say about the project’s work but there’s no need for it. They are helping…that’s all that matters.

There was also a slightly eccentric wild looking woman with crazy curly black hair and an African style long kurta. She spoke perfect English and ran a school for the kids of the slum (as an interesting aside – the school hut had an amazing view of the ocean). The public school that the majority of the slum children attended did not even meet the basic needs of the children as such, this woman would teach these eager children before and after they attended public school. She also taught the ostracized or too-sick children living with HIV/AIDS. She spoke to me about the needs of the people living with HIV/AIDS in the community - The orphans, the fact that none of the members of this community could even hope for some sort of medication instead they were fighting to meet their basic nutritional needs which would hopefully ward off full-blown AIDS for at least a few years. We left the slum stopping periodically to speak with the barbers and shopkeepers who handed out condoms to their customers.

Georgia and I left Bandra for Colaba after a short visit to Juhu beach and sending my colleague off on a plane back to Delhi. Since Georgia attending the conference all weekend I spent a day at Elephanta island in the company of some very sweet “newbie” Australians. The island was beautiful. The blissful carving of Shiva was stunning and the entire island reminded me much of the Ajanta and Ellora caves.


Georgia’s birthday was the 4rth so we attended a cocktail party at the conference she was volunteering at (free wine and beer), got some late-night chocolate birthday cake, and finished the night at a classic “backpackers” pub. The next day I walked around Colaba and hired a taxi to take me to the airport. My cabby talked excessively about his seven children, tried to marry me to his son and spoke about how bad he thought it was for all these Austrialians, Kanadians and Umerican’s to be traveling in boy-girl couples without being married. “you know, they sleep together...in the same bed!”

O.k. I have to do some work. Take care folks and have a great weekend!

Mumbai Mumbai

I’m not even really sure where to start in regards to my last 10 days. Perhaps I’ll form two entries.

Flying into Mumbai you can clearly see the mosaic of slums dotting a good portion of the city and lining the airport. Like intricate tile work; blue and grey tiles squished beside one another. I have to admit I was nervous to be “traveling” alone and I sat about an hour and a half at the airport scared to join the frenzy of cab drivers pushing and shoving, trying to convince me to take their cab “350 rs. mam, good price”. They all assumed I was going to the tourist area – Colaba – and as much as I hate to fit into a generalization they were right. I wound up waiting for a “luxury” intracity bus which took me into the city for 100rs – however, getting them to stop at my hostel was impossible. After dropping the rest of the foreigners off at the Taj Mahal they didn’t believe that the other foreigner was staying at a run-down Salvation Army ‘Red Shield’ hostel parked at the back end of glorious Taj. I convinced them to stop and I walked the distance. The hostel wasn’t much to look at but had an aura of excitement. 8 or so bunk beds on a same-sex floor all filled with solo women travelers. The majority of the latter were just beginning on their trip in India. Exciting, thinking they knew everything and already pompously starting on the incessant analysis of the country which will plague them for the rest of their lives. There were, however, a couple of people just ending their travels. I spent the two days I had before moving up to the “suburb” of Bandra with two such people. We walked. Sat along Chow Patty beach, played with the beggars, drank roadside strawberry juices and shopped in dark dusty bookshops (as a side note – no Nese, I didn’t find anything really special but I’ll keep looking. I found out that to mail books home it’s insanely cheap. Give me a list of books and I’ll start sending them) On Saturday I took the local train up to Hotel Metro Palace in Bandra. The train was classic – the station identical to the ones you see in pictures - trying to show the crowded and busy-ness of a railway station in a billion-populated country. The train was packed but not overly so. Women in beautiful saris buying for a seat, the poor cleaning lady, leathered and svelte, perched by the opened door - broom and small dirty bottle of water in hand.


After handling the sweat, heat, beggars and touts of the tourist area Bandra was an oasis. Hotel Metro Palace…looked good from the outside but the inside wasn’t very desirable. IPPF had funded a member of FPA Sri Lanka to join us and he was an absolute kind-hearted and sweet man – very much a father figure – I know the feeling was mutual. The conference itself was held at the Taj Lands Hotel right on the sea. I love conferences. I love just sitting and learning - analyzing the people taking in the knowledge around me, trying to figure out the bias and gaps in the speaker’s presentation and why he or she came to work on that topic. We had gone to gain knowledge on male participation in SRH (sexual reproductive health) in order to create a manual or training module to implement in our region. So it was important to record and collect as much data as possible. The need for networking was also there and I felt pressure to introduce myself to important individuals at the conference. However I found myself most intrigued by the large number of academically trained anthropologist now working in SRH and in the 3 or 4 individuals my age employed by big names like WHO and living in exciting places like Gueneva. The conference itself, although international, defiantly had an Indian flare. Each presenter was introduced with a half an hour introduction listing their qualifications and achievements. The “inauguration” was held on the Taj Hotel’s garden’s to enjoy the “winter” weather while women in rich colorful silk saris tried desperately to control the billowing as the sea winds turned strong.

One more interesting fact (especially for Aman and Nese) I found out that I had been passing by Shah Rukh Khan’s bungalow each day as I commuted to the Taj for the conference! Hmmmmm. Unfortunately he wasn’t in town.

Personally I learned many things during the conference…two of which is that I really enjoy the topic of gender in reproductive health and sexuality and that I would like to do more work on domestic violence and it’s affect on SRH.

Anyway this is long enough. I’ll write again soon and tell you about the other half of my trip.

Love you guys.