Mumbai, India June 2009

Part 5
by Emily Sernaker

MTV Cribs should do a special on Gandhi's house. I'm serious, instead of watching how Tommy Lee got a Starbucks built in his kitchen, we could be looking at Gandhi's spinning wheel and learning about how this delicate man would spin and spin for all of India. It would be great, we could look at Gandhi's jail bowl and read his correspondences with Tolstoy and Churchill; his plea to Hitler on behalf of humanity. The show could edit in some cool background music to take us through the dioramas set up on the second floor, showing all the important moments of Gandhi's life. Everyone will be surprised how powerful it is, to see a little paper mache figure doing the salt march. Fasting for peace, going to jail, giving voice to the voiceless, hope to the hopeless, all of a sudden there's a dot of red paint in the middle of his little white robe. The viewers of MTV Cribs will be crying as paper mache Gandhi chooses to see God in the eyes of his assassin. They'll hear the quote "my life is my message" and realize that before seeing that special, they had never known what bravery was.

After spending time in rural Badlapur, I've come back to the heart of Mumbai. Chillies tied to the front of taxis, jump onto a moving bus, drive on the wrong side of the road, everything feels like a high speed car chase unless you're stuck in traffic: Mumbai. Get your hair cut on a rock by the Indian Ocean, a shave on the street, a cold bath in a blue bucket: Mumbai. Please don't offer me drugs, or try to clean my ears; a pigeon flew into my face yesterday: Mumbai. Eat every drop of food on your plate and be thankful it was there. Watch someone write any word in Hindi and you'll swear they are an artist. Ask your waiter how many languages he speaks, I'll bet it's five. Don't make eye contact with men, they think it’s an invitation. Don't answer every question with "D) It is written," no one will think you are funny. I saw a story carved in an elephant tusk. I saw a suitcase full of money. I saw statues for a million gods, a million rain drops, a whole city under an umbrella with their arms around each other.

The programs I'm looking at are extraordinary. To watch an older woman who used to be in the district learning to read; to watch a younger woman who used to be in the district reclaiming her life through the vocational center; stitch by stitch it’s hers again. Everyone’s a before and after picture. Everyone has a story that changes everything. Whatever you expected to find here was wrong - if you think you're gonna be sad they'll shove hope down your throat until you acknowledge it and swallow. If you think you're gonna find answers they'll tell you a story so complicated you forget how to put one foot in front of the next. I can tell you I do feel their words sticking to me. I suspect that I'll always be both a little bit weaker and a little bit stronger for knowing.

Mumbai, India June 2009

Part 4
by Emily Sernaker

I think that if you were to ask, India would tell you I'm getting the hang of things. I say go on India, lean on your walking stick, wash your clothes in the river, pierce your nose, burn your trash. Honk your horn before you turn the corner, let them know you are coming. India, I see you gliding down the road with all that spiky firewood, silver jugs of water up on your head; I am in awe of your balancing act. Ask me of my family and offer me sweets. Offer me spices and stories so strong they make my eyes water every time.

Well, I've moved from staying at the women’s center to staying at a center for little ones with HIV. The kids are happy to have a new playmate, as I have quickly become their very own human jungle gym. A good chunk of my day is spent learning about the program, meeting with their teachers, nurses, doctors, and program directors. The rest of the day usually finds me with at least three kids in my lap, one of my hands engaged in an outside thumb wrestling match and the other hand in a circle of down by the banks.

When I asked if there was anything I could do to help, the staff immediately said I could start leading devotion time, which is an hour of stories and songs each day. This particular organization I am evaluating is a Christian organization, and I did have some songs from church camp in my back pocket. I did decide to shake things up however, teaching them an NSYNC classic complete with dance moves: God Must Have Spent A Little More Time On You.

Meal time is my favorite. The kids will spend half of it staring at my blue eyes going "are those original?" and the second half asking me questions about America. "What kind of vegetables do you eat there?" they ask. I spend the rest of the meal naming every vegetable I can think of. When I say one they recognize they cheer for that vegetable. Avocados are met with silence.

Meal time is also special because I have started to help feeding the little ones. I was trying to think of the last time I fed something (I usually forget to feed Buckely, our dog at home). Looking at some of these tiny kids - putting each scoop of food on the spoon so carefully, watching it go in their mouth, praying that that bite might make them just a little bit stronger - it is a different kind of focused and concentrated love. I hadn't experienced anything like it before.

Lately, India has been reminding me of my own childhood. All of these houses made of bricks, some just of sticks, waiting for something to huff and puff and blow them all down. All of these chickens crossing the road to get to the other side. The bed bugs bite, now guess who's a walking game of connect the dots. You know you are culturally insensitive when the first man you see in a turban reminds you of Poonjab from the movie Annie. At least I wasn't wrong to think that some of these giant viney trees are the kind Mogley would climb; the author of the Jungle Book was from Mumbai.

Maybe I've been thinking more about childhood because there was a time when I didn't know what humans were capable of doing to one another.
Last night I was invited to the home of two of the aid workers who help run the women's rehab center. I asked if the women from the center have trouble adjusting to the program after having such terrible past experiences. Without taking a breath, both workers immediately started telling me about prayer time. They said that sometimes, while the women are praying together quietly, one will just start screaming. They said that she screams because she is trying to get out all of her pain, all of her suffering. Every level of her humanity had been attacked: physically, mentally, spiritually. They told me that the scream that comes out of those women has such violence, such sadness, a bottomlessness to it.

The workers went on to tell me more stories about how HIV/AIDS victims are outcast from society, how there is serious government corruption, how women are horribly beaten, and on and on and on. I wished I could go back to just naming vegetables.

Mumbai, India June 2009

Part 3
by Emily Sernaker

I asked some of the women at the rehab center what the best part of their day was. Without hesitation, they all told me the same thing: the rain. It really is something to see everyone look at the water falling from the sky as if it is direct proof that God has heard and answered each of their prayers. I was excited for the rain too, until I realized that the water inspires more creatures to come out and play. The women were quick to give me advice: "Close your suitcase so bugs won’t crawl in. Shake out your shoes before putting them on." After a bug flew in my mouth the other night I started to think that keeping things shut in general seems to be a good rule.

The girls at the center think it is hilarious that I am acting like a contestant on fear factor. They love showing me toads the size of both my feet (I'm a size 6 1/2 ), mice, snakes, crabs, stray dogs ("they won't bite you unless you run away"), red velvet spiders, goats, beetles, lightening bugs, and butterflies (the best butterflies are yellow and look like little pieces of tissue paper floating all around). I will say that I do enjoy it when a cow just walks into the middle of the road and stops traffic cold. If he's feeling really sassy he'll plop down and take a seat in front of the cars. No one can go anywhere because a cow is taking some time to collect his thoughts.

On another note, India has style. It is common practice here to use dye from henna to over up grey hair - which means every day I see elderly people with bright orange hair. Besides embracing orange, India is all about being shiny. Sparkly nail polish, sequins all over shirts and scarves, flower stems wrapped in tin foil; India looks good in the sun. A few other things India supports: hand gestures, garlic/onion/peppers, the girl being three years younger than the man for marriage, tea time, three wheeled taxis, wild pigs.

I have enjoyed staying with the women at the shelter this last week. One of the program directors will pull me aside and tell me stories about what they've been through as we watch the ladies sip their tea and play with one another’s hair. If someone's scarf barely touches the ground, one of the women will rush up to help her fix it. Even the way they tease one another is very soft, very sweet.

Trying to understand things like the cultural importance of a woman's reputation, the idea of being someone’s property, the concept of a dowry, proper burials, the government’s relationship to the mafia's relationship to the madam's relationship to the prostitute's relationship to whoever sold her into the district – it’s all very difficult. In the red light district, one of the program directors handed me a pile of death certificates for all the people they had buried that year. "Look," he showed me, "This one was only 4 years old, this one was 5, 7, 10, 16, 23, 31..." I felt sick holding the papers, just feeling them in my hands.

Holding the hand of one of the kids with AIDS at a children’s center has a different kind of weight. We will be playing and he will be smiling at me and I will be smiling back trying not to stare at his speckled skin. I think, what kind of pain have you known in your little life?

At the same center everyone will cheer when it starts to pour. The children will sit together in front of the window, totally captivated, just watching the rain.

Jakarta

Veronica and I landed in Jakarta close to midnight, and as we tiredly said goodnight, we also confirmed details for our speaking engagement the next morning. It was career day at a local school, and together Veronica and I gave a 30 minute presentation on humanitarian work. We spoke to two classes of 14 year old students, and I gained a new sympathy for teachers as dozens of pairs of eyes looked at me with an expression that seemed to reveal they weren't quite sure if this was going to be entertaining or not! We had a few good questions, and the one that was most entertaining was asked by a young girl who said, with an element of doubt, "So do you actually make any money doing this kind of thing?" It was quite a fun experience, and while I enjoyed explaining what I do and why, I also really enjoyed hearing what they dreamed of doing one day, and why it appealed to them. I heard everything from psychologists to film directors to business persons—all worthy efforts, and all with a unique niche.

The following day, the RZIM itinerant team started to trickle in from their various places around the world. We attended a few speaking engagements for our fearless leader, and then our meetings began. It was a profitable three days. Strategy and goals were discussed in an effort to ensure we were working as a team and a shared focus. It was our first meeting with new team members from the Middle East and Asia, and it was helpful for all to put faces with names. As the organization continues to expand we see the growing need for a unified vision and the desire to look together to the future with a healthy dose of realizing the responsibility upon us and anticipating the opportunities that lie ahead.

We ended the meeting at a traditional Balinese restaurant where we ate more than we needed to and laughed just as much. For those of you who know Michael Ramsden, it's like traveling with your own personal comedian. He kept everyone in good spirits and all of us wishing we could have just a fraction of the energy. Then on Friday morning, we all went our separate directions, home to different countries or continuing on to further engagements. I was on my way to Penang.