Vegetables

Last week, after a heavy meal of rice, curry, mour and vegetables, I made my way back to the big kitchen sink to wach my dishes. One of the residents was sitting on a small stool about 4 inches off the ground, cutting vegetables. After washing my plates, I asked her if she wanted help. "Venom!" she said. Sure!

I sat down on a similarly low (and uncomfortable) stool and learned how to peel carrots and potatoes quickly. Not quite as quickly as my elderly teacher, however. She would finish about three potatoes in the time it took me to finish one. As we were peeling, others would walk by us to wash their plates. All of them let out little gasps when they saw me sitting there, awkwardly scraping brown skin off of potatoes. Did I have on a finger guard? they all wanted to know. (Chopping usually involves wearing rubber, colorful tubes over a finger or two) Yes, yes, I have one on. Once that was out of the way, they all laughed a little and went on their way.

Eventually, we finished the potatoes and the carrots. It was time for the onions. "You're going to cry," advised the nearby nurses. I got through peeling maybe five or six onions before the tears started to well up in my eyes. My peeling buddy and I laughed. "Madio?" she asked. Enough? "Madi" I said. Enough. I stood up, my joints a little stiff from the awkward stool. I wobbled over to a sink to wash my hands and put away my knife and finager guard.

Dinner that night was delicious, if I do say so myself.

Vire Naranoo

Before I came to India, I was warned:

“You WILL have stomach problems.”

I imagined myself, eating with families on straw mats. In the middle of nowhere. Where the cleanliness of food could never be accounted for. I imagined myself ordering food from street vendors, overcome by the food’s smell and throwing caution to the wind. I imagined lying in the bed, writhing with stomach pains. In a romantic way, of course. I imagined developing a tolerance for all those strange bacteria. “Yeah, I had trouble at first, but after some time, I just got used to the food and didn’t get sick anymore,” I imagined myself bragging.

Instead, I eat in a mess hall, where the food it always healthy and clean. There are no street vendors selling food in Kottayam. The food I eat is safe, safe, safe. For the most part, anyway.

Sure, I’ve had some ‘rhea. Sure, I’ve had some stomach cramping. But no vomiting. No hospital visits. No IV drips for re-hydration. At first, I thought I had to be doing something wrong to not be sick so often. I got puffed up, believing it was my rock-hard stomach that was getting me through. Oh yeah, I can handle anything! Then I realized that it wasn’t me. It was the food. The food I’m eating is fiiiiine.

So, why am I writing all of this, you might be asking? One - Because you may have the same kind of “romantic” visions of what I’m eating. The food I’m eating can’t be found in most places in the US, but it’s not unclean. And two - Because today, my stomach is upset. Not because of bacteria, or spicy foods, or any of that. It’s upset because I eat sooooo much! The food is safe and delicious, so why not? (Don’t say “Because you’ll get a stomach ache.”)

My health problems here have been random. But very few have to do with my stomach. And for that, I am thankful!

Some good news: The girls got a new teacher. SHE’S GREAT. She loves them and they love her. And she doesn’t carry a bamboo stick. Life is good.

Exams

About a month or so ago, a woman arrived at Balika Mandiram, the Girl's Orphanage. Her name was Sumi, and she was going to be the live-in teacher for the 8 girls living at Balika Mandiram. She would be there to help the children with their homework, and help those who are behind to catch up. She seemed gentle to me at first - somewhat timid, but interested in helping the children. She would even quiz me! - on Malayalam words.

Two days after her arrival, she took me aside. "The children are very naughty," she told me. "Very lazy. They do not study. You must help me." I balked. These girls, who I love so dearly? Who care for each other like tiny mothers, who have encountered more than their fair share of tragedy and turmoil already, who try their hardest - Lazy? Naughty? But what could I say to Sumi? Of course I want them to learn. Of course, I've been helping. "OK, I will help," I told her.

The teaching system in India is very different than in the US. Learning is memorization; memorization is learning. And sparing the rod spoils the child. So it shouldn't have been a surprise when Sumi started caring a small bamboo stick around the study room at Balika Mandiram. But it was. And it shouldn't have broken my heart when the girls started crying because they couldn't remember how to count by two's past 22 or didn't remember how to spell elephant. But it did. Sumi seemed to want the girls to learn and to do well in school. But she seemed totally unsympathetic to them.

Today - Tuesday - most of the girls begin their final exams. Sumi had decided to take a quick break at her home this past weekend, and so had left Friday with plans of returning on Sunday. During the weekend, I helped the girls study as much as I could. Past English and math, though, my help is fairly useless. Despite the bamboo stick, Sumi can help the girls in more subjects than I can. She was really going to have to crank it up on Sunday to make up for her absence! But Sunday came and went with no sign of Sumi. During afternoon tea on Monday, Anju came up to me: "Sumi go. Sumi poyi." Yes, yes, she went to her house, I thought. Anju couldn't have just noticed that, after a three-day absence. I must have looked confused. "No, Cammy Auntie," explained another girl, "Sumi left Mandiram."

So, the day before the girls' exams began, their teacher left, never to return. Who would help the girls now with their Malayalam, their Hindi, their history and their science? How are they going to get through exams? I wondered if Sumi ever really had the girls' best interests at heart. I know that she felt the job of teaching the girls was overwhelming, but I felt frustrated and angry that she had just given up. I wondered if the girls felt the same way. "Anju," I asked, "are you happy or sad?" Happy that Sumi and her bamboo stick were gone? Sad that another person had given up on her?

"HAPPY!" she said, in a voice so loud she even shocked herself. She immediately threw her hands over her mouth and looked around to make sure Sumi was nowhere in sight. The other girls laughed. They seemed more relaxed, happier, than they had for the past few weeks.

Exams, shmexams.

Sri Lanka: "The Peanut of India"

Indian tourist visas can last for up to ten years - which is nice, but they do not allow for uninterrupted stay. Every Indian-tourist-visa-holder must leave the country every 180 days or face deportation.

Luckily, for us volunteers, this meant a well-earned vacation to Sri Lanka!

Sri Lanka (or at least the places we visited there) is more westernized than Kerala, so we were able to indulge momentarily in things that we haven't seen, tasted, smelled etc for months. Stepping off the plane and walking into the international terminal in Colombo was like walking into the US. We were floored. Literally. We stopped in the middle of the floor and just gaped at the big screen t.v.s and bottles of fancy perfumes that surrounded us. The rest of the trip we spent completely unfloored, traveling from one city to another, trying to get as much as we could out of our week in Sri Lanka. Here's my Top Ten List of Stuff We Did in Sri Lanka:

10) Sang karaoke (and were promised to make it to the finals, because they "needed some white skin")
9) Watched a few rounds of elephant polo

8) Didn't get stared at... as much...
7) Drank smoothies and ate sandwiches at Cafe du Monde
6) Never wore a churidar (which provoked one volunteer to note "I'm walking like myself again!")
5) Got a glimpse of a box containing a box containing a box containing (etc) Buddha's tooth.
4) Visited tsunami camps
3) Surfed
2) Watched the movie Snakes on a Plane
1) Got our passports stamped so that we could re-enter India for 6 more months!