Moving mountains

Yesterday, I attended a seminar with a well-known speaker here, C.B. Samuels.  The conference was sponsored by Compassion India, a branch of Compassion International, where you can sponsor a child to support him or her through school.  I went with my boss, our director of Community Relations.  It had been a day full of meetings and rushing--I had biked home during lunch to get a couple salwar kameez (cotton pants and a matching knee-length top with a dupata, or long scarf) because we had both worn jeans for Casual Friday.  Our office had an all-staff meeting to take personality tests and break up by color, or personality type.  It was hilarious but also productive and helpful to learn about different communication styles, positive attributes and how to work with each other's many colors.  (For those Furmanites reading, I was blue once again...hopelessly idealistic and out to save the world...but I had a close second-place tie of green (structure, not especially sensitive) and orange (spontaneous, high need to socialize) to balance me out!)

At any rate, by the time we arrived at the seminar my mind was scattered, going over to-do lists and the many items still waiting to be checked off.  We were there to network and give this prominent leader in South Asia a face to go with our NGO's name.  But my thoughts were soon stilled and I was captivated by the speaker's message.  He spoke about the place of children in the kingdom of Heaven.  Isaiah prophesied that a little child will lead them, into a new dwelling of peace and justice.  Zechariah prophesied that boys and girls will sit in the city center, filling the place with laughter.  In this kingdom, not only will child-like innocence be restored, but the child's energy and joy will be contagious.  Why, Samuels challenged us, do we read New Testament passages speaking about the kingdom of Heaven and think, "ah, that will be a nice future."  If we believe that Christ has come, that He has fulfilled the prophecies of the Old Testament, then His messages--his commands but also his parables and prayers--are true today.  He taught us to pray what we call "The Lord's Prayer," and that middle line is to be taken seriously: "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Amen."  A prayer for the present, a prayer for today.  

I am constantly challenged by the faith of my co-workers.  This week, I had the chance to sit down with one of our advocates and simply listen to his story for a small assignment I am working on.  He was the first lawyer in our office and has seen the success and setbacks that come with rapid growth.  He told me that one of the ways IJM has transformed him personally has been in the way he views God's ability.  Like many good lawyers, he is thoughtful and logical; going into a case or a new circumstance, he would weigh the pro's against the con's.  With a 50% chance of success, he would take the case or risk entering a new circumstance.  Less than 50%, he'd walk away.  But now, if there is a 1% chance, he'll take it.  "Because God just needs one percent."  

I think this is the mustard seed-sized faith Jesus taught his disciples about.  So the lawyers at IJM take on a case to defend a handful of families who have been surviving on broken grains of rice and working seven days a week in the fields, paid less than minimum wage and with no freedom to return home or find another job to eek out another meager living.  These men and women take Jesus at his word when he told his followers to defend the innocent.  Especially those who are forgotten by the world and rejected by their society, born into the wrong caste and therefore viewed as subhuman, dispensable.  

I am grateful for the flashes of inspiration I derive from conversations like this, and I crave this faith which, quite literally, moves mountains.  And erasing slavery from this earth is one mountain I'd like to see moved, in our present.

Details

The coexistence--sometimes peaceful, sometimes not--of opposites in this city is a source of perpetual fascination. Here are a few details to illustrate what I'm seeing walking down streets full of living history.A skeleton of a beautiful British home, with fine attention to detail in the wrap-around porches, now charred and sitting desolate on the corner of a non-descript road. Note the man sprawled out asleep next to this typical compact car.
A low wall next to my street, for those of you curious to see Tamil, the local language.
I love this iron lotus flower, hidden in a crumbling wall and nearly papered over by peeling announcemnts.
I like walking down out of the way side streets, where you see pretty details like this wooden door and bike missing a mirror.
Masala tea and time to journal, a perfect Sunday afternoon!
Now back to work for me, the start of another busy day and end of a very fast week!

More time flies

I am going to bed (too late again!) in my new room...thank you to the many who have been praying for me to find housing. I am going to sublet from a lovely couple with two kids who are going home to the US for two months. Soon, two new IJM fellows will join me in this spacious, perfect-for-entertaining home.

How can you not throw parties when you have a pink kitchen?

I think we may get spoiled living here...

I love my neighborhood...I'm on a "smile and wave" level of friendship with a few of the trusty watchmen (thought I'd subtly slip in the fact that there are, yes, plural "guards" on my street who watch the passerby's, I suppose looking for anomalies, and help out with errands, like getting your water refilled)

A new favorite haven, this is Amethyst. After church on Sunday I enjoyed a leisurely lunch with friends and stayed on to drink tea and write a bit in my journal on the garden patio of this British Colonial Era home turned restaurant/high-end store.

Valentine's Day was spent at "Ideal Beach," about an hour's drive outside of the city. And yes, that is a baby cow strolling down the shore.

Fishing boats sputter in and out. The thick black exhaust billowing from their tiny engines is an unwelcome contrast to the crystal blue waters of the Indian ocean and brightly colored wood boats.

And this is a bizarre blow-fish. Like I have said many times, you see something new here every day.

Work has been crazy-busy this week. I have much on my mind to process into words I can share. Until then, these few snapshots give a peek into the after-work part of my life here. I celebrate the one-month mark of my arrival here tomorrow and I am grateful for the hospitality and genuine welcome I've received from my co-workers, my friends. The time has flown, and I've experienced a vast range of emotions and the anticipated yet abrupt immersion into the struggle of a majority who is cheated and mistreated. I am grateful that I can simultaneously enjoy and process these beginnings with interns who have been in country for several months longer as well as the national staff who have families and insights derived from a rich heritage woven into the same culture.

Strange but very nice

Not entirely unexpected, food and fabric are two aspects of this culture I simply cannot get enough of...the variety, the color, the complexity!  

At Palimar with Martine - a Veg. restaurant just across the street from our office and a favorite lunch spot.  Silverware is not necessary.  But be sure to use your right hand.  The left hand is used for other things that are, er, less sanitary.

"Madras meals."  A great dish because you get to try a little bit of everything.  Served on a giant banana leaf, you shovel some rice onto your plate and mix in seven or eight chutneys (sauces) for some serious flavor.  My favorite today was the yellow one, with coconut flavor.  The white sauce is plain yoghurt - an important palate cleanser, and cooler.

Thanks to my friend Lakshmi Priya, this beautiful fabric was transformed into an elegant sari.  I think it will be awhile before I am able to tie a sari on my own, but it is a new goal.  Wearing 15 plus feet of fabric requires patience and engenders gracefulness--and slow walking!   

Yesterday I went with the Director of Community Relations (my boss) to my first round of meetings.  She was a guest lecturer at a local seminary, explaining the work of IJM and educating the students about Bonded Labour slavery.  Afterwards, a man walked up to me and commented that I looked "very nice in a sari."  I thanked him and laughed when he then said "you look very Indian."  I smiled and said that despite my very white skin, I am trying to blend in.  He paused for a moment and said, "Yes.  You look strange.  But very nice."  

That's one compliment I am proud to keep.

Fighting to end slavery, one work day at a time

This fall, I made many preparations to live and work in South Asia--physically, materially, spiritually, financially.  I got my shots, bug spray and travel toiletries, carefully selected favorite books that would be a comfort or a challenge, and engaged in conversations with family and friends who were eager to support the work I would be involved in here.  But I only had a vague idea of what that work would be.  After three weeks, my head is still spinning as the gravity of this work sinks in.

As many of you know, this particular IJM office seeks justice on behalf of individuals in bonded labour.  "Bonded labour" is just a technical term for slavery.

My office is an impressive team--hardworking investigators who gather evidence against facilities using slave labour and plan raids in conjunction with government officials; passionate social workers who provide aftercare and training for released victims; dedicated lawyers who fight hard to bring perpetrators of these evil crimes to justice; and strong administration and communication staff who share all of these stories.  It's a busy place, with everyone doing a bit of everything.  There is much laughter and encouragement despite daily frustrations and setbacks, hope in spite of deeply ingrained systems of injustice.  IJM's work is straightforward: to end slavery.

My responsibilities are varied, but one of the tasks I have enjoyed most is reading through past cases and writing a case narrative, tracing the story from the victims' statements given during preliminary investigations through the details of the raid to the complex stages of pre-trial.  I have been educated and heartbroken by the victims' desperate pleas for rescue as well as the legal process nearly strangled by so much red tape.  Sadly, many of the stories start the same way: a family member is sick and needs to go to the hospital; a mud hut is destroyed by rain and the home needs repairs.  So the husband takes out a loan from the owner of a rice mill or brick kiln or other facility where his entire family will be "bonded" until the advance is paid back.  However, the owner does not pay minimum wage and the workers are not allowed to find work elsewhere--they are trapped in a state of extreme poverty with no way to ever earn enough to pay back an increasingly unfair loan.  This system is illegal, thanks to the Bonded Labour Act of 1976.  But this law is largely unregulated and slavery persists as an acceptable way of doing business.  The National Institute for Human Rights, based in Bangalore, estimates that there are as many as 64 million slaves in South Asia today.

The numbers are big.  The challenges are immense.  Individual slaves must be rescued and restored one by one, a process which requires precise planning and then committed care.  The perpetrators of these crimes must be brought to justice, a painstaking process of educating government officials, police and judges about the very laws they are appointed and elected to uphold.  And the society which accepts this unjust way of life must be transformed.

In spite of these broken legal systems and generations of social apathy, I am constantly amazed and humbled by the resilience of my co-workers at IJM--modern day abolitionists.  That's strong language, but these are strong people.  

 

A few more photos from Bangalore trip

Typical view of the street out of an auto.

Not such a typical view of a person and cow--but I wanted to see what was so sacred about these beasts!

No two sari's are the same!  

Big thanks to Alice who lent me her beautiful sari (isn't hers gorgeous too?)

Passage of time

Today marks two weeks in this strange new country, which seems little bit more familiar each day.  Well, familiar is a relative term.  I'm still seeing, doing, smelling or trying something strange every single day.  And I think that trend will last for awhile (I hope so at least).  For instance, this weekend in Bangalore: 

I saw the infamous sacred cows wandering not only the crowded streets, but in and out of shops.  No beef here, only animals begging (and getting) food for themselves.  Often the horns of the cows are painted blue--which of course has some religious significance.  Ahem.  

I slept in the middle bunk of a three-tier sleeper car.  I also had my first "touch of india" on the overnight train and was running a fever--on the bright side, I was so desperate to curl up and sleep it off I didn't have energy to be nervous of the other passengers bunked up all around me.  I did, however, sleep with my backpack strapped to my body underneath my own sheet, so sanitary and soft, thanks to a little planning ahead.  (Thanks Mom!  And Meggie, Anna, Uncle Chuck, etc, aren't you proud of my street smarts?)

I smelled dozens of delicious flowers, as colorful as they were fragrant, in the giant City Market featured in photos below.  Jasmine, Roses, some type of Peonies--my favorite flower--and many others I can only identify as Vibrant, Sweet and Colorful.  Seriously, heaps everywhere.

I went to the grocery store today during my lunch break and even this was an adventure!  One store for produce (which must be thoroughly soaked in dish detergent or mild bleach solution), two trips to the confusing store for basic stuff like milk (which isn't refrigerated until you open it at home), and then a trek to a hotel bakery or "French Loaf" for some bread.  Lots of funny looks along the way.  Serious sense of accomplishment unloading one and half bags of food that doesn't necessarily go together, at all.

Some things have been strange because they are familiar.  Which is strange.  Like going to KFC for one of the Legal Fellow's farewell dinner--she was dying to try it!  Or buying my first souvenir, a book called "America and Americans."  (1st ed. coffee table book by John Steinbeck--big photos of America in the 1960s with fascinating essays throughout on what it means to be American.  Who knew I would meet a favorite author here, learn about my American heritage, or find a stellar three-story bookstore teetering with used books?)

Yesterday marked another point in fleeting time: one year since I lost my dear friend Jess.  She has been constantly on my mind since I've arrived here.  To be honest, somewhat surprisingly so.  I long to share my silly stories, listen to her freak out about the street crossing chaos and commiserate over getting lost and not understanding directions; I wish I were reading her blog and learning vicariously through her ministry to Muslim women in Spain.  So I remember her patience and compassion, inspired to emulate these even as my heart lurches against this disorienting reality of death.

In spite of fluctuating emotions--bittersweet memories of my friend Jess, exposure to intense stories of heartbreaking dehumanization through work, and sensory overload on a mere walk across the street to pick up some variation of rice for lunch--I have found solid ground to stand firmly upon in the first few chapters of Isaiah.  My soul literally clings to the passages which paint a picture of Zion--a place/concept I've never really thought much about.  The prophet Isaiah explains that the once faithful and just city of Jerusalem has rebelled and abandoned the weaker members of its society.  But then, somewhat inexplicably, God chooses to redeem and restore this very people to become a place of righteousness and harmonious dwelling: Zion.  I've searched for other bits of Scripture alluding to "Zion," and my mind is being stretched to consider the realm(s) beyond this life.  Not just the ugliness of death, but the beauty of a new earth and the just community that is to come.  

I am also grateful for and growing a deeper understanding of the "communion of saints," which is not restricted by time-zones or bound by the passage of time.  Thanks be to our God, who has dwelt among us and shared our sorrows--but who powerfully reigns today that He might fulfill many  promises to all of His saints.

To market, to market to buy a fat pig...in Bangalore.

Shops lined the streets surrounding the market; tailors worked on sewing machines set up outside beneath beautiful fabrics beckoning you to choose this tiny shop over the rest.

Things tend to take longer here.  Sometimes, it's because a cow is in the middle of the road holding up traffic.

Meat shopping.  Please note the brains and livers in the left corner, the blood splattered on the walls, and the man who is putting our meat into a bag.  That man also handed us our change.  (Note: Remember how I was "sort of" vegetarian?  It is now safe to remove that qualifier.) 

I don't know where to start...so many colors, smells and new experiences to absorb.

One whole floor of City Market is full of flowers...literally piles.  Men and women braid them into chains to adorn your hair, temple, car, whatever.  My friend and I were the only foreigners among the masses so we were a spectacle--which got us lots of free flowers and laughs at our attempts to say "thank you."

Heaps of incense and colored powder (I think used to decorate doorways as some sort of Hindu ritual...a lot was lost in translation on that one!)

And a hearty lunch.  

Pictured here: basmathi rice with orange sauce (there's a technical name), naan (the flat bread), mystery dipping sauces (very typical) and a veg. dosa (like an unsweetened pancake stuffed with delicious and fresh veggies).  Salt and pepper shown but not used--I haven't needed to add ANY spices yet!