Typical adventures

Life has been moving very fast lately. And to get to and from most of it, I've been on the back of Nicolette's scooter, The Blue Wonder. Adventures are typical.

Our daily commute to work is less than ten minutes, but every day there is, consistently, a brand new pot hole to swerve around or fissure in the asphalt to avoid. Some days we pass the man with gigantic slabs of raw meat strapped onto the back of his bicycle cart -- you can always tell he's coming because of the swarm of black crows ominously swooping down into that spot in traffic. Other days we pass families of four, not including the infant, squished onto a regular to small-sized motorcycle. Many days we are the object of laughter, fascination, gawking and other not-so-nice stares. Yesterday Nic was the target of a rude bird who also singled out "the foreigners" (I scraped the bird poo off Nic's arm as she drove with an envelope I dug out of my purse).

On weekends (and special week nights), we reunite with our third half and have the pleasure of cruising the streets of Chennice in Paco, Magda's zippy white car. This weekend we celebrated her birthday in varied forms of fabulous, including lunch at Kipling Cafe. Rich, dark wood and billowy white curtains are nestled into a tiny avenue off East Coast Road, sea breeze wafting through the bamboo and palm trees marking off this charming oasis. The three of us lingered over Indian-Western fusion food featuring special occasion imported delicacies like filo pastry dough, kalamata olives and goat cheese, plus our very own Bordeaux (no, we are not that savvy, they're just still working on a proper license).

Feeling even more relaxed than all those adjectives, we headed home rocking out to MGMT on the blissfully long and relatively empty ECR Road. Until. The front right tire blew. To make a hilarious and long story short, we were safe and the tire was changed. A nice and not sketchy young man on a motorcycle stopped to help the three girls at dusk changing a tire for the first time (actually, so did another man and his curious son. This do-gooder didn't seem to have much to offer, other than a very rusty tool of some sort that was useful in prying off the hubcap from Paco's stubborn little wheel).

Needless to say, adventures are typical.

Always up for a challenge, Nicolette utlized her emergency tights and crouched down to lift Paco off that dirty road with the handy dandy jack. She was all set to finish the job using Prasanth's over-the-phone instructions, which we're going to save in the trunk with the tools.

You just never know what to expect on the roads of Chennice...

Released from bondage

Since I have come to IJM, I have been richly blessed to be a part of three separate rescue operations. The operations to release families living in slavery are conducted in tandem with goverment officials and police, who enter the paticular facility (rock quarry, brick kiln or rice mill) with select IJM staff. The victims of forced labor are briefly "enquired" inside the faciilty by the head government officer. Then we help them pack their simple belongings into large trucks. We travel to the government office where the official "enquiry" is conducted to determine if they are being held there in violation of the Indian law which prohibits forced labor. (Essentially, someone is considered a forced laborer if she/he is: providing labor in exchange for a one-time monetary loan, paid below minimum wage, prohibted from moving freely, or not permitted to sell their own goods freely.)

At the government office, my role has been to photograph the laborers as they are documented by our aftercare staff and as they take turns going in to answer questions with the government officials. Since I do not speak the language, my responsiblities are limited. But even using a laminating machine hardly feels mundane -- as the piece of paper bound between the plastic sheets is a Release Certificate, cancelling all debts and literally declaring that particular individual free.

More importantly than my own involvement, since I arrived in January 2009, 154 Release Certificates have been issued in IJM cases. 43 families have been released from faciilties where they were working illegally as laves. All of these families are part of IJM's aftercare program, designed to support them as they reintegrate into a society which is strictly delineated by caste and plagued by poverty. One IJM aftercare manager is assigned to each family. The IJM staff visits the family's home monthly, conducts group meetings by region and connects these "clients" with longterm resources to ensure a sustainable life in freedom.

To read about our most recent rescue operation, check out IJM's website and read this story I wrote!

Its all business here

The past few days I have been in Madurai, a small city an overnight train ride away. Accompanied by a lovely colleague and IJM aftercare manager, I had the privilege to interview a couple of students in the government law college there. Both are children of former forced laborers, rescued from a brick kiln in 2004. Both are the first in their families to attend college. Both are full of ambition, driven by a desire to excel so that they might fight for their humble communities. Sitting on a rusted green folding chair up on the rooftop of the law college hostel, tape recorder capturing the answers to my questions asked for me in Tamil, moleskine in hand as I scribbled translations, I thought to myself, how do I do this justice? And justice is a word I do not use lightly. His story deserves an audience. His story deserves a truthful telling, neither polished off nor embellished.

I suspect this question will haunt me the deeper I am immersed into this work; how do I do this justice? The more I engage with the culture, the customs and -- mostly -- the people of South Asia, the more I doubt my ability to recount the stories and provide the panoramic view I can barely take in when I'm standing right here seeing and smelling it all in real time. I'll continue to offer simple snapshots of my life and work here...though no more tonight. I am too excited to sleep not in transit, with my backpack looped through my arm on the third bunk of an overnight train like last night, or in the back seat of a car bumping down a dirt road then scraping by buses on the four hour journey back to the city, like my nap(s) today (I got off the train this morning at 7:30, brushed my teeth at the office, had a coffee and headed out on another trip to interview a family very recently freed from a rock quarry).

Perhaps I'll sort out some of the bits and pieces from my whirlwind "business trip" over the weekend. Until then, I send you the blessings I (accidentally!) received from this elephant:

Celebrations

I have been thinking about transitions and transience lately. Just over a year ago, I began the transition from the structure and free time of school to the pressures and deadlines of the real world. Almost six months ago, I began the anticipated yet still jarring transition from the familiar--the smiling faces and beautiful places--of South Carolina to this foreign culture--also full of smiling faces and beautiful places--in South Asia. The work at IJM has taught me even more, as I have watched, wondered and written about the released laborers' transition from slavery to freedom. Reflection on transition inevitably prompts reflection on transience--the temporary yet significant friendships I form, the relative nature of time that shrinks or stretches depending on how much you want it to, or need it to. More deep musings later!

Yesterday was a double celebration for two friends I am blessed to know, even for a short time. IJM legal fellow and Explorer Extraordinaire Martine and her husband will be leaving soon to return to Oz. So Andy threw Martine a surprise Farewell, where friends and coworkers gathered to celebrate her with good food and send her off with scraps of fabric!

Andy cooked up a storm and we got to taste some Aussie dishes: mango-pork risotto, veg. lasagna, fresh salad with cheese and pears, rice and channa, homemade tomato soup, fried fish, lemon meringue pie, fresh fruit including papaya and starfruit, and homemade vanilla bean icecream. Yes, he made all of that by himself. Impressive, and tasty.

Saturday was also my friend and akka Lakshmi Priya's birthday. (Akka means older sister and is used as a term of endearment here) Festivities included dinner, dessert and lots of laughings. Fun fact of the day: Poo means flower in Tamil. I had the pleasure of explaining the irony in this false cognate to Priya!

Here: Chardaie, me, Priya, Kim, Martine.

After a tasty meal of idly and dosai with some of the best sambar I've had (two South Indian dishes: idly is somewhat like a small, thick pancake and dosai more like a huge fried crepe; sambar is the ubiquitous liquid-gravy seasoned with tomatoes, a few spices and the occasional extra vegetables) we taught Priya how to bake a cake. Here we are frosting the cupcakes.

I loved celebrating these two special friends on the same day!

Dakshina Chitra

Last weekend, Martine, Chardaie and I drove down East Coast Road to Dakshina Chitra, a non-profit craft village run by the Madras Craft Foundation. This hybrid marketplace-museum displays historic and contemporary crafts of South India. Despite the 110 degree Fahrenheit afternoon, I walked away with a few (okay several) scarves and a few other souvenirs.

Traditional loom for Ikat weaving, a particular type of textile with dyed threads woven into pretty, geometric designs. Interestingly, the finished product looks a lot like Native American designs.

The market. Local artisans set up shop in stalls of varying size. This couple treated theirs as a working studio of sorts.

Bangles galore.

Photo op: yoga pose with the multi-appendage goddess. Lakshmi Priya would be proud of us, Martine!

The village emphasizes the various architecture styles of Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh as well as their respective handicrafts. Tiny houses were reproduced, and in a few cases, the originals moved, to reflect development over time.

Kerala house. I love the thatched roof canopy bed and Sacred Heart of Jesus painting.

Peacocks are my favorite.

I'll blame it on the heat.

Shifting the flat

In British-English, to "shift" is to move.  Apartments are "flats."  In any English, dirt is dirty and packing is a pain.

Step One: Clean.

This is me cleaning the A/C. I am sad that this is what I breathe. But I am glad that we have air con in this crazy heat. 

Step Two: Get your friends to help move.

This is Vijay and Kim, packed in the back to keep an eye on the stuff.  I rode in the front with the nice man who helped us and seemed to have some difficulties with the stick shift.  Yikes.

Step Three: Repairs.

This is the electrician who tests the electricity by sticking a metal object into the socket.  He is wearing a lunghi.  That is his helper squatting below to help install the A/C.  Please applaud my picture-taking sneaky skills.

Step Four: Buy furniture.

This is Mani's.  The coolest second hand furniture store you ever did see.  Benches, desks, chairs, beds, dressers, sofas, tables.  Teak, rosewood, cherry. 

Step Five: Bring furniture home.

This is Nicolette and me bringing her cool desk chair home.  We got a lot of strange looks and long stares.  

Step Six: Get furniture delivered.

This is the man delivering two queen-sized mattresses.  Yes, on his bicycle.  Maybe we should have attempted another load on the scooter?

Step Seven: Unpack!

This is all of our stuff.  We are very proud of our hard work.  Slowly but surely we are settling in to our new home.

A few May memories

My roommate and I dubbed last month "Crazy Mayzy" because it was, well, crazy. Work was nuts and life was even busier.

To the first point, work has been the usual unending list of challenges and accomplishments--on good days in that order. I am reading through old case files and writing stories about rescue and redemption, lives literally transformed by freedom. I am attending meetings with various individuals from the community, which I'm slowly but surely becoming a part of. I am sending emails and stuffing newsletters. And on top of those normal tasks, I am a part of an exciting new project.

For the past couple of weeks, our office has been entrenched in planning and writing a proposal to effect change across the government, media and society at large. Our casework effectively brings freedom to individual laborer and their familes. But we are also seeking to transform the structures which allow forced labor to exist in a country--where it is illegal. As you might imagine, the layers in need of transformation are many in a land of one billion people. I have been inspired by my coworkers' creativity and practicality. I have been honored to contribute and put many hours into crafting so many thoughts into a single sentence.

And then there was life. About a week and a half before we had to vacate our respective apartments, Nicolette and I decided we should probably do more than check Craigslist and physically look for a new place to live. So we took our lunchbreaks and hopped on her scooter, criss-crossing town in search of the cute little flat we now call home [away from home, Mom]. You know when you accidentally shoot yourself in the face with a hot hairdryer? Multiply that feeling by forever and that's how hot it is driving around the city streets in the summer. And it is summer. Lots of sunscreen, some hilarious conversations caused by massive language barriers and two agents later, we have a lovely place on Nawab Habibullah. Say it like it sounds.

A few favorite moments from the move:

*Blitz-cleaning our new apartment for four hours with no A/Cs. Have I mentioned it's regularly hot here? It's even hotter when you're scrubbing bathroom tiles, dusty drawers and seriously thick grease coating kitchen cupboards (turns out the interior cabinets were white after all).

* Sitting at my desk in my new room trying to be somewhat productive in the midst of two men yelling/conversing in Tamil as they use a chisel and hammer to put in a new electrical socket in the cement wall. Afterwards, the electrician asked me (using gestures and grunts) to come examine his work. I innocently motioned and asked if the socket worked, assuming he would plug in a lamp or something. Instead, he grabbed his screwdriver and stuck it into the socket. The clear plastic handle lit up as the electricity coursed through the metal tool, which he was holding. He then nodded. Yes, the electricity works.

* Getting our two queen sized mattresses delivered on the back of a bicycle. Don't worry, I have a picture.

* After working late one night, Nicolette and arrived home close to 1. Ready for bed. I went to my bedroom door and it was locked. There was a key in the hole, which apparerently I had used unintentionally. The key would turn over, but the lock would not. We jiggled and struggled with the handle. Took a knife to the side of the doorpost. Tried turning the key with the back of a hammer. Removed the handle all together. All to no avail. It took three days, two nights and one non-English speaking locksmith, but I am finally able to sleep on my new mattress in my clean room.