my written witness

a child sitting outside his house in which there is only a blanket as a door

inside Mary's house

Im tempted to just shut down and not write about what I've witnessed. But to do so would be defeating part of the purpose of my trip to India. You see my purpose here in India is in several parts: 1.to love others 2.to learn about a culture and a people to better equip myself for a possible future here serving the needs of these people 3.to tell my story-to witness to both the absolutly beautiful things I've seen here, to the tremendously terrible things that I've seen. To empower others with an account of what the world is like outside their small comfortable American lives. To tell others not only of how BIG the world is, but to atest to how devestated it is as well. So to give into the temptation to just shut down would not only defeat part of my purpose here, but also rob everyone who is reading this of something invalueable; wisdom.

I feel so defeated today, at such a loss for words. This morning Sister Vincy took me to the slums where most of the girls from boarding are from. Their homes. I looked up the word 'home' in the dictionary and this is what I found: home/hoʊm/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [hohm] noun: any place of residence or refuge. This then led me to look up the word refuge: ref⋅uge/ˈrɛfyudʒ/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [ref-yooj] Show IPA noun, verb, -uged, -ug⋅ing. –noun
1.shelter or protection from danger, trouble, etc.: to take refuge from a storm.
2.a place of shelter, protection, or safety.
3.anything to which one has recourse for aid, relief, or escape.

To me this seems quite accurate. I'm having a blast here in India, but I know that I always have a home to go to after my time here is done. A place to come and be loved, a place that represents family, hamony, peace, safety, and comfort. Im sure upon returning home I will take refuge to allow my body to recouperate from jetlag, and culture shock, among other things. I will take refuge in my home with my family to absorb everything.

I went on Sunday to the slums, but today I really had my eyes opened. Sunday was just a walk through...there were really no faces to put with the houses...they were just buildings (well shacks) and although in the back of my mind I knew there were where people lived it was easier to dismiss that fact and live in oblivion. But today? Well today I put faces with these buildings; I saw the conditions of these people, how they lived, and acctually looked into their eyes. Whats more, these were the homes of the girls that I've been with for the past two months that I have come to love and care about deeply. So not only were there faces, but also names, gigggles, and memories behind these conditions that I saw today. There was the knowledge that the girls that I love so much call these....slums home. They seek refuge-safety-in such an unsafe place. The very first word that came to my mind today as we entered into the slums was filth. Garbage everywhere, animal feces everywhere, the smell of rotten food, burning trash, vinegar, human waste, and soured milk stung my nostrils. It was like a cloud that hovered in the air; there was no escaping the smell. But besides the smell there was the sights: garbage, cow dung, dog waste, among other things just littered almost every area of the ground, and what wasn't covered by waste was mud. Rags hanging on clothes lines cluttered the air which gave a sense of messiness, and only seemed to add to the devestation. Then there were the sounds...dogs barking, babies crying, moaning, whimpering, and ironically tvs playing. Although most of these people are starving I was told that almost every house in the slums has a TV....they jepordize starvation in order to have a tv...which completly blew my mind. Sister Vincey was saying that since they are uneducated it is hard to tell them how to properly spend, save, and use the little amount of resources that they do have. As we were walking into the slums I saw a large crowd forming and heard some voices raising. Sister Vincey then informed me that we were passing a rationing of rice and people were yelling at one another to get ahead in line. One meal for an entire family. Rice. Arguing over a bowl of rice. But its so much more than that...arguing over sustanance. I can't blame the mother with 7 children arguing for a bowl of rice in which she plans to feed her children....not having to hear the cries of my hungry children would also motivate me to argue. After we passed that we winded our way through a maze of small, one-roomed shacks with tin roofs, through the filth, and clutter. Once again I was not permitted to take photos because it is considered rude (which makes sense, to switch places and have others oggle me and take photos of my desperate conditions would also offend me.) Sister Vincey showed me 3 of the girls homes, and we finally came across the last one in which she had planned to show me. This was little Mary's home. Mary is one of 6 children, she herself is 6, has 2 younger brothers, and 3 older brothers. All except the eldest are in some sort of school (and also in boarding like Mary.) Her eldest brother was at home and when we entered the house he was crying and sweating. Sister Vincey then talked to her 16 year old brother asking what was wrong. He was very sick. Sister and I walked to the nearest store to pick him up some lunch, medicine, and juice. As we walked she explained that Mary's father died a few years ago, and the eldest brother could not be schooled because he needed to care for the rest of his siblings, as well as his mother. He is a 16 year old boy-a child and is working more than full time as a painter. We picked up these essentials for this boy and came back. We were invited in and here is my testiment to what the inside of these shacks look like: it was maybe a 8X10 room in which there was one bed (metal frame with the thinnest matress I think I have ever seen (thinner than the cushions placed on the rocking chairs at Cracker Barrel) and the mattress (if you can call it that...) was covered in plastic-no blankets, sheets, nothing. A few pictures of Jesus and one of their deceased father adorned the walls, a small pot in one corner used for cooking, and a dresser (?) in the other. The dresser was completly covered in clutter of dishware, and what I would plainly call junk (I say that I would call it junk, but these things are this family's valueables.) The few minutes I was in this 'house' I was completly soaked in sweat....needless to say I know it would be miserable to live there, not to mention being sick there. There was no bathroom, no sinks, nothing. There is about 1 or 2 public bathrooms in which everyone commutes to and one well for everyone to gather their water for bathing. I still have no idea what they do for drinking water...surely they don't drink the murky water that I saw in the well. I thought sharing a bathroom with a floor of girls in a dorm got crowded at times....I cannot even conceive how these people share with several hundred others. Despite the conditions there are worse things about the slums....what goes on in these slums is several times more heartbreaking than just the conditions themselves. Sister Vincey was explaining that most of the girls in the slums are taken advantage of as young children...she pointed to what was probablly a 3 year old baby, and said from that age these girls were misused. Refuge: a place of safety. What happens when your place of safety becomes the place of most horror? What happens when your 'home' cannot be defined as such? When home is acctually defined as 'terror, desperation, ugliness, filth, and desitution." What happens when your 'safe harbor' is acctually your apex of exploitation? How does life even go on after that? How do you find the courage to smile, much less find joy again?

As I looked at the babies walking around completly naked in the mud and grime, the woman pleading for food for her children, the 16yr old boy crying because he was so sick and weak and unable to afford medicine, I couldn't help but think of the lyrics from a Chris Rice song:

"How did I find myself in a better place,

I can’t look down on the frown on the other guy’s face

‘Cause when I stoop down low, look him square in the eye I get a funny feeling,
I just might be dealing With the face of Christ

See you had no choice which day you would be born

Or the color of your skin, or what planet you’d be on

Would your mind be strong, would your eyes be blue or brown

Whether daddy would be rich, or if momma stuck around at all

So if you find yourself in a better place

You can’t look down on the frown on the other guy’s face

You gotta stoop down low, look him square in the eye

And get a funny feeling, ‘cause you might be dealing with the face of Christ..."