Have you forgotten what I look like?

This is me sitting outside of the Red Fort in Agra (post Taj Mahal but pre horrendous sickness.)

Dear Immune System,

Dear Immune System,

The entire month in Thailand, we did not get sick once. We were a true team! Sure, there were the occasional MSG overdose quakes from that crazy Thai cooking, but that can hardly be blamed on you. I even began to brag about how strong you were to the rest of the group.

"It's a good thing that I rolled around in muck and ate M&M's off the ground when I was little," I said. "I guess I have done enough extended travel already, so my immunity has become dynamite!"

And then came India.

Where have you been? We have been sick three times in two weeks: hardly a "dynamite record."

First, there was Jaipur. I ate only at nice, clean restaurants and all of a sudden I had a temperature of 102.1. I had to miss time with my host family, three lessons, a visit to a temple right before Diwali (a giant Hindu holiday celebration) and a camel trek into a nearby village. And of course everything in-between. But it did not take too many days to feel back to myself and I thought, "Oh, at least look how quickly my immune system bounces back after its only fall."

But then on the last night in Galder, our village home stay, you lost it again. I had to miss our going away party: the full community celebration with food, music and dancing. I couldn't even stay with my host family on the last night to enjoy a proper goodbye.

And now this! Have you gone on vacation?

Perhaps you are out on the town with the immunity of Dianna, John, Emma, Tate and Jordan? On yesterday's 16-hour train ride, I threw up about seven times, ranking me high for that night's tally between myself and about 8 others from my group. Seven. Really?

Not that being sick on an Indian train is not comforting, with the lack of privacy and all the people, bugs and the occasional mouse. Not to mention the bathrooms with no running water or paper. With eight plus of us taking turns spewing in the bathrooms, they were far from neat and sanitary. There is nothing quite like moaning over an Indian
train toilet--which is little more than a sanctioned-off hole in the floor--watching the tracks pass beneath you with the unidentified splatter marks on the walls reminding you of the hundreds of tourists that have been in your very same shoes in the very same bathroom before.

Now, instead of staying as a pilgrim at the Golden Temple in Amritsar, learning about and experiencing the Sikh faith, I have been in a guesthouse bed next to equally-as-miserable Dianna for the past 18 hours with a fever, aches all over and as weak as a mouse after purging myself of all of my liquids and nutrients.

My stomach's recommendation would be to steer clear of Agra and strike "Seeing the Taj Mahal" off your list of 'Things to Do Before I Die.' Perhaps we are just bitter (we being myself and particularly my stomach,) but in a town used to Western tourists like Agra, three quarters of our group getting food poisoning from Agra's restaurants hardly seems defendable.

Ironically, a few years ago in Agra a scam between restaurant and hotel owners and doctors was discovered: tourists were deliberately being poisoned, sent to private clinics and charged hefty fees, and then the restaurant owners received a cut. The scam was discovered...but it is rumored (and from our experience apparently evidenced) that it still continues.

Election

Today (11-06-08) all papers, Hindi and English alike, were three fourths full of pictures of Obama and stories of the election. There is no question about it: the world is elated that Obama won. Everyone outside of the United States, it seems (within reason of course, the sea gypsies and the tribal people in Galder have little reason for interest or knowledge) thinks Obama the single, obvious, superior choice. Funny that the US itself is so divided on the issue! I have been congratulated all day by Indians in their shops when they realize that I am from America. “USA? You will have a new president!...Yes, very good…a very good man, Obama.” Today there was newspaper in Hindi with a picture of Obama’s face set into Mount Rushmore. He he he.

How the villagers of Galder spend their days

Here is a basic list of how I have seen my family members (and other villagers of Galder) spend their day.
-Making roti (bread): handmixing flour and water, making chipattis on the fire
-Making curries from their scant resources, such as cream and hot peppers
-napping
-sitting outside on hay while cows eat from pile
-milking cow
-cleaning cow and goat excrement from front yard
-taking cows (water buffalo; what’s the difference?) to pasture or to the stream
-fetching water from water hole
- walking to stream (10-15 min. walk) for bathing and laundry
No electricity makes the day end when the sun goes down. These appear to add up to the better part of the day! Living simply takes a lot of time.

Indian Village Homestay

I awoke to our rooster (I am sleeping with ear plugs but with his bed four feet from my own they make little difference) in time to watch the early sunlight peak over the mountain from my sleeping bag. Yesterday, after we arrived, I laughed when a couple of goats walked right through the door into the house; little did I realize that the house was the goats’ living space while the family lives, eats, and sleeps out on the porch. So I lie here on the porch, the family of eight lying around me, the hen eight feet away tucked into a cubby in the adobe wall, the rooster four feet away in the corner, the goats in the house, the water buffalo in front of the porch enclosed by our small fence,, and the mountains and sunrise beyond the fields in the distance. Yeah, this is India.
As I take the morning in from the warm comfort of my sleeping bag, I stare down a water buffalo, watch the rooster’s breath in the crisp morning air (this is dessert) and watch the baby goats that have now emerged from the house prance about, jump on the late sleepers, and every once in a while loose their feet from beneath them in their spastic morning revelry.
After our city homestay in Jaipur, we are now in a homestay in the village of Galder, a village of about twenty families in the dessert of Northeast India. There is no electricity and no running water. By the looks of it, I have more in my backpack than this family of eight has in its entire home. Everyone seems to have roughly one outfit, and the dress of the youngest seems to have been reached her hand-me-down style only after her five sisters wore it before her. Bathrooms there are none, and any bathing and washing takes place at the river, a fifteen minute walk, and little more than a glorified dribble in this season of drought. We must daily walk to the watering hole and collect water to carry home—Jungle Book style, balancing pots on our heads. My twelve year old host sister puts me to shame: as I’m sloshing water down my face she’s balancing two pots stacked with no hands.
After our mornings of family chores, we help teach English at the local schools. Or attempt to control chaos. “Teach English” sounds nobler. The children are roughly aged 3-9, and at our school there are about 50 of them, four of us, and only occasionally a teacher. When you picture a village of 20 families, you may not picture a particularly large number of children. But if you imagine a village of 20 families, all with families of eight like my host family, there will be kids every where you turn. We spend our time on the basics: the alphabet, numbers, colors, head, shoulders, knees and toes, and then a few games to channel their energy. The highlight for me by far has been watching them play musical rocks. The teacher had them all find large stones and then blindfolded one and gave him a stick and a pan. Each child stood on a rock, and when the blindfolded kid began banging, the rest ran in a circle while the teacher removed a stone. When the banging ended, they all had to find a stone to stand on. Musical chairs of the developing world!
Our second night in Galder was Halloween at home and we felt it necessary to celebrate. So after our evening of masonry (we are building a stone and cement fence around the community center) and dinner with our families we reconvened at the community center for what can only be described as a pagan ritual. We found some pumpkins, candles, and musical instruments and danced around a lantern on the roof with all of the village children under the starlight. There is nothing quite like letting loose to a drum beat, guitar, harmonica, and chanting with a bunch of six year old Indians on Halloween. Hopefully they gained half as much on this cultural exchange as we did!

First Pictures of India!

Yes!!

I don't have to replace my return ticket home for one to Canada. YES!!