Hi Friends. Please know that a very important person in my life had a birthday yesterday, Feb. 12th. His name is Don and he is my Dad. You’re always in my thoughts and prayers, Dad. I love you very much, and have a safe road trip home this week.
Last Sunday is still with me. It was the second full day with Dan and Rob, and Puthumai saw it as a great opportunity to expose us to rural
The previous post shows a few photos of our visit, so feel free to use them as a reference. The real photographer on our day trip was Rob, and I’ll post some of his photos as soon as they become available.
We visited two hamlets, which (I think) are just groupings of huts and houses too small to be called a village. Almost twenty-four hours earlier Puthumai showed up on the doorstep of CKS with some of my dearest friends from home, Rob and Dan. We all had a full day of exuberance, laughing, disbelief, joking, celebrating, sharing, excitement, exploring, and so on. Visiting the Santhals did something to all that. It was disconcerting to float between that spirit and one of a much sadder reality that surrounded us. The night before, we enjoyed a well portioned meal, plenty of laughs, and even a few beers to top it off. It wouldn’t be stretching it to guess that the cost of that meal was equivalent to what a Santhal family’s spends on food for six months or more. There were constant reminders of the disparity between ‘us’ and ‘them’. Dan alone is a great example. He is a 6’3’’, healthy, strong person with clean teeth and no tapeworms. Imagine the amount of resources of all kinds it has taken to get him from 7lb8oz baby Dan to his current adult state. This example applies to anyone in the
Another thing that struck me was a traveling evangelical Indian preacher’s reactions to it all. We bumped into him when visiting one of the family homes, and at first he talked about how reading the Bible has changed his life and how important his studies have been. But when we started to walk away and say goodbye he began speaking openly about how the people there were living like animals. He said that exact phrase several times: like animals. I wasn’t sure if he was accusing them, angry at higher powers, or mad at us. Maybe it was the case that they did live like that, and that my hour long visit wasn’t enough to see how things truly were. Either way, it rocked me to hear. What I perceived throughout the visit was a group of dignified people living in difficult conditions. Was it pure ignorance and naiveté to be agitated by this man? If I saw the dignity, was I being insensitive to the squalor?
It would be easy to go on like this, and I’m sorry to do it. Of course, this isn’t news to anyone and I’m not trying to claim guilt. But there is value in articulating it, and I thank you for hearing me out. The last thing the IDIP program needs is for experiences like these to be lost on account of my shrinking short term memory.
Throughout the visits a wide range of thoughts and emotions came and went. It was easy to remain in a state of awe and wonder at how different these people lived. Sadly enough, the realities of their lives were kept at a safe and novel distance from my world. We did get to step inside some of the homes, see how the one water pump for the whole village worked, and watch men work in the fields. But I knew lunch would be on the table in a few hours and that my malaria pills were sitting on the shelf waiting for me. I knew I was safe, and that we didn’t have to make a twenty kilo bag of rice feed my family for six months. Our worlds remained apart.
Even in the midst of such bleak realities, there’s a beauty in it all. Of course, the physical beauty– their decorated homes, clothing, endless fields, little babies, energetic and curious kids, and happy cows. But there’s also beauty in what the future holds for the Santhals. We met a young man in one of the hamlets who spoke a bit of English and was full of smiles to have us there. Aside from that, he was learning biology, chemistry, and physics. What a world of difference he will be able to make in his community? If he is able to get a job someday and meet with moderate success, who is to say he won’t come back and teach or even start a school? Furthermore, these two hamlets are targets for one of Puthumai’s sponsorship programs, which supports the development of entire villages by helping individual families. It is still in the works, but will ensure that families have the capacity to feed, immunize, and educate their children. To me, this is beautiful. Making sure that kids can go to school near their own village so they don’t work in rice paddies their whole lives and remain indebted to the same landlord their parents were, and so they can feed their families more than two meals of rice and lentils a day, so they can enjoy sanitation systems, so they can flourish.
*I apologize for the inconsistent font sizes. I've been having troubles editing.
A larger mud home being built. The construction takes place in stages; adding a fresh layer as soon as the previous one dries. Only mud and a small amount of bamboo is used. No bricks.
This is Dan standing next to a structure made of paddy, which is what the plant is called before the rice grains are stripped from it. These structures act as storage while it dries.
Thanks again for your patience, and for hearing me out. There’s a lot coming at us IDIP’ers. For me, sharing bits and pieces of the experience seems like one of best ways to process it all. Take care everyone, you’re always in my thoughts.