The Sisters

Verity takes too many risks and she laughs at Krista and I for taking too many precautions. We aren't eating meat here and Verity is drinkg water out of the tap. Verity threw up all night in the bathroom beside our room and this morning swore she would change her ways. So, she still felt sick this morning and had to cancel plans with us- we were to go with her and the sisters to the dispensary in a village outside of town.
Krista and I went anyway- and we are so glad we did.

Sister Margherite heads up all the dispensaries. Today was a medical trip, so topical ointments in gallon jars were being given out in small handfuls. Other times food rations or clothing will be passed out- there is a despensary project at Daya Dan that is a dermatology clinic where street people come so that volunteers can remove maggots from their wounds. I have a feeling Krista and I will be doing that sooner than later.

Anyway, Sister Margherite is in charge. She is a tough woman, and almost didn't allow us to join them today- she deferred the decision to Sister Andrea, a british doctor in her seventies who is Margherites superior. Sister Andrea has been here fifty years- prior to most of the major development of this city. Sister Andrea gave us the go ahead.

We climbed into the back of a turquoise truck- a bit like the army transport trucks, only bright green and full of nuns- and began the incredibly bumpy, teeth chattering ride to the village. I am trying think of an accurate way to describe the air here, it is almost like inhaling electrical smoke, and my lungs feel exhausted by it already. We passed grubby little tiled shrines and flower markets, vegetable markets with dirt floors, a fish market under a tin roof- the smell was overpowering and the sisters laughed at me when I pinched my nose.
We portioned out shortbread crackers into newspaper parcels as we said "Hail Mary" over and over again. I cut my hand on the tin container that the crackers were packaged in and Sister Mergherite looked at me with disdain- until she cut her hand five minutes later and I raised my eyebrows at her. Then she laughed under her breath and her posture loosened a little.

We arrive at the village and unloaded. There is no hospital close by so the Sisters deliver basic meds twice a month and whole families travel by bicycle or on foot to get here. Eczema is widespread here- alot of women complained about that. Scabies is a HUGE problem for the kids. A wall-eyed young woman thrust a limp little baby forward out of the crowd at one point. The baby was being eaten by scabies- the worst case all day, the mother and older brother had also contracted it. Krista asked to see the babies wrist to check for spread of the parasite and then shot a quick glance at me sideways as the mother unrolled the sleeve and revealed six little fingers on one hand.

I understand I think a little, after today, why people love medicine- why they pursue careers in it and study it for years. It must be such a wonderful feeling to identify a problem and be able to offer a cure. Krista LOVED our day today- she was able to help. She gave the sisters advice. She was a few cases today that she had only ever heard of.

We finished at 11:00 and boarded the truck again. The sisters brought candy to share on the way home and devoured it- sweet things have a short life expectancy in India- there is a sweet shop on every corner. On the way home we listened to Sister Margherite tell her story. She has been here or five years and was transferred in order to take over Sister Andrea's place, who is older and unable to travel like she once could. sister Margherite lived in Africa for fifteen years prior to moving here. She worked with the Sisters of Charity in Tanzania and Rwanda- in dusty little border villages. She said that civil war was at its peak when she was there- The sisters would lay the blue and white sari of their order on the roof so that the soldiers would not throw bombs into the center. Both sides of the battle would bring their sick and their injured to Sister Margherite- she made them lay their weopons down at the door, but she would admit them all. The soldiers also would bring the orphans to her- discarded children- some of them had been mamed, their arms or legs cut off. Sister Margherite took them all. Took them in though there was no electricity, no running water and hardly enough supplies. And she loved it- she said she loved every minute of it. She is one of the war heroes here- a five star general of the Sisters of Charity.

You would not believe these women. They have colored in a beautiful way what bravery looks like.

Had lunch with my buddy Johnny and then walked home through the Muslim district.Bought four oranges. Writing this really fast- I am going to do some push ups and take a shower.

Love you guys,
Ev

Sonagachi and the kiwis

Krista and I played hooky this morning. I hardly slept last night because I miss my bed back home- can't seem to get used to the wooden plank( literally a wooden plank) that we are sleeping on. Just one more way in which I have been pampered by the US. I slept through morning prayers and woke up at 5:15 am to shower and get ready for the day. Today was important- we had a meeting with modern day heroes.

I had arranged yesterday in  the internet cafe to meet Fleur- a fascinating little lady from New Zealand who is on full throttle all the time. We met Fleur at registration and she mentioned that while she was here she had to make her way to the Sonagachi district to visit the "kiwis" (native New Zealanders) who work there in a rehabilitation program for women rescued out of the sex industry. The project is call Freeset and I know of them through Kathryn York who just visited them with Chris a couple of months ago. I jumped at the chance to tag along.

After breakfast we grabbed a taxi and rode 20 minutes until the scenery began to change- People looked sicker, the women more haggard, the streets dirtier. We exited the cab and walked a few blocks, took a left into a narrow alley that then narrowed further, and then further still. I was on edge and maybe for good reason- the little I knew of that place was bad. Sonagachi is the worst red light district in this city. It is famous. It is old and set in its ways. And estimated 10,000 women work this district-some out of brothels, some out of their homes. They have a union. Most of their husbands are cruel and coupled with the high substance abuse common to this neighborhood- they force their wives and daughters into exploitation, their addictions require it. Aids is absolutely rampant here and India is expected to surpass Africa for outbreaks either this year or the next

10,000 women and young girls, some of them no more than 7 years old, kidnapped and drugged and taken from their rural villages or across borders of their native countries. 20,000 men who grew up in this culture, or really this subculture of Indian culture- without fathers, without models, without any idea of wrongdoing in their cruelty. 30,000 exchanges within every 24 hour period and then add in all the children that this lifestyle produces.

I have never seen women reduced to rags. My eyes are full of tears as I write this.

We ducked into a cool dark building through a small gate and then joined the gathering, the bible study- the cieling to our right opened up to a courtyard in the midst of this three strory building and on the floor of this courtyard the women sat. Like jewels in the bottom of an old worn jewelry box, wearing saris of every color, gold rings in their ears and noses, tidy hair and white teeth. Some of them had been intentionally disfigured, scars ripped through their faces. A couple of them smiled when we acknowledged the beautiful children that climbed on their shoulders, most of them stared at the floor- they had the look of Job, maybe thats how I would describe it- having lost everything with no promise of return and sitting in ashes. Absolutely spent, poured out, wasted. But exuding bravery, and the steely determination of prisoners of war.

The message was given in Bengali by Allister, perhaps 65 years old, a doctor from London who moved to Kolkata 3 years ago with his wife to work in this district and more specifically to work with Freeset, helping to aid women suffering from Aids. The message dismissed and the women ran up the flights of stairs and to their stations and the mood was immediately lightened as their hands found purpose in their work. At freeset, the women are trained to sew. They make t-shirts and jute bags- and their work is flawless. They are taught to read and write and navigated through the basics of math so that they can fend for themselves, at least a little in the unkind world they live in.

The Hilton family founded freeset. They moved to Kolkata 10 years ago and into this neighborhood they live in this building- though they have two teenage kids of their own and older children at home in New Zealand. They have committed their days to the women who walk these streets at night. They are the Mother Teresa's of Sonagachi. Over the past five years their work has blossomed here and the 20 women they started working with has swelled to 150 or more. New girls arrive every day, in tears and desperate for redemption.

We toured the facility with Dan, also from NZ who commited 6 months to Freeset after he visited the workshop a year ago( Kat, Dan says "hi"). Dan encouraged us to talk to the women who were transformed at their posts- they laughed at what we wore, the said good morning to us in Hindi- they chatted easily with eachother.We met Steve, again from NZ. A big, handsome, jolly guy who makes people laugh in the way only a New Zealander can. Steve moved his family here a couple of years ago, wife, baby girls and young sons. Their little community was hard at work preparing a permanent home for Steve and his family- making a home out of a slumping, dusty, old, dangerous building. Such a perfect picture of the rebirth that takes place here every day.

We walked down a horribly filthy alley and past two brothels toward the river. I was afraid- how does anyone get used to this place? Men were bathing in the doorways, some sat crumpled in a drug induced coma. Children played in the dirt half clothed and dogs fought eachother for scraps from smoking little kitchens. A right and then another right, left through an unmarked door, up six flights of stairs through three apartments and into the Love Kolkata Arts offices. Lorenna is a soft-spoken motherly figure, warm and gentle and full of comfort. She is from NZ and has lived here for 11 years with her husband, a dutchmen from NZ. They work tirelessly in a hot, cramped little office. Their work is similar to Freeset only they make cards and journals and manufacture water purification systems hoping to befriend little girls before they enter the industry. We talked with them and hugged them goodbye.

As we walked back through the little corridors back to the main street- we passed all the girls from Freeset who were heading home on mid-day break. They all looked up and smiled. The Hiltons insist that the women not leave this neighborhood, but stay and exact change from the inside out. They are teaching them to make better choices. They have not even spared themselves but have sacrificed the comfort of their own homes, the familiarity of their own countries to reach these women, and I am telling you- every day here is a very real sacrifice. This is bravery and love on a level I have never seen before.

Look them up and see what they do- find a way to participate if you can in "Sari Bari", "Freeset" and "Love Kolkata Arts".

Goodnight all.

Ev

Kahli Temple

Today we slept in. It's our day off. We walked with our neighbors Verity and Sophia, three blocks down the street in the busy morning traffic of Thursday and into the dimly lit, empty restaurant of a hotel. "Expensive" breakfast this morning because the mother house was not open today. So we paid the equivalent of $2.00 for "frenchtoast", scrambled eggs and chai. Krista and I listened like two kids tuned into Saturday morning cartoons as Verity gave us a few hilarious stories about herself. Verity is 28 and catholic, grew up in the suburbs of London, and has volunteered at the Mother house for 11 yrs. She briefly lived in New York as a caretaker for a nun who wrote a famous book about Mother Teresa. There she dated a 62 yr old jewish cardiologist and fell in love. When, on her birthday months later she threw a leopard print shoe at him and accidently hit a police officer she was arrested and bailed out by the sister, her relationship came to a halt. She is hilarious. Heavy accent and a wild artistic style of dress which hints at a desire to stand out rather than fade into the background as Krista and I hope to do.Verity is golden and in high demand here in Kolkata- everyone knows her and the sisters rely on her heavily. She is more at home here than in London.

We parted ways with Verity and Krista, Sophie and I headed back to the guesthouse to meet three of Sophie's friends from Spain- none of them spoke English, all of them in their 50's maybe- I recognized them from Prem Dan yesterday. They were leaving India this evening and said tearful goodbyes to the patients of Prem Dan yesterday. One of them is a nurse and was excited to meet Krista, as she hopes I am sure, Krista will take her place.

Anyway- these ladies took us on an adventure. We saw ALOT of Kolkata today. The Victoria Memorial- a huge beautiful white marble structure with manicured lawns- a remnant from the british colonization. Packed with documents, and paintings , and tourists. No photography allowed- The cieling of the main hall was high and domed with clarestory windows, european style decoration and an oculus - trapped birds flew around and around near the top and light poured in cutting the stagnant pale air inside with white shafts. I took a video of that cieling with my flip camera. I couldnt resist. Thanks Pete for giving me a departing gift that makes me feel like a spy. The guards that patrolled the memorial carried rifles- they didnt have a clue.

Then a grand tour of the city- 17 million people call this place home. Of course, there is no way to possibly know if that figure is true. That is probably a modest estimate. Our cab took us down winding streets, over the Hooghley river, I think it was, on first the old bridge and then the new suspension bridge- the first major large construction project the city has commisioned. I held my breath the whole time we crossed it. Who knows how stable that is?

We drove past the train station and twenty minutes later into the Kalighat district- the oldest in Kolkata. This city is named for Kali, the goddess of death and distruction- often pictured as a woman with her tounge elongated and outstretched and her many hands grasping the hair of her victims severed heads. Bloody and violent- I wish I understood the symbolism in her images and how this supposedly translates into hope and peace as the hindu belief claims. I do know this though- the temple we visited today is considered the most important of the five in Kolkata.

We were given a tour of the temple by a freindly man who greeted us with blessings of health and prosperity. He led us down the aile where they slaughter male goats every morning and a male bull once every year. Blood and dirt and grime covered the floor and made it dark and sticky and women stood barefooted in the mess and swatted at flies as they laid flowered garlands on the killing place inside the stall. The air was thick and choking with the sickly sweet smell of decay and a fog of incense. They sacrificed a child a year here for two hundred years. It is dark- in every way you can imagine.

We caught a glimpse of the goddess- in the packed shrine. Her three eyes and black face- then on to the pool of her husband and his shrine. The pool is shallow and  rectangular and houses the dirty holy waters of the Ghanges river which has been piped in. People come here to bathe- a middle aged man of skin and bones, heavy with illness weakly pulled at his clothes on the edge of the water beside a woman bathing her baby boy.

We were taken one by one to the god's shrine where we were painted with the red ash on our forehead- blessed with long life, health, prosperity and a good marriage in the future and then forcefully encouraged by four men to empty our wallets as a donation to the temples kitchen and in honor of our family name. No thanks.

Such a sharp contrast to the work taking place in Mother's houses. She is respected by every person in this supersticious place. She was such a light here and her work has prospered in her absence. I am honored to be here in her home, with her family and among the people she poured her life out to love.

I am finding my way here.Tomorrow I go to Freeset ministries to meet Kathryn York's friends there. They are a New Zealand family with an amazing story- look up there website and see what they do.

 Today is done friends. I love you guys

Ev

Two degrees of seperation.

The Kearneys really are famous! So on the bus this morning on the way to Prem Dan- Krista and I met one of the only three Americans I have seen here. Johnny is from Portland Oregon and knows Patrick and Matt- or at least has mutual friends. UNBELIEVABLE!!!! In Kolkata- and riding on the same bus. I am still shocked and so so so happy! Johnny has been here for two weeks- and will be here volunteering in the same house the rest of our stay here.

Work again was wonderful- laundrey. Then Chai break, then serving lunch and sitting with the patients, dishes, and putting them down for daytime naps. The little lady with the glasses that I told you about is named Amahlla (I think). She and her friend Martha run the show- they have seniority- they have been patients for 11 years and they get what they want. She looks fragile but, I'm telling you- she could knock me down if whe wanted. Perpetual smile on that face. She nearly pushed a little blind woman off the bench so I could sit down and Martha shoved another patient-HARD- so that Krista could sit on the other side. They like us, luckily. She doesnt speak English but here is what she comunicated to me through sign language. "The food here sucks. Not enough salt. Don't tell the sisters I said so." With that said, Amahlla disappeared and reappeared almost immediately with a handful of salt she swiped from the volunteers break table- which she must do all the time. She then grinned and sat with her hands folded angelicly in her lap until lunch trays came around and she kicked me in the shins to get up and bring her lunch. Unbelievable. I know my place.

The other woman I told you about- the one that had been horribly disfigured...we are piecing together her story. She is young- probably younger than me. Krista spoke with her yesterday and she has the voice of a child. She is completely aware of everything around her and speaks English. Quiet and polite and suffering in a way that no one can imagine. Her mother-in-law threw acid in her face. Apparently common because two more burn victims arrived today and it is typically a crime committed in the home- I shouldnt say crime. Crime implies that someone was prosecuted. They are simply victims. I cannot tell you what it has done to my heart to be in this center for only two afternoons. I feel like my soul has been torn apart and sewn together and then ripped again- over and over. At the end of every gruesome thing there is something light-hearted- on the other side of that something that will make my eyes fill with tears, and then Amallah, who makes me laugh and Ghita who makes me dance. I want this experience for all of you. I am already changed a little. We washed dishes and kissed them goodbye.

Krista, Johnny, Anna (the 20 yr old gal from Barcelona we met yesterday ) and I flagged an autorickshaw after work (yes, I know, I said never again. Unfortunately it is impossible to avoid riding in these.) and we headed to Sutter Street-where Johnny and Anna live for lunch. The majority of the volunteers live here. It is Brooklyn, only unbelievably dirty and exotic. The lodgings there make our digs look posh. We ate at a little "cafe"- really just a stand with a tarp over it and christmas lights and cd's hanging from red thread as decoration. WE FOUND FOOD!!!! It cost pennies and it tasted so good. Krista and I are so excited. Excited that we are not eating bread again, like we have been.

then to the top of Johnny's hotel where he made us coffee- a luxury- on the roof and we sipped out of terra cotta pots. We talked about the Enniegram. Surprise surprise. And then Krista and I walked home all by ourselves, through the muslim district, past the meat market and Shanti Bhaven, one of Mother's houses. We walked confidently- today was a good day.

Pushups and situps on the roof. Internet cafe. I am headed to the shower to try to scrub the stink off of me- not likely to happen...and then dinner and bed. Off tomorrow so maybe the Kolkata flower market.

This day is done- whaever it is- Wednesday I think.

Namaste ya'll,

Ev

Prem Dan

Awake again at 4:30 am. Brushing teeth outside in our bathroom in the dark. Black crows watching from the railing. Hurried downstairs and into the alley to the door of the mother house for morning prayers. Listened as the sister unlocked the five heavy locks that keep the door secure during the night.

The priest visiting from Ireland keeps falling aleep during the message and Krista and I nudge eachother and giggle. Many of the sister and volunteers are coughing. Hopefully not from TB or some airborn infection- more likely from the horrible sooty quality of the air here. I kept my scarf wrapped around my face this morning- seemed to help.

Breakfast again of bread, chai and bananas. Then onto bus 202 which would f\deliver us two block from our destination of Prem Dan, the second and larger of the two hospice centers, Kalighat being the first. We walked through the narrow, dark alleys of the slum that surrounds the compound. Surprising that this place looks, smells, and sounds so dangerous but it apparently is one of the safest places (as far as violent crime rates go ) to travel for foreigners in all of India. Entered through a solid metal door inset in the heavy walls and was surprised at the beauty of this house. Grey spackled concrete walls with green shutters, palm trees and flowers- more closely like a florida development than a home for the destitute and dying. What a relief. the first two hours we washed clothes and linens by hand under a partially covered portico. The volunteers stood in a long line against a counter that ran the length of the building in which deep concrete sinks had been cut. Pleasant work. Krista was on my right and Anna, a 20 year old civil engineer from Spain on my right. anna said that in the months of July and August over 80% of the volunteers are from Spain. Krista nodded toward the end of the line and Iglanced over to see a patient- the first one I laid eyes on. This was a test.

The woman was sitting in the sun, motionless, like a statue. a thin cotton blanket wrapped around her body. Such a small frame she didnt even look real. She was missing both eyes, and her right eye socket had an infection, her skin was discolored in certain places and was stretched tight over her face. A possible bacterial infection or injury of some kind had torn at her face on the left side so that you could see all of her teeth and her tounge flicked in and out of her mouth.  I couldnt help but shudder. I watched her out of the corner of my eye for a few minutes and then saw one of the sisters, dressed all in white- a sturdy, deliberate woman- the kind that you obey the first time she asks you to- lead the woman by the hand into the center. I may not ever forget that picture. Krista and I finished and followed them inside- I was trembling a little, honestly.

This place is home to 130 men and 130 women all dying of anything you can imagine. TB, organ failure, burn victims...it is what it says- the home for the sick, the destitute and the dying. the first floor of the womens ward is for the patients who have only a few days left. The second floor for younger stronger women who maybe have a matter of months. Prem Dan is beautiful in its simplicity- making US nursing homes look like prisons really. Wall ceilings, white walls, large windows with green shutters....little iron beds with tiny Indian bodies. Rows after rows of them. I walked around timidly at first until I made eye contact with a little lady sitting ubright against the wall- she looked like she could have been in an animated movie. She was wrapped in a plaid blanket and had a mop of white hair, all of her probably weighing no more than 60 pounds. but she wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that made her eyes look huge and she smiled toothless smile and patted the bench beside her. I sat down and she held my hand and spoke to me in Bengali as though I understood every word. She introduced me to her friends, asked me questions, and showed me the bracelets around each of her tiny wrists. Every four seconds she would pause...blink three times...and grin.

I met a woman who appeared to be in her eighties- she was 49. She was missing her right ear, her left eye and her left leg had been mangled in a car accident but she was full of joy and laughed easily. She chanted "Twinkle twinkle little star" to me in broken english. Beside her a young, healthy looking woman appearing to be my age -I took by mistake as a volunteer. She hugged me and kissed my face calling me friend over and over again in Bengali. Ghita, a patient of Prem Dahn is dying of TB at the age of 11 or 12- she doesnt know for sure how old she is- her baby is dying in Shanti Dan- another house on the other side of town of TB as well.

We fed the women lunch. Washed dishes. Rubbed aching backs and sore legs and painting fingernails (which the patients INSIST that you do- they love this! some of them have red fingernails on one hand, blue on the other, and pink toenails).  Then back to bed for afternoon nap.

We grabbed our things and left the compound at 12:30. Krista and I are new and timid about getting around in this crazy place. We followed three girls through the maze of shacks in the slum- which was an experience I will record a video of in the days to follow- over two busy railways and out into the main street where we caught an auto rickshaw- a cross between a dirtbike and a clown car. sets four people total- often accomodates eight. There were six in ours. Our driver cut across four lanes of a busy highway-perpendicular to traffic-and we came within inches of a head-on collision with a full sized taxi and a massive pile up. That is the last time I ride one of those. Two weeks ago apparently three italian guys were riding in an auto rickshaw and were involved in a wreck. They broke their arms and legs and caught the next flight back to Italy- which is 10 hours- only to avoid being seen by doctors in this city. It is apparenty that bad.

Pray for us. Krista and I have to laugh about the crazy things that happen here. Volunteers are getting sick. Terms like Typohid and Cholera are being thrown around- maybe, hopefully, probably an exaggeration on the truth. Doctors here enter people apartments and draw blood without permission and without steralized instruments- totally weird. Krista and I are not down with that and will follow the Italians lead and jump on a plane home if anything requiring medical attention occurs. Dont worry. But do pray. I would love to get out of here unscathed.

Love to you all. The third day is done.

Ev

We have arrived.

After an incredibly long two days of travel. Krista and I made it to the Kolkata airport. The air here smells like what you would imagine a temple would smell like- damp air and earth. We got in a cue for a prepaid taxi and I have to say the taxi ride was amazing- though it does take a minute to get used to the traffic here. The buildings here are something out of a movie, and amazing movie with an amazing art director...all in disrepair but at one time regal and perhaps the aging process makes them more beautiful.

The beauty and the filth here are in sharp contrast . There is a photo op around every corner and oh how I wish I was a photographer.

We checked into our rooms at the Bely guest house which shares an alley with the Mother House. I could lean over my balcony and almost tough its gray concrete walls. Krista and i have a simple room with a bathroom which we share with two other girls and a balcony with lines for drying clothes- we are on the top floor so at night it feels a bit like sleeping in a bird nest with all the activity happening beneath you.

Last night- which ended for us at 6pm- that is 6am Nashville time...I slept better than expected though the noise of traffic is so foreign and unfamiliar. Traffic runs loudly until 2am when it abruptly stops and everyone sleeps- except for the street dogs which fight underneath our window. Then the muslim call to prayer begins at a low wail at 4am and traffic begins again.

Krista and i were up at 4;30 am and the mother house for prayer at 5. then adoration service til 7 and breakfast- which consisted of the best chai I have ever had- fresh bananas and bread. From there we got a day pass to Daya Dan- the house for mentally and physically handicapped children from 6-15 years old. We washed laundrey by hand in buckets and carried the wet clothes up five flights of stairs to be hung on the line. Then were paired off with a child for "school". I worked with a little boy with cerebral palsey named Bernard. Sweet spirit and sharp as a tack. I was teaching him how to spell "cat", and "cow", and "dog"- and then when I had my back turned he scribbled "Mother Teresa". He was bored with my lesson plan. Ha!

We left the house at 11am and walked to sudder street- the westernized portion of Kolkata where-as it turns out - is NOT westernized at all. No way to describe the streets here- winding and twisting like thin veins of water throughcracks in a sidewalk. And I have no words for the traffic- the wild dogs, the trash, the motorbikes, cabs, buses, auto rickshaws all competeing for space and people cooking, bathing, selling things, napping, begging, urinating....on the sidewalks. The storefronts all look exactly the same- no distinguishable landmarks so it is nearly impossible to navigate. but walking down the street is an adventure!

I am off to dinner with our next door neighbor, Verity,  who is from England and has spent the last 11 years volunteering off and on at the missions.

Keep praying for us! we need it. I feel as though I have been gone for two weeks already. I love you all and thank you a thousand times over for encouraging me to come to this place which is sure to humble and refine me in the ways only an experience like this can.

Ev