Morning, day 2, and we're already trying to blag extra coffee from the YWCA staff to support our early starts. Yesterday is still sitting hard and cold in my stomach, and when Carolyn tells us we're to spend today at another rescued girls project-- this time much further out in the Mumbai slums-- I'm relieved I'm not the only one who doesn't think she's up to it.
After the previous day, when we got back together on Tuesday morning for our daily post-breakfast check-in, I could see I wasn't the only one feeling anxious--although I was definitely in the minority. Everyone picked words to describe how we felt, and while many people spoke something positive, all I could manage was 'apprehensive'. The skin-creeping feeling of poverty-tourist voyeurism hadn't gone yet. It felt too much like we'd abandoned those girls yesterday, running out the door when everything in me wanted to stay and comfort them, even in my own flaily useless way.
Our schedules changed daily, depending on what projects have space and time for us, and when Carolyn announced our team was going to spend the day with another girls' life-skills centre, Kshamata, my stomach was instantly in knots. I was edgy enough that just the thought of meeting more of these girls made me want to dissolve into tears. I hadn't expected it to affect me so much and it's the helplessness above everything. Seeing and being so little use.
But that was what we were there for, so we waited in the lobby for our cavalcade of taxis. Cherie-- who always seemed so positive and outgoing-- blagged a coffee from reception and we ended up sharing it, sitting in a wee anteroom and-- quite suddenly, because we realised we're going straight back out into this-- we were unloading everything we were feeling, all the hopelessness and apprehension and damn-straight fear, and (with relief) I realised it wasn't just me; we're on the same page. And the same words I tried to convince myself with before breakfast started to make way more sense: God can make best use of us when we're weak. Yesterday was all about us, how ready we were, what we could do. Today would have to be all on His say-so, and in His strength, because we were already exhausted.
So we took our taxi to the next project. It was a good two hours away, in another city altogether-- Thane, the 'City Of Lakes' (although we didn't see any)-- a much rougher part of town, packed with makeshift huts, wandering wildlife, an obscene amount of trash, prickled with satellite dishes and people people people absolutely everywhere.
Eventually we found our way to the centre of one of the clusters of slums. Kind of ashamed of how on-edge I was. But it's intimidating to stand out so much in a community you don't know, and feel like a tourist, everyone seeing me as some (another) random white-girl do-gooder come to made sad faces and stare. Which, of course, was pretty accurate.
Our schedules changed daily, depending on what projects have space and time for us, and when Carolyn announced our team was going to spend the day with another girls' life-skills centre, Kshamata, my stomach was instantly in knots. I was edgy enough that just the thought of meeting more of these girls made me want to dissolve into tears. I hadn't expected it to affect me so much and it's the helplessness above everything. Seeing and being so little use.
But that was what we were there for, so we waited in the lobby for our cavalcade of taxis. Cherie-- who always seemed so positive and outgoing-- blagged a coffee from reception and we ended up sharing it, sitting in a wee anteroom and-- quite suddenly, because we realised we're going straight back out into this-- we were unloading everything we were feeling, all the hopelessness and apprehension and damn-straight fear, and (with relief) I realised it wasn't just me; we're on the same page. And the same words I tried to convince myself with before breakfast started to make way more sense: God can make best use of us when we're weak. Yesterday was all about us, how ready we were, what we could do. Today would have to be all on His say-so, and in His strength, because we were already exhausted.
So we took our taxi to the next project. It was a good two hours away, in another city altogether-- Thane, the 'City Of Lakes' (although we didn't see any)-- a much rougher part of town, packed with makeshift huts, wandering wildlife, an obscene amount of trash, prickled with satellite dishes and people people people absolutely everywhere.
Eventually we found our way to the centre of one of the clusters of slums. Kind of ashamed of how on-edge I was. But it's intimidating to stand out so much in a community you don't know, and feel like a tourist, everyone seeing me as some (another) random white-girl do-gooder come to made sad faces and stare. Which, of course, was pretty accurate.
So we entered the Kshamata centre with a bit of trepidation-- not helped by the fact that the team clearly didn't realise we were going to be there. But with the usual Indian blaseness, Vasu deposited us with Mona and her girls and we stared at each other over the cool tile floor.
It was a much smaller set-up than Save Our Sisters. Just two rooms, four or five girls plus staff. None of them spoke particularly fluent English, so we tried to think of some games to break the ice that didn't use words. I was wary of patronising them (all the girls were late-teens early-twenties) but actually, we had alot of fun pretending to be random animals; quizzing the girls about their hopes and dreams via charades (complete with supporting cast and props) and I began to see how empowering this little project was. The girls wanted to get educated; become social workers; run their own businesses. It didn't surprise me that they had dreams-- but it made me really glad to see their hope, and it gave me back some of mine for those girls we left behind yesterday.
Turned out, there were lots of ways to get over our language barrier. After the games, we started on a bit of singing. We didn't do so well (and I was keeping entirely schum) but the youngest Indian girl there (I guess around fifteen) sang us a beautiful sad Hindi song, and it was clear it meant alot to her, as she started to tear up. I was reminded uncomfortably again of how broken these girls are and have been. I know Cherie, Elyse and I were all remembering the girls at Save Our Sisters.
Then, a beautiful thing happened. Over lunch (as I continued to struggle to eat curry with my hands) one of the girls, Zoah, reminded us that today was actually Rahsha Bandhan (not yesterday, as I'd though: we'd celebrated early at Save Our Sisters as the girl were not in for the actual holiday). Before we could react, that girl, Zoah-- with her giant smile--grabbed us and tied those little red threads around our wrists, hugged us, kissed us, HAPPY RAHSHA BANDHAN!!
My eyes welled up instantly. This was the moment to counter yesterday. This girl I didn't even know included me in a family, a community. Included me. Gave to me. It was astoundingly powerful. I tried my best not to cry.
It was a much smaller set-up than Save Our Sisters. Just two rooms, four or five girls plus staff. None of them spoke particularly fluent English, so we tried to think of some games to break the ice that didn't use words. I was wary of patronising them (all the girls were late-teens early-twenties) but actually, we had alot of fun pretending to be random animals; quizzing the girls about their hopes and dreams via charades (complete with supporting cast and props) and I began to see how empowering this little project was. The girls wanted to get educated; become social workers; run their own businesses. It didn't surprise me that they had dreams-- but it made me really glad to see their hope, and it gave me back some of mine for those girls we left behind yesterday.
Turned out, there were lots of ways to get over our language barrier. After the games, we started on a bit of singing. We didn't do so well (and I was keeping entirely schum) but the youngest Indian girl there (I guess around fifteen) sang us a beautiful sad Hindi song, and it was clear it meant alot to her, as she started to tear up. I was reminded uncomfortably again of how broken these girls are and have been. I know Cherie, Elyse and I were all remembering the girls at Save Our Sisters.
Then, a beautiful thing happened. Over lunch (as I continued to struggle to eat curry with my hands) one of the girls, Zoah, reminded us that today was actually Rahsha Bandhan (not yesterday, as I'd though: we'd celebrated early at Save Our Sisters as the girl were not in for the actual holiday). Before we could react, that girl, Zoah-- with her giant smile--grabbed us and tied those little red threads around our wrists, hugged us, kissed us, HAPPY RAHSHA BANDHAN!!
My eyes welled up instantly. This was the moment to counter yesterday. This girl I didn't even know included me in a family, a community. Included me. Gave to me. It was astoundingly powerful. I tried my best not to cry.
After lunch was alot quieter, as we let the girls get back to their work and their lessons-- IT tutorials, crafts, budgeting, cookery-- and spent some time talking to Mona, the leader of the centre. She echoed Vasu's sentiment that India's justice system is exquisite, but the corruption of the lawmakers and politicians prevents it from being fairly implemented. The people are sick of corruption, she said; sick of being downtrodden. She was visibly angry at a system that centralises all decent jobs in the metrocities and forces workers to live in slum conditions because there's nothing else they can afford, leaving their families vulnerable in the outlying villages. It feels like the largest part of India's population has been forgotten.
But Mona also urged us not to forget the other side of India: the culture and the beauty-- a side I wish we could have seen more of.
At the end of the afternoon, when our first taxi hadn't shown (we were getting nervous) Mona called us another one and we wandered outside the slum perimeter to wait for it. As we walked through the tin-roofed houses, all crushed into each other, I'm ashamed to admit I was scared someone would throw something at us; but they just looked with undisguised curiosity. You get used to being stared at in India, but it's not usually threatening. I wished I could have done more than wave, but I was also glad I didn't-- I'm shy by nature, and the gulf between me and those people seemed so impossibly huge.
Zoah held my hand as she led me out of the slum. She reminded me very, very much of one of my best friends at school. It was almost unnerving.
That evening-- our last in Mumbai-- we treated ourselves to a meal at Pizza Express ('Monsoon season special offer: FREE DRINK with every meal') and dessert at the French cafe next door. It was nice to relax, but so strange that Mumbai was already over-- and us, sickened and heartened in equal measure, with no answers to so many questions.
That night, I packed and watched Bollywood blockbusters on our little telly over the whirr of the ceiling fans and got absolutely nowhere in figuring out this insane city.
But Mona also urged us not to forget the other side of India: the culture and the beauty-- a side I wish we could have seen more of.
At the end of the afternoon, when our first taxi hadn't shown (we were getting nervous) Mona called us another one and we wandered outside the slum perimeter to wait for it. As we walked through the tin-roofed houses, all crushed into each other, I'm ashamed to admit I was scared someone would throw something at us; but they just looked with undisguised curiosity. You get used to being stared at in India, but it's not usually threatening. I wished I could have done more than wave, but I was also glad I didn't-- I'm shy by nature, and the gulf between me and those people seemed so impossibly huge.
Zoah held my hand as she led me out of the slum. She reminded me very, very much of one of my best friends at school. It was almost unnerving.
That evening-- our last in Mumbai-- we treated ourselves to a meal at Pizza Express ('Monsoon season special offer: FREE DRINK with every meal') and dessert at the French cafe next door. It was nice to relax, but so strange that Mumbai was already over-- and us, sickened and heartened in equal measure, with no answers to so many questions.
That night, I packed and watched Bollywood blockbusters on our little telly over the whirr of the ceiling fans and got absolutely nowhere in figuring out this insane city.