"So, what's it like there?"
The most general question. And I'm about to hear it thousands of times. I know the heart behind it. I love the genuine interest. But I really hate answering that question.
We are leaving this home and headed to that home in a week. Packing, cleaning, visiting, goodbye-ing and lots of day-dreaming. How will I answer? What is this place like? I have a tragic lack of pictures, but I want to give a few answers. Why not try?
What's it like here?
It's hot, most of the time. Sometimes, I say it's freezing...when it's more like 65 degrees. My body has gotten used to it.
It's dirty and polluted. Trash is everywhere. Water is something I'm in fear of (what's in it?!). I should dust everyday. I wash my feet before bed. I notice when I smell grass because every other smell (diesel, trash burning, sewage) is all kind of normal.
It's vibrant. Color is everywhere. Saris and dump trucks and slum houses and milk packets are bright, multi-colored. The tropical climate makes things grow. Coconut trees and passion fruit vines, bananas and mangoes. Women sweep the streets (with their stick brooms) daily to gather up flowers the trees have dropped. What if they didn't sweep up the petals? Would we be covered in flowers by now?
It's dark. Idols, calls to worship, corruption, detailed criminal accounts. Abuse, intolerance and disdain on faces...creeping into my heart (out of my heart?).
People are everywhere. I always here people talking or working. The noise of a car or a pressure cooker. There are no quiet moments. There is no searching for a fellow traveler. There is always someone there.
It's quirky, frustrating, funny, endearing, infuriating. A lot depends on the mood. The store will be out of something but they always promise it will be there tomorrow. It won't be. But maybe later. And when I buy it, the clerk will not have change. There is never change. So he'll give me 3 rupees worth of candy. The candy is not good. And even though it's 3 rupees, it can make me mad. Or it can make me smile (because my kids don't have refined candy palates).
I saw 4 young men riding on two motorcycles today side by side passing back an wall-mount phone. What was that about?
Oxen pull carts. So do men. A cart may contain carpets, pots, garlic (just piles of garlic!) or any number of things for sale. A man comes by twice daily to deliver chai to security guards, maids, and others. Another man comes to call for newspaper recycling.
The electricity goes out often. The meetings always start late. Snacks and cold drinks are easy to come by.
My kids take baths in buckets, say "garden" when they mean "yard", take off their shoes automatically when entering a house, rejoice over imported cereal and occasionally bobble their heads.
Is that enough? No, I suppose not. What's it like here? "It's like that only." It's like home. It's not. And maybe I shouldn't be in dread of that question. Easy answers are not that interesting.
The most general question. And I'm about to hear it thousands of times. I know the heart behind it. I love the genuine interest. But I really hate answering that question.
We are leaving this home and headed to that home in a week. Packing, cleaning, visiting, goodbye-ing and lots of day-dreaming. How will I answer? What is this place like? I have a tragic lack of pictures, but I want to give a few answers. Why not try?
What's it like here?
It's hot, most of the time. Sometimes, I say it's freezing...when it's more like 65 degrees. My body has gotten used to it.It's dirty and polluted. Trash is everywhere. Water is something I'm in fear of (what's in it?!). I should dust everyday. I wash my feet before bed. I notice when I smell grass because every other smell (diesel, trash burning, sewage) is all kind of normal.
It's vibrant. Color is everywhere. Saris and dump trucks and slum houses and milk packets are bright, multi-colored. The tropical climate makes things grow. Coconut trees and passion fruit vines, bananas and mangoes. Women sweep the streets (with their stick brooms) daily to gather up flowers the trees have dropped. What if they didn't sweep up the petals? Would we be covered in flowers by now?
It's dark. Idols, calls to worship, corruption, detailed criminal accounts. Abuse, intolerance and disdain on faces...creeping into my heart (out of my heart?).
People are everywhere. I always here people talking or working. The noise of a car or a pressure cooker. There are no quiet moments. There is no searching for a fellow traveler. There is always someone there.
It's quirky, frustrating, funny, endearing, infuriating. A lot depends on the mood. The store will be out of something but they always promise it will be there tomorrow. It won't be. But maybe later. And when I buy it, the clerk will not have change. There is never change. So he'll give me 3 rupees worth of candy. The candy is not good. And even though it's 3 rupees, it can make me mad. Or it can make me smile (because my kids don't have refined candy palates).
I saw 4 young men riding on two motorcycles today side by side passing back an wall-mount phone. What was that about?
Oxen pull carts. So do men. A cart may contain carpets, pots, garlic (just piles of garlic!) or any number of things for sale. A man comes by twice daily to deliver chai to security guards, maids, and others. Another man comes to call for newspaper recycling.
The electricity goes out often. The meetings always start late. Snacks and cold drinks are easy to come by.
My kids take baths in buckets, say "garden" when they mean "yard", take off their shoes automatically when entering a house, rejoice over imported cereal and occasionally bobble their heads.
Is that enough? No, I suppose not. What's it like here? "It's like that only." It's like home. It's not. And maybe I shouldn't be in dread of that question. Easy answers are not that interesting.
Loved reading this. What are your HMA plans? Would love to hear. We'll be there this summer...-Rhianna
ReplyDeleteWe are HMA-ing Jan-July. Would love to hang out with you guys in Atlanta!
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