Hello everyone, and welcome to my last Indian Antics. Today I'll take you on a trip from the rural setting of Malkangiri into the bustling city of Mumbai (Bombay). Here we'll visit the slum areas, meet lots of interesting people as well as see some of the work being done in and around Mumbai by Churches of Christ partners. Then, all too suddenly, it will be time to conclude our Indian experience and come back to the familiarity of home. So, sit back and enjoy your last few days in India.
Recent News
I've been back in Australia for five hours now. Everything feels so surreal. The reality of sweet little Devonport just doesn't seem compatible with the reality of my last few months in India. They really are worlds apart - and I'm stuck with a foot in each. But this is a unique position and will not last long, so I want to write while everything is still fresh in my mind.
Farewell Malkangiri
Last Wednesday, my last day in Malkangiri, will remain in my memories forever. Together with all the RHS staff and about 50 local kids, I trooped down to the lakeside for another picnic. With most of my packing done, I was free to relax and enjoy everyone's company. Many of the children I was already familiar with from my neighbourhood, and I easily bonded with the others. Many of the kids begged me to stay on longer and were sad to see me go - the feelings were reciprocated. So it was with a certain sense of urgency that I made sure to make the most of every one of my last minutes in Malkangiri with my new friends. Rice, dahl and chicken curry on banana leaves, singing along with the bongo drum, splashing down at the water's edge, photos, fun and more photos. Dark bodies glistening in the hot sun, hands reaching out for my attention, sparkling white teeth flashing within their cheeky smiles - oh, I loved these kids. It was a fantastic afternoon, but all too soon it was time for the kids to be taken home . Waving goodbye as the van crossed the dam wall into the distance, I knew I'd miss them.
After packing up the rest of our picnic site I started walking back towards town along with a few of the other RHS staff. The sun sunk down over Malkangiri as we walked west. By the time the van had returned to get us we were walking by the moonlight. Back in town, I found out my photos were ready to pick up from the police (not a minute too early). Hopping on the back of the motorbike with Laban we had soon safely returned with those questionable photos – all clear!. Taking the opportunity to visit all the staff I started out again on the motorbike. Stopping first to see Joyti, her husband and two children, we enjoyed a hot cup of Indian tea and a good chat. Next stop was the 'bachelors' house. Along with Probakar, Ramesh, Laban and Amid were Antony and Sapan also. Sitting around on the cement floor of the single room all four of them called home, we ate left over rice and chicken from the picnic. Half way through our meal, the power failed, so our last meal together turned out to be by candlelight (quite appropriate). Crossing the road to the hospital grounds, I found Prakash, his wife and children, also eating in the dark. After saying farewell I followed Sapan back to his house and family. His daughter Ruth, and son Immanuel were already sound asleep, but I whispered goodbye to their peaceful sleeping bodies. By the time the rounds had been completed it was quite late, so I got into the rest of my packing - still by candlelight.
Malkangiri - Vizakapatnam
On Thursday morning the bus to Vizakapatnam was scheduled to leave at 4:00am. With my alarm set for 3:15am, I felt sure I'd have plenty of time - I didn't account for the possibility of sleeping straight through it. I was woken at 3:45am by a knock on the door, Dr Iris had come to see me off. Throwing on some clothes and shoving the rest of my things together I rushed out the door. Somehow I made it to the bus stand on town and was soon bouncing down the rough road in the cool darkness. In between dozing, I watched the sun rise and bring the beautiful countryside of Orissa into colour. Bouncing along on the bench seats, my pack between my legs and my stash of food beside me, the bus ride was a comfortable as a 10 hour bus ride can be on a pot-holed dirt road. After another bus ride I hopped into an auto-rickshaw in Vizakapatnam on my way to the Raj Kumar family's house. Here I spent the evening sitting on the roof playing chess with Ruth, their 20yo daughter. The sun slowly faded into the hazy horizon leaving me sitting in the darkness looking over the sprawling grey city and reflecting on my last days in Malkangiri.
Vizakapatnam - Mumbai
Friday morning I was off early to the airport. Due to bad weather the flight didn't leave until after 11am, so by the time I arrived in Mumbai and negotiated my way to the Bombay Christian Centre, it was already mid afternoon. Bombay Christian Centre is the base for outreach into the slum areas of Mumbai. It also has a boys hostel where guys from outside Mumbai can come and stay while the settle into work. The thirty guys from all around India stayed in five dormitory rooms. Back in Australia it is very unusual to find unmarried adults sleeping in the same room. But here in India, most people have never slept in a room alone – and most would prefer not too (scared of the dark). They’ve always had family members (often the whole family) sleeping in the same room, right up to when they leave with their marriage partner (and sometimes after). The auto-rickshaw ride through the outskirts of Mumbai had given me an interesting look at the world's second largest city. The mad traffic, the masses of people, luxury cars driving past congested slum areas, dirt and cows.
Friday evening I was able to visit a slum in the Sahtenoggar area. Arriving at the slum I was struck by the orderliness of it. From a distance it had seemed luck a pile of cast-off building parts scattered around. But close up, I found that these cast-off building parts were as ordered as they could be given the population density. Walking slowly down one of the larger streets, the shops looked amazingly like those in Malkangiri. Small, simple brick huts displaying colourful wares, each lighted by a single bare bulb hanging from a pole. Turning off onto a side lane no wider than a footpath, I walked into a residential area. Here I was approaching the edge of the slum area. The path had been built up 1.5m over the last couple of years to stay out of reach of the annual floods. The adjoining houses had not be raised with it however, so the houses were now half underground, small steps cut out leading down in the doorway of each house. After a while I was shown into one of these houses. Entering the single 3m by 6m room, I was seated on the only bed/seat/table. Behind my head was a TV, a cable channel showing the latest India vs England cricket game. A wash area in one corner, with the small gas stove just beside it. A family of ten lived here: Father, mother, one son, five daughters and the two baby children of these. One daughter sat in the back corner cutting up vegetables, the mother squatted before the stove, the eldest daughter fed her 3-month-old son, the other children sat on the ground. Before long we were joined by a group of children from the slum church and nearby streets. The smiling kids, dressed brightly in relatively clean clothes, enthusiastically entertained me with Hindi songs and smiles. After drinking a hot cup of chai, and spending a bit more time with the family I said goodbye, promising to come back on Sunday to visit their church.
Indian Republic Day
Saturday, Feb 26, is Republic Day. Walking the streets of the Chembur district I saw Indian flag after Indian flag, as the deeply patriotic people turned on their best colours for the holiday. Today was also the first day of a visit by a revered Sikh saint to Mumbai. A large festival area was set up for him, posters were distributed and big lighted images of him were all over the city. In the afternoon I was going through town with Sudhakar, a guy from Bombay Christian Centre, when we passed a huge parade. At first I thought it was for Republic Day, but then I saw a bearded, turbaned man sitting astride a mobile shrine. Behind the saint, thousands of Hindu devotees followed as the procession moved slowly though the streets. I wondered what was going through this man’s mind, as he received praise fit for a god – indeed, that is what he believed he was!
Together with Sudhakar I attended a Bollywood film called 'Khabi Khushi Khabie Gham' (It's all about loving your parents). A Hindi film, with snippets of English throughout, it was 3.5 hours of intense Indian drama. Typical of Indian film, the acting and huge amounts of music and dance make it more like a stage musical put on the screen. Also typical of Indian film, the story line reflected totally an Indian fantasy world, with very little resemblance to any of the parts of India I've seen. But as I sat in the theatre with the middle and upper class viewers sobbing their hearts out, it was a cultural experience in itself. The star actors and actresses developed a story in which a boy from a rich upper-caste falls in love with a low caste peasant (dressed better than I’d seen any Indian dress), only to be kicked out of his family. Years later when his brother comes to find him, he falls in love with the peasant girl’s sister but to the dissatisfaction of his father. In the end it they are all reunited and live happily ever after. Unfortunately, the prejudices such as caste and colour (lighter is better), are so ingrained in Hinduism and the Indian culture they w ill not be easily broken down. Even in solid Christian and other non-Hindu circles, most people would not think of marrying outside their own caste community. So, while government help to the underprivileged castes have helped, there is still a long, long way to go.
Slum Visits
On Sunday I had the opportunity to visit a number of churches in different slums. It was among these simple, friendly slum-dwellers that I felt most at home here in Mumbai. Walking through the narrow lanes I watched a group of three children pluck a small puppy out of the muddy drain and dry it off in the sun. As they squatted around the shivering puppy I couldn't help admiring the innocence and beauty of childhood – totally independent of race, colour or religion. Later that evening I enjoyed some north Indian food - chapatti, naan and papadams. In Orissa I'd been exposed to lots of rice and hot curries, but not to the milder curries and the breads of north India. So it was a nice change to have this north Indian food.
Off to Pune and Daund
Early Monday morning I set of by bus down to Pune. The rough journey through the steep hills took about four hours. In the city of Pune I met Dr Kolkator and his wife. A retired doctor from a mission hospital, he and his wife reminded me of my own Papa and Granny in Sydney. Before meeting another younger doctor for lunch we walked the streets of Pune looking at the shops. I was amused by the variety of security guards here. Outside one shop and uniformed guard sat, tapping a hockey stick across his knee. In front of another bank and guard sauntered with a five-foot double barrel shotgun. At the YMCA building I met Dr Philemon, the Indian doctor from the mission hospital in Daund that was started by Australian missionaries. Before making our way toward Daund we called in briefly at the Pune Church of Christ. The son of the minister here brought out a set of 'tabla' drums, a traditional Indian instrument. At only 12 years old he's completed all his exams on it and will get a tertiary degree in this art form next year. His hands moving like lightning, the demonstration was breathtaking. So many different sounds could be drawn from the two drums, so the variety of beats was endless. Making our way by Jeep to Daund we arrived at the hospital compound late in the evening. After meeting Dr Philemon's wife Shalini and his family, I was shown to an old residence out the back.
Ashwood Memorial Hospital, Daund
Tuesday morning was quite chilly as I took a morning walk around the complex. The place I'd stayed at was built in 1927, and was home to the first hospital staff, when the Ashwood Memorial Hospital opened in 1929. Since this time, multiple Australian missionary doctors have served the region. Now Australian doctors cannot work full-time at a mission hospital, so the only way for them to work is as volunteers. Now staffed by three full-time Indian doctors and many nurses, the hospital has around 30 beds including a basic ICU, theatre, X-ray and ultrasound facilities. As I got the grand tour I met many different patients, including one woman who had 25% burns after trying to commit suicide – an all too common event in India, which has such harsh expectations and stereotypes for the women to conform to. I also watched some work in the operating theatre and helped out in outpatients, noticing the cases were much more typical of the higher developed area. Many of the senior staff I talked to had memories of th e last Australian missionaries. Time and time again they told me that everything I saw happening here was the fruits of the first missionaries.
In the afternoon I was taken out to Shrigona Girl's Home. Started in 1918, it first provided homes for children of the 1918 encephalitis plague victims. Since then it has expanded to provide a home for 150 orphaned or poor girls, giving them good education. The boys are now at a separate boys’ home elsewhere. Leading the way in education for girls since its inception, now the school is now open for non-residents from the nearby towns. I was welcomed by the entire Junior school with flowers, music and dance. Touring the classrooms I met all the junior and senior schoolteachers. The new dormitories had been completed almost two year ago with the support of Churches of Christ Victoria and Tasmania, particularly the Women's Fellowship. It was great to see the direct results of the work, which seemed so remote to me while in Australia. Mrs Bonsle, the current head mistress, grew up as an orphan here and has fond memories of the first Australian missionaries who started up the centre.
Virtually all of the missionary work here was started as pioneering projects. For example, when opened in 1927, Ashwood Memorial Hospital was the only medical facility in the district. Now there are many other competing medical facilities, providing good quality care. However the mission hospital must still take responsibility for all the poor population, using the other fee-paying clients and some external funding to help subsidise medical care. So there is constant friction between providing quality care for low cost and attracting fee-paying clients to provide for these subsidies.
Back to Mumbai
Wednesday morning I said goodbye to the staff at Daund's Ashwood Memorial Hospital, and left for Mumbai on the train. I was glad I'd had the opportunity to see the work of a mission hospital here, and wondered about the possibility of coming back to a place such as this for my fifth year elective or internship.
Back in Mumbai in the afternoon, I had nothing planned for the remainder of my time in India. Taking my camera I decided to go for a walk. After fifteen minutes I came to the edge of the suburb's residential area and looked out over a slum city. With some nervousness I decided to intrude and have a look around. I crossed over onto the edge of the slum, passing a group of boys playing marbles in the dirt. A young girl was washing some cooking pots; she looked up and smiled as I took her photo. As I went a little further a woman came up and started talking to me with great animation. Soon a group of young guys had come up to join us. She apparently thought I was lost, so the boys offered to take me back to where I'd come from.
Walking across the edge of the slum, I proceeded slowly, trying to look around and take it all in. Passing through a game of cricket, we left the far end of the slum area. A group of about fifteen boys followed me all the way back to Bombay Christian Centre, talking with me in halting English about Australia, about me but mostly about cricket. I took their photo, much to their delight, then waved good-bye, glad I'd got up the courage to enter their slum neighbourhood. The slums were still very confusing for me; everyone seemed so comfortable living in such dirty, congested conditions. I saw more joy in my short time in the slums, than in rest of Mumbai. Indeed, I saw more satisfaction and graciousness here among piles of junk and rubble, than in half the spacious, well-built churches I’ve visited. The rest of the evening was spent repacking my gear and spending time with the other guys staying there. By the time I got to bed it was almost midnight.
Flight Home to Australia
My flight on Thursday left at 7:00am, so I'd set my alarm for 3:30am. Yet again I slept straight through it (could this be some sort of message), and didn't wake until 4:15. Washing quickly, I still managed to get out to the airport by 5:00am. After checking in I had time to spare so I went to freshen up. Unfortunately, while I was in the toilet my camera was taken from beside my bag. It took me a few minutes to realise, and by that time so many people had been in and out of the toilet I could do nothing. After going to the Airport Manager, I found that they could not register an official complaint, and was sent to the police. Running out of the airport to the closest police station, it was a race against time – and being in India, I knew the odds were heavily stacked against me. After sitting in the police station for almost fifteen minutes while the officer in charge went to the toilet, washed his face, did some stretches, made tea, checked news in the newspaper, the correct bits of paper were finally found and slowly filled out. I was caught between the urgency of the situation and irony that I should leave India on this note - saying goodbye to a Mumbai police officer, the worst possible stereotype of Indian corruption and laziness. Fortunately our encounter involved no bribes and I was able to run back to the airport in time to join the tail end of people boarding my flight.
The rest of my flights were uneventful. A two-hour stop over in Singapore - best airport I've ever seen - then back into Melbourne on Friday morning. A cool electrical storm flashed lightning around the plane on the way from Singapore. It was followed up by a beautiful sunrise painting the clouds in shades of pink and purple – a beautiful welcome to Australia. Before my trip I'd told my family I was coming back on Saturday Feb 2, and they'd efficiently passed it on to everyone else. I’d LIED! So as I turned up home at 10am on Friday, I successfully surprised them all. So sorry for lying to you all, but I think Mum appreciated the shock - it allowed her to avoid another 24hrs of worrying.
I have three week home in Tassie. My photos won't be ready for a while, but I'd like to invite you all (no matter if you know me well, or hardly know me at all) to get in touch with me and visit. Thank you for being apart of my experience, hopefully I have been able to pass on to you some of the many benefits I've received through these experiences. Please continue to remember India in your prayers, particularly Dr Iris Paul, the people of Malkangiri, and the work in Mumbai supported by Australian Churches of Christ Mission Board.
1.2.02
22.1.02
Indian Antics VIII
Greetings to you all! This will be my last letter from Malkangiri, so I'll take the opportunity to reflect with gratitude on all I've received. Reflect on Malkangiri, on the clinic and the villages, but mostly reflect on the people - patients, staff, friends and the strangers in the street. They are the reason I came here, and it is memories of them I will keep. So as we think of Malkangiri and its people, please keep them in your thoughts and prayers.
Just to keep you up to date, here are my plans for the next month. On Thursday 23rd I travel to Vizakapatnam, and from there to Mumbai. In Mumbai I will spend five days seeing the work in one of the slum areas, before finally flying back to Australia. I'll be back in Tasmania on Feb 3, then in Melbourne on Feb 23. I look forward to seeing many of you again soon, and should have plenty more photos and stories for you to share.
Recent News
Sitting here at the computer, I'm hot and sweaty from walking through the dusty Malkangiri streets. We have finished at the clinic for the day, so I took the opportunity to have perhaps my last slow walk from the clinic through town back to the office. With the stench of diesel fumes floating in the air I dodged the Jeeps and trucks leaving from the market place. Most of the sellers had closed up but, with the sun almost set, many villagers were only just leaving. Families walked, rode and travelled in Jeeps back home to their small villages. The market today was as busy as I've seen it. The colours as bright as ever, noises and smells as intoxicating as ever - great things to be etched on my mind as I leave Malkangiri.
Elephant Riding
Earlier today I had a ride on an elephant through town. As a 'holy' revered animal, it brings in much revenue for its owner. From three metres up, swaying and jolting on four tons of flesh, the view of Malkangiri was very different to any I've seen before. As we plodded through the market place, passers by would place coins on the elephant’s trunk, making gestures of reverence. Well trained, the elephant immediately passed the coin to its 'mahut' riding high on its back. The slow relaxing journey gave me time to really appreciate this small town I've lived in for two months. But while the town itself if lovely, it will be the people I will miss most. The staff, friends I've made and even the friendly stranger, eager to say hello and shake my hand.
The clinic today matched the market in its demand and intensity, finally seeing around thirty patients through the day. I guess this is not exceptional compared to some suburban GP’s, churning patients through every ten minutes. But throw into the eight hours of the market five X-rays, three ultrasounds as well as in-depth examinations, and it is pretty hectic. Among the presentations were a handful of veneral disease patients, a healthy pregnant woman, a few with urinary tract infections, kidney disease, digestive problems and some for re-evaluation. One young man, Denabandu, came in with eye damage he'd received from a rooster. His eye is now infected and has opacity due to the healing process, but he should recover well. Altogether, it was a very pleasant note on which to finish my clinic work.
Last Week
Last Wednesday turned out to be a quiet day at the clinic. Kutlamuji, the man with dizziness and fainting, was stable but still not recovering well. He'd stayed at the half-built hospital for two nights, so it was decided to refer him to an ear specialist in Vizakapatnam - 10 hours away by Jeep. We've not heard from him since, so hopefully he got on well there. We also dressed the wounds of Omar and Sharada. Omar's is healing beautifully; Sharada's is healing reasonably well, but slowly. Since all the NZ volunteers were departing the next morning, a dinner was arranged for all the staff and volunteers to attend. As the shadows grew longer, and the sun dipped toward the horizon, we gathered on the roof of the office. The great thing about bring houses here is that they all have large, flat rooves - great for parties. After singing a few songs and chatting, the food was brought. Sitting in a circle we unwrapped the bananna leaves, each with individual portions of rice. We were then served generous helpings of dahl and chicken curry - ah, wonderful. Matthew, Charlotte and Rebecca, the NZ medical volunteers, said a few words of thanks before accepting a gift from the staff. Matthew was given a shirt, while the girls were given saris (conveniently bringing Charlotte’s total sari haul to 20!).
Goodbye New Zealanders
Thursday morning I was up at 3:30am to see the New Zealanders off on the early morning bus. Getting a few more hours sleep I was up again at 6:00am to head off to the Kalimela clinic. It was a quiet ride to Kalimela in the van, without most of the volunteers. But we did have two visitors from Hebron school in Ooty, where David and Mary (Dr Iris' children) go. One of these ladies, Lois, comes from Melbourne, so it was good to be able to talk with another Aussie again. My final clinic day at Kalimela was fantastic. We saw over 25 patients, many of them children. I love kids; they're so honest, and so expressive even without speaking. The children this particular day included 9yo Manoj and 10yo Mithim (who weighed only 15kg), both with malaria. Another boy called Manoj came in with a skin rash. It turned out he had an enormous spleen, giving him a pot-bellied appearance. AN ultrasound showed that it was of uniform density, which means it is probably not cancerous. Dr Iris put him on her 'goodies', an assortment of vitamins, minerals and digestive enzymes, and will review him in a week. Surobi, a cute 9yo girl with a permanent smile, presented with digestive troubles. Stantheshi, a 10yo girl who'd had cerebral malaria as a child (often fatal in these areas), presented with apparent recurrence of malaria. All these children were a real pleasure to examine - makes me wonder about paediatrics for the future.
Among the adults who came were a couple of pregnant ladies, one of them, Padma, had dizziness and fainting, but fortunately the baby is developing well and she was soon feeling better after fluids. A couple of old men also came, one with advanced TB, the other with bad malaria, and a younger man, Herivayan, with a big abdominal hernia. We left the clinic at around 7:00pm after an extremely enjoyable day. Making our way through the now almost empty market place we began the two-hour journey back to Malkangiri.
Friday began with a morning of prayer and fasting as usual. During my morning run I'd noticed it was an overcast day, which had kept the muggy heat in. It improved little through the day, but did manage to keep the direct heat from the sun from beating down too hard. I handled the clinic with Guerdien (the Dutch nurse) and Amid (the newly employed lab assistant) throughout the early afternoon. I saw only a couple of patients, including Omar and Sharada, back for re-dressing of their wounds. The other patients were easily dealt with except for two women - a mother and her 19yo daughter. After taking a history and examining the daughter I was very confused. Examination was normal but she was complaining of pain down the right side of her face, neck and arm, dizziness, occasional fever, stomach pain and cold feet. Her mother’s history was just as vague - only she wouldn't let me examine her. Try as I might I could not elicit any more useful information, so I decided to wait for Dr Iris. Dr Iris had the answers within seconds of arrival. Apparently they both had profuse white discharge and had not wanted to tell me since I was a guy. In fact, the entire history I'd carefully gathered had been made up! In any case, Dr Iris was allowed to do a partial examination of the daughter, but the mother still refused any examination. After seeing them off, we closed the clinic and had a relaxing lunch together with the other staff.
Mission School
The plan for the afternoon was to go to a Christening in a small village out towards Mundiguda. While waiting for the others, I wandered through the local Indian Missionary Society (IMS) School. It had been started by Dr Iris's husband, RAC Paul, some thirty years ago and was handed over to IMS not long before his death. Many of the children, dressed in maroon shorts or skirts, and white shirts with matching maroon ties, were practising their marching for an upcoming competition. The smaller children were playing around the dusty, dirt playground. As I toured the dormitories, offices, church and classroom, I developed a following of curious children. A group of giggling girls came up and said politely "Hello, how are you?” "I'm fine, how are you?" I replied in Indian English fashion. They collapsed in giggles and ran back to the safety of their classroom. A few were a bit more confident in their English. Suman, a young boy whose family I'd visited a few days back, came up and said hello. We talked for a while, and then he asked if he could come for a run with me one morning. I hesitatingly agreed, and we settled on Sunday morning.
Village Christening
It was soon time to join the rest of the RHS staff in the van for the village where there was to be a christening. After two hours of bouncing along rutted, pot-holed dirt tracks we turned off the main road onto the village road. After manoeuvring through a paddock to avoid the branches overhanging the road, we made it safely to the village at around 6:00pm. The blaring music from the speakers along with the paper decorations and bamboo shelter, made the atmosphere reminiscent of many of the village Christmas programs. After a few songs from the local children and RHS literacy workers, the Reverend (I can’t remember his name, but I distinctly remember his hairy ears) spoke about names and children in the bible. The baby boy was brought forward and named, before we all broke for food. The dahl and curry was well dosed with chillies, so by the time I finished my face was glistening with sweat. The journey home was enjoyable, messing around with Probakar, Laban and Ramesh in the back of the van.
Saturday was a very relaxed day. Dr Iris had visitors from down south, so I ran the clinic for a few hours through the morning. After seeing only a handful of patients, we closed up and I headed back to do my washing and cleaning. Later in the afternoon I wandered outside onto the dirty street and squatted bare-footed with some of the neighbourhood kids. Passing around coins from Australia, New Zealand and England we talked as best we could in a mixture of Oriya and English. But just playing is communication enough with kids, and even without words, the effort in understanding brings a real sense of intimacy.
Delhi Belly (or Malkangiri Mess)
On Sunday I rose early for a morning jog. Suman, a young boy from down the road had begged to come along, so at 6:30am we met and set off. It turned into a morning walk, rather than a jog, but I didn’t mind since I was feeling a little queasy anyway. While returning from our walk we stopped by a river and watched an elephant bathe. Lying on its side, half submerged in the water, its owner splashed water up its legs, rubbing the dirt off. It was such a peaceful sight to see as the sun rose from behind the mountains. Unfortunately the peacefulness of Sunday ended there. I was sick the rest of the day with vomiting and fever.
Lakeside Party
By Monday morning, dosed up on Dr Iris' 'goodies', I was feeling much better. After seeing a few patients in the morning I set of for the children’s picnic program. Ramesh brought together all the children from the surrounding Koya tribes with whom he does literacy and evangelical work. After carting fifty kids to a lake just out of town we began the task of preparing food for them. While they were entertained with music and song, a huge pot of rice boiled, dahl bubbled and chickens were killed, plucked and cooked (that's what I call fresh meat!). Since it was Dr Iris’ birthday, she arrived a bit later and was greeted by a bright pink cake. Cake and chocolate was shared around - a treat for children and staff alike. Seated on the grass, with leaves on the ground in front of us, we enjoyed the rice, dahl and chicken curry in an eating position that I was now very comfortable with.
Later in the afternoon I indulged in a swim. Though cautioned about crocodiles, currents and other lake monsters, the swim was beautifully refreshing. I swam, floated and dived for about an hour, before getting out dirtier than I'd got in. But it was a swim, and that was all that mattered! The tribe’s children were taken home later in the evening and we packed up while we waited for the van to return. Lying on the bridge I looked up at the northern hemisphere sky, enjoying the serenity and clarity of the night sky.
There will be another picnic tomorrow, this time with Malkangiri town children. A beautiful note to leave Malkangiri on - children's voices floating in the air.But for now I must take care of logistics. I've got washing to do, cleaning to do, and then finally packing. Though I say goodbye to Malkangiri and its people, their joys, pains and problems will still remain. Please remember them here, and the workers among them, even without a 'man on the ground'.
Just to keep you up to date, here are my plans for the next month. On Thursday 23rd I travel to Vizakapatnam, and from there to Mumbai. In Mumbai I will spend five days seeing the work in one of the slum areas, before finally flying back to Australia. I'll be back in Tasmania on Feb 3, then in Melbourne on Feb 23. I look forward to seeing many of you again soon, and should have plenty more photos and stories for you to share.
Recent News
Sitting here at the computer, I'm hot and sweaty from walking through the dusty Malkangiri streets. We have finished at the clinic for the day, so I took the opportunity to have perhaps my last slow walk from the clinic through town back to the office. With the stench of diesel fumes floating in the air I dodged the Jeeps and trucks leaving from the market place. Most of the sellers had closed up but, with the sun almost set, many villagers were only just leaving. Families walked, rode and travelled in Jeeps back home to their small villages. The market today was as busy as I've seen it. The colours as bright as ever, noises and smells as intoxicating as ever - great things to be etched on my mind as I leave Malkangiri.
Elephant Riding
Earlier today I had a ride on an elephant through town. As a 'holy' revered animal, it brings in much revenue for its owner. From three metres up, swaying and jolting on four tons of flesh, the view of Malkangiri was very different to any I've seen before. As we plodded through the market place, passers by would place coins on the elephant’s trunk, making gestures of reverence. Well trained, the elephant immediately passed the coin to its 'mahut' riding high on its back. The slow relaxing journey gave me time to really appreciate this small town I've lived in for two months. But while the town itself if lovely, it will be the people I will miss most. The staff, friends I've made and even the friendly stranger, eager to say hello and shake my hand.
The clinic today matched the market in its demand and intensity, finally seeing around thirty patients through the day. I guess this is not exceptional compared to some suburban GP’s, churning patients through every ten minutes. But throw into the eight hours of the market five X-rays, three ultrasounds as well as in-depth examinations, and it is pretty hectic. Among the presentations were a handful of veneral disease patients, a healthy pregnant woman, a few with urinary tract infections, kidney disease, digestive problems and some for re-evaluation. One young man, Denabandu, came in with eye damage he'd received from a rooster. His eye is now infected and has opacity due to the healing process, but he should recover well. Altogether, it was a very pleasant note on which to finish my clinic work.
Last Week
Last Wednesday turned out to be a quiet day at the clinic. Kutlamuji, the man with dizziness and fainting, was stable but still not recovering well. He'd stayed at the half-built hospital for two nights, so it was decided to refer him to an ear specialist in Vizakapatnam - 10 hours away by Jeep. We've not heard from him since, so hopefully he got on well there. We also dressed the wounds of Omar and Sharada. Omar's is healing beautifully; Sharada's is healing reasonably well, but slowly. Since all the NZ volunteers were departing the next morning, a dinner was arranged for all the staff and volunteers to attend. As the shadows grew longer, and the sun dipped toward the horizon, we gathered on the roof of the office. The great thing about bring houses here is that they all have large, flat rooves - great for parties. After singing a few songs and chatting, the food was brought. Sitting in a circle we unwrapped the bananna leaves, each with individual portions of rice. We were then served generous helpings of dahl and chicken curry - ah, wonderful. Matthew, Charlotte and Rebecca, the NZ medical volunteers, said a few words of thanks before accepting a gift from the staff. Matthew was given a shirt, while the girls were given saris (conveniently bringing Charlotte’s total sari haul to 20!).
Goodbye New Zealanders
Thursday morning I was up at 3:30am to see the New Zealanders off on the early morning bus. Getting a few more hours sleep I was up again at 6:00am to head off to the Kalimela clinic. It was a quiet ride to Kalimela in the van, without most of the volunteers. But we did have two visitors from Hebron school in Ooty, where David and Mary (Dr Iris' children) go. One of these ladies, Lois, comes from Melbourne, so it was good to be able to talk with another Aussie again. My final clinic day at Kalimela was fantastic. We saw over 25 patients, many of them children. I love kids; they're so honest, and so expressive even without speaking. The children this particular day included 9yo Manoj and 10yo Mithim (who weighed only 15kg), both with malaria. Another boy called Manoj came in with a skin rash. It turned out he had an enormous spleen, giving him a pot-bellied appearance. AN ultrasound showed that it was of uniform density, which means it is probably not cancerous. Dr Iris put him on her 'goodies', an assortment of vitamins, minerals and digestive enzymes, and will review him in a week. Surobi, a cute 9yo girl with a permanent smile, presented with digestive troubles. Stantheshi, a 10yo girl who'd had cerebral malaria as a child (often fatal in these areas), presented with apparent recurrence of malaria. All these children were a real pleasure to examine - makes me wonder about paediatrics for the future.
Among the adults who came were a couple of pregnant ladies, one of them, Padma, had dizziness and fainting, but fortunately the baby is developing well and she was soon feeling better after fluids. A couple of old men also came, one with advanced TB, the other with bad malaria, and a younger man, Herivayan, with a big abdominal hernia. We left the clinic at around 7:00pm after an extremely enjoyable day. Making our way through the now almost empty market place we began the two-hour journey back to Malkangiri.
Friday began with a morning of prayer and fasting as usual. During my morning run I'd noticed it was an overcast day, which had kept the muggy heat in. It improved little through the day, but did manage to keep the direct heat from the sun from beating down too hard. I handled the clinic with Guerdien (the Dutch nurse) and Amid (the newly employed lab assistant) throughout the early afternoon. I saw only a couple of patients, including Omar and Sharada, back for re-dressing of their wounds. The other patients were easily dealt with except for two women - a mother and her 19yo daughter. After taking a history and examining the daughter I was very confused. Examination was normal but she was complaining of pain down the right side of her face, neck and arm, dizziness, occasional fever, stomach pain and cold feet. Her mother’s history was just as vague - only she wouldn't let me examine her. Try as I might I could not elicit any more useful information, so I decided to wait for Dr Iris. Dr Iris had the answers within seconds of arrival. Apparently they both had profuse white discharge and had not wanted to tell me since I was a guy. In fact, the entire history I'd carefully gathered had been made up! In any case, Dr Iris was allowed to do a partial examination of the daughter, but the mother still refused any examination. After seeing them off, we closed the clinic and had a relaxing lunch together with the other staff.
Mission School
The plan for the afternoon was to go to a Christening in a small village out towards Mundiguda. While waiting for the others, I wandered through the local Indian Missionary Society (IMS) School. It had been started by Dr Iris's husband, RAC Paul, some thirty years ago and was handed over to IMS not long before his death. Many of the children, dressed in maroon shorts or skirts, and white shirts with matching maroon ties, were practising their marching for an upcoming competition. The smaller children were playing around the dusty, dirt playground. As I toured the dormitories, offices, church and classroom, I developed a following of curious children. A group of giggling girls came up and said politely "Hello, how are you?” "I'm fine, how are you?" I replied in Indian English fashion. They collapsed in giggles and ran back to the safety of their classroom. A few were a bit more confident in their English. Suman, a young boy whose family I'd visited a few days back, came up and said hello. We talked for a while, and then he asked if he could come for a run with me one morning. I hesitatingly agreed, and we settled on Sunday morning.
Village Christening
It was soon time to join the rest of the RHS staff in the van for the village where there was to be a christening. After two hours of bouncing along rutted, pot-holed dirt tracks we turned off the main road onto the village road. After manoeuvring through a paddock to avoid the branches overhanging the road, we made it safely to the village at around 6:00pm. The blaring music from the speakers along with the paper decorations and bamboo shelter, made the atmosphere reminiscent of many of the village Christmas programs. After a few songs from the local children and RHS literacy workers, the Reverend (I can’t remember his name, but I distinctly remember his hairy ears) spoke about names and children in the bible. The baby boy was brought forward and named, before we all broke for food. The dahl and curry was well dosed with chillies, so by the time I finished my face was glistening with sweat. The journey home was enjoyable, messing around with Probakar, Laban and Ramesh in the back of the van.
Saturday was a very relaxed day. Dr Iris had visitors from down south, so I ran the clinic for a few hours through the morning. After seeing only a handful of patients, we closed up and I headed back to do my washing and cleaning. Later in the afternoon I wandered outside onto the dirty street and squatted bare-footed with some of the neighbourhood kids. Passing around coins from Australia, New Zealand and England we talked as best we could in a mixture of Oriya and English. But just playing is communication enough with kids, and even without words, the effort in understanding brings a real sense of intimacy.
Delhi Belly (or Malkangiri Mess)
On Sunday I rose early for a morning jog. Suman, a young boy from down the road had begged to come along, so at 6:30am we met and set off. It turned into a morning walk, rather than a jog, but I didn’t mind since I was feeling a little queasy anyway. While returning from our walk we stopped by a river and watched an elephant bathe. Lying on its side, half submerged in the water, its owner splashed water up its legs, rubbing the dirt off. It was such a peaceful sight to see as the sun rose from behind the mountains. Unfortunately the peacefulness of Sunday ended there. I was sick the rest of the day with vomiting and fever.
Lakeside Party
By Monday morning, dosed up on Dr Iris' 'goodies', I was feeling much better. After seeing a few patients in the morning I set of for the children’s picnic program. Ramesh brought together all the children from the surrounding Koya tribes with whom he does literacy and evangelical work. After carting fifty kids to a lake just out of town we began the task of preparing food for them. While they were entertained with music and song, a huge pot of rice boiled, dahl bubbled and chickens were killed, plucked and cooked (that's what I call fresh meat!). Since it was Dr Iris’ birthday, she arrived a bit later and was greeted by a bright pink cake. Cake and chocolate was shared around - a treat for children and staff alike. Seated on the grass, with leaves on the ground in front of us, we enjoyed the rice, dahl and chicken curry in an eating position that I was now very comfortable with.
Later in the afternoon I indulged in a swim. Though cautioned about crocodiles, currents and other lake monsters, the swim was beautifully refreshing. I swam, floated and dived for about an hour, before getting out dirtier than I'd got in. But it was a swim, and that was all that mattered! The tribe’s children were taken home later in the evening and we packed up while we waited for the van to return. Lying on the bridge I looked up at the northern hemisphere sky, enjoying the serenity and clarity of the night sky.
There will be another picnic tomorrow, this time with Malkangiri town children. A beautiful note to leave Malkangiri on - children's voices floating in the air.But for now I must take care of logistics. I've got washing to do, cleaning to do, and then finally packing. Though I say goodbye to Malkangiri and its people, their joys, pains and problems will still remain. Please remember them here, and the workers among them, even without a 'man on the ground'.
16.1.02
Indian Antics VII
Hello again, all the way from Malkangiri. With my time here in Malkangiri quickly drawing to a close I've been keeping busy with medical and other related work, so I'm sorry this email is a few days late. Today we'll see a bit more of the village life and people - though what we get a glimpse of today will not be its most attractive aspects. We'll also meet some new patients, as well as catch up with some of our old friends and see how they're doing. Thank you again for your support and prayers, I appreciate them greatly.
Recent News
Early morning in Malkangiri. Now that the chanting has stopped from the temple next door I can hear the birds outside and the noises of those going to work in the early dawn light. I've seen quite a few sunrises this week, as the sun rises later and later. The three days of rain we had at the start of last week is unheard of around this area. But it had a beautiful cleansing effect, washing the dusty dirt from leaves, houses as well as the horizon. This means sunrises are all the more beautiful with less of a brown haze on the horizon. The heat has returned to the day now, and the dust is also returning. And though it is as much a part of India has anything, it's one part I won’t especially miss.
In the drizzly morning rain last Tuesday, the weekly market was late to open. I wondered how the villagers coped in the monsoon season, with roads washed out and travel into Malkangiri very difficult. The slow trickle of people to the market also affected the clinic pace, and we saw very few patients until the afternoon. However it did end up to be quite a busy day and I didn't leave until almost 7pm. The patients presented with things such as malaria, eye disorders (which will probably never be corrected), lung and urinary tract infections, infertility and a particularly nasty leg ulcer. We also saw a 30yo woman who was brought in an auto-rickshaw with dizziness and fainting as well as vague pain. We were able to keep her under observation for most of the afternoon before sending her off much improved. Padma also returned for a check up. She was looking very good, her oedema had completely disappeared and she was now a quite attractive girl. Though her heart and liver were still massive it was very pleasing to see her progress and we shared her joy in seeing her be able to return to a relatively normal life.
Clinic Activity
On Wednesday we spent most of the day at the clinic again. One of the patients, a 40yo lady called Aruthy, would become very familiar to us over the next week. Presenting with profuse bleeding, she was an extremely animated and intense lady. Her husband meanwhile, was obviously content just to follow and consent to her every whim. Lying in the shade of the half-built hospital through the afternoon, we had given her medicines and were letting her rest. Going to check on her I found her yelling, "I'm dying, I'm dying" and throwing her sari off. She settled down with some Paracetamol and was sent home later in the evening. Over the next week she recovered, but turned up again yesterday, passionately describing some other ailment she's suffering from now. There are so many of these characters, and half the fun (and pain) of doctoring, is getting to know them. Other patients that day included Mongali, a woman with a urinary tract infection on top of malaria, and Reneke who had a ruptured ear drum.
Thursday morning was an early 6:30am start off to Kalimela. We stopped briefly on the way at an aquaduct that our driver, Sapan, had helped construct years earlier. Here we also saw huge sheaths of ‘jude’ drying. These sheaths of straw-like sticks will become hollow as they dry and serve as roofing material, lasting up to ten years. Unfortunately the fluids that drain from the also destroy the water of the rivers nearby. At the Kalimela clinic we were kept very busy. I remember one boy in particular who had an enormously enlarged spleen taking up the whole of the left side of his abdomen. Along with other medication, Dr Iris gave him a plant they call 'boj ora', or land-gooseberry. Though it's not a gooseberry at all, the small berries bear some resemblance. It is used crushed into a paste and eaten raw - very bitter. It is very good for liver function as well as for the spleen, and Dr Iris uses it quite regularly. We finished at 8pm and started the long drive back to Malkangiri in the dark.
Clinic is Quiet
On Friday we saw only a few patients. One of these was Omar, a 24yo man with a nasty wound on the back of his leg. It had started as an ulcer and he had put some sort of tribal remedy on it to help it 'ripen'. Unfortunately it had ripened a bit too much and burst open resulting in infection. As it was now it was a medium apple sized open wound about 1cm deep covered in pus and blood. Charlotte, the NZ medical student, loves pus and took joy in anaesthetising and cleaning out the wound. After dressing it, it was quite respectable and should heal up nicely. We have seen many infections such as these, which people leave far to long, risking systemic infection. Fortunately most have recovered quite quickly. It was also nice to see a healthy lady come for a check-up in her first pregnancy. Care for pregnant women and their newborns leaves much to be desired here so I was very happy to see her taking the initiative for the good of her baby.
In the quiet of the afternoon I wandered out the back of the clinic and looked across the golden fields toward the distant mountains. As a sat, I heard a chanting moving down the road from the town centre. There is no temples that close to here so I paid close attention. Soon I saw a group of young men walking along the road carrying a body. I soon realised that it was a corpse and this was a funeral procession out of town to the crematorium. The crematorium is a small brick structure, a do-it-yourself sort of place. It seemed very strange that a funeral here was so loud and so public, very different to closed casket, quiet western funerals. It certainly made the death seem very real though, even to unrelated observers.
Tula's Village
On Saturday we had another early start, setting off towards Tula’s village at 6:30am. The walk into the village was peaceful and quiet under a cloudless, sunny blue sky. But the news we received when we arrived quickly made the sunny sky turn grey. About two months ago a disari (medicine man/witch doctor) told Tula’s family that their house and land had evil spirits and Tula was sick because of a curse. They then packed up and moved into a tiny hut beside Tula's uncle's house. Their land, its produce and their house were sold off cheaply, some going to the disari himself. Most disaris take some produce, some money and lots of liquor for their services. And they are often influenced by others to put curses on people or land (as was probably the case with Tula’s family). Some of these disaris are just fakes, but many do have powers, doing such things as keeping chickens alive even as their organs are spilled out. Dr Iris herself has felt the curse placed upon herself, and tells of waking one night completely paralysed and being choked by some sort of black figure. After being released she woke her husband a found their mosquito net had been thrown back and the bolted door now wide open.
For Tula's family, the issue seemed over, that was until last Monday. A man called Gurutuba, from a nearby rival village, came to see Tula's father. An old belief among the tribals is that if a person gets sick under a curse but doesn't die, they must have a stronger magical power within them. This is seen as a threat to rival tribes. So Gurutuba came to take the magic away (i.e. destroy Tula and her family). Once this sort of animosity begins, it starts of small but quickly grows until a murder takes place. In this case, Gurutuba tried laying claim to a small fishpond belonging to Tula's family. Tula was alone at the time and tried to prevent him taking the fish. After a tug of war, Tula was thrown to the ground landing hard on her swollen belly. Meanwhile her father had returned and proceeded to have a verbal fight (very rarely are fights physical). As Gurutuba turned to leave, Tula's father threw a rock toward him, Gurutuba responded in the same way, his rock landing square on Tula's father's back.
Tula's father went to the police and laid charges paying 1000 rupees (all the money from his house, crops and land) then proceeded to the local hospital, where once of the RHS missionaries met him. Gurutuba likewise went to the police and paid 2000 rupees. When the RHS missionary went to police station it was obvious what was going to happen. The lawyers and police would continue taking money and making promises to both sides before finally leaving both families destitute.
This was the story up to date when we had arrived. As the conversation continued it became clear that Tula's family (particularly her mother) held Tula responsible. If Tula hadn't got better, Gurutuba or the disari would not have challenged them. At one stage Tula's mother told us that she wished Tula would die, because then Gurutuba would be blamed and locked away. (The truth is, he'd just pay a bit more and get away with it) I watched Tula as her mother said this in front of us all; she looked away, seemingly on the brink of tears. But it was not the first time she'd heard this, and probably not the last. Healthwise, Tula did worsen after she'd be pushed over. But now she seemed very stable and returning to health. As we left, Dr Iris, who's had her fair share of courtroom appearances, promised that they would try to sort something out. According to her the only resolution will be to face the police and pay to drop all the charges, thus avoiding more pain and ultimate destruction of the tribal families.
This sort of thing happens weekly, tribal families being raped by the very authorities there to protect them, simply because in their ignorance they are so very vulnerable. Many of the jail inmates have similar stories involving disaris, rival neighbours and corrupt officials, all leading to the destruction of the very families they were seeking to protect.
Red Nailpolish
Sunday was a relaxing day without any work, so in the afternoon I painted the fingernails on my left hand red as I’d seen many Indian men do. Showing it to Dr Iris I asked the meaning. She recoiled and burst out laughing. Apparently it is a sign of homosexuality (or rather, seeking male sex). Many married men with children get their sexual satisfaction with other guys, so that is why I’d seen it quite a lot. Needless to say, I didn’t wear it out in public.
Clinic Limitations
Monday was another clinic day. Kutlamuji, a 25yo man, was brought to the clinic in the afternoon with dizziness and fainting. When I examined him he was barely responsive and couldn’t even sit up by himself. He’s been staying at the hospital since then, slowly improving. It has now been decided to send him to Vizakapatnam to see an ear specialist, since it appears to be originating there. It is often frustrating not having the normal tests and specialist opinions close at hand here, but we do well with what we have. We also saw Sharada, a woman with a large open wound on her foot and ankle. Wounds like this are all too common here, simply because of bad hygiene and lack of knowledge about infection.
On Tuesday we had a busy market day clinic. A young child presented with malaria in the morning. Many children are very frightened of medical people due to their experiences with disaris. In this case, he was quite happy for me to examine him in my arms, but there was no way I could examine him lying on the table.
Markets and Saris
In the afternoon I walked up to the market as it was closing and wandered around, savouring the colours and smells which are so uniquely Indian, particularly tribal Indian. I looked and the fluorescent yellow and orange patterned saris so popular in villages hanging beside rows upon rows of sparkly bangles. Then I compared it to the simple blue checked lungis that the men wear - pretty boring in comparison. Later that evening I did learn to put on a sari, and after a few practises could even get the pleats looking half decent. Can’t let the girls have all the fun!
The differences here are impossible to articulate. Even after seeing it for myself, it will still be sinking in after I return. I must head off now. It’ll probably be a pretty relaxed day today, so maybe I’ll have time to catch up on my journal (entries are getting further and further apart). Some of the other volunteers leave tomorrow, so we’ll probably have a bit of a farewell for them too. Thanks once again for your letters and prayers. I hope your New Year’s resolutions haven’t fallen apart yet.
Recent News
Early morning in Malkangiri. Now that the chanting has stopped from the temple next door I can hear the birds outside and the noises of those going to work in the early dawn light. I've seen quite a few sunrises this week, as the sun rises later and later. The three days of rain we had at the start of last week is unheard of around this area. But it had a beautiful cleansing effect, washing the dusty dirt from leaves, houses as well as the horizon. This means sunrises are all the more beautiful with less of a brown haze on the horizon. The heat has returned to the day now, and the dust is also returning. And though it is as much a part of India has anything, it's one part I won’t especially miss.
In the drizzly morning rain last Tuesday, the weekly market was late to open. I wondered how the villagers coped in the monsoon season, with roads washed out and travel into Malkangiri very difficult. The slow trickle of people to the market also affected the clinic pace, and we saw very few patients until the afternoon. However it did end up to be quite a busy day and I didn't leave until almost 7pm. The patients presented with things such as malaria, eye disorders (which will probably never be corrected), lung and urinary tract infections, infertility and a particularly nasty leg ulcer. We also saw a 30yo woman who was brought in an auto-rickshaw with dizziness and fainting as well as vague pain. We were able to keep her under observation for most of the afternoon before sending her off much improved. Padma also returned for a check up. She was looking very good, her oedema had completely disappeared and she was now a quite attractive girl. Though her heart and liver were still massive it was very pleasing to see her progress and we shared her joy in seeing her be able to return to a relatively normal life.
Clinic Activity
On Wednesday we spent most of the day at the clinic again. One of the patients, a 40yo lady called Aruthy, would become very familiar to us over the next week. Presenting with profuse bleeding, she was an extremely animated and intense lady. Her husband meanwhile, was obviously content just to follow and consent to her every whim. Lying in the shade of the half-built hospital through the afternoon, we had given her medicines and were letting her rest. Going to check on her I found her yelling, "I'm dying, I'm dying" and throwing her sari off. She settled down with some Paracetamol and was sent home later in the evening. Over the next week she recovered, but turned up again yesterday, passionately describing some other ailment she's suffering from now. There are so many of these characters, and half the fun (and pain) of doctoring, is getting to know them. Other patients that day included Mongali, a woman with a urinary tract infection on top of malaria, and Reneke who had a ruptured ear drum.
Thursday morning was an early 6:30am start off to Kalimela. We stopped briefly on the way at an aquaduct that our driver, Sapan, had helped construct years earlier. Here we also saw huge sheaths of ‘jude’ drying. These sheaths of straw-like sticks will become hollow as they dry and serve as roofing material, lasting up to ten years. Unfortunately the fluids that drain from the also destroy the water of the rivers nearby. At the Kalimela clinic we were kept very busy. I remember one boy in particular who had an enormously enlarged spleen taking up the whole of the left side of his abdomen. Along with other medication, Dr Iris gave him a plant they call 'boj ora', or land-gooseberry. Though it's not a gooseberry at all, the small berries bear some resemblance. It is used crushed into a paste and eaten raw - very bitter. It is very good for liver function as well as for the spleen, and Dr Iris uses it quite regularly. We finished at 8pm and started the long drive back to Malkangiri in the dark.
Clinic is Quiet
On Friday we saw only a few patients. One of these was Omar, a 24yo man with a nasty wound on the back of his leg. It had started as an ulcer and he had put some sort of tribal remedy on it to help it 'ripen'. Unfortunately it had ripened a bit too much and burst open resulting in infection. As it was now it was a medium apple sized open wound about 1cm deep covered in pus and blood. Charlotte, the NZ medical student, loves pus and took joy in anaesthetising and cleaning out the wound. After dressing it, it was quite respectable and should heal up nicely. We have seen many infections such as these, which people leave far to long, risking systemic infection. Fortunately most have recovered quite quickly. It was also nice to see a healthy lady come for a check-up in her first pregnancy. Care for pregnant women and their newborns leaves much to be desired here so I was very happy to see her taking the initiative for the good of her baby.
In the quiet of the afternoon I wandered out the back of the clinic and looked across the golden fields toward the distant mountains. As a sat, I heard a chanting moving down the road from the town centre. There is no temples that close to here so I paid close attention. Soon I saw a group of young men walking along the road carrying a body. I soon realised that it was a corpse and this was a funeral procession out of town to the crematorium. The crematorium is a small brick structure, a do-it-yourself sort of place. It seemed very strange that a funeral here was so loud and so public, very different to closed casket, quiet western funerals. It certainly made the death seem very real though, even to unrelated observers.
Tula's Village
On Saturday we had another early start, setting off towards Tula’s village at 6:30am. The walk into the village was peaceful and quiet under a cloudless, sunny blue sky. But the news we received when we arrived quickly made the sunny sky turn grey. About two months ago a disari (medicine man/witch doctor) told Tula’s family that their house and land had evil spirits and Tula was sick because of a curse. They then packed up and moved into a tiny hut beside Tula's uncle's house. Their land, its produce and their house were sold off cheaply, some going to the disari himself. Most disaris take some produce, some money and lots of liquor for their services. And they are often influenced by others to put curses on people or land (as was probably the case with Tula’s family). Some of these disaris are just fakes, but many do have powers, doing such things as keeping chickens alive even as their organs are spilled out. Dr Iris herself has felt the curse placed upon herself, and tells of waking one night completely paralysed and being choked by some sort of black figure. After being released she woke her husband a found their mosquito net had been thrown back and the bolted door now wide open.
For Tula's family, the issue seemed over, that was until last Monday. A man called Gurutuba, from a nearby rival village, came to see Tula's father. An old belief among the tribals is that if a person gets sick under a curse but doesn't die, they must have a stronger magical power within them. This is seen as a threat to rival tribes. So Gurutuba came to take the magic away (i.e. destroy Tula and her family). Once this sort of animosity begins, it starts of small but quickly grows until a murder takes place. In this case, Gurutuba tried laying claim to a small fishpond belonging to Tula's family. Tula was alone at the time and tried to prevent him taking the fish. After a tug of war, Tula was thrown to the ground landing hard on her swollen belly. Meanwhile her father had returned and proceeded to have a verbal fight (very rarely are fights physical). As Gurutuba turned to leave, Tula's father threw a rock toward him, Gurutuba responded in the same way, his rock landing square on Tula's father's back.
Tula's father went to the police and laid charges paying 1000 rupees (all the money from his house, crops and land) then proceeded to the local hospital, where once of the RHS missionaries met him. Gurutuba likewise went to the police and paid 2000 rupees. When the RHS missionary went to police station it was obvious what was going to happen. The lawyers and police would continue taking money and making promises to both sides before finally leaving both families destitute.
This was the story up to date when we had arrived. As the conversation continued it became clear that Tula's family (particularly her mother) held Tula responsible. If Tula hadn't got better, Gurutuba or the disari would not have challenged them. At one stage Tula's mother told us that she wished Tula would die, because then Gurutuba would be blamed and locked away. (The truth is, he'd just pay a bit more and get away with it) I watched Tula as her mother said this in front of us all; she looked away, seemingly on the brink of tears. But it was not the first time she'd heard this, and probably not the last. Healthwise, Tula did worsen after she'd be pushed over. But now she seemed very stable and returning to health. As we left, Dr Iris, who's had her fair share of courtroom appearances, promised that they would try to sort something out. According to her the only resolution will be to face the police and pay to drop all the charges, thus avoiding more pain and ultimate destruction of the tribal families.
This sort of thing happens weekly, tribal families being raped by the very authorities there to protect them, simply because in their ignorance they are so very vulnerable. Many of the jail inmates have similar stories involving disaris, rival neighbours and corrupt officials, all leading to the destruction of the very families they were seeking to protect.
Red Nailpolish
Sunday was a relaxing day without any work, so in the afternoon I painted the fingernails on my left hand red as I’d seen many Indian men do. Showing it to Dr Iris I asked the meaning. She recoiled and burst out laughing. Apparently it is a sign of homosexuality (or rather, seeking male sex). Many married men with children get their sexual satisfaction with other guys, so that is why I’d seen it quite a lot. Needless to say, I didn’t wear it out in public.
Clinic Limitations
Monday was another clinic day. Kutlamuji, a 25yo man, was brought to the clinic in the afternoon with dizziness and fainting. When I examined him he was barely responsive and couldn’t even sit up by himself. He’s been staying at the hospital since then, slowly improving. It has now been decided to send him to Vizakapatnam to see an ear specialist, since it appears to be originating there. It is often frustrating not having the normal tests and specialist opinions close at hand here, but we do well with what we have. We also saw Sharada, a woman with a large open wound on her foot and ankle. Wounds like this are all too common here, simply because of bad hygiene and lack of knowledge about infection.
On Tuesday we had a busy market day clinic. A young child presented with malaria in the morning. Many children are very frightened of medical people due to their experiences with disaris. In this case, he was quite happy for me to examine him in my arms, but there was no way I could examine him lying on the table.
Markets and Saris
In the afternoon I walked up to the market as it was closing and wandered around, savouring the colours and smells which are so uniquely Indian, particularly tribal Indian. I looked and the fluorescent yellow and orange patterned saris so popular in villages hanging beside rows upon rows of sparkly bangles. Then I compared it to the simple blue checked lungis that the men wear - pretty boring in comparison. Later that evening I did learn to put on a sari, and after a few practises could even get the pleats looking half decent. Can’t let the girls have all the fun!
The differences here are impossible to articulate. Even after seeing it for myself, it will still be sinking in after I return. I must head off now. It’ll probably be a pretty relaxed day today, so maybe I’ll have time to catch up on my journal (entries are getting further and further apart). Some of the other volunteers leave tomorrow, so we’ll probably have a bit of a farewell for them too. Thanks once again for your letters and prayers. I hope your New Year’s resolutions haven’t fallen apart yet.
6.1.02
Indian Antics VI
Season's Greetings to you, and best wishes for the New Year. It's been two weeks since I last wrote but I’m back in Malkangiri now and all set to get back into work. Today you’ll celebrate Christmas with me in rural India, after which we'll take a trip down south for the New Year. We'll experience Indian trains, buses, horse carts, tractors and of course the auto-rickshaw, as we see the sights and meet the people. As always I'll leave you with some points for concern, and thank you for your ongoing prayers.
Recent News
Today is my first day in Malkangiri for ten days. The familiar sounds of the afternoon are welcoming and very relaxing. Even the 6am temple chants this morning were pleasantly homely. As we drove back here yesterday, I watched the scenery grow slowly more wild while its inhabitants became more and more rugged. These remote parts of Orissa are certainly the most beautiful parts of India that I’ve seen. The people live in comfortable harmony with the land they are dependent on, moulding into and complementing the landscape collage. It was for these people I came here six weeks ago and it was with some disappointment I was told we were going away for almost two weeks. Dr Iris was to attend the Interserve conference in Pune, along with most of the Interserve volunteers. Remo was to set up and run a stall for the Reaching Hand Society at a large students convention down in Bangalore. By the instruction of the local police, foreign volunteers were not to stay in Malkangiri 'alone', due to the terrorist activities of the Naxolite group. So I packed my bags and went south to Bangalore, along with Remo, Laban and Dave (the other Aussie). But before I get onto that, let's first backtrack to Christmas here in Malkangiri.
Behind Bars
You will remember me telling you of the many Christmas programs I helped out at - 17 in total. But the most interesting one by far, was the program in the local jail. On Christmas Eve (Monday) I’d finished up at the medical clinic and said goodbye to Padma, who was doing reasonably well. I then met up with Probakar, a 21yo literacy worker with RHS, and he dinked me to the jail on his bike. The Malkangiri jail is tucked in behind the police station. It accommodates around 200 male prisoners and 5 females. 70% of the inmates are non-caste tribals, 13% are local casted Indians, and 7% are other casted Indians caught for drug trafficking. Offences range from stealing and assault right up to murder (many of the women murdered their drunken husbands), and even child sacrifice. Two high caste men in there had been convicted of the latter. Apparently one of them had had a dream in which he was told to kill a child and thus uncover vast amounts of buried treasure. After kidnapping an innocent child, they cut out his tongue to prevent him screaming for help. Then, after torturing and mutilating the boy they left him to die. Needless to say, no treasure was found. On the other end of the scale, many of the tribals have had inadequate judicial support, and will remain imprisoned until a family member can pay their way out.
When workers from RHS first visited the jail it was a dirty, messy hole, covered in smelly filth. With the warden's permission they went to work with the inmates to clean the place up. Now there is an extensive vegetable patch, clean courtyards and no offensive smells. Over the years, RHS has supplied sports equipment, garden supplies, chairs and tables, typewriters, carom boards and recently some black and white TVs. They also run daily literacy programs for all interested prisoners, and a weekly church service. All three of the previous wardens received rapid promotion, largely because of this work, so the current warden is quietly supportive also. After entering the waiting area through a huge metal gate I sat down and surveyed the goings on of the prison. One by one prisoners would be escorted to barred windows to meet with family members. After ten minutes of supervised conversation, the family would usually give a bag of food to the prisoner. The guards would do a thorough examination (often skimming a bit for themselves also) then return the prisoner to the yard. As I was led into the yard I surveyed the scene. Some inmates tended to the gardens, others cooked rice in huge cement tanks (a lot of rice is needed to feed 200 men), others chopped and sorted vegetables, while some helped build some sort of brick room. To the left of me was a walled off area, the women's prison, and it was here we first stopped. Upon entry I was greeted warmly by the five women inmates, and was introduced to a 2yo boy. This boy was born in the confines of the prison walls and had never seen beyond them. As I surveyed his view, nothing but blue sky and the tips of a few trees could be seen over the walls. I asked when his mother would be released and was told she didn’t know - another case of not having the money for freedom.
Returning to the main courtyard, Probakar had assembled the men around the volleyball court, where they squatted in a closely huddled group. A few men had become interested in the Christian faith, and they led in a few songs and bible verses. They were obviously nervous, and I admired their guts for putting themselves forward without fear of the persecution that could follow. Probakar then said a few words about Christmas, and introduced Matt and myself to sing a song in Oriya. As I sung I surveyed the faces of these men. Brokenness and rejection hung almost visibly on their shoulders and I knew that I was incapable of really understanding and empathizing with them. For the tribals particularly, being separated from their family and their work would be unbearable, and many of them had at least attempted suicide in here. We finished singing and Probakar stood to award the literacy prizes. It was interesting to see the best students were tribals, since the casted inmates were so hostile towards working with them. As the students came forward one by one, many showed pride in their achievements. I handed out prizes of toilet jugs, combs, water jugs, sponges and soap holders to them, which they accepted graciously and returned to compare with others. After Dr Iris closed in prayer we handed out packets of sweets to every inmate. As I made personal contact with them they responded happily. And as we packed to leave, most of them eagerly came forward to farewell me, each according to his own custom. With 200 prisoners swarming around me I knew the guards would be useless if anything turned ugly. But not once did I feel anxious, responding with joy as they reached out for one of their few sources of love.
Throughout the rest of Christmas Eve my mind returned to these prisoners and I saw them afresh as victims of their crimes, and my heart went out to them.
Christmas Day
Christmas Day began like any other day. I watched the sun rise over the mountains and saw its light sparkle on the ripples of the lake, as I completed my morning jog. As I walked through town to the school for the Christmas service, I wished people a happy Christmas. Blank smiles greeted me in response for the most part but a few faces lit up with recognition. The only thing betraying a special season was the increased number of greeting card stalls. There were no Christmas trees, no decorated or lit up shops or houses, not even any Santa legs sticking out of the chimneys. But in the absence of the commercial 'Christmas spirit', I could better reflect on Christmas' real meaning. The love of God for us that he'd come to live alongside us ultimately in order to restore our relationship with him. In the afternoon I packed a bag with pineapple, coconut, bananas and chocolate and led the other volunteers to a quiet lake out of town. Here we relaxed and ate before trekking 20 minutes to the top of a nearby hill. From this vantage point we could look across Malkangiri to the west as the sun slid down behind it. It was dark as we started the half hour walk back to town, but as a tractor pulled alongside pulling a load of bagged grain, we were invited to climb aboard. So sitting aboard the grain bags, our regal procession bumped down the dusty road into town. It'd been a great Christmas.
Journey South
On Wednesday we were due to leave for Vizakapatnam in the afternoon. After packing my bags I sat with a few local kids watching them make a slingshot out of a rubber inner tube. A couple of them brought greeting cards for me, one which said "A Journey Must Begin With a Single Step, That is Important". Suman, the 13yo who gave it to me explained that it was because I was going for a journey today. I thanked him and handed out some Aussie koalas I'd brought. Packing into the Jeep along with Remo, his friend Raja, Dave, Laban and the driver we set off in the early afternoon. After almost ten hours we'd covered the 300km to Vizakapatnam, after stopping twice with suspension problems.
The train to Bangalore left at 7am, and took 26 hours. I was in a simple 'sleeper' carriage, containing eight berths. Travelling by train in India is an experience in itself as I quickly found out. I was in together with some Catholic nuns and a couple of businessmen. At each stop the train was boarded by a variety of salesmen and beggars. The beggars were a sorry sight and often had very serious deformities or handicaps. With little experience with beggars having been out in rural Malkangiri, I did what I could, offering fruit to all, and money to the seemingly worst-off. A couple of times some guys dressed in drag came along, harassing passengers for money. They were very rude, feeling up my leg and stroking my face, and I couldn't understand why they didn't get decked. Apparently if they don't get their way they'll sometimes lift their saris and flash - fortunately it didn't come to that in my case. When night came beds could be folded from the wall for sleeping. I was in the top of three bunks, staring at the ceiling but nevertheless quite comfortable. In their long blue dresses and scarves, the nuns looked like angels in the pale evening light as they slept. Being on a train travelling long distances, gave me the chance to see much of India from a distance in a short time. I watched for hours as fields and mountains drifted by. The dark bodies of farmers worked away in the summer heat, slogging away in plantations of grain, sugarcane, cotton, coconuts and vines. The landscape was very green, especially in the state of Andhra Pradesh, which is the largest consumer and producer of rice in India.
The beauty of the hills and fields of inland India disappeared as we entered Bangalore on Saturday morning. Bangalore is known as the 'garden city' and was established as a retirement haven. It has developed into a quite wealthy town, which is clean and safe by comparison to other Indian cities. We first carted the gear for the stall out to the conference in an old Ambassador taxi. Our choice of taxi almost meant we didn’t make it as we conked out twice and crawled along slower than the many cyclists the rest of the way. But we made it to the campsite successfully and set up the Reaching Hand Society stall. In a hall along with twenty other stalls, our's displayed tribal weapons and crafts as well as pictures and information about our work. The conference directors were keen for Dave and I to leave quickly, as the campsite was government owned and foreigners were not welcomed. Thus began our week of holiday.
Tourists
We took an old suspensionless bus down to Mysore - 3.5hrs drive south of Bangalore. Here we spent two nights and got to see much of this popular city. Among the main attractions was the huge palace displaying furniture and art from the Maharaja's reigns, and lighting up externally at sunset. We also trekked the 1000 stairs up to Chamundi Hill, a site of pilgrimage for Hindus throughout India. As well as the temple, there were a number of notable statues and an interesting 'Godly Museum', displaying beliefs of a reformed Hindu sect. During the day we visited the Art and Craft Emporium, displaying amazing works in wood, metals and cloth. We also got dragged into a small dingy room where incense sticks and oils were made. I left Mysore with a drum, two flutes, a snake charming instrument, a carved box and some incense sticks together with a relaxed and refreshed body.
For two nights we stayed in Bangalore, a city of dirt, noise and many people. During one morning I found refuge from the hustle and bustle in the centre of the Botanical Gardens, a sprawling area of peace and serenity. I spent New Year's Eve in the Mahatma Ghandi area, along with about ten thousand other guys (and 20 or so girls). It was a night of noise, photos with strangers, lots of well-wishers, but no fireworks or entertainment to speak of. After seeing the New Year in there was little to do since the pubs and clubs were closing up already. As soon as possible we escaped from Bangalore and headed north on a bus to Nandi Hills. Changing buses after 1.5 hours we were crammed into a little 30-seater, along with 100 others. Our packs disappeared inside somewhere and I was left hanging on by one arm out the door. Fortunately I was shoved inside when we next took on passengers, my head jammed between a guy’s shoulder and another's armpit. I was no longer struggling to hang on, just struggling to breath. The trip to Nandi Hill was definitely worth the effort. The New Year's Day tourists had left by 6pm leaving us and a few other overnighters up top. Nandi Hill is 2000 metres above sea level, topped by the Tippu Sultan's palace and fort. Vertical drops off rocky ledges almost fully surround the top, making it easy to dispose of enemies and criminals. On the positive side, these ledges now provide a view from every side of the hill for miles. Unfortunately the India's horizon is obscured by dust throughout the year, abating only immediately after the rainy season. But in the peace and quiet it is easy to understand why the locals love Nandi Hills as a picnic spot.
Returning to Bangalore on Wednesday, we caught the train back towards Vizakapatnam with no problems. As expected the train ride provided more noisy food sellers, more sorry looking beggars and a few more drag queens. Arriving on Thursday night, we spent two nights in Vizakapatnam, awaiting the arrival of Dr Iris and the others from the Interserve conference. I took the opportunity to indulge in pizza at a small, continental shop. I never thought I'd get sick of curry varieties twice a day, but the change was most welcome. On Saturday we began the trip back to Malkangiri along with Dr Iris, her son David, and daughter Mary. On the way we called in at the Boora Caves, a sequence of huge caverns recently developed for tourism. I was sad to see the lack of protection of the features and noticed it was very dry due to development overhead. As we continued to Malkangiri I reflected on the misuse of India's beautiful environment, extending from littering to poor cultivation techniques and industrialization. But, as I watched the county become more and more rural and remote I felt very happy to be returning to Malkangiri and the people here, where capitalism has not yet reached.
Back to Work
Today I've just unpacked and relaxed, getting ready for work again. It's actually rained for an hour or so here, and the trees look greener than ever with the dust washed away. I was hoping the sunset might be impressive, but with the clouds still overhead, I'm not too sure. The air has got a certain freshness and coolness about it, very welcome after the heat of the last couple of months. With less than four weeks left here in Malkangiri I feel the urgency of getting back into work, and want to make the most of my remaining stay. I hope Christmas and New Year was relaxing and enjoyable for you, and best wishes for 2002! Thank you for your thoughts, prayers and letters; they are all greatly appreciated.
Recent News
Today is my first day in Malkangiri for ten days. The familiar sounds of the afternoon are welcoming and very relaxing. Even the 6am temple chants this morning were pleasantly homely. As we drove back here yesterday, I watched the scenery grow slowly more wild while its inhabitants became more and more rugged. These remote parts of Orissa are certainly the most beautiful parts of India that I’ve seen. The people live in comfortable harmony with the land they are dependent on, moulding into and complementing the landscape collage. It was for these people I came here six weeks ago and it was with some disappointment I was told we were going away for almost two weeks. Dr Iris was to attend the Interserve conference in Pune, along with most of the Interserve volunteers. Remo was to set up and run a stall for the Reaching Hand Society at a large students convention down in Bangalore. By the instruction of the local police, foreign volunteers were not to stay in Malkangiri 'alone', due to the terrorist activities of the Naxolite group. So I packed my bags and went south to Bangalore, along with Remo, Laban and Dave (the other Aussie). But before I get onto that, let's first backtrack to Christmas here in Malkangiri.
Behind Bars
You will remember me telling you of the many Christmas programs I helped out at - 17 in total. But the most interesting one by far, was the program in the local jail. On Christmas Eve (Monday) I’d finished up at the medical clinic and said goodbye to Padma, who was doing reasonably well. I then met up with Probakar, a 21yo literacy worker with RHS, and he dinked me to the jail on his bike. The Malkangiri jail is tucked in behind the police station. It accommodates around 200 male prisoners and 5 females. 70% of the inmates are non-caste tribals, 13% are local casted Indians, and 7% are other casted Indians caught for drug trafficking. Offences range from stealing and assault right up to murder (many of the women murdered their drunken husbands), and even child sacrifice. Two high caste men in there had been convicted of the latter. Apparently one of them had had a dream in which he was told to kill a child and thus uncover vast amounts of buried treasure. After kidnapping an innocent child, they cut out his tongue to prevent him screaming for help. Then, after torturing and mutilating the boy they left him to die. Needless to say, no treasure was found. On the other end of the scale, many of the tribals have had inadequate judicial support, and will remain imprisoned until a family member can pay their way out.
When workers from RHS first visited the jail it was a dirty, messy hole, covered in smelly filth. With the warden's permission they went to work with the inmates to clean the place up. Now there is an extensive vegetable patch, clean courtyards and no offensive smells. Over the years, RHS has supplied sports equipment, garden supplies, chairs and tables, typewriters, carom boards and recently some black and white TVs. They also run daily literacy programs for all interested prisoners, and a weekly church service. All three of the previous wardens received rapid promotion, largely because of this work, so the current warden is quietly supportive also. After entering the waiting area through a huge metal gate I sat down and surveyed the goings on of the prison. One by one prisoners would be escorted to barred windows to meet with family members. After ten minutes of supervised conversation, the family would usually give a bag of food to the prisoner. The guards would do a thorough examination (often skimming a bit for themselves also) then return the prisoner to the yard. As I was led into the yard I surveyed the scene. Some inmates tended to the gardens, others cooked rice in huge cement tanks (a lot of rice is needed to feed 200 men), others chopped and sorted vegetables, while some helped build some sort of brick room. To the left of me was a walled off area, the women's prison, and it was here we first stopped. Upon entry I was greeted warmly by the five women inmates, and was introduced to a 2yo boy. This boy was born in the confines of the prison walls and had never seen beyond them. As I surveyed his view, nothing but blue sky and the tips of a few trees could be seen over the walls. I asked when his mother would be released and was told she didn’t know - another case of not having the money for freedom.
Returning to the main courtyard, Probakar had assembled the men around the volleyball court, where they squatted in a closely huddled group. A few men had become interested in the Christian faith, and they led in a few songs and bible verses. They were obviously nervous, and I admired their guts for putting themselves forward without fear of the persecution that could follow. Probakar then said a few words about Christmas, and introduced Matt and myself to sing a song in Oriya. As I sung I surveyed the faces of these men. Brokenness and rejection hung almost visibly on their shoulders and I knew that I was incapable of really understanding and empathizing with them. For the tribals particularly, being separated from their family and their work would be unbearable, and many of them had at least attempted suicide in here. We finished singing and Probakar stood to award the literacy prizes. It was interesting to see the best students were tribals, since the casted inmates were so hostile towards working with them. As the students came forward one by one, many showed pride in their achievements. I handed out prizes of toilet jugs, combs, water jugs, sponges and soap holders to them, which they accepted graciously and returned to compare with others. After Dr Iris closed in prayer we handed out packets of sweets to every inmate. As I made personal contact with them they responded happily. And as we packed to leave, most of them eagerly came forward to farewell me, each according to his own custom. With 200 prisoners swarming around me I knew the guards would be useless if anything turned ugly. But not once did I feel anxious, responding with joy as they reached out for one of their few sources of love.
Throughout the rest of Christmas Eve my mind returned to these prisoners and I saw them afresh as victims of their crimes, and my heart went out to them.
Christmas Day
Christmas Day began like any other day. I watched the sun rise over the mountains and saw its light sparkle on the ripples of the lake, as I completed my morning jog. As I walked through town to the school for the Christmas service, I wished people a happy Christmas. Blank smiles greeted me in response for the most part but a few faces lit up with recognition. The only thing betraying a special season was the increased number of greeting card stalls. There were no Christmas trees, no decorated or lit up shops or houses, not even any Santa legs sticking out of the chimneys. But in the absence of the commercial 'Christmas spirit', I could better reflect on Christmas' real meaning. The love of God for us that he'd come to live alongside us ultimately in order to restore our relationship with him. In the afternoon I packed a bag with pineapple, coconut, bananas and chocolate and led the other volunteers to a quiet lake out of town. Here we relaxed and ate before trekking 20 minutes to the top of a nearby hill. From this vantage point we could look across Malkangiri to the west as the sun slid down behind it. It was dark as we started the half hour walk back to town, but as a tractor pulled alongside pulling a load of bagged grain, we were invited to climb aboard. So sitting aboard the grain bags, our regal procession bumped down the dusty road into town. It'd been a great Christmas.
Journey South
On Wednesday we were due to leave for Vizakapatnam in the afternoon. After packing my bags I sat with a few local kids watching them make a slingshot out of a rubber inner tube. A couple of them brought greeting cards for me, one which said "A Journey Must Begin With a Single Step, That is Important". Suman, the 13yo who gave it to me explained that it was because I was going for a journey today. I thanked him and handed out some Aussie koalas I'd brought. Packing into the Jeep along with Remo, his friend Raja, Dave, Laban and the driver we set off in the early afternoon. After almost ten hours we'd covered the 300km to Vizakapatnam, after stopping twice with suspension problems.
The train to Bangalore left at 7am, and took 26 hours. I was in a simple 'sleeper' carriage, containing eight berths. Travelling by train in India is an experience in itself as I quickly found out. I was in together with some Catholic nuns and a couple of businessmen. At each stop the train was boarded by a variety of salesmen and beggars. The beggars were a sorry sight and often had very serious deformities or handicaps. With little experience with beggars having been out in rural Malkangiri, I did what I could, offering fruit to all, and money to the seemingly worst-off. A couple of times some guys dressed in drag came along, harassing passengers for money. They were very rude, feeling up my leg and stroking my face, and I couldn't understand why they didn't get decked. Apparently if they don't get their way they'll sometimes lift their saris and flash - fortunately it didn't come to that in my case. When night came beds could be folded from the wall for sleeping. I was in the top of three bunks, staring at the ceiling but nevertheless quite comfortable. In their long blue dresses and scarves, the nuns looked like angels in the pale evening light as they slept. Being on a train travelling long distances, gave me the chance to see much of India from a distance in a short time. I watched for hours as fields and mountains drifted by. The dark bodies of farmers worked away in the summer heat, slogging away in plantations of grain, sugarcane, cotton, coconuts and vines. The landscape was very green, especially in the state of Andhra Pradesh, which is the largest consumer and producer of rice in India.
The beauty of the hills and fields of inland India disappeared as we entered Bangalore on Saturday morning. Bangalore is known as the 'garden city' and was established as a retirement haven. It has developed into a quite wealthy town, which is clean and safe by comparison to other Indian cities. We first carted the gear for the stall out to the conference in an old Ambassador taxi. Our choice of taxi almost meant we didn’t make it as we conked out twice and crawled along slower than the many cyclists the rest of the way. But we made it to the campsite successfully and set up the Reaching Hand Society stall. In a hall along with twenty other stalls, our's displayed tribal weapons and crafts as well as pictures and information about our work. The conference directors were keen for Dave and I to leave quickly, as the campsite was government owned and foreigners were not welcomed. Thus began our week of holiday.
Tourists
We took an old suspensionless bus down to Mysore - 3.5hrs drive south of Bangalore. Here we spent two nights and got to see much of this popular city. Among the main attractions was the huge palace displaying furniture and art from the Maharaja's reigns, and lighting up externally at sunset. We also trekked the 1000 stairs up to Chamundi Hill, a site of pilgrimage for Hindus throughout India. As well as the temple, there were a number of notable statues and an interesting 'Godly Museum', displaying beliefs of a reformed Hindu sect. During the day we visited the Art and Craft Emporium, displaying amazing works in wood, metals and cloth. We also got dragged into a small dingy room where incense sticks and oils were made. I left Mysore with a drum, two flutes, a snake charming instrument, a carved box and some incense sticks together with a relaxed and refreshed body.
For two nights we stayed in Bangalore, a city of dirt, noise and many people. During one morning I found refuge from the hustle and bustle in the centre of the Botanical Gardens, a sprawling area of peace and serenity. I spent New Year's Eve in the Mahatma Ghandi area, along with about ten thousand other guys (and 20 or so girls). It was a night of noise, photos with strangers, lots of well-wishers, but no fireworks or entertainment to speak of. After seeing the New Year in there was little to do since the pubs and clubs were closing up already. As soon as possible we escaped from Bangalore and headed north on a bus to Nandi Hills. Changing buses after 1.5 hours we were crammed into a little 30-seater, along with 100 others. Our packs disappeared inside somewhere and I was left hanging on by one arm out the door. Fortunately I was shoved inside when we next took on passengers, my head jammed between a guy’s shoulder and another's armpit. I was no longer struggling to hang on, just struggling to breath. The trip to Nandi Hill was definitely worth the effort. The New Year's Day tourists had left by 6pm leaving us and a few other overnighters up top. Nandi Hill is 2000 metres above sea level, topped by the Tippu Sultan's palace and fort. Vertical drops off rocky ledges almost fully surround the top, making it easy to dispose of enemies and criminals. On the positive side, these ledges now provide a view from every side of the hill for miles. Unfortunately the India's horizon is obscured by dust throughout the year, abating only immediately after the rainy season. But in the peace and quiet it is easy to understand why the locals love Nandi Hills as a picnic spot.
Returning to Bangalore on Wednesday, we caught the train back towards Vizakapatnam with no problems. As expected the train ride provided more noisy food sellers, more sorry looking beggars and a few more drag queens. Arriving on Thursday night, we spent two nights in Vizakapatnam, awaiting the arrival of Dr Iris and the others from the Interserve conference. I took the opportunity to indulge in pizza at a small, continental shop. I never thought I'd get sick of curry varieties twice a day, but the change was most welcome. On Saturday we began the trip back to Malkangiri along with Dr Iris, her son David, and daughter Mary. On the way we called in at the Boora Caves, a sequence of huge caverns recently developed for tourism. I was sad to see the lack of protection of the features and noticed it was very dry due to development overhead. As we continued to Malkangiri I reflected on the misuse of India's beautiful environment, extending from littering to poor cultivation techniques and industrialization. But, as I watched the county become more and more rural and remote I felt very happy to be returning to Malkangiri and the people here, where capitalism has not yet reached.
Back to Work
Today I've just unpacked and relaxed, getting ready for work again. It's actually rained for an hour or so here, and the trees look greener than ever with the dust washed away. I was hoping the sunset might be impressive, but with the clouds still overhead, I'm not too sure. The air has got a certain freshness and coolness about it, very welcome after the heat of the last couple of months. With less than four weeks left here in Malkangiri I feel the urgency of getting back into work, and want to make the most of my remaining stay. I hope Christmas and New Year was relaxing and enjoyable for you, and best wishes for 2002! Thank you for your thoughts, prayers and letters; they are all greatly appreciated.
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