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.
16.1.02
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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