Trauma

      The week started off with an interesting event: me being bit by a mouse. The little vermin ran past my exposed foot (I was wearing sandals), and bit one of my toes. There was only thing I could do: freak out. The fear of tetanus, rabies, or some other painful disease began entering my head. Thankfully, my wonderful friends here cleaned the cut made by the rodent, which eased my mind. They then asked if I had been given a tetanus shot prior to coming to India, and to that I gave a reassuring "I don't know". Within minutes I was on the back of a motorcycle, on my way to a doctor's office at 10:30 pm. As my friend and I went around the small streets, we passed many a doctor's office. "Why aren't we going to any of these" I asked. My friend informed me that most of these doctors were not legitimately trained doctors and that he was taking me to a family friend who they know has a proper degree in medicine. For this reason, among MANY others, it is always good to have a local friend you can trust. Had I been by myself, I would have gone to one of these imposters of medicine. We arrived, I panicked (needles terrify me), and then the tetanus shot was administered. All in all, it wasn't a bad experience, and I learned about how to sift through the many doctors offices in the area. Oh, and not to mention my friends easing my "traumatic" experience by taking me out for ice cream and donuts afterwords. 

Reprieve

      A view from one of my favorite spots in the city, which often brings a much needed reprieve

  
      Writing this blog from South Asia still feels surreal. I have already been here for nearly a month and each day continues to bring new surprises. Whether it's a new food which fills my nostrils with its (often overwhelming) aroma, or a new musical sound which soothes (or pierces) my ears; there is so much to take in. "Loud" would definitely be a word I would use to describe the experience thus far. Unfortunately, the volume of the spiritual darkness could also be described as being loud. Whether it's the call to prayer from the mosques, the ringing of bells by the Hindu priests, or simply the cries of souls searching for hope. Discouragement is hounding as the enemy attempts to remove me and others from this place. However, the call remains, "Go ye therefore, and teach all nations..." Many times struggles have come this past month, but relying on the Comforter has been a blessing beyond expression. He has taught me that He was meant to be our complete sustenance, and He satisfies fully.

     "But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you." 1 Peter 5:10

Perspective

     

      A musty, old-shed like smell welcomed me as I entered the apartment. I quickly scanned the room to assess the damage that took place during my week long absence in Madhya Pradesh. I had been doing language training, yet the entire week I had the apartment in the back of my head. The monsoon season can easily cause a slew of problems on an empty apartment. Thankfully, the living room didn't seem too affected. My room, however, was. The outer wall was covered with mold, as were my clothes, bedding, and luggage. Due to the mold, the paint was also peeling off the walls and the ceiling. A rush of blood flowed to my head as I grew frustrated with the state of my home. Rest is generally what I want after a trip, not a mess of mold to clean. All the same, it had to be done.

     After a good three hours of cleaning and washing, the apartment was in a relatively normal state. The mold on my bedroom walls, however, was still there. There was little sleep to be had due to my allergies reacting to the mold. The next day I was tired and becoming annoyed with the Indian summer weather. My house in the states grew increasingly appealing. However, after retrieving some medicine from the neighborhood chemist (and some tasty vada pav), I felt more at ease about residing in South Asia.

     That evening, I met with a local friend to do some work in the city. I went and met Amith* with a slight self pitying attitude, but was looking forward to what he had planned all the same. We walked from a coffee shop to a neighborhood fifteen minutes away. The longer we walked, the more impoverished the surroundings became. Street dogs littered the narrow pathway which took us winding through what felt like hundreds of shops. It then hit me that within fifteen minutes we had left a prominent neighborhood and entered into a slum. I remembered I'm in India, the land of contrast.

     We continued walking - dodging trash, animals, and fecal matter as we made our way to an unknown destination. The homes we passed were one room, concrete structures stacked two to three stories high. Laundry draped over the power lines and street lamps, making a colorful jungle of linen. Wives were preparing their roti, dal, and chai for their incoming husbands. The maze of alleyways suddenly led to a large opening of an enormous heap of trash, with three or four shacks scattered among the pile of rubbish. The stench was overwhelming, and the only thing to do was place my hand over my nose so as to ease the influx of "aroma". Just as I did, though, I saw several young children come running to greet Amith. They were all barefoot, covered in dirt and lice, some without shirts or pants; but they all wore smiles.

     We were welcomed into one of these shacks with a cheerful "Praise the Lord!" from the lady of the house. I was crushed by the state of this place. It was constructed by concrete, palm leaves, tarps, and bamboo poles. There was one bed for the entire family of five. I quickly shook off my shocked state and focused on what we were there to do. We sat crammed on the floor, with our shoes off and our hearts eagerly ready to serve. We taught the children stories of love and hope, sang with them, and colored some pictures. As our time with them came to a close, we were asked if we would like some chai (a common courtesy of the host here, no matter how financially unable). Accepting the offer, we sipped chai, had a cheery conversation, and walked away. I looked back to see the kids resume their playing. Not on a playground, but on trash piles full of rats and other creatures. Returning to my big "mess" of an apartment became a newly realized blessing.

*Name changed

Home

     After a week in New Delhi, I flew to the city in which I will be residing for the remainder of my stay. This mega city overwhelms you with it's number of residents. The city's population margin of error is greater than the population of my home state in the U.S. That is just crazy. 

      From the airport, my roommate and I made our way to our apartment. Right away I noticed something I liked about this city: the autos and taxis are required to go by meter, so you don't have to worry about being cheated or arguing over twenty rupees every time you go out. This doesn't sound like a big deal, but after spending a week in Delhi where you have to argue with auto walas constantly, you appreciate this.

      We quickly reached our apartment, which is only fifteen minutes from the airport. Excitement filled me as I thought about how the place would look. All I knew was that it had two bedrooms, a western toilet (praise be), and was on the fourth floor. As we pulled into the complex, though, my enthusiasm was promptly crushed.  Not to complain, but this place is less than desirable. Neither my roommate or I are too enthused about calling this place "home" for the next few months. However, I am grateful for a place to stay, even if it isn't aesthetically pleasing.

       Putting the actual apartment aside, the neighborhood we are in is perfect.  It is very Indian, with little to no western stores or restaurants nearby. There is a barber, a vegetable and fruit market, and numerous fabric stores all within walking distance. I am looking forward to exploring the ins and outs of this neighborhood. 

Beginning

    Should I run? was my first thought upon arriving at Denver International. There had been a storm system over the airport which delayed our landing. I already had a short layover, and this only made matters worse. As more time elapsed during the taxiing process, the answer to my question was yes. 

      I was anxious to get on my connection flight to New Delhi. I had been anticipating the sensory overload of exiting Indira Gandhi International, and having to wait one more day was simply too much. So, I ran through the airport. And yes, I made the flight; literally, the last one on board. I'm sure you can picture it. You know, that obnoxious person who is short of wind and eagerly scanning the plane for their seat? Yes, that was me. All the same, I was en route to New Delhi. 

      Heaving my excessive luggage through the airport in New Delhi was tiring, yet my excitement of arriving was greater. There I stood, in a slightly familiar place, with the next five months packed in my bags. Did I forget something? was a recurring thought of mine. If so, it was too late now. I was stepping foot into India, my home for the next five months. And so, this journey begins.