India's got talent

Over the past two days, I have made a lot of site visits with Monami, meeting women and girls who are earning income through their work as artisans, as well as young girls and boys receiving child care when they’re not in school. At each stop, I am welcomed very warmly, given a chair and a fan, and for the first few minutes, all eyes are on me. If I’m with girls or children, the woman in charge at the site inevitably asks them to sing and dance for me. I’m pretty sure this is a typical way to welcome guests, and it’s lovely. There are usually a handful of great dancers and singers who are eager to demonstrate their talents. I’ve watched some beautiful dances and heard renditions of traditional Bengali songs, along with Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and the ABCs.

However, at the individual level, most of the girls I meet don’t really want to stand up and put themselves on display. They look slightly pained as they work their way through a folk song or try to remember dance steps. As I look at them with the most encouraging expression I can offer, I think, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to do this either. Especially for some random guest I know nothing about, who gets to use the only fan in the house!” One group turned the tables yesterday, when, after performing, invited me to join a game that required the loser to get into the middle of the circle and dance or sing. Guess who lost first? Yes, me. I tried putting my face in my hands, but they weren’t dissuaded from pulling me up. Luckily, they were content with a simple twirl and smile.

Going to the source

I will admit that despite reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma and watching Food, Inc., I still don’t give nearly enough thought to where my food comes from. I don’t often read the labels on my clothes, nor do I think much about who might have made them.

This morning, I joined Mimi and Monami to visit a group of teen girls who embroider silk saris with detailed beading. It takes about one week to produce a sari, and each girl earns about $3.50 per sari, despite the fact that they are sold for nearly 20 times that amount. These girls all attend school, but continue to embroider because it contributes (to a small degree) to the wage earning in their families. Occasionally they miss school if there is a pressing deadline or order.

This afternoon, Mimi and I went out to see some women who work on a small organic gourd farm. We also met with families who pick various seasonal fruit, including mangoes and lychees. For some reason, watching people climb trees, fill baskets with fresh lychees, and then organize them into bunches really struck a chord. I mean, the last time I encountered a lychee I think it was wedged onto a martini glass. I had no concept of how it had arrived there. And then to sample a fresh lychee right from a farmer in India? Incredible!

Baruipur is known for its fruit crop, which includes mangoes, pineapple, star apples, jackfruit and palm fruit. It turns out that I’m here during prime mango season! If I were a true business school student, I would figure out how to export them to the U.S., because they’re fantastic – really fresh and just perfect.

Sights and sounds

The internet was down last night, so here's my post from yesterday...

Today was the first time I’d been out in Baruipur during the day. It seems to be an interesting hybrid of city and village. As I mentioned earlier, there is a lot of activity on the streets, and the pace is intensified by cars, trucks, and scooters attempting to be as speedy as possible on Baruipur’s one lane roads. We passed a lot of storefronts and food stands, with different and equally enticing scents wafting out of each. During the summer, the streets are busiest in the morning and again in late afternoon into evening. Many people try to avoid peak temperatures in the afternoon, and those that must be out use umbrellas or wear scarves on their heads to protect from the sun. Many particularly talented people were riding bikes and holding umbrellas, which is definitely beyond my skill level.

As quickly as you enter the more frenetic streets of Baruipur, you can escape them, and today we found ourselves calming driving past lychee and guava trees and stirring up dust on the partially paved paths. Sometimes there are open drainage systems on the side of the road, yet there is often greenery dotting the route and marking entryways to homes. I tend to get some stares (I haven’t seen another Western face here yet), but most people simply seem to be curious. Everyone is incredibly welcoming; I joined Mimi at a weekly women’s meeting today, and was honored with a chair (everyone else sits on the floor) as well as fresh fruit and juice. I must have been sweating ridiculously, because women would take turns cooling me with homemade fans. The children there were a bit more curious than the women, and at the end of the meeting, a silent crowd formed around me. Even though I knew no one was speaking because of the language barrier, it was a little unnerving to be observed at close range without any verbal exchange!

On the work front, it seems as though my project will involve working with Monami to help the organization – Nishtha – launch a social enterprise. There is a lot to be done in order to develop a homemade craft business and introduce it to western markets – and it will take far more than the four weeks I have here – but I’m hoping I can help get Nishtha on a path to achieve its financial and social goals. I’ve already received a couple of tips from blog readers on how to do this, and am open to more!

Heat

There is no other word on my mind right now but heat. I woke up sweating, despite two fans in my room, took another shower, and began grumbling to myself about the light pants and loose top I would have to wear – no summer skirt and tank top for me. Throughout the day, a quick look at my clothing – and how damp it was – would indicate exactly how hot I was. Despite the heat, the morning was quite nice. After breakfast I had a little time to read, and then Mimi and Monami told me about their work with the organization’s education and artisan training programs. Then, I was invited to join a staff meeting where I introduced myself and learned the names of some of the group’s core staff. To conclude the meeting, I received a spot of color on my forehead and was asked to light a candle celebrating our friendship and work together. The women threw small flowers at me as I lit the candle, and then sang a traditional song.

I spent more time in the afternoon with Monami, learning about her plans to find a western market in which to sell the goods produced by the group’s 90 female artisans. She believes the local market is saturated, and that they key to their success lies outside India. I saw many of the home goods – including cloth placemats, jute and batik cushion covers, and woven bed covers – that the women produce.

After lunch, Monami instructed me to “take a few hours rest,” since I had just arrived and am still adjusting to the heat (which peaked at 100 degrees, according to my travel alarm clock). I heeded her advice, and spent a couple hours reading and napping underneath my mosquito net. I awoke to a plate of watermelon and mango, and then met Monami to travel through town on a motorized rickshaw, to buy more bottled water and see some of marketplaces. Despite the fact that it was evening and streetlights are limited, lots of people were out – on foot, on bike, and in cars – going to shops and running errands.

I’m told it will be quite hot throughout my stay here, which I knew it would be, although hot really takes on new meaning when you’re living it, day in and day out. Monami says I will adjust, although I should still plan on taking rest tomorrow, so I don’t overdo it. I imagine I won’t put up much of a fight.

A New Adventure

I landed in India three and a half hours ago. As soon as I stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac, and felt the intense heat and humidity, the weight of my month long adventure hit. Here I am. So far, the scent of the air in Kolkata and surrounding towns is very similar to that in Liberia. Something is burning – somewhere, everywhere, hard to tell – and the air is thick with fumes and smog. Without air conditioning to temper the 95 degree heat (at night!), I was sweating again as soon as I stepped out of the shower.

I’m living in the guesthouse of the non-profit organization that is hosting me. It will be nice to see the entire facility in daylight, but what I could see looked lovely. Lots of trees and flowers give it an enclosed feeling, despite being less than an hour outside of congested Kolkata. Tomorrow I’ll have breakfast at 9 and then join the staff for its morning meeting. The women who picked me up at the airport are going to introduce me around and get me started on whichever project I work on for the organization dedicated to empowering women and girls.

Mimi and Manami seem great already – upon picking me up from the airport they asked if I needed dinner – and promptly took me to McDonald’s. In contrast, the rest of my meals will be prepared by Indian staff at the organization, and having been informed of the breakfast menu, I’m already quite excited. The ride from the airport out to Baruipur is one I won’t forget for some time – our driver wove aggressively in and out of traffic, gaining an inch here and there, honking incessantly (each honk sending a different message, from “be careful bike rider, I’m right behind you” to “move over bus, I’m trying to pass you”). I think it’s fortunate that, jet lag setting in, I kept dozing off.

The power just cut at the guesthouse – I’m grateful for the book light I brought, and for the slight breeze coming in through the window. It smells a bit like rain, which would be really welcome right now…

Farewell

I’m torn between wanting to write and write and not wanting to say much at all. All I seem to be able to string together is “I can’t believe I’m leaving tomorrow!”

When I look around I’m struck by how quickly Monrovia has come to feel like home. The rhythms of the city are familiar. Local greetings are now my own. Liberia is so different from any place I have known, yet after only seven months, I sometimes forget I have lived anywhere else.

To be fair, each day is filled with challenges and frustrations, and they tend to recur or grow because there is no way to escape the realities of living here. However, the joys and achievements and rewards experienced here mean even more, given the obstacles people have to overcome to realize these successes. It takes a strong, determined person to work hard and follow rules in a country where all systems are being rebuilt and nothing is guaranteed. Everyday citizens are rebuilding Liberia day by day, simply by carrying on.

Today has been wonderful because I have shared every meal with friends. This morning, Alfred came by early to take me to work so we sat down, ate scrambled eggs, and talked about my return home. I always enjoy our time together, and I’m grateful we had a few minutes this morning to catch up. This afternoon the department I work for at the Ministry held a lunch in my honor. There was singing and dancing, kind words of thanks, and I was given a new Liberian outfit! I am going to miss my friends and colleagues at work, particularly the time they would take to ask me how I was doing and what I was enjoying about Liberia. And tonight I went out for dinner with a few friends from the foundation. I insisted on saying, “I can’t believe I’m leaving!” every few minutes, but other than that it was a normal night out. (Side note: it rained all day and because most Liberians find the rainy season cold, our driver Joseph was wearing a parka and I LOVE NY ski hat when he drove us to dinner. I wore a tank top.)

When I walked out of the office today, I realized I may not see my Liberian colleagues again. There are lots of people I see infrequently or maybe once every few years. But in today’s world of infinite possibilities and “if you want it badly enough it will happen” mantras, it is hard to really conceive of leaving someplace you have become familiar with and people you have shared a piece of your life with knowing you may not return.

However, I think many of us have built connections here that we will work hard to sustain. It would be nearly impossible to come and work alongside Liberians and simply close the door on this experience when you leave. I am grateful for the opportunity to have lived and worked here, to have shared those aspects of life and relationships that transcend culture, to have dipped my toes into new surroundings.

Not all Liberians are of one mind regarding assistance provided by expatriates during the rebuilding phase, but I want to share a note that one of my friends received from a Liberian colleague, which really moved me:

As you return to the United States, look back, remember we remain united in the cause of humanity. I hail you for the courage to have traveled to the unknown. I can safely assume you have a different story now. Go well, for you have contributed immensely to a country and a people recovering from years of war.

He is absolutely right. I definitely have a different story now.

Lofa!

Earlier this week, I joined a few colleagues for a trip to Voinjama, the capital city in Lofa county. Lofa is in northeastern Liberia and it borders Sierra Leone and Guinea (http://www.humanitarianinfo.org/liberia/mapcentre/reference/country_pdf/LIB001Counties_County%20Capitals_Districts_20040319.pdf)

The first three hours of the trip are on paved road (not without a good amount of bumps and potholes) and the last five hours are on dirt roads. I took some Dramamine as a precautionary measure. The condition of the roads tends to be worse in the rainy season, and even though we bounced around a lot, I’m told we were traveling on one of the better paths in the country.

As we drove north to Lofa I was struck by how green everything was! There were farms and ponds and thick forests, and it was obvious that we had left the city far behind us. Voinjama has lots of hills, and it was wonderful to take advantage of them and walk, run or hike on our own! The stores and restaurants that we saw looked quite similar to those in Monrovia, accompanied by the same signs advertising a long list of items you can purchase or consume inside (a list like: soup, pepper, concrete, zinc, and batteries is not uncommon).

Our driver, James, grew up in Voinjama, although he left during the war when fighting got too intense. He took my friend Meredith and I to his family’s village. Of the nine houses that his father had constructed there, only two remain. James showed us the school he went to and the business his father used to work for. I could tell by the way he described his childhood that he had really enjoyed it, though when war came in his teens it changed everyone's way of life.

Lofa was particularly hard hit. Fighters frequently crossed the borders in and out of Liberia from Sierra Leone and Guinea. Today, there is a new hospital in Voinjama and many international NGOs have a presence there. Voinjama felt quite peaceful and I couldn’t really imagine intense fighting happening there, although we saw enough ruins to remind us. One building we passed at an intersection was absolutely riddled with bullet holes. I think it’s a small grocery store now.

I really enjoyed the people of Lofa. Outside of the NGO presence, cars aren’t particularly common in Voinjama, so wherever we went, people stopped to stare and wave. Some children would cry out, “white women! white women! white women!” when they saw us, and we did make a couple of babies cry…but I suppose that is to be expected. We definitely look like strangers to them. It will be strange to come home and just blend in again. Where’s the fun in that?