Monday, May 21, 2007
Hot season and India travels
In April, the peak of the hot season, my only consolation for sleepless nights and consuming heat rashes is mangos (all you can eat mangos for 20 cents), but this year I escaped from the heat in the cool mountain air of Himalayan India (and returned in time for all you can eat mangos for 50 cents). For two weeks I got to hang out with my college friend Courtney in Northern India where she's been living for the last 2 years.
India… India is amazing: the smells of curries, flowers, and incense (and lack of sanitation but that detracts from my over-romanticized description of "incredible India"), the people were very kind and I was really struck by the peaceful nature of the people, the women seemed so exotic and beautiful in their layers of colorful, flowing fabric accented with bangles, bindis, rings, anklets, and henna designs, and the food, wow, why can't we have food like that in Ghana?
When I was in the states for Christmas, someone asked me, "how has Peace Corps changed you?" At the time I was only able to think of little obvious things like becoming more patient, or just more understanding of people from different cultures, but I realize now that the ways my time in Ghana has affected me may not become apparent until years down the line. As I sat in Mussoorie's bazaar, the town Courtney's living in, I was amazed to find myself observing gender roles, water sources, family unit structure, sanitation practices, etc. I would go back to Courtney's house with all sorts of questions about family planning or sanitation. I guess, once a development worker, always a development worker? Many Americans traveling to India are struck by the poverty, but coming straight from rural West Africa, my view of poverty is a scaled one, meaning it's hard for me to just say someone is poor as I first did when I came to Ghana because almost everyone had less than my family. The poverty in India was different than in Ghana, up in the mountains harsher weather than Ghana forced the people to need more clothes, shoes, and sturdier houses and what I saw briefly of city poverty was that of over population with so many people existing together in such a small place. When Courtney and I went on a 3 day backpack farther north in the Himalayas up to a sacred lake (the birth place of Hindi god Ganesh), I would get really excited about there being power lines and water pipes in tiny villages you can only walk to.
But I didn't spend my whole trip observing social issues; I spent most of my time enjoying Courtney's company and in deep appreciation of the beautiful mountains that were spotted in blooming rhododendrons and the snow capped peaks in the distant. One of my favorite moments was when we got to the sacred lake, Dodital at 10,000ft, and just after we set up our tent it started to rain. We walked through the rain clouds over to the small house/shack next to the temple where 2 sadus (Hindu monks) had been living for 20 years. The sadus had invited us to chai, so the four of us huddled around the concrete fire pit in the middle of the floor sitting on cardboard on the floor loudly sipping our hot chai.
I had never felt as worldly as I did on the way back, 3 continents in one day: India for a very early breakfast, Italy for lunch and Ghana for dinner. One thing I drew from all this way how nice people are. I came back really feeling like people are all inherently friendly and helpful. In India, I took the train from the base of the mountains down to Delhi (about 10 hours with all the stops). I sat in the cheap seats and after a few failed attempts at communicating in English, I communicated with a few smiles and nods to the 2 families sitting around me for the first 6 hours. Then an uncle from the next compartment came over and the 2 girls who been watching me intently begged him to talk to me. We talked for a few minutes and I answered the long list of questions the girls had apparently been storing up should the chance arise for them to interrogate me. Although it turns out they could have interrogated me earlier as one of the girls spoke decent English once she became brave enough to use it. After this I was part of the family (who was on holiday from west Bangladesh). They insisted I try a bite of everything they bought from the vendors who would wander through our car when we stopped at a station and give them a full report of what I thought. Remembering Courtney's cautions of typhoid, this simple gesture made me feel quite daring. The girls continued asking me questions and sharing food while I asked them questions and shared my music, which made them my instant best friends. It was getting late (after 10pm) as we finally approached Delhi, the girls and I watched in awe as the huge city began to pass by our windows. We pulled into a station and a sign in English said "Delhi" so I stood up and grabbed my bags. "Oh, no," said the older girl, "this is Old Delhi you don't want to get down here." At this point it became obvious that I had no idea where I was going and this became an issue of the entire extended family. A debate on Delhi versus New Delhi station erupted around me. Pulling into the main Delhi station, I grabbed my things and went to ask someone in the station how far we were from the airport when the father, a short and serious looking man with silver framed glasses and a look of practicality about him, stopped me and spoke to me for the first time in broken English, "it not safe, take care." He got down with me and talked to a few people until he was certain that this is where I should be then went with me to get a taxi to the airport.
Later I when I was back in Ghana I was telling a Ghanaian friend, Rebecca, about how when my airplane stopped in Italy, I walked around and saw women with dogs in matching sweaters. Expecting to get a big reaction from a person I've seen eating dog. I was surprised when this part of my story didn't even phase her… she launched into a million questions on how and when I was able to secure a visa to Italy. I reluctantly broke the news that they gave it to me in the airport in about 5 seconds because I am an American. For a second, Rebecca actually looked wounded, then upset. We talked for awhile about issues of immigration, but in the end we were left with an issue of the world not being even a fraction as fair as I once thought it was. I began to think about how nice people were to me even when I didn't speak Italian when I asked for directions and the family on the train going out of their way for a stranger. If Rebecca had been in my place would she have been treated the same? How much of me seeing the world as full of nice people has to do with my blue eyes, blondish hair, and big smile?
For some cool pictures of my adventures with courtney in india check out the april 17th entry on Courtney's blog www.courtneyahumm.blogspot.com
India… India is amazing: the smells of curries, flowers, and incense (and lack of sanitation but that detracts from my over-romanticized description of "incredible India"), the people were very kind and I was really struck by the peaceful nature of the people, the women seemed so exotic and beautiful in their layers of colorful, flowing fabric accented with bangles, bindis, rings, anklets, and henna designs, and the food, wow, why can't we have food like that in Ghana?
When I was in the states for Christmas, someone asked me, "how has Peace Corps changed you?" At the time I was only able to think of little obvious things like becoming more patient, or just more understanding of people from different cultures, but I realize now that the ways my time in Ghana has affected me may not become apparent until years down the line. As I sat in Mussoorie's bazaar, the town Courtney's living in, I was amazed to find myself observing gender roles, water sources, family unit structure, sanitation practices, etc. I would go back to Courtney's house with all sorts of questions about family planning or sanitation. I guess, once a development worker, always a development worker? Many Americans traveling to India are struck by the poverty, but coming straight from rural West Africa, my view of poverty is a scaled one, meaning it's hard for me to just say someone is poor as I first did when I came to Ghana because almost everyone had less than my family. The poverty in India was different than in Ghana, up in the mountains harsher weather than Ghana forced the people to need more clothes, shoes, and sturdier houses and what I saw briefly of city poverty was that of over population with so many people existing together in such a small place. When Courtney and I went on a 3 day backpack farther north in the Himalayas up to a sacred lake (the birth place of Hindi god Ganesh), I would get really excited about there being power lines and water pipes in tiny villages you can only walk to.
But I didn't spend my whole trip observing social issues; I spent most of my time enjoying Courtney's company and in deep appreciation of the beautiful mountains that were spotted in blooming rhododendrons and the snow capped peaks in the distant. One of my favorite moments was when we got to the sacred lake, Dodital at 10,000ft, and just after we set up our tent it started to rain. We walked through the rain clouds over to the small house/shack next to the temple where 2 sadus (Hindu monks) had been living for 20 years. The sadus had invited us to chai, so the four of us huddled around the concrete fire pit in the middle of the floor sitting on cardboard on the floor loudly sipping our hot chai.
I had never felt as worldly as I did on the way back, 3 continents in one day: India for a very early breakfast, Italy for lunch and Ghana for dinner. One thing I drew from all this way how nice people are. I came back really feeling like people are all inherently friendly and helpful. In India, I took the train from the base of the mountains down to Delhi (about 10 hours with all the stops). I sat in the cheap seats and after a few failed attempts at communicating in English, I communicated with a few smiles and nods to the 2 families sitting around me for the first 6 hours. Then an uncle from the next compartment came over and the 2 girls who been watching me intently begged him to talk to me. We talked for a few minutes and I answered the long list of questions the girls had apparently been storing up should the chance arise for them to interrogate me. Although it turns out they could have interrogated me earlier as one of the girls spoke decent English once she became brave enough to use it. After this I was part of the family (who was on holiday from west Bangladesh). They insisted I try a bite of everything they bought from the vendors who would wander through our car when we stopped at a station and give them a full report of what I thought. Remembering Courtney's cautions of typhoid, this simple gesture made me feel quite daring. The girls continued asking me questions and sharing food while I asked them questions and shared my music, which made them my instant best friends. It was getting late (after 10pm) as we finally approached Delhi, the girls and I watched in awe as the huge city began to pass by our windows. We pulled into a station and a sign in English said "Delhi" so I stood up and grabbed my bags. "Oh, no," said the older girl, "this is Old Delhi you don't want to get down here." At this point it became obvious that I had no idea where I was going and this became an issue of the entire extended family. A debate on Delhi versus New Delhi station erupted around me. Pulling into the main Delhi station, I grabbed my things and went to ask someone in the station how far we were from the airport when the father, a short and serious looking man with silver framed glasses and a look of practicality about him, stopped me and spoke to me for the first time in broken English, "it not safe, take care." He got down with me and talked to a few people until he was certain that this is where I should be then went with me to get a taxi to the airport.
Later I when I was back in Ghana I was telling a Ghanaian friend, Rebecca, about how when my airplane stopped in Italy, I walked around and saw women with dogs in matching sweaters. Expecting to get a big reaction from a person I've seen eating dog. I was surprised when this part of my story didn't even phase her… she launched into a million questions on how and when I was able to secure a visa to Italy. I reluctantly broke the news that they gave it to me in the airport in about 5 seconds because I am an American. For a second, Rebecca actually looked wounded, then upset. We talked for awhile about issues of immigration, but in the end we were left with an issue of the world not being even a fraction as fair as I once thought it was. I began to think about how nice people were to me even when I didn't speak Italian when I asked for directions and the family on the train going out of their way for a stranger. If Rebecca had been in my place would she have been treated the same? How much of me seeing the world as full of nice people has to do with my blue eyes, blondish hair, and big smile?
For some cool pictures of my adventures with courtney in india check out the april 17th entry on Courtney's blog www.courtneyahumm.blogspot.com
