I Want To Be a Professional Intern

Before joining the IJM team in South Asia a month ago, my understanding of what this internship would look like was blurred at best. I spent the 7 months prior to this trip doing other internships and working a basic office job. My days were filled with sorting and scanning files. Or assisting with a massive audit. Or entering voter registration information into a finicky database.  Occasionally I would receive an assignment requiring some level of basic brain function; but for the most part, I spent those months listening to awesome YouTube videos and mechanically worked my way through all of the thankless tasks that fit into the blessed/cursed title of “Intern”. Given these experiences, I arrived to this office with the subconscious expectation that this year would be one of humble and inconspicuous, head-down, mouth shut, do-it-all-with-a-smile dirty work for the sake of something bigger than my dignity. Besides, that is why organizations hire interns, right?

Thank goodness my subconscious world is not reality.

In the last month, I have met with every member of the office. I have put together multiple PowerPoint presentations that have already been used by staff members. I have gotten to read lots of super interesting labor legislation and have long discussions about the complexities and implications of fighting bonded labor. I was allowed to write a proposal. I have been invited to meetings for my input, and not for my note-taking capabilities. I have had a chance to use all forms of Office and have been able to (occasionally) put my hard-earned scanner skills to use. I have had brainstorming sessions with certain departments and have been invited to help host visitors. I have been able to be a support in event planning and have been used by the Director to work with information that is confidential to the rest of the office. I have edited communications materials. I have even been able to plan Valentine’s Day activities and help with leading the morning bible study. In short, I have become a part of the team.

Typical IJM interns focus their support in one of three areas: administration, communications, or investigations. Any of those positions would be an honor to have, but since I am this office’s first intern, I get to constantly dabble. One day, I wear the Communications hat; the next day I am an administrator; the very next day I get to be a part of Government Relations. There is so much work to do in each department that every member of the office is eager to have my support.  It seems that I have been given all of the long straws in this deal.

By the time I was beginning my senior year of college, I had developed what some would call a very low view of my ability to do things like think critically or contribute in a meaningful way to any cause in the academic/public sphere. Senior year, I was blessed with a student government advisor who encouraged me to begin thinking in constructive ways about how to use my strengths, instead of constantly trying to compensate for my perceived failures. It seems simple, but making that mental shift has taken time. One of the cool things about this internship is that it allows me the space to continue trying to do just that while serving the staff at IJM. And, thankfully, the staff make space for that mental shift! Today, one of the staff told me that she has been chatting with my boss about ways to use me this year. She concluded by saying, Alice, “you have some blatant strengths that I want to harness.” That’s so cool!

Don’t get me wrong. There have been boring moments. There have been plain-flavored hours of normalcy. But it’s pretty cool to be slowly learning how to own the fact that I might (someday) have something to contribute to this big, messy world, in a way that I also find thrilling and worthwhile. My title is Administrative Intern. If this is what it means to be an intern, then I’m all in.

Where is hope? Hope is in the fact that this internship is about so much more than supporting an organization I believe in. It’s about contributing on an authentic, dynamic, all-in, and completely engaged level in order to tangibly improve the lives of real people who really need the help.

Sincerely,

            Alice

p.s.-If you pray, pray for physical health of the office members in the upcoming weeks. All but two of us have caught a nasty cold!

p.p.s.-Interested in supporting this year? Follow this link to learn more.

I Survived Rush Hour

             It has become clear in the past couple weeks that no amount of blogging or picture taking could sufficiently convey the richness and ridiculousness of living in a huge city bursting with all forms of life and death. Every day, I am confronted with something that seems totally shocking. Every day, I become more aware of the rhythms of my small neighborhood and its inhabitants (who, I have learned, somehow already know everything about me). Every day, the lens through which I see this city shifts just a degree, highlighting previously unnoticed facets of a culture that still confuses me. Every day, I develop new questions and answer others. Previously, I had somewhat naively hoped to share the moment-by-moment here, with you, but I have been gifted with an everyday that is (at least for now) dripping in abundance of experience that can’t be fully recorded. So for now, let me mention one little facet of this experience that is right now peeking through the curtains: traffic.

Traffic in this city is unlike anything I have ever experienced. Even now, at 11:53 pm, I can hear horns honking as drivers play chicken on their way home from a late dinner. There are technically lanes painted on some of the main roads and laws about red lights, but they serve as mere suggestions, to be noted and then enthusiastically ignored. Here, people use their horn as the all-encompassing Indicator. If someone turns, they honk. If they are stopping, they honk. If they are coming up on a pedestrian, they honk. Rush hour is a sight that no one should (or can) miss. With the lights and fumes and sounds and beggars at every red light, traveling is truly an assault on the senses. Here is a list of all the methods of transport I have seen thus far on the road nearest my apartment:

Cars- Some of them are broken down, most of them are Japanese and all of them are missing at least one mirror.

Buses- They come in a variety of colors but are all equal in their level of dilapidation and dangerousness. I have not met one person here who has not adamantly insisted that I never ride a bus.

Metro- Ok, I haven’t seen these on the road, but they travel above main roads.

Taxis- The demand for taxis is so high that you never know whether or not you’ll be able to book one.

Cycle rickshaw- Imagine a bike connected to a covered metal bench with two wheels and a driver who slaps his seat every time he sees you, yelling “Madam, rickshaw!”

Auto rickshaw- Three-wheeled green and yellow automobiles whose drivers always drive fearlessly through even the most congested of rush hours.

Pedestrians- There are no sidewalks. All pedestrians have death wishes.

Bikes- A.K.A. ‘motorcycles’.

Cycles- bicycles, but only the rusty kind.

Flatbed rickshaws-These rickshaws are small but have the ability to carry just about anything. One man with this kind of rickshaw moved my entire bed across two towns with his rickshaw and a bicycle. (For less than $2.)

Closed trucks- Used for transporting much larger items. They all have the phrase “Honk Please” scrawled across the back in bright paint.

Open trucks- If you want to move your entire harvest, complete with agricultural workers, hire an open truck.

Construction equipment- Constant construction means that there are often large cranes in the middle of traffic.

Oxen- This weekend I saw my first ox-in-the-road. It was pulling a gigantic cart of what may have been wheat. Or potatoes. No one but me seemed to notice.

              This list seems extravagant but I kid you not: if it moves, someone is moving it. And probably against the flow of traffic.

                On my first evening at the new apartment, I successfully caught a metro back to my neighborhood. Upon exiting the gate and forcing my way through the throng of eager rickshaw drivers, though, I discovered that I needed to be on the other side of the road. Normally this would not be a problem, but this road is a two-way, six lane highway that was jammed with honking travelers at the very peak of rush hour. Where there was too little space for a car, there was an auto rickshaw. Where the autos could not squeeze, there were bikes. Where there were no bikes, there were bicycles. To me, it seemed sheer chaos.

                As I stood on the edge of this road, I actually posed the question “How do I cross the road?” aloud. After failing to find a crosswalk (now I laugh at the thought), I re-entered the metro station, elbowed my way to the information desk, and asked the metro attendant (and consequently about 10 other curious on-lookers) about how to cross the road. The resulting stares from this small crowd were nothing less than incredulous. Finally, the attendant pointed with his finger out to the road and said, “You cross it”. The option of physically walking across this road was still so out of the realm of possibility to me that I thought he must be confused by my question. So again, I asked him (and the crowd of on-lookers, now around 15), “Yes, but how do I cross the road?” After a couple of these exchanges, it finally dawned on me that, yes, this man was actually saying that my one option was to walk outside and face the crazy rush hour monster with my own two feet.

               By this point, the crowd was beginning to ripple in laughter so I said my adieu’s and scuttled back out into the noise. I went over to the edge of the road with the hesitation of a kid whose friends have dared him to dive off the highest platform. After one long look into the oncoming traffic, I took a few moments to get my spiritual affairs in order before the big dive. Luckily, two men chose that moment to take the ambulatory leap, so I scurried after them, head down, pride slaughtered, and sins only partially confessed, across what was really ten lanes of traffic.

                This is one of the many moments of the past two weeks I know I will look back on with laughter.

                Where is hope this week? I found hope in a church bursting at the seams with people singing Matt Redman’s “10,000 Reasons” this Sunday. There was hope in watching the new littler of stray puppies play in the park outside my apartment. The respect my co-workers have for one another gives me so much hope. Hope even showed up when I got lost after sunset in an unfamiliar part of town last week.

                If you pray, thank the Lord for safety, for a church community and for new friends  these past couple weeks. Thank Him for the work of IJM and for people who have chosen to give themselves to positively influencing a flawed criminal justice system. Pray for the millions of people in South India working in horrific situations, that they may experience Hope. Pray for continued safety and health of both me and my co workers.

                In the midst of crazy traffic, exciting firsts, and unrelenting hope, know that I carry you with me in it all. Without your support, I would not be listening to the laughter of my wonderful apartment mate right now. Thank you.

                Sincerely,

   Alice

p.s.- Interested in supporting this year? Follow this link to learn more.

I’m here!

                 After many hours of air travel a couple weeks ago, my plane finally arrived at its destination shortly after midnight. I quickly felt my difference as I- one of three blonds on the entire flight- stepped off the plane and was greeted by a mass of South Asians. After passing through customs and claiming my bag, I hesitantly stepped outside of the terminal to be greeted by hundreds of people standing behind a small fence, many of them waving signs in different languages in the hopes of greeting a loved one or a business colleague. Luckily, my hosts (“Uncle”, “Auntie”, and their daughter) spotted me immediately and pushed their way to the front so we could catch a taxi back to their home.

                These past few days have been full of laughter, confusion, excitement, and incredible curiosity. I’ve spent the first ten days of my stay living with Uncle and Auntie, on the tenth floor of an apartment building. Below is a picture of the view from their home:

 

                While living with Uncle and Auntie, I’ve learned so much about both their immediate family life and the wider culture. This family has helped orient me to the basics of living in a new place: they’ve helped me navigate public transportation, given many tips on the art of bargaining, and have been patiently teaching me the fundamentals of their language. They’ve introduced me to the many new and wonderful flavors of the local cuisine with shared life stories and lots of laughter.

                One of my favorite moments of the first couple days happened while Auntie and I were riding on a rickshaw back from buying a cell phone. I turned to her, mid-traffic, and thanked her for helping me with initial shopping. Without skipping a beat, she responded with, “Of course. It is my pleasure and my duty.” “Your duty?” I wondered aloud. “Yes, my duty,” she assured me, matter of factly. “We are, after all, family.”

                In one sentence, Auntie did more to make me feel at home than any amount of official orientation could have done. She also reminded me of the reason I am here: amidst doubts about my ability to support the work of IJM this year in a culture and historical context I do not understand, I am still called to love my brothers and sisters as best I can, even if that means organizing files or making copies for twelve months.

Last week, I started my internship and met the IJM office members. All of them have struck me as wonderful people who love, think, and act well, each caring deeply about the people of South Asia caught in bonded labor. They are doing some exciting work and I am thrilled at the chance to learn about and add to their organization. This upcoming week will be my first full-time, 40-hour week with them.

In other news, have I signed a lease and have moved into a new apartment! It is safe, close to work, walking distance from shops, and is shared with two other girls who are also working in the area. Leaving Uncle and Aunty’s home is bittersweet, but I am looking forward to the process of familiarizing myself with a new area.

Where is hope this week? For me, it came during my initial orientation to the office, as I learned about the ways the work going on here relates to the broader, international goals of IJM. Click here to read about a rescue in Chennai that took place just before my departure from the States to see what I mean! It was also written in the newspapers I have read this week, which are beginning to bring to light some critical human rights issues in South Asia. Finally, the incredible hospitality of so many people as I settle in gives me hope, not just for the people of South Asia but for my experience this year.

If you pray, thank the Lord for His provision of a place to live and for smooth transitions so far. Pray for my safety in navigating a new area and for patience and grace in the process. Pray that my presence is only a help and not a burden to the IJM staff. Finally, pray that I continue to feel encouraged and connected to the wider community here, especially as I look for a church.

Thank you for the support thus far!        

Sincerely,

Alice

p.s.- Interested in supporting this year? Follow this link to learn more.