Cuttack is a 1000-year old city that sits on a peninsula about
25 km from the capital city of the Indian state of Odisha. There are over
600,000 people who call this ancient city “home”. One such person is a friend
of mine who invited me to join her for this year’s Easter weekend. On Good
Friday, I rode side saddle on the back of her scooter as we wove our way
through a maze of knotted alleyways, dodging various forms of cattle and boys yelling
about their cricket game, passing rows of sari shops and open-air fish markets.
After spending almost three continuous months in a crowded city, it was a
relief to escape the (comparative) noise and spend time with the family of my
friend.
Each hour of that weekend deserves its own blog entry, but I
will do the “moments” a disservice and give you the highlights:
1) My friend comes from a joint family.
I do not. Because of this difference in
our upbringing, I was exposed for the first time that weekend to all sorts of
ways that “living in community” can express itself in the extended family. One
theme of living together that especially struck me is the lack of any real conception of (or expressed "need" for) privacy. Let me
explain: after Easter lunch, everyone gathered in the master bedroom to enjoy
the air conditioning unit and escape the heat, as it was 104 degrees outside.
In an attempt to be a good guest, I got up from the king-sized bed after ten
minutes with the intention of making myself scarce so people could relax
without feeling the need to be my host. As I stood up, one of the aunts asked
me where I was going. I made a vague reference to heading upstairs to study or
maybe lie down, to which she promptly stated, “But we are going to nap.” As I
stared into her questioning face, I realized that by hosting me for the
weekend, I had become a temporary part of the “unit” that is my friend’s
family. With some hesitation, I lowered myself back onto the bed, and proceeded
to fall asleep to the muted chatter of sisters-in-law as I shared a pillow and
had my back patted by a mother. In all honesty, I did not miss the privacy.
2) One day, my friend, her mother, an aunt, and I piled into a
taxi and proceeded to spend multiple hours driving through the Odisha
countryside. Enthusiastic chatter in the Oriya language gave me an excuse to disengage and visually feast on vast expanses of rice paddies and villages surrounding our taxi. Brick
kilns also dot the Odisha countryside and we passed many on our way back from
the Bay of Bengal. Seeing those kilns has given me a clearer context for the
work my office does in IJM, because a large amount of bonded labour that takes
place in South Asia occurs in brick kilns, much like the ones we saw from our
taxi. The people in my office are not working on behalf of the intangible “oppressed”
worker; the workers we serve are real people with real needs and real families
to feed, who are sometimes living with the reality of a horrific work environment. I needed that reminder.
3) While driving to the Bay of Bengal for lunch on our way to
the Konark Sun Temple, our car got a call from a family member in Cuttack,
encouraging us to find and read the state newspaper, Orissa Post. After another
hour in the car, we stopped for Chinese food and found this paper in the lobby:
Here is the article......yep, this actually happened. I am referenced as the "foreigner".
4) The Konark Sun Temple was crafted in the 13th
century by a ruthless King with a really long name and 1,200 stone carving
slaves, all of whom (except for the King) had their thumbs cut off upon the
temple’s completion, so the building could never be replicated. The temple’s
design reflects a massive chariot, whose seven large wheels have become the
symbol of the state of Odisha. Here I am, next to one:
Despite spending a weekend in a state that is notorious as
being a source area for bonded labourers, the weekend was dripping in Hope. I
regained Hope in the joint family system after seeing my friend’s family loving
each other so well, in such close proximity. I saw tangible Hope in the way I
was received and adopted “into the fold” for the weekend. The sheer beauty of
Odisha’s countryside instills Hope almost by force. Hope is in the bursting
church I visited no less than three times in three days to celebrate Christ’s
death and resurrection. Seeing people at brick kilns strangely renews my Hope in the efforts and methods of IJM to improve labour conditions in
South Asia.
It is with Hope for South Asia that I ask for your prayers.
If you pray, please pray for continued guidance in our office, that we will
continually have flexibility, a humble attitude and a desire to learn as we advocate. Pray
for those who are a part of the Bandhua 1947 Campaign,
that as we have success, we continue to use creativity and effectively pool our
strengths toward providing "sustained freedom for thousands". Finally, if you know me at all, you know that I have a fairly
strained relationship with technology; and yet I have been asked to basically
become one of the office experts on a specific type of web design. Please,
cover that one in prayers. I need them.
Thank you for patience and grace during what has been a long
silence on my part, and thank you for rejoicing in this time from across the
miles. Your support and care is felt daily.
Hopefully,
Alice
