Odisha

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 13^th 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

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Holi Intermission

There is a widely-celebrated festival in South Asia called Holi, or the Festival of Colors. This festival is known as a celebration of love and serves to usher in Spring but the roots of the holiday grow from a story in the Hindu religion about Prahlada, the son of a demon king.  Apparently, Prahlada’s father (Hiranyakashipu) had a bit of an ego problem, demanding that everyone worship him alone.  Prahlada, however, was an avid follower of the Hindu religion’s god, Vishnu, and he refused to worship his father. Enraged, Hiranyakashipu tried multiple times to kill his son, but with no success. Hiranyakashipu’s final defeat came when he Prahlada tied to a pyre and set the whole thing on fire. According to the Hindu religion, Prahlada prayed to Vishnu for protection and he walked away unharmed. (What a father-son dynamic.)

Today, Holi is celebrated in varying ways according to the region in which it is being observed. For some, the festival marks a time of throwing tomatoes on family, friends, and strangers alike. For others, it translates to a week of singing and dancing in the streets. Some parts of the world celebrate Holi on one day and others celebrate for a month.

My introduction to Holi came in the form of a water balloon aimed right at my face. As I stood, dripping in the park outside my office on a lunch break, my coworkers breathlessly explained (through doubled-over laughter) that in the city where I live, Holi is celebrated by throwing colors at others. Originally, people threw colored powder at each other but the colored water balloon method seems to have caught on. The culprit in this case was a school-aged boy repeatedly throwing balloons from his third story balcony across the street. I must admit, he has impeccable aim.

Holi isn’t until March 27^th but there are obviously some who cannot wait to pelt passers-by. Honestly, I don’t blame them. Holi is like Halloween for all ages- but it encourages people in the community to “let go” and play in a way that Halloween only hints at. Here is Google Image Search’s depiction of Holi:

My [pasty] skin makes me a walking canvas (and therefore a prime target) for all of the inevitable reds and blues that will be flying around in the next couple weeks. I have been warned to watch where I walk. Listening to one of my co-workers excitedly discussing Holi street-walking strategies reminds me of watching freshman guys at my undergraduate school prepare for Nerf wars in their dorms. I have been invited to a Holi party on the 27^th so I’ll make sure to report back.

Sincerely,

Alice

 

Knots

I have been sitting in front of my key board for some time now, trying to get my thoughts together in a way that will put a nice bow on my experience over these past couple of weeks. So far, all I am coming up with are knots. Bear with me as I try to untangle a few of them:

Knot One: Two weeks ago, culture shock drop-kicked me in the face. Almost overnight, I lost my any appetite for South Asian food and found myself more and more frustrated by the little stressors of being in a new place. Sheer exhaustion- combined with an awesome but demanding internship, and a host of new friends and families I am beginning to get to know-has forced me to recognize that I feel overwhelmed. I am ready to feel comfortable, safe, and at-home. But I don’t yet and that’s ok.

Knot Two: This morning I woke up sweating. This is after removing all but one sheet on my bed, opening the window, and turning on the fan. Short of getting an air conditioner, there is not much to do other than laugh it off at this point and joke with others about how “Alice is going to perish come May”. Earlier, I walked to church squinting behind dark sunglasses and shading myself with a large scarf wrapped around my head as protection from the sun. For a fleeting moment, I imagined myself as a young Audrey Hepburn but the dream died as soon as my scarf got caught in the rickshaw seat while I was getting out of the car.

Knot Three: Interning with IJM is proving to be valuable in a myriad of ways. There are very few staff members in the office where I work, which means that I am being given lots of substantial responsibilities and opportunities to contribute. There is so much to learn. Recently, though, there has  been an increase in the number of articles being published on bonded labour in South Asia (click here, and here, AND here!). That public attention to an important issue has given myself and the rest of the office something to celebrate over these past few days.   

Knot Four: I keep meeting interesting people. Like a three year old girl named Swastika. Her parents explained that the swastika symbol is an auspicious sign for the Hindu god called Lord Ganesh, revered as the Remover of Obstacles. His elephant head makes him easy to recognize. Swastika’s parents seemed a bit concerned about any future travel plans she may make to Germany. I also met a holder of a Guinness World Record. He earned his title for having the largest mass of bees on his body at one time. So I bought some of his honey.

This is Lord Ganesh in household idol form:

 Knot Five: In the past couple months, my ears have slowly become attuned to the larger, public conversations swirling all around this city: things like gender issues, labour issues, joint family systems, generation gaps, public education, and imperialism are thought about and discussed. As a Sociology student in college, a lot of these topics are familiar, but being in a different part of the world is throwing them into a completely new light for me.

Amidst the knots of my life, there is so much space for Hope. Hope is in the bonded labour articles I mentioned above, and the implications they have on the awareness of bonded labour as a national issue. It is in the promise of getting an air conditioner installed this month. It is in the fact that Indian food has not made me sick for weeks. It is in the beautiful blossoms of the red silk cotton trees all over the city.

There is so much room for prayer here. If you pray, pray for people in power to respond well to bonded labour in South Asia. Pray that I see culture shock as a series of chances to learn; to learn about another culture, to learn about God’s creativity, to learn about myself. And please, pray for strength as my body adjusts to the heat (it’s really quite pathetic)!

More to come!

Sincerely,

Alice

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

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.

The Eye of the Storm

             Some of my most vivid memories of growing up in Florida take place during the hurricane season. In 1999, a category storm named Hurricane Floyd tore up the East coast, resulting in a mandatory evacuation of Floridians from the state. For some reason my family chose to stay put.  For days it rained and as the storm approached, it became clear that the eye would pass right over our home. As the wind got stronger and the rain fell harder, we stayed inside, having to yell over the sound of water pounding the skylights. I will never forget the eerie calm of stepping outside for fresh air as the eye of Floyd passed over us. For one brief hour in the chaos of a Category 4 hurricane, everything was still, peaceful even.

The weeks leading up to my departure for South Asia have been an absolute whirlwind. There have been visa applications, immunizations, support letters, last coffee dates, packing logistics and pre-travel details to attend to while traveling between Massachusetts, Florida, California, and Washington DC. In that ‘storm’ of preparation, it has been such a blessing to have the encouragement and support of friends and family. For those of you who I have had a chance to see in the past few months, thank you so much.

As I sit and type in the second of four airports I will see in the next 24 hours, I feel the calm of the in-between. The wonderful chaos of home and preparations for travel has passed, but I have not yet entered the bewildering, confusing, and beautiful whirlwind of this year. Here, at Gate 4, there is no internet access and I am forced to sit and relax. To just be still in the eye of it all.

In lieu of a long list of South Asian must-do’s and [re]commitments to healthy living, I have just one fundamental goal for these next twelve months: To experience Hope. The world is full of brokenness- in both human relationships and in nature- and this year I will be confronted with it in overt ways every single day. Amidst this messiness, I desperately desire to grow in Hope. To give it, to receive it, and to see it. Hope can hide out in the tiniest, most unexpected places, but sometimes it is as obvious as the Himalayas. I invite you to join me in experiencing it all in these next few months.

Every time I blog, I plan to ask myself (and you) how Hope is alive. So, how is Hope evident this week? This week, I had the pleasure and privilege of spending a week with other new members of International Justice Mission, as we all prepared for service in various parts of the world. As a group with a diverse experience but similar interests, the hope for justice around the world was almost palpable. I saw it in the eyes of the staff heard it in the conversations of the fellows, and felt it while laughing with other interns. It is from this place of great Hope that I take off to begin this internship.

If you pray, pray for the victims of exploitation in South Asia, that they might feel Hope. Pray for the people working with IJM, that they remain safe, hopeful, and strategic in their work. Pray for me, for health, for the willingness to serve in every way, and for a safe living situation in South Asia.

                I look forward to sharing this next year with you!

Blessings from here,

Alice

 

p.s.-Interested in supporting this year? Follow the link below:

https://secure3.convio.net/ijm/site/Donation2?idb=1515869785&df_id=1261&1261.donation=form1