love is in the loving.

This is my final post. Leaving on Saturday, I still don't want to talk about it.

I’m not sure this post will make sense; I’ve been trying to process so many things.

From my perspective, it’s like the feeling when you are falling in love, but then, at the very-last-second you look up and realize: no one there to catch you yet. You’re vulnerable, you’ve jumped, you’re falling, it’s too late to put your guards up. [This is, unfortunately, a feeling with which I am all too familiar]. I want so badly to stay, it breaks my heart to think that when I go back to Cambridge, there are so many girls that have been lied to, tricked, trapped – I’ll be studying my brains out in the library, but my heart is here, anxious to fight for these young women full time, not just for ten summer weeks. It’s like I’ve found this place, this job, this fight that I just want to fight so badly – I’ve gotten so attached and I’m all in. And yet, here I am at the last minute. Looking up wide-eyed and realizing – I don’t get to stay, not yet. I have so much still to learn before I can be a truly effective advocate.

But I know now, absolutely, that law school is the right choice for me. I can hardly wait for the moment when I do graduate (fingers crossed), when I can advocate for the most vulnerable members of the human race with all of my heart. I’ve realized something else though – even if I wasn’t in law school, even though my time in this place that I love is coming to an end – in all honesty, it’s not about ‘me’ and ‘my.’ It’s not about me at all. Here comes the hippie bit: yall, it’s about love. It’s about loving, wherever you are. Loving the people you expect to love – family, friends – but even more-so, finding the people (and it requires intentional, deliberate effort to look) who aren’t loved. Who are sick, and no one is there to hold them in their pain. Who are hungry in this world of plenty. Who are abused, but have no one to confide in, no one to run to. Hold them! Feed them! Protect them! Speak up and fight for them! Being unloved is a curable problem. I rarely have much money to give to causes. But I have so much love to give. We all have so much more to give – and trust me, the gift is in the giving. Love is in the loving।

As much as it hurts, knowing that I’ve fallen in love at a time when I don’t get to stay here, I also have learned that you can’t stop reading in the middle of the book. I trust, and I have faith, and I know that the ending is Good. If there is still oppression – if girls are still trafficked, if individuals are still starving in poverty, if a child sleeps naked outside my office on a piece of cardboard (and choose your cause here – my heart is in Calcutta, but it’s just as applicable: if we are turning away refugees when we have such abundance to share, or if women are making 76 cents to a man’s dollar, or if a child depends on one free school lunch a day for his only mean…etc) – if such injustice still exists, then the story is not over. Injustice changes when individuals refuse to be satisfied with an unjust status quo. We are individuals, we know that the status quo is unacceptable, and so we fight. As long as we keep fighting, the story isn’t over. I have faith in who wins in the end – and it’s certainly not the traffickers, pimps, and brothel owners. The ending is so good.

This is my last post, and now yall know how real human trafficking and the sexual exploitation of children – of individual children – is. And so I encourage you – keep reading, friends. Don’t let this fight fade from your thoughts. Keep reading, and keeping fighting, advocating, and loving, however you can. Because the ending is so good.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

i get by with a little help from my friends.

This is a very special shout out THANK YOU post. A few months on the other side of the world could have been isolating, I could have been homesick...but thanks to everyone who so generously sent care packages, or letters (somebody tell Grandma she got a thank you...from a website.), or emails. These little reminders of home have meant the world to me.

The Starbucks Via instant coffee definitely made me a better intern - thanks parents! Thanks Steeles!

The box that was overflowing with leggings (wardrobe staple), twizzlers, and (inexplicably) a donkey toy from a Happy Meal...welp it certainly made me Happy! Thanks Mom and Dad!

Remember when I posted about the veritable electronics graveyard that was my life, after all my things got monsooned? My heart overflowed with joy the day a brand new, bright pink iPod arrived in the mail! Matt, you've saved my life both at work...

...and during the auto-rickshaw commute!

Yall remember Leah, the little girl who lives on the sidewalk near the office? Every little girl should have a special (preferably pink, whale-shaped) stuffed animal. Thanks William - your thoughtfulness lit up Leah's face today. She looked so curious at first, when I handed her the toy. But then, as she turned it over and over in her tiny hands, she looked up at me and just grinned, the way I child should grin - without a care in the world.

A million thanks.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

winding down, but not slowing down.

10 days left here. Not ok with me. I don't want to talk about it.

Instead...Nepal! Yall, this weekend was unreal. Kathmandu is the most gorgeous place I’ve seen – it’s this beautiful green valley, completely surrounded by the Himalayan mountains.

To summarize: I hiked to a Tibetan Buddhist monastery that is tucked away in the Himalayan foothills (and returned via a terrifying motorcycle ride with a generous Nepalese man who refused to accept any payment...the good karma was all he wanted!).

I rode a bitty airplane that flies around Mount Everest (especially loved chilling with the pilot in the cockpit - I asked if I could give the controls a go. He laughed right in my face.). I went to this temple called Swayambunath where there are monkeys EVERYWHERE. The temple is on top of a tall foothill, and you climb a million stairs to get there, and the monkeys just slide down the stair railings, and climb all over the various statues of gods. The mini babies, clinging to their momma monkeys, were precious.

At the top, there are all these pilgrims spinning prayer wheels and hanging prayer flags…and the views are breathtaking.

I drank delicious Nepali tea with mountain honey and ate a million veg momos (dumplings). I bought a tiny yak wool winter coat (don't tell my 6 month old niece!), and met the Sherpa who makes the yak wool.

All those things were extraordinary in Nepal, but my favorite part: I was able to visit 15 girls that IJM rescued 2 years ago and repatriated to Nepal in June. (Media coverage here) These girls had been kidnapped, trafficked to India, and forced into prostitution. They were raped, over and over, night after night, for months before they were rescued. Then they were in Indian aftercare for almost 2 years before they were finally able to return to their home country – I visited while they were at school – the girls are COMPLETELY transformed – the principal says she has a hard time getting the girls to go to their doctor appointments because they don't want to stop studying! And they were laughing and smiling and we hugged and hugged – I brought them some Bollywood movies and notes from IJM staffers, and they beamed with excitement about the gifts, and about their studies, and their restored lives in Nepal. There are still tough battles in their lives, for sure – psychological and emotional scarring, some battle disease and other physical consequences of being serially raped, and many long for their families (they live in a wonderful aftercare facility – often, in this culture, the family will not accept a girl back who has been a prostitute, even if it was so obviously against her will) – but even despite all that, the girls are THRIVING. They told me about a million times that they pray every day for other girls who are still trapped, and they pray for IJM. One of the girls gave me a bracelet off her wrist - she told me she made it and said "for you, auntie. thank you for coming to love us." Another wrote a note in Hindi for me to take back when I left Nepal. When the note was translated, part of it said, "This is Sushila. I hope that you all are doing well. Your love is always with me and I am also happy. We had never met Laura Aunty before and didn’t recognize her but aunty came to meet us, that’s why we are very happy."

I don't know if I've mentioned, maybe once or twice, how much I love this work, how transformative the fight against injustice is - for the rescued victims, certainly. But also for the people who commit to the fight. Remember when it was ok that women couldn't vote? Remember when the status quo in America was segregation? Remember how individuals across generations have confronted injustice head on and fought? The status quo doesn't change in a day, but it can certainly change. When you see fundamental unfairness, don't accept it as "the way the world works." Make the world work better.

Nepal-amalu?

It's going to be very difficult to post about my long weekend in Nepal. Sitting in the cockpit during a mountain flight with stunning views of Mount Everest, watching monkeys swing from Buddhist prayer flags, meeting several of the trafficking victim girls that have been repatriated, visiting with Tibetan refugees... gracious, I'm going to need some time to organize my thoughts. But until then, the photo you've all been waiting for, overlooking Kathmandu, with the Himalayans in the distance....

HERE WE GO STEELERS HERE WE GO!

xoxoxoxoxo

no bugs allowed.

Today, as I was preparing a presentation on child trafficking and commercial sexual exploitation that one of the advocates will be giving to a large group of non-profit workers, a cockroach scurried into the legal department. The monster was huge, a good 2 incher, and I reacted in what I consider to be a perfectly rational manner. I screamed “don’t-let-it-get-on-me-put-a-cup-on-it-trap-it-fast,” leapt up and sprinted to the far end of the office, and jumped onto the nearest office chair (my boss’s chair, to be exact. Which, luckily, she wasn’t sitting in at the time). Heart racing, I looked around and noticed that everyone – everyone – in the department was sitting calmly, while one of the other interns sprayed the cockroach, picked it up in a napkin, and threw it out.

After the situation had been contained (and everyone had stopped laughing at me) I made a sign, just to warn any future cockroaches that they are not welcome. Then one coworker altered the sign. Then another. Now, this hangs on the legal department door:

Some people just don’t understand the seriousness of the situation.

Other news: I’m going to Nepal this weekend! Long weekend in Kathmandu, a sightseeing flight for views of Everest, hiking and biking in the Himalayans – and a visit to an aftercare home where some of the rescued and repatriated victim girls live. Very excited for a mini-vacay.

xoxoxoxoxox

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!!!!!

From the other side of the world, happy birthday, I love you x 50000000, and I can't believe yall are going to the beach without me. LOVE YOU MISS YOU HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

xoxoxoxoxooxox

my thing.

All of the interns have a thing. The thing that keeps us sane, allows us to feel comfortable, a touch of home. The admin intern must have yogurt. The investigations intern gets ice cream at least twice a day. An aftercare intern does yoga on the roof. Another goes to bookstores to sit and journal. Me? I run.

Since I moved into my new flat, I no longer have access to the little treadmill room I used to enjoy. I tried to adjust by working out with tae-bo tapes and P90X, but it's just not the same mind-clearing nirvana when Billy Blanks is yelling at you to "turbo charge it." So I made the decision, for my last month, to join Gold's Gym. That's right, there is a Gold's Gym.

And it is a little piece of heaven, an auto-rickshaw ride away.

I doorman opens the doors for me (I know I've turned at the correct building once I pass the goats tied to the tree and the man selling potatoes off a tarp. Have a mentioned the contrasts?). In the locker room, an attendant says, "chilled lemon water, laurakatedenny?" She gives me a hand towel. She fills my water bottle. I love her. I head to the cardio studio. Another doorman opens the door for me. Head to a treadmill (with a screen!) and a ripped trainer sets it on 10 minutes at a leisurely stroll (which I immediately change to 45 or 50 minutes at a pretty hard pace). I watch Bollywood music videos, and techno versions of all my favorite songs blast through the speakers. Today, a techno remix of country roads / you are my sunshine was playing. It was brilliant. When I head back to the locker room, I get another offer for "chilled lemon water laurakatedenny?" and a big warm towel and a hot, water pressure-y shower. Aaaaah.

And then I walk back outside. Horns are BLARING, goats are making goat noises, rickshaw drivers are yelling their destinations, men are doing electric work and sparks are flying, sometimes it's monsooning. That's why I need my thing.

In other news, always more excitement at the office: 2 girls rescued last week, the court denied custody to a dummy parent (a person paid by the brothel owner or pimp to try to get the girls back), we are doing some exciting work with the Department of State's TIPS report, and another new intern came this week. Love love love love it.

And finally, if you read this far: This sign is on the building next door to my apartment. I think it speaks for itself.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

without getting tired.

After last Saturday's humbling and wonderful experience at Prem Dan, I knew exactly where I'd be at 5:45 a.m. today: sipping chai with the Missionaries of Charity while Sister Mercy-Maria decides which home needs extra sets of hands.

This weekend she sent me to Shanti Dan, which literally means "gift of peace." When I arrived at the gates with the other volunteers, and we walked down a tree-lined path, a light breeze blowing, I couldn't help but agree that Mother Teresa had somehow established a gift of peace in the middle of this chaotic, noisy city. I took a deep breath. Aaah.

And then we opened the inner gate.

Yall, Shanti Dan is a home for mentally handicapped women. Upon entering the inner gate, I was taken aback by the laughter, and the music, and the dancing! A woman ran - well, sort of hobbled and scooted - straight into my arms, greeting me with a tight hug and "auntie-hello-hello-auntie." Prem Dan had been a sober sort of atmosphere - the dying women tended to sit quietly to interact. Here? Spent the first part of the morning throwing a red ball back and forth with a circle of women, and we all shouted "Bhalo!" and clapped every time someone would caught the ball (I got, ahem, very few claps and shouts). Then we danced! I twirled with this little old granny who just smiled and smiled. I held hands and danced with a woman who seemed quite intrigued by both the color and curliness of my hair. I used all the Bengali I know...asking "how are you" and "what's your name" ... the ladies function at varying levels, but I could usually get a response...and a hug.

Ok, so I don't want to play favorites, BUT...there was one very old woman who was in a wheelchair. I wish I could have taken a photo of her pink flowered housedress and toothless grin. I said hello to her, and - plain as day - she spoke in English! We talked about the heat, and she asked about America, and she corrected my Bengali pronunciation, and...SHE ASKED IF I LIKE THE MOVIE TITANIC. Honestly, I don't have strong feelings in any direction about Titanic. But here I am, in one of Mother Teresa's homes for the destitute, speaking with a wrinkled little lady, agreeing that Leonardi DiCaprio is quite the hottie. I may have taught her the term "hottie." Like I mentioned last time, if not for Mother Teresa's ministries and the tireless work of the Missionaries of Charity nuns, this hilarious and precious woman would still be on the street somewhere. Oh I am just so thrilled to have met her!

I painted fingernails, drew and colored flowers and stars, and kept tossing that red ball. I massaged feet (don't get any ideas), braided hair, and smiled and laughed the day away. There were, however, some women who had a more difficult time interacting. One woman was sharp as a tack when I played memory with her - she picked up straight away that one of the "bicycle" cards had a tear in it, easy match! But she has suffered severe burns to her face and body - no lips or eyelids, only a few fingers - and I think her appearance frightens some of the other women. We enjoyed memory, and rolled that red ball back and forth, for quite some time though. There are others too, who are hostile and angry, or who use too much force in their actions, or who yell and scream. These women have suffered and been outcast all of their lives - learning love takes time.

Another thing I love about this volunteer work: today I worked with women from: Italy, Ireland, Argentina, Mexico, China, South India, and France. The only other American I met was Sister Mercy-Maria, whose midwestern accent surprises me every time!

Lots of work to be done, and as Mother Teresa said, "Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

is there a plural for paradox?

After spending 5 weeks helping the legal team fight for justice for trafficking and forced prostitution victims, I was finally able to visit an aftercare home and meet the young women that have occupied my mind and heart during countless hours at the office and at home (just can’t seem to stop thinking about the girls.). Yall, it was both extremely difficult and overwhelmingly wonderful to visit the aftercare home.

I say it was extremely difficult because when I met each girl, as each said her name, my mind raced through the case files I’ve studied, through the petitions I’ve drafted for the court, through the research and briefs and memos – it broke me to speak with a beautiful young girl, eyes shining as she introduced herself, and realize that this girl is real, she isn’t just a case file – the abuse she suffered is terribly real, her rescue was real, she is here, right in front of me. And she has a shy smile, and beautiful graceful hands, and she looks away when she giggles. I thought it would be, oh I don’t know, nice to put a face with a name. But I realized quickly that I’m not putting a face with a name – a face is just as anonymous as a name. The atrocities, the violent oppression, the serial rape, night after night– these happened (and are happening) to real girls – to daughters, sisters, best friends. It takes your breath away, knocks the air right out of your lungs, to meet the girl whose perpetrator is in jail because of her brave testimony, and know the details of how she has suffered. Please pay attention, don’t ignore or forget that this is true: the suffering is real, the girls are real, with personalities and preferences and dreams.

At the same time, it was overwhelmingly wonderful to meet these young women. To know of the oppression that they have survived, and to see that a sparkle of joy has returned to so many eyes! Some of the girls danced, some sang, some braided each other’s hair. Some are learning stitching and weaving, some are learning computer skills. One took my hand and drew mahindi (henna tattoo).

One was making bracelets out of beads - she handed me one with a smile and giggled as I tried to tie it with one hand (since the other hand was wet with the mahindi, of course!). I blew bubbles with a toddler, the daughter of a girl who was pregnant when she was rescued. [Again, it was a blow to the stomach - physical pain - to realize that the baby's father is an anonymous customer, a man who paid money to rape a child. And now that child has a child, and I held her, and she laughed when bubbles landed on her tiny nose] There are lots of babies and toddlers running around, infecting the yard with laughter. Now that the girls are receiving care and counseling and love, it’s incredible to see their capacity for restoration, their resilience – you can just feel the hope in the air.

When I met the girls, and thought about the hours of research that go into a petition that might, depending on how the judge receives it, affect one small part of a case – I know that it’s worth it. Work me to the bone, these young women have their whole lives in front of them, at last.

i have found the paradox.

There are some days that you will remember all of your life – maybe the day you graduate, or the day a child was born, or the day you met the person you knew you’d marry someday. Those days when things slow down for a minute to wonder – what have I been so busy doing, that kept me from this day sooner?

I volunteered with the nuns at Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charity. They sent me to a home called Prem Dan. It’s a home for those who are destitute and dying – Mother Teresa knew that the poor should not die alone, on the streets, unnoticed and unloved. I arrived early, and the nuns led a song and a prayer, and then went straight to work. I washed more laundry than I’ve ever seen – kneading the linens and saris against a large stone counter to get out as much water as I could. My arms ached after a few hours, and the bleach left me hands raw and chapped – definitely a labor of love. After carrying buckets of laundry to the roof to hang in long lines in the sun, a nun tapped my shoulder and said, “Come, Auntie.” Back inside, I scrubbed bed frames and mattresses, and pulled pink and blue checkered sheets over rows and rows of beds.

The women in Prem Dan were enjoying the morning on a large veranda, and the nuns instructed me to serve chai and cereal. The women are beautiful – I sat with a woman (impossible to tell her age), who had leprosy and was covered in sores. She pointed her sores to me, saying “eckinay, eckinay” or “here, and here.” My Bengali is weak, so I just said, “yes, auntie,” and held her arms steady while she drank her chai. I tiny wisp of a woman who is suffering some sort of mental condition followed me as I collected empty chai cups in a bucket, letting me know very clearly if I missed one! After the dishes were done, I spent more time sitting with a blind, very sick lady who just curled into a tiny ball on a small bench – I rubbed her back and she reached out and put her hand on my hand. I couldn’t help but hum Amazing Grace while I tried to hold back the tears – if not for the Missionaries of Charity, this woman would most likely be tucked under a bridge somewhere, wet in the monsoon and completely alone.

At lunch, I carried trays and trays and trays of rice and potatoes and dal and mangoes. Once all were served, I fed a lady whose condition is not like anything I’ve ever seen. Her hands and feet were twisted and deformed, and it looked like she had both leprosy and severe burns. She was blind, and had cataracts that bulged so far that she couldn’t close her eyes. I fed her, one spoon at a time, and you can imagine my surprise I heard her speak, in English. “Stir it,” she said, “mango is last.”

Mother Teresa said a lot of amazing things. As I carried dirty dishes, scrubbing the pots in the hot sunlight, I remembered reading a quote of hers, “I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.” True words – when a woman in the unbearable pain of disease smiles and puts her hand on top of your hand, her hurt has been replaced with love. And my hurt has been replaced with love too.

xoxoxoxo

instead of a thousand words, some pictures.

My traveling buddy, Walker, sent me some pictures from the weekend today! His camera didn't stop working, thank goodness!

At Humayan's Tomb...

And...the Taj Mahal!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

and then a bucket of water was dumped on my head.

Lest I paint an overly rosy picture of life in South Asia…yall, the last few days have been a MESS. I want to say “when it rains, it pours” but as you’ll see, the abundance-of-water idiom isn’t totally appropriate.

It all started on the flight back from Delhi. We began the ascent into clear skies and then out of nowhere, we are in the middle of a lightning storm. I have never been in turbulence like this, and had to slam my window shade shut because I was so scared. The plane was tossing, and thunder was booming. After 15-20 minutes like this, we finally reached some kind of cruising altitude and the pilot announces “sorry about that folks, the crew in delhi didn’t think the storm was rolling in that fast. In my 10 years as a pilot, I’ve never had to fly through anything like that.”

But hey, I made it home.

The next day, there was a nationwide transportation strike. I knew that was coming, so I worked from home…but I definitely thought that transportation strike meant just transportation – I fully expected to not be able to get a taxi or a rickshaw. What I didn’t realize: transportation strike actually means all shops are closed. This wouldn’t have been that problematic, accept I was out of drinking water in the flat – I walked and walked trying to find any shop that was open and willing to sell me bottled water (I can’t drink the tap water here – most locals don’t even drink it because there are high levels of arsenic that can’t be boiled out). So ALL DAY I had NO water. There is water at the office, but I couldn’t get there (see transportation strike). Furthermore, I only had cereal bars and almonds to eat (I was expecting to be able to order in food!). So all day, I only had cereal bars, almonds, and NO WATER.

Also, on that day: my phone charger broke (the phone died, so I couldn’t even call anyone to explain my water/food plight), my hairdryer broke, my camera battery charger broke, and I discovered that my iPod broke (it got monsooned and never recovered). ALL IN ONE DAY.

This was ok though, because I knew that I had two skype dates scheduled that evening: one with my sisters/brothers-in-law/niece, and one with my brother and parents. And my internet had worked perfectly all day, UNTIL the moment I was supposed to skype! The video came up, I saw sisters, bros-in-law, and that sweet baby, and then…nothing. The internet crashed and couldn’t be recovered. (Actually, it recovered briefly enough for them to see my splotchy, red, sobbing face, and then crashed once again. Great.).

I thought I’d try calling my mom, but then remembered the death-of-phone-charger situation. Fortunately, my roommate got home a little bit later, took one look at me, and let me use her phone to make an international call (my hero! She also brought me water from her office!).

But I survived that day. And then I woke up the next day, feeling good about the strike being over, and life being restored to “normal.” And then I walked out my door. Yall, I was walking to the auto-rickshaw stop, 2 steps ahead of my roommate, when SOMEBODY DUMPED A GIANT BUCKET OF WATER OUT THEIR WINDOW DIRECTLY ABOVE ME. I am not even joking – I was immediately drenched by a full bucket of goodness-knows what kind of dirty water. I hope it was just water. I turned around and looked at my roommate, who was perfectly dry, and we both just lost it laughing. A few vendors and rickshaw drivers were standing nearby, and they lost it too – one of them was kind enough to hand me a rag to wipe my face off with.

I did make it to work eventually, safe and dry and thankful – sometimes things are a mess, and everything just seems HARD…but despite horrible plane rides, a veritable electronics graveyard, communication breakdowns, and water that only exists in extremes, I can't help but stop, and reflect. Selah. Bring on the storms, it’s all worth it – because 15 girls went home this weekend. A radio station is considering a report on our work here. A victim girl found the courage to speak against her oppressor in court. Being in the field is hard. But it’s worth it.

sightseeing, live!

This weekend, I met up with an intern from another field office for some sightseeing in Delhi and Agra. In a series of electronic mishaps, in between packing and arriving in Delhi, my a) ipod, b) phone charger, and c) camera battery ALL stopped working! I almost cried when I looked at the Taj Mahal, got out my camera, and it wouldn't turn on! Luckily, Walker (my travel buddy) was very generous in taking approximately 5 million photos this weekend - which he's promised to send to me, and I promise I'll send to you!

Fortunately, my little Flip Video camera held strong - here is a clip of the most magnificent thing I have ever seen.

Seriously though, it was WILD to see the Taj Mahal - the entire complex was built by Emperor Shah Jahan as a mausoleum for his third (and favorite) wife, Mumtaz Mahal. I felt like I was peeking into an extraordinary love story - Ms. Mahal must have been a very special lady!

After the Taj Mahal, we toured a rug-making facility. Apparently, in Agra, the government has subsidized handcraft industries and outlawed factories and other pollution-causing industry. This is in order to protect the gleaming white marble of the Taj Mahal (only battery-operated cars can drive within 2 km of the Taj!). So the rug-making facility I visited has been in this certain family for centuries, and they still sheer the lambs, dye the wool, draw patterns, string looms, and tie each knot by hand! Check out this artist at his loom:

The rugs were absolutely gorgeous - come visit me in Cambridge in the fall, and you can see one!

I spent the 4th of July sightseeing in Delhi: the Red Fort, Humayan's Tomb, Purana Quila...so much history and culture! And...I ate street food and didn't get sick! Chapati and dal never tasted SO good!

Since I have a rare internet connection, I'll share:

The view from my roof at the new flat!

I'm working from home today...there is a country-wide transportation strike today because of a hike in gas prices...not a taxi or auto rickshaw in sight!

XOXOXOXOXOX

Leah and Raol

Remember the baby I told you all about, the baby on the sidewalk near the office? I officially met the family today - after dropping off mango juice and biscuits a few times, I finally learned how to ask "what is your name?" in Bengali. This morning Liz and I asked, "Tomar naam ki?" to the mother. I couldn't understand her name - something along the lines of Sulajit, but then the little girl, who is maybe 1 1/2 - 2, pulled on my hand and told me "Amar naam holo Leah!" She was holding the cookies we brought and just smiling and smiling. She laughs when I ruffle her cropped hair (I suspect it's growing back after a lice-induced buzz cut) and she loves it when I hold her arms and swing her around. She introduced her little brother (the baby, 3-4 months) as "Raol." Please keep these little ones in your thoughts - I saw the mom (I'll just call her Sulajit until I know differently) watching another lady operate this huge old manual sewing machine on the sidewalk a few days ago - I'm hoping that Sulajit is learning to be a seamstress or something.

I'm leaving for a weekend in Delhi, with a visit to Agra to see the Taj Mahal after work today! So excited!

XOXOXO

a flat, a monsoon, and other thoughts.

Some miscellaneous updates:

1) I finally have a flat! I've been staying on the couch (the tiny, kidney-bean-shaped couch) at another intern's flat for the past 2.5 weeks. But yesterday, another intern, Liz, arrived and we moved into our own place - and it's fantastic! My bedroom is...wait for it...PINK! Wall to wall, my dream room. I was meant for this country! And we have a cute balcony, a/c in the bedrooms, a hot water heater for the showers, and an unbelievable view from the roof!

2) I've definitely learned patience and flexibility here. For example, I STILL don't have internet access for my laptop. Once again, I've been told it will be set up within a week. And then, I'll have pictures of my flat, the monsoon flooding, videos of the commute, and FINALLY I'll be able to skype! I miss your faces!!

3) Speaking of monsoons, on Tuesday a storm let loose while I was in an auto (rickshaw with a motor) on the way home from work. Of course I didn't have an umbrella, and the streets were flooded past my ankles within 5 minutes. I doubt an umbrella even would have helped, really (please, just try to picture me trudging - wading - through a road that looks like a river, with rain coming down so hard it feels likeI'm in the shower, and shop owners laughing from their dry little enclaves). By the time I made it home, I was completely drenched, and I learned a Very Important Lesson: don't wear white kurtas during monsoon season.

4) Work: I LOVE MY JOB! I recently completed a memo on consular relations and the legal aspects of repatriation processes because...FIFTEEN girls are going home to their home country! These girls were trafficked across the border (tricked by promises of education opportunities) to work in brothels here. We rescued them 2 years ago, and they've been staying in aftercare. The paperwork and court orders have finally come through, and these girls get to go HOME. It's truly an extraordinary thing to see these girls, who have suffered un-imaginably, experience restoration and hope. Keep them in your thoughts during this big transition - expecially that they would arrive safely and be protected in their home country (re-trafficking is a huge threat).

XOXOXOXOXO

an internet miracle.

I have like, 5 minutes of wireless access and I'm spending it wisely, by sharing some photos with yall!

Me and one of the other interns, Shamina, rocking the bicycle rickshaw.

A visit to the High Court

Kids playing in the mud outside of church.

I love that any construction work involves bamboo scaffolding.

the inch symbol is NOT universal.

Today, I found out that there is a Subway here, and it delivers to the office! The other interns and I decided we would enjoy a taste of home and order subway sandwiches for lunch today. I still don’t trust meat though, so I ordered this fantastic sounding veggie sub (soy/lentil veg patty, delish, right?). One of the national staff offered to place the order, since the Subway staff might have trouble with our accents and so, we each wrote down what we wanted. I wrote:

Laura-Kate: 6”, honey oat bread, Veg shammi with lettuce, cucumbers, green peppers, and cheese. Toasted.

The order was placed, and it took FOREVER to get here…an hour and a half later, the subway guy arrives, and everyone takes their sandwiches and pays. I was last in line and after everyone else had taken their subs the delivery guy hands me the rest of the bag, which contains…six veg shammis. So yes, I now have a bag of SIX 6” soy/lentil sandwiches. Which of course, no one wants to share (see soy/lentil patty)…but hey, at least I don’t have to figure out dinner tonight…or lunch tomorrow…or dinner tomorrow…or lunch the next day…or dinner the next day…

I don't know what's better: the fact that the staffer thought I look like a girl who could eat 6 sandwiches for lunch, or the fact that I had to order the weirdest possible thing to get 6 of. Meh, at least my 6 meals only set me back 500 rupees (about $10).

In other news, it’s officially monsoon season! Today I rode in a bicycle rickshaw, covered in a tarp – that’s all that could navigate the flooded roads around my flat! Waded through 6-10” (inches) of standing water to the office. Please don’t let me think about water-borne bacteria/parasites/what-happened-to-all-the-street-dogs/rats/cockroaches??

Every day is an adventure!

Oh and one more thing: now whenever I go to the little treadmill room, the "gym attendant" guy walks me to the treadmill and programs it to 7.5, incline of 2, just the way I like it. Whenever I slow it down to take a drink of water, he stands until he sees that I'm not getting off...and then when I do slow it down to stop, he comes over to walk me out. BFF, yes?

O to grace / how great a debtor / daily i'm constrained to be.

So I think the hardest thing about living here is seeing such poverty and feeling like there is nothing I can do. It’s a horrible feeling to be riding in a taxi to meet friends for dinner, and then a child comes up to the window, begging for money. Most street children are “owned,” meaning they are made to beg all day/night and then have to hand over any money to their “boss.” The boss feeds the child, but not enough to let her look well-fed, and no matter how much money the child brings in, she cannot earn her way out of destitution or into school. So I don’t want to give money, because I know it doesn’t help alleviate the poverty. But I don’t want to NOT give money, because what if the child is beaten for not earning enough? I could maybe give actual food, but it’s hard to just be carrying food around all the time…and if the food package isn’t opened and eaten immediately by the child, the boss will take it too. And what if I decide not to give something, and this was one of the few children that gets to keep the money they get? And how do I tell a shoeless, hungry, filthy, beautiful child that I have nothing to give them, when I am on my way to a restaurant, and I have more rupees in my fellowship stipend than they will ever probably ever see? How can I walk by a baby, so brimming with potential, naked on sidewalk, lying by a mangy flea-ridden street dog, every single day? Can we even really say that these people are “marginalized” when the margin is SO wide?

I see the destitution every day, and every day my heart just aches – actual, physical pain. I am not adjusting to such poverty as inevitable. I won’t - I can’t - look away and think “that’s just the way things are.” I don’t know what to do, but I can’t start thinking there is nothing I (we) can do. I’m sorry this post has no tidy solutions, no ideas for making the situation less uncomfortable. But I think we’ll get there!

On a lighter note, this morning on the way to work, whenever the taxi driver honked his horn (almost constantly) it played “Fur Elise.” Brilliant.

And also - Happy 99th Birthday Uncle Kermit!!!

Run, LK, Run.

I should be able to use my own laptop within a week – pictures to come, I PROMISE!

Yesterday, I discovered that the apartment building I’m staying in (which isn’t actually the building I’m supposed to be staying in…long story but for now I’m staying on another intern’s couch) has a … wait for it … TREADMILL! This is great news, and I now officially love this city with ALL of my heart. You can imagine, it’s kind of emotionally and mentally rough to spend long hours at the office researching and learning how prevalent, profitable, and devastating the child sex trade is here. Girls are trafficked from Bangladesh, Nepal, and within the country, enticed by promises of jobs and education opportunities. Don’t get me wrong – I absolutely have hope, and I love being part of this fight – but there is nothing like pounding out 5 or 6 miles to work out pent up anger at brothel owners and pimps, frustration with corrupt policemen and apathetic political actors, and – gracious, the RANGE of emotion I feel for the girls who haven’t been rescued yet – all of these passions have to go somewhere, and last night they were pounded into that poor treadmill belt.

Best part? Looking up after 45 minutes to see three locals standing at the window, staring like they’ve never seen a white girl run. And maybe they haven’t. They will now!

Jailtime and Mangos

Yall, I have some great pictures (and videos! Shout-out Flip Video Cameras!!), but I am having serious issues being able to get wireless set up for my laptop...so words only for now (as if words could suffice!).

First - VERY EXCITING NEWS! We celebrated TWO convictions this week! The two accused persons had trafficked minors from Bangladesh to work in a brothel here, and after a loooong trial (many many months), the judge convicted BOTH perpetrators and sentenced each to 10 years of "rigorous imprisonment" plus Rs. 25,000 fine (2 extra years in prison if they default on the fines). This is the longest sentence we've ever had handed down, and they were convicted under a law that has never been successfully enforced in this court before. (!!!!!!) The rescued girls are safe in aftercare, and many many more girls will never have to suffer at the hands of these criminals. Joy!!!

Second - I did some sightseeing this weekend - pictures to come. I went with one of the other interns, who is half-Indian and able to blend in quite well. I, however, stick out just a little...short story, at one point there was a LITERAL crowd of 15 or so people following us and asking to take pictures with us. Whaaa??

Third - I LOVE THE (vegetarian) FOOD HERE! Favorite treat so far: there is a man who takes the pit out of mangos, fills the space with vanilla ice cream, then freezes the whole thing. You can recognize him because he sits by a giant bucket of ice and mangos-wrapped-in-cloth. Buy one for the equivalent of 4 cents, and he cuts it open and you eat the YUMMIEST frozen mango/ice cream combination. I was warned not to eat street food that's cut with a knife cleaned in local water, but I can't help it, it's SO GOOD. Other faves: chai from a lady with a teapot over a small fire near the office and bananas and lychees from the sweetest man (he always finds ones without bruises for me!

That's all for now - I'll keep trying with the pictures and video!! Thanks for leaving comments :o)

XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Feathers.

Aaaah, I wish I had tons of time to blog and blog. It feels like there is something new that I want yall to see and know about every minute! The commute to work has been a continuous lesson in trying to maintain some semblance of calm. Usually, I like to observe as much as I can – take in the fantastic colors, observe the vendors selling fruit and spices, smile at barefoot kids who are kicking around a soccer ball. Today, however, I learned a lesson in observation – be careful what you look for! This morning I walked along the crowded sidewalk and noticed an abundance of feathers. You may know, I’m a huge fan of Feathers. The feathers seemed to be originating at a medium-ish stall along the road. This is where I made my Big Mistake. I looked into the stall just in time to see a dear chicken slaughtered. Blood everywhere. A cage of live chickens screeching, and a pile of dead chickens being unceremoniously plucked (oh, hello feathers.). I turned away just in time to see a young man on a bicycle, and hanging from a pole across his handlebars? Dozens of dead chickens, tied by their talons. Looking at me.

In conclusion, I will be enjoying a vegetarian lifestyle for the remainder of my stay.

Also – I have a mailing address! Email me (ldenny@jd12.law.harvard.edu) if you want it! PLEASE want it, I would LOVE letters (or…care packages?? FedEx and DHL, I hear, are pretty dependable). Oh, and email me even if you don’t want my address. I want to hear about what’s going on with yall!

xoxoxoxo

Jet lag, shmet shmag.

I'm here! Yall, this is one crazy adventure! It's been a day, and I already wonder..where do I start??

I spent most of my flights comatose (thank you Tylenol PM!). In the Delhi airport, I must have looked absolutely lost, because a very nice Indian guy that goes to Ohio State asked me if I needed help - I am SO thankful, because he was pretty much my tour guide through the Delhi airport, the last leg of my flight, customs, etc. Also offered to show me all around the city, invited me to his family's home for dinner - India is welcoming!

I settled in with one of the other interns last night - a long shower has never felt so good! I am in sensory overload. I've never experienced this kind of HEAT. The poverty is striking, but the wealth is similarly so. Traffic is insane - what looks like a 2-lane road to me has 6-7 cars jammed across, along with bikers and pedestrians. People drive on the left here - I keep on looking the wrong way before I cross the street! (also on the left, interestingly, are the toilet flusher things.). There are stray dogs everywhere, and a few stray cows. I'll try to take pictures soon, hold me to that!

If you, dear reader, are the praying kind: this morning as I walked to the office, I passed a baby, maybe 3 months old, on the sidewalk. By herself, wrapped in some fabric, on the dirty sidewalk inches from the gutter. The girl I was walking with saw my face and told me that the mother is in her early teens and just doesn't know what to do with the baby. She pointed out to me that the mother was nearby, just across the street at a food stand. Keep this little family in your thoughts, ok? I have this intense longing to be able to help them somehow.

XOXOXOXOXO!

What's possible.

I've just finished a long and semi-overwhelming week of training at headquarters, before I head to my field office on Sunday morning. I am seriously inspired by the extraordinary work that IJM does around the world. The week's been packed with sessions on cultural shock and adjustment, international safety, the importance of self-care for humanitarian workers who are repeatedly exposed to traumatic situations - practical tools for being a successful legal intern in the developing world.

Throughout the week, I was most inspired by the idea that - by bringing rescue and relief to individual victims of trafficking and by prosecuting individual perpetrators, we really can change the world's vision of what's possible. Injustice is huge, but the hope of relief is huge-er. Each individual child that is rescued has a hope for a new future. Think about how many children will never be subject to the violent oppression of life in a brothel every time a perpetrator lands in jail. It's a ripple effect, and it's a beautiful thing. Let's not despair when we think of the SCOPE of violent oppression around the world - it is a desperate situation, but rather than despair - let's CHANGE the world's vision of what's possible. The problem can't be ignored - it can be overcome, child by child, persecutor by persecutor.

There is real power when we see injustice, when we hear the cries of the oppressed...and we ACT. Oppressors, as violent and deceitful as they may be, don't stand a chance against a mobilized generation.

And the greatest of these is love...

Welcome to my very first attempt at blogging. This summer, I am working as a legal intern with International Justice Mission in South Asia, assisting with child sex trafficking casework. This is a labor of love; I'm quite inspired by the work of Mother Teresa, who devoted her life to pouring love into people who were considered "untouchables." The title of this blog, love is in the loving, comes from Mother Teresa, who once said:

"The success of love is in the loving (...) There is the love expressed in the service and the love in the contemplation. It is the balance of both which we should be striving for. LOVE is the key to finding this balance."

This summer, I will do my best to keep yall posted as I strive, through grace, to balance love in service and love in thought as we fight oppression and injustice in South Asia.