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