With a Grain of Salt

My first vacation time (3 days over Xmas) yielded not only a sweet trip to climb a 10,000 step staircase up the tallest mountain in Gujarat, but also a lesson on traditional work in India, and the influences of money and class on the Indian family structure. This may sound kinda boring and all, but I will make it interesting for you. Read on, loyal blog followers:

The Village: We first stopped in a small town, Morbi, 4.5 hours outside of Bhuj, 3.5 hours short of our final destination, Junagadh. Henish is a co-worker friend of mine who recently left his internship at my NGO to return to his home village to finish architecture school. He is my age and invited us to visit his village (where his family has lived for three generations) on our way to our final destination. A bus leaving at 630am from Bhuj dropped us in Morbi at 11am and Henish picked up Gabe and I in his spotless, new 8-seater Toyota something or other. Nicest car I saw in that town of 150,000 the whole day.

The Family Business: Urgently in need of a chai break after our 5:15am wake up, we arrived at Henish's father's office to a steaming hot teacup. His father along with his two brothers (Henish's uncles) own and operate a local Salt Works industry that was handed down from their grandfather. It has been in production for 42 years since 1967. Having just read a short booklet in Bhuj on the exploitation of local salt workers in Gujarat, Gabe and I had a lot of questions for Henish's father. After 10 minutes of salt yield amounts, export procedures, and company history, we arrived at the salt-making process and were informed that it would be better for us to see the operations ourselves. Sweet.

The Field: I fell asleep for most of the 35km (45min) car ride to the salt pans. But when I awoke, white was everywhere. Henish's father owns a 2km x 2km plot of barren field adjacent to the sea, covered by dozens of 100ft x 100ft pools of salt pans. A powerful generator works a pump that stretches into a creek full of seawater which floods twice daily, pumping the seawater up to the pools. The water then runs through a series of natural chemicals and minerals over a course of 15 days. During that period the water changes colors 7 different times and eventually the salt settles. Workers are then employed to rake the salt from the pans and deposit them in large piles on the service roads running parallel to the salt pools. The 10-ton piles of salt are collected each day and packaged into 20kg bags, stacked ten high on a platform almost a kilometer long, and picked up by a train that comes twice a month, to be dispersed throughout India and abroad. For miles and miles around, all you see are stacks of white, sparkling, salt crystals, naturally gathered, ready for export. It is blinding white. Henish's father says this is the only way in which salt is produced in the world. And, the US is #1 in salt production. I wonder where this happens in the US.

The Workers: we didn't get to see many of them since Friday was their day off. But we saw where they lived: barren, adobe style houses built here and there along the service roads between the salt pools. For 9 months out of a year (Oct-June) they live and work here, 6 days a week. Raking the salt fields. Henish's father employs 200 workers alone. I am told a couple (husband and wife) make about 400 rupees ($8 USD) in one day, depending on how much salt they can pan. In many families, children are held back from school 9 months a year to help in the salt pans since that means more money for the family. They struggle to catch up in school after the 9-month absence, and are without much exception restricted to the same work as their fathers (and mothers). There are major health risks related to working in a heavily saline environment as well: sunstroke, skin disease, festered wounds. These are some of the poorest of the poor in the region, lack adequate medical care, and spend the majority of their lives working -- and dying -- with the salt.

The Choices: Henish's great grandfather owned a grocery store in Nairobi, Kenya in the 1930's (then under the British Commonwealth) before moving to India. His son, Henish's grandfather, started these salt works in the late 60's and worked them for 35 years before retiring. Now his sons work the business and Henish's family is one of the wealthiest in town. They have nice cars, motorcycles, and a brand new house, designed by Henish himself. Henish is the oldest son, but has chosen not to take on the family business, simply because he can. Instead he will become an architect. His two younger brothers however will continue with the salt works. Henish's great uncles (his grandfather's brothers) also chose to do other things. One carried on the grocery store business in the UK, where they now operate 5 stores. The two remaining brothers each moved to the US and now live in Florida, working as lung doctors. Henish's first cousin in Florida is an eye doctor.

The Divide: Henish took us to 1 of only 2 suspension bridges in all of India as part of a tour of Morbi. As we crossed the 100-year old, 500-foot long bridge over a 100-foot drop to the river below, a large group of teenagers on a field trip joined us, and the metal bridge swayed intensely from side to side. The bridge was built over the river gorge by the King of Morbi to connect his palace with the rest of town. I asked Henish about the king of Morbi and was told the last one died in 1991 and only the queen remains, who has long since moved her residence from the palace to an estate nearby. The three daughters of the king and queen were sent off to the UK over 25 years ago to marry and live there. As the gorge divided the town from royalty and the rest, wealthy and poor, so do money and caste delineate work and upward mobility, adherence to the past and opportunities for the future. I asked Henish about his cousins living in the US:

me: are they your age? have you ever met them?
Henish: they are my age, and they visited India once when they were young. That's when I met them.
me: do they speak Gujarati?
Henish: not a single word. Their grandfathers came to the US over 50 years ago, and the language was never taught to them.
me: do they have any desire to come back to India?
Henish: they want to visit, but they are not Indians. They look like Gabe more than they look like me.
me: will you ever visit the US?
Henish: I'd like to go to see the culture, I am interested to learn about it.
me: would you ever go live there?
Henish: no, India is my country. The village life is for me.

The Indian Experience: Henish's experience is not uncommon. Almost every middle-class Indian I have met has at least 1 relative living in either New Jersey, Toronto, or the Bay Area, and the caste system in this country ensures that almost every low-class, poor Indian has little choice in following in the footsteps of their forefathers when it comes to profession and social status. Those who make it out of the cycle of poverty to the US are to a degree envied, but given up for lost culturally. Bollywood movies portray the American stereotype and Indians who have assimilated into it as family-forsaking, money-crazed, alcoholic materialists.

But, as I found out, Henish is building his own suspension bridge. He would rather do something outside of the salt flats, but remain in his native India, helping the poor and marginalized through work at a grassroots NGO.

He is a strong, but rare, exception to the system. 

An Indian Hanukkah

1st Night: Colgate toothpaste box menorah. And useful item in India #1: duct tape. Impossible to find anywhere in India, this one item could be by far the most useful thing I brought here from America. Uses: taping things tothe wall, taping up clotheslines, taping broken things, repairing backpacks and bags, making Colgate toothpaste box menorah. Usefulness: 4/5. Price: USD 5.95 (at Target).

2nd Night: Colgate toothpaste box menorah. Item #2: manual firestarterthing. Defying logic, this thing sparks when you simply push the button inwards, and which, when applied to a burner with the gas flowing, ignites a stove. Since the manual gas stove is used at least twice a day to make meals, this is handy. Or you could always use matches. Uses: magically lighting gas stove. Usefulness: 4/5. Price: 50 rupees ($1 USD).


3rd Night: Colgate toothpaste box menorah. Item #3: Lonely Planet India and Learn Hindi book. Where would I be without a Lonely Planet Guidebook? Necessary for navigating the countryside on our rare, free 2-day weekends. Hindi book used to attempt to communicate with locals (who don't speak Hindi actually). Uses: traveling, talking, pleasure reading, 5lb. weight in backpack. Usefulness: 3/5. Price: $26.95 USD.

4th Night: Colgate toothpaste box menorah. Item #4: immersion rod hot water heater! My favorite item in the apartment. When I plug this guy into the wall socket, and place it in the large bucket filled with water, once again magic happens. 10 minutes and many bubbles later, I have hot water. And then the shower I take (coupled with item #5 below) is almost as if I'm in a shower back in the US. Ah but a disclaimer comes with this one: extreme caution must be used not to be electrocuted (I've met many people who have been). Uses: hot water creator, hot shower enabler, emotional comforter. Usefulness: 5/5. Price: 200 rupees ($4 USD).


5th Night: Colgate toothpaste box menorah. Item #5: Pail. Absolutely essential for all bathroom activities that require dumping of water (note: all bathroom activities require this) makes this item the most useful Indian thing in my flat. Without it I am dirty, smelly, and there's no flushing of the toilet. Also used for doing laundry, and chucking water at lines of ants for fun. Uses: allowing for showers, toilet flushing, eliminating odors, bug killing entertainment. Usefulness: 5/5. Price: 20 rupees ($0.40 USD).
 
6th Night: Colgate toothpaste box menorah. Item #6: latke mix. Intersection between US, Judaism, and India. Local delicious materials, foreign cultural celebration. This mixture allows us to bridge the gap between Americans and Indians, Jews and Hindus. Story of Hanukkah explained, latke cooking instructions taught. Uses: cross cultural exchange maker. Usefulness: 5/5 (Deliciousness: 10/10). Price: 10 rupees per latke ($0.20 USD).

7th night: Colgate toothpaste box menorah. Item #7: Indian friends and Hanukkah party. Bhuj is a small town and so any outing is not complete without my batch of Bhujies. These are my new friends and we pass the time eating, talking, and playing badminton mostly. When the summer comes, this will include getting ice cream every night. Although most of them are my coworkers as well, we hang out almost every day after work. Uses: emotional support, mooching off their food, badminton and frisbee partners. Usefulness: 5/5. Price: priceless.

8th night: Colgate toothpaste box menorah. Item #8: Heinz Ketchup and peanut butter jar. Ah American food, I cannot leave thee behind no matter where I venture. these two products symbolize the overwhelming influence my taste buds have on my life and my wallet. Yes I dish out 65 and 99 rupees respectively for these two, overpriced products. But, they are necessary. Where every single thing found in this country has some bit of "masala" or spice, these two bland products keep me going. Peanut butter and (orange) jelly sandwiches are made on a daily basis. Potatoes are cut up in the shape of french fries, fried, and topped with ketchup. Thousand island dressing is made. I am satisfied. Uses: salivary satisfaction, happiness enducing. Usefulness: 5/5. Price: 164 rupees all together ($3 USD).

Some more pictures from our Hanukkah bash:

47 Days Later

...and my Ethiopia-battle-hardened tummy has finally faltered in the face of overwhelming Indian bacteria. Finally, I am sick. Although I am proud to say that I think I lasted the longest out of the 10 fellows. Swollen tonsils progressed to sore throat to a 2-day fever, to a growling stomach and abdominal pains all throughout yesterday and today. Diarrhea has also arrived as well as a few urges to throw up (haven't actually done it yet). And so my healthy tenure in India ends. The other two fellows are sick as well. Coincidence?

I decided not to upload pictures for this post...

Development is...

In a session during orientation sometime late last month, we were asked in groups to define the term "development." As someone who has worked in that field, the concept was somewhat familiar to me. Nevertheless, we came up with three wildly different definitions, and this is a testament to the word itself, especially when you consider it in the context of "international." So now as I enter the third week  of work with my NGO, I will try to explain development and my connection to it and to India. Most of you want to know what I'm doing here anyway, right? (see pretty drawing below)

IT IS AUGUST 2008 and the yearly monsoons have brought massive flooding to the Bihar province of Northeastern India. Among one of the hardest hit areas is the Kosi region where the Kosi River overruns its banks wiping out hundreds of thousands of houses and displacing over one million people. This is a common occurrence in India, especially in that region of Bihar, although flooding on this scale has not happened in decades...

COINCIDENTALLY, 6 MONTHS PRIOR to the flooding, my NGO had spearheaded the first ever collaboration on ODR, or Owner-Driven Reconstruction, a process by which the people (owners) are intimately involved in the reconstruction of their own houses, post-disaster (flood, earthquake, war, etc). They work alongside artisans and other advisers and are taught the best and most efficient disaster-proof ways of (re)building houses in the region. The process also attempts to utilize locally available and appropriate materials for reconstruction, ie. wood, bamboo, brick, etc. This all combines to promote sustainable and eco-friendly, resource conservative policies pertaining to post-disaster reconstruction. My NGO has utilized its experience through past work in Aceh, Indonesia after the 2004 tsunami, and in other regions such as  Pakistan, Afghanistan, and Iraq after war and natural disasters...

AND NOW, an ambitious program has been launched. Our collaborative consists of 8 organizations, including the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), and boasts a hefty goal of rebuilding 210,000 homes within 5 years, led by the new technical guidelines of the Owner Driven Reconstruction Collaborative (ODRC). But first, we have trained our sights on Part 1: Build 30,000 houses before the start of the monsoon season, June 2010...

WE HAVE 6 MONTHS. That's 5,000 houses per month, or about 165 houses per day. Everyday. From January to June. We are employing 300 artisans to advise and assist the owners with building. We are formulating technical guidelines by which houses should be built, and are treating and using materials native to the region (mainly bamboo) for the use in building these houses. We must complete it. Because when the monsoon hits, it hits hard...

MY ROLE in this endeavor is to establish, design, pioneer a completely new, from the ground up, management information system to track project physical and financial progress. I will be developing a system to monitor budgets on a day to day basis, among the 8 organizations and the dozens of people they each employ. It will be a large complex undertaking, aka, I will be making a pretty Excel spreadsheet and syncing it with a Googledocs sheet online. Sounds very simple, but the design has been 1 week in the making and the end is still out of sight. But, most of all, I am beginning to realize that this is where my expertise lies. I DO know how to do this better than anyone here --to use new and innovative software programs in conjunction with project management-- and it is great that I have found this niche within the organization. There is a strong chance I will be traveling to Bihar in January (2-3 day train ride each way) to personally monitor the projects. Better get on that Hindi...

THIS IS THE FIELD in which I am working, and this is just one tiny example of my role in international development. Other fellows in my program work with public health, needle users, HIV/AIDS, TB, nutrition in slums, women's empowerment and promotion of local artisans and their livelihoods, rights for sex workers, natural resource conservation among tribal areas, and land ownership rights for the Dalit (untouchable populations) of India. And those are just a few more areas included under the vast umbrella that is "international development." We are spread out among 6 cities, towns, villages, population ranging 20,000 to 20 million, separated by thousands of kilometers, spanning two Indian states, with locals speaking countless regional dialects...

DEVELOPMENT IS a complex term. It is loaded. It is social justice, human rights centered at times. It is simple aid giving, but hopefully more than that. It is training of local people in a sustainable manner, to aid them in improving their own livelihoods. It encompasses public health, humanitarian aid, construction, reconstruction, civil society promotion, democracy promotion, economic promotion, human rights promotion. It is run by non-profits, grassroots NGOs, multilateral international organizations (World Bank, UN), national governments, even the for-profit private sector. It is hard to say it is one thing or another, but, we CAN say that it is various elements: sectors, people, countries, and institutions, united together to work towards the elimination of poverty throughout the world.

Oh, forgot to mention, I also update the NGO website. =)

(Note: second new post below)

Thru Foto

I apologize for not posting sooner. I have meant to but our NGO had to move offices suddenly (landlord sold the land) and we have been without internet for a week. For now, enjoy some photos of daily life in Bhuj.

From left to right, top to bottom: our picture on the front page of the Times of India (read the last paragraph for a short description of me and some things I didn't actually say); the front door of my flat and front alleyway; the walk to work (note cow and boy flying kite); me uncomfortably at work trying not to disturb kitten sleeping on lap; Gabe and cow in my front alleyway; the office dogs sleeping out back on a pile of sawdust; chai time with my coworkers; my coworkers at our new office (kaka is front center); some students at a school on the outskirts of Bhuj; monkeys on the monkey bars (how many times in your life will you actually see that?); outside our new office land, construction yet to commence; my neighborhood; and a classroom in a school for underprivileged children in a rural village outside Bhuj.

10-7, Mon-Sat

I awake at 8:15am on the hard double mattress which after 5 days in Bhuj is still on the floor. No clue when I'm going to get a bed frame. I work 10-7, so no time to ever go to the old city market. Ceiling fan going strong. Cringe at the thought of how many dead cockroaches are on the other side of my bedroom door. I apply krazy lines (a magical chalk which stops insects cold in their tracks) each night. I use poison tablets. And bug spray. This morning however is different. The door creaks open to my living room, then kitchen, then bathroom, and Voila! No cockroaches! Well, at least no big ones. My friendly morning ants are there, all two dozen of them, in the bathroom, carrying off their carion from the night before (baby cockroach). I give them a quick nod while peeing. Fill the pail in the shower bucket with water and throw it down the toilet. On to the kitchen. It's bare, but mine. Cereal, whole milk in a bag, stainless steel bowl, spoon. My one non-spicy meal of the day.

30 minutes of sun salutations in front of the window. Yesterday while I was doing them, a random cat jumped into my room from the open window, right next to me. Think he was more freaked out than I was. A local boy wheels a cart of dried cherries down the street every morning, at the same exact time, yelling out the same phrase every 5 seconds or so. I Get dressed. Turn off electronic mosquito killer device thingy. Pack my laptop in the backpack. Close door, lock up. And now for my morning stroll through the neighborhood. To do this successfully, you gotta know the rules:

1. There are as many cow and wild dog families as there are human families in Nootan Colony. You never really know who has the upper hand at any given time.
2. The dogs control one street, the cows the next. Know your territory well.
3. A dog or cow strays down the wrong alley and you'll know it from the battle cries heard throughout the neighborhood.
4. Get in close with the pack that owns your street. (the cows and I are tight)
5. Cow and dog poop can and will be at every corner or passageway. Know the local dog or cow pooping spots well. Be prepared for unexpected surprises on your doorstep.

On another note: It's a challenge to dodge the mad puddles of cow poop everywhere, but I've turned it into a game. Battleship to be exact.

Finally emerge onto the main dirt road to work. Motorbikes, and scooters drive past. Wave hi to the guy on the corner who runs the samosa stand, Suprabhat! Kemcho? Majama. My favorite samosa stand for sure, if only he knew how happy he makes me. Well at least until I get sick. Cross over the main paved road in the area, Hospital Road, named so because it houses a bunch of pharmacies (called chemist shops here). Continue along the dirt road past a few more cow families that know me well by now. Rickshaws roll by, bumping along, and I finally reach the entrance to my NGO. Pass by the dozen or so kids playing cricket on the dirt field and walk into the office. My desk is right in the middle of the room, Kemcho to the giggly accounting assistant girls on my left, Suprabhat to the two admin assistants, and then in comes my Kaka. Allow me to explain:

1. Any male over 60 years old shall be known as "kaka" (uncle).
2. You shall always address a kaka as kaka.
3. There is no limit to how many kakas can be in one place at one time.
4. Kakas shall address each other as kaka.
5. Kakas are important. You want kaka on your good side.

Kaka and I are close. Although he's probably 40-50 years older than me, we are best friends. He controls the vehicles at my NGO and drives me around a lot in the beginning. To get a bed, gas stove, fridge. He teaches me Gujarati, though says I shouldn't speak like him. Everyone in the office says he is pagal, gando (crazy), and tells me not to listen to him. But Kaka and I are close. Kaka invited me to his village to have lunch and you better believe I am excited to go.

I am sitting at my desk, the center of the room. I peer out the door and see 2 skinny kittens walk by, followed by a mangey looking dog. The cook in the kitchen brings me chai right at 10:30; she will bring it again at 3:10 right after lunch. My 8-9 hour day in the office is the best Gujarati lesson I could ever have. All day I am taught new words and phrases. Within 4 days I am making broken sentences. This is happening pretty quickly, I am excited to see where I will be in a few months. Here are a few of my favorite, and definitely some of the most useful, phrases:

Wando ney (no problem)
Hu gando chu (I am crazy)
Thame gando cho (you are crazy)
Kaka gando che (Kaka is crazy)
Mane chai joye che (I want chai)

At lunchtime, a tiffin arrives for me! A tiffin is the Indian version of a lunchbox. It's a stack of 4 stainless steel containers that have different food in each part. Mine comes with baat (rice), roti (flatbread), sak (cooked veggies), daal (lentil soup thing), and chaas (buttermilk) in a bottle. The spiciness is not so bad anymore. Nose running is the only symptom I get these days. The tiffin costs 30 rupees ($0.60) to have delivered each day for lunch. It's worth it.

The day ends with English lessons. I teach a few select staff members from 600-630. It's the least I can do for all the Gujarati they teach me throughout the day. By 700 its dark and it's time to go. I start the 15-minute trek home on the dirt road, past the cows eating out of the trash dumpster, unable to spot the poop with no light, give a head bob to the samosa guy, dodge the rickshaws while crossing Hospital Road, pass my favorite ice cream shop, arrive back at Nootan Colony, and greeted by Jumbo Slice (the neighborhood cow-- yes that is the name selection that won out). What's left to do? A game of night badminton then frisbee with some of my coworkers. A nighttime snack at the dabili cart. Walk to the local cricket stadium and watch a night match. Back home to my place. Switch back on electronic mosquito killer thingy. Hard mattress on the floor. Wonder when I'm gonna get a bed frame.

And so my new daily routine begins. 6 days a week. Pictures to come soon.

7 Days in 'da Bahd

Monday: we exit the gates of the ashram and flag down 4 rickshaws. A 30 Rupee ($0.60) ride lasts 35 minutes as we arrive at the "Step Well" on the outskirts of town. This huge 5-storied underground well was carved out of the earth in 1499 and still stands to this day, collecting water. Each floor inside consists of one huge step with elaborate carvings and the entire structure is like one massive cube, all pillars and sides lining up perfectly. Probably the coolest thing I have seen yet. Our rickshaw ride back sees some typical Indian-style motorcycle riding, aka an entire family of husband, wife, and 2 children on one motorcylce (see picture). It is crazy how many people Indians fit on one bike.

Tuesday: After 3 hours of Hindi class, we take a stroll through the old walled city of Ahmedabad where we come across some kids playing cricket and ask if we can join in. Ye Lo (Take it)! says the boy as he hands me the paddle. Time to test out my baseball skills on the cricket pitch. Needless to say, I scored a 6 run hit but got thrown out on my way back. I'm ecstatic that I will be able to play a sport just like baseball while in India. We end the night back at the ashram where a massive program is being held for the senior citizens of Ahmedabad. After dinner, the staff let us eat the leftovers and we chat in broken Gujarati and Hindi with them. I am crying from the spiciness but I am committed to numbing my taste buds enough so that I can continue eating this food the whole year. Not sure I brought enough chapstick though. =(

Wednesday: A day full of Hindi and sessions. Afterwards though I get to hang out with a bunch of friendly Muslim children that we come across in the old city, and then take a rickshaw ride to the other Gandhi ashram in the Ahmedabad. It is Gandhi's second ashram, is much bigger than the one we are at, and is where Gandhi spent the majority of his time. There is a large museum and gift shop and I spend a few hours here reading about his activities. Upon returning to the ashram we hear loud drumming and music coming from just outside the compound walls. We walk over and find ourselves in the middle of a huge religious festival complete with a massive, colorful, carriage type thing being carried around on someone's head and a few hundred people dancing. I get my forehead painted red and we are roped into the huge congo line encircling the carriage. Our whole group shows up and we are definitely the center of attention. I have never felt more white in my life.

Thursday: After another morning of activities, I venture outside the ashram gates with a couple friends to stop by the local chai cart. There are at least 15 Indians shuffling around drinking chai and the guy working the cart is busy meddling with a huge cauldron of bubbling tea and milk. Teen chai (three chai) please. He pours us some sweet sweet tea in glass cups and we flip him 4 rupees ($0.10) each. I am wired already from the caffeine and the sugar. Drinking chai is a typical Indian activity and is especially popular in this part of India. I have heard that I will be drinking at least 2 cups of chai each day while in the office, and don't forget to include the countless neighbors, friends, and acquaintances who apparently will be inviting me in for chai on a daily basis as well. I think I'm going to be wired for 9 months straight. That night for dinner we have our usual white rice, daal (lentils), sabji (vegetables of some kind), and chapaati (flat bread). My lips are swollen, nose running, and tongue on fire within a few minutes. Nothing new.

Friday: the multicultural day in Ahmedabad. Start off the day with a trip through the old city where we visit the largest mosque in the area. It has a vast inner courtyard and a pillared prayer area, not to mention two huge minarets, one of which has been partially destroyed. We show up just in time for afternoon prayers and the imam at the front makes us stay in a waiting area until the prayers end. We then get a tour of the mosque in broken English and snap some group pictures. On to the Hindu mandir (temple) called Swaminarayan Mandir. Colorful, arched, with statues of Hindu gods all around, this place is pretty sweet. Each temple is usually dedicated to one god though I'm not sure to which one this is. Our last stop is that evening to the only synagogue in Ahmedabad. There is a small congregation of 150 Jews in the city and we join about 20 of them or so for evening prayers. The services are different from any I have been to before, yet at the same time, we are all connected through Hebrew and I recognize all of the prayers and can follow along. Still, it's a surreal scene. The director of the synagogue is excited to see us Westerners and invites us to a huge dinner function the next night. Getting invitations on the spot we learn is very common in India, even to the extent that someone who you just met on the train might invite you to their brother's wedding the following weekend. Imagine something like that happening in the US. The cultural differences are pretty insane.

Saturday: the majority of this day is resting. The highlight is definitely the chocolate chip pancakes we made in the morning for breakfast... a little bit of home! It's a nice change from the spicy Indian food. Lots of reading, internet cafe runs, and some TV watching on my laptop sums up the rest of the day.

Sunday: it's the day of the big Sunday flea market. So we walk across the huge bridge connecting the two parts of the city and snap some photos from above of the massive market. Indian markets are segregated by wares being sold. So the first part is all kitchen and household utensils, then we get to the clothes, the books, and eventually the best part, the goats. The goat market is filthy, smelly, and crowded as hell. People are getting violent negotiating over the price of a goat. While out in public, it is common for everyone to blatantly stare at us white people, but at the goat market it is the first time we (Gabe and I) are ignored! At one point we stop to ask about the goats and an old man places the leash in my hand. 2000 rupees ($40) he says. And that's just the starting price. I don't need a goat. What am I going to do with a goat? So, he takes the leash and hands me a chicken instead. We are right up alongside the filthy river and there is trash everywhere. Kids running around and rummaging through the trash, women doing laundry in the river, next to the trash, goats being sold, poop (human and animal) everywhere. This is India for real and we aren't even in the countryside yet. Damn.

This is my last post in Ahmedabad. The next post will be from my new home in Bhuj. Until then!

This Town is Quite Bhujie

An 8-hour overnight ride on a “sleeper” bus precedes our trip to Bhuj. The beds, placed parallel to the bus and made of hard, leather-like grey surfaces (and nothing else), are uncomfortable to say the least and we are definitely rolling left and right with every (wild) turn the bus makes. I have (1) red fitted sheet and no pillow for an 8-hour ride. Oh yea, forgot to mention I am sharing one of these 4 foot by 6 foot spaces with my roommate Gabe and our 2 backpacks. No room whatsoever. To make things worse, Indian drivers honk their horns at least once every 3 seconds, and the horn on this bus sounds something like the tune on Austin Powers' phone when Basel calls him. Yea, you know what I'm talking about. Try sleeping with that. I get a whopping 1-2 hours of sleep before arriving in Bhuj with the sunset around 7am. At least that was a nice sight. Then we learn that nothing really gets going in Bhuj until around 10am! This is one lazy place. So we get a day-room in a guest house next to a dirt lot where a few Indian boys are playing cricket. I decide right then and there I’ll be playing cricket with them every morning…

But how did I get here?

Last week I was told I would get a sneak preview of my future town, Bhuj, in the Kachchh region of far Western Gujarat.  I, along with two other fellows and our program officer would take an 8-hour overnight bus from Ahmedabad (where we are now) to Bhuj leaving Monday night around 10pm, arriving Tuesday morning, then leaving Tuesday night to arrive Wednesday back in Ahmedabad at 6am. Why you might ask? Since Bhuj is a border district (Pakistan), the controls are a little tighter and apparently we have to appear in person at the Foreign Registration Office (FRO) within 14 days of entering the country or else. And thus, as I return to the story, we arrive at our first lesson in Indian bureaucracy:

It’s 10:30. We meet up with D, the supervisor of one of the other fellows. D escorts us to the FRO. We wait 30 minutes in a room straight out of a 1970’s Soviet-bloc government headquarters. Three civil servants pounding away with heavy metal stamps, stacks of paperwork in front of them. We hand over our passports, paperwork, 3 passport-style photos. Civil servant looks them over. We wait 30 more minutes while civil servant fidgets around, and leaves room. Civil servant returns. [In Gujarati] “The man at the top is too busy today, come back Saturday at 10:30am”. Whaaat? Does he know we just came all the way from Ahmedabad? Does he know about that bus ride I just took?  D argues. Makes some phone calls. We wait more. Then, time to go. We are unsuccessful. We must come back to Bhuj in four days, on Saturday. Do it all over again, 8 hours there, 8 hours back. I am not happy. It’s now 1pm. Rickshaw ride back to the guest house. Along the way, my supervisor, V, calls. We tell her the situation. She says she will make some calls, be ready at 330pm. Does it really work like that? We eat lunch, and return to the guest house.  330 comes and goes. 400. Then 415. I am angry knowing I have to come back again on that bus ride in a few days. Then, 425, phone call. It’s V. Get to the FRO now! We rush outside but where’s our driver, kaka? We search frantically. A pickup comes roaring around the corner, kaka at the wheel. He yells something unintelligible in Gujarati and points to the right hand side door. We hop in. He races through dirt roads in Bhuj, left hand on the stick shift, right on the horn. And I mean right On The Horn. Scariest ride in India yet. 5 minutes of bumps later, we screech into the driveway of the FRO. V is waving at us from the entrance. Hurry up! We rush over, climb up some stairs, run down some hallways, and once again I am in 1970’s USSR. An Indian man in glasses sticks his head out of a door and flags us down. Hurry inside. And there he is! The big man at the top! Stacks of papers all around. Give me your passports. Carmona, Andrew, Jay. Yes. Hmm okay and I am visually verified. My counterparts get the same, we are done in a total of 2 minutes. And then we rush downstairs to meet the original civil servant. Sit and watch him fidget for another 45 minutes. Carmona, Andrew, Jay. Yes. I sign some papers. And then, I have it! Big metal stamp seal on A4 paper, and an illegible phrase written on the Indian visa page in my passport… but I have residency! What’s left to do but celebrate? So we head to the high class Indian restaurant in town and drop $12 between the four of us. Big Money. From “no time today, come back in 4 days” to some private phone calls and some special treatment from a contact on the inside, and I have had my first run in with Indian bureaucracy (not counting my visa fiasco in the US). Our return bus ride yields 2-3 hours of sleep, although I am content this time. Sleeping pills will be consumed next time.

And on a final note, I got to see my new apartment when we were in Bhuj. Not only is it a 2-bedroom and kitchen to myself, but it also comes equipped with its own squat toilet, bucket shower, and plump neighborhood cow out back that I have yet to name. I will be taking name suggestions for the next 10 days.