Saturday, February 04, 2006
Packing to go to Zambia
This picture was taken the day before Willemien set off for Zambia. Off to help out at Tithandizane - We Help Each Other. A Buddhist temple, a primary health care centre and much more.
Around the table
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Chin-chin, side-side
Hiya,
I've got some new "I am wobbling my head" definitions for you. Often there are just two wobbles, chin-chin, side-side. This means either "thanks" or "nice one", or "no thanks, not interested". I think this is possibly the most important piece of Indian communication I've learnt so far. If a bunch of people are touting you - trying to get you into their auto-rickshaw or into their shop - you can acknowledge their persuasions without having to stop, talk or even look, and keep walking without appearing to be a rude stuck-up tourist. "Head-head", or more accurately "chin-chin" means "yup, I heard you, no I don't want to do business with you or talk to you, I am going this way and I'm not interested in stopping but I mean you no harm". What happens when they see you do this is extraordinary. They sometimes laugh - not maliciously but joyously that a weird whitey has worked out the intricacies of the head wobble. And more often they just stop trying to persuade you to do whatever it is they were hoping you're do - they see a "local" not a tourist. Amazing! I'm thinking of running workshops for all those thinking of travelling to India.... ;}
There's some new photos uploaded here if you're bored of reading my waffle. http://photobucket.com/albums/f12/bigtamphotos/ Lots of pictures of those mountains 'cause I want to show why I started imagining they were talking to me. And why, when I go back, I expect to have a few more in depth chats....
Bought some new toothpaste recently. Didn't want to buy the boring Colgate or similar, so took a gamble and went for the one where I couldn't read the language on the side. Turned out to be mint, and in all but one way, perfectly ordinary. But the colour was.... brick-red. And when you spit, a sort of pastel orange. Bizarre. I mean, can you imagine in the West, having your toothpaste coming out a dirty orange colour? We'd tolerate a greenish or bluish colour at best. The national colour of India is orange (sensible people - it is in Tam-world easily the most beautiful hue in existence.) But I don't think that is the reason it exists as a minty spittle colour at all. I have two theories, please let me know if any more that come to mind. One is gum disease - the orange hiding any blood that comes out in the spit (sorry). The other of course is betel stains - a 12 year-old boy even offered me some the other day, bleurgh, and older folks regularly have there whole mouths and teeth stained with it. Revolting.
I went to Mamallapuram last week on my day off. About two hours bus ride from Chennai Central Bus Station, it is a tourist Mecca due to lots of awesome sixth to ninth century carved temples and shrines carved out of caves and rocks, and the stone carving industries that have sprung up around the area. My first UNESCO World Heritage site of the year, and very impressive it was too - I particularly liked the life-size carved elephant. I did my usual and went "off-piste" - careering up and down rocks and through jungle is much more fun, you get to see more monkeys and parrots, and you might as well - like the rest of Asia India has very little concept of health and safety which is refreshing. I hung out on the beach a little, and enjoyed the herds of cows enjoying the warm sand beneath their bellies, and the fact that instead of seagulls they have great flocks of crows.
There was a dance festival on, the backdrop of which was one of the huge carved sculptural rock-faces. I saw two hour long solos by two female classical Indian dancers who both wore more twinkly bits than ought to be possible on one woman. There were men in the audience who are obviously the type of fans who travel wherever the dancers go - in one case actually drooling (no really). The poise, grace, stamina and balance of the dancers was quite extraordinary, although I got a bit tired of hearing in the introductions the Hindu stories - they all seemed to be about "looking for my lord Krishna" and "dancing for my lord Shiva". Male-gaze-centric basically. Oh well then exactly the same as MTV.....
Had some lovely chats with the stone carvers - I want to go back and do a day carving if I get the chance. It's amazing what happens when you people ask you what you do and you say "social work" which is the Indian way of saying volunteering - the attitudes change dramatically and you suddenly start getting some real communication (and even some real non-tourist prices). One chap was fascinating - higher IQ it seemed than any one I've met in a long time, knew something about everything yet has barely ever left his village. It was interesting talking to him about the tsunami. Mamallupuram was hardly affected as a result of its geographical placement. Yet there are all these projects around the place - new fisherman's' social clubs and that type of thing. My carver told me that no-one in Mamallapuram is poor - too much of the tourist dollar about for that. Yet they got the lions share of the local injection of foreign aid on account of the large numbers of Westerners who had either passed through before, or after, the disaster. Shanty fishing villages a couple of kilometres down the coast, who suffered much more and needed much more, got little, whilst wealthy beachfront restaurateurs in Mamallupuram had their businesses rebuilt. *Sigh*.
We live a pretty long bus journey north of Chennai, and I've done the journey into the city a couple of times now. The other day I did it at 8.30am - crazy rush hour sardine-tin time. I've never been to China but you know those pictures where they have blokes who are paid to PUSH people onto the trains in the morning? This was like that. Hilarious. I managed to squeeze myself in somehow, don't ask me how, there are always about eight boys hanging outside the bus, mad when you remember that this is a country where no-one has wing mirrors because they would be snapped off in an instant. I monkeyed my way onto a handrail overlooking the steps and perched as more people shoved their way on in ridiculous numbers. People held on for dear life - which had the refreshing effect of guaranteeing that and apparently wandering hands were actually simply attempting to locate a spare inch of rail to grab onto to prevent unwanted forced exit from the speeding bus....
When I was able to move up the bus, an opportunity for a seat came up. I offered it to an elderly women who needed far more than me. In India, if you have a white skin you automatically granted Bramin status (high-caste status). So a Bramin who gave up her seat was strange and refreshing to the buses' occupants. The old woman beamed, and something interesting happened. In buses which are packed (almost all of them) the ticket seller sits at the back in a special seat behind the women's' seats (oh yes there are women's seats, although this is a little flexible and as a stupid Westerner I can sit on the men's' side if I choose to). People can't move to the conductor to buy a ticket, it's too full, so people pass down their fares from passenger to passenger, indicating how much they want to pay. Well after giving up my seat, I became one of the people, and was handed money and instructions to pass down the line along with everyone else. Didn't understand the Tamil instructions, but was quite happy to play courier. Quite an honour, if that makes sense...
The teaching has been going well. I guided a "Drawing the Buddha" class I learned about in New Zealand last year, and the children just loved it. We've taught them lots of songs, the one they like best is to the tune of "Frera Jacqua" with new lyrics; "We are students, we are students, in Group One, in Group One, We are learning English, We are learning English, in Chennai, in Chennai". Next stop getting them to sing in in a round - they're just adorable. I played cricket the other day with the boys, most of them don't have shoes which means their feet must be like shoe leather since they run around on rocks and through rubbish like it's nothing. I was fairly awful but scored extra kudos by virtue of being a female cricket player. The girls don't seem much interested in sports but they are interested in dance - looks like I will be teaching them some moves this weekend. Scary. Their main break-time entertainment seems to be picking nits out of each others' hair - also scary. Glad I'm shorn. The wonderful earth-mother matron-in-charge, Sister Geetha (everyone is Sister or Brother in the hostel - I love it, it's so friendly sounding), asked Alison about why I have no hair. I expect she was trying to equate my "nun" appearance with my earrings and bindis. Alison explained about the hassle we get from men and said I was trying to avert eve-teasing. Apparently Sister Geetha looked confused, interested and a bit scared. But who knows, maybe she'll be inspired herself to crop her locks. I had a great chat with her about why I'm not married (because I'm an independent women who has no need for a man). She looked dead chuffed and told me it is exactly the same for her. Go Sister Geetha....
I also do reading and comprehension classes. It's going okay - I manage through virtue of being prepared and having a modicum of common sense. But I wish I had more knowledge - there's nothing like learning a job through doing it and for this reason this experience has been invaluable. But I care about the children - both these ones and those in Delhi - and I want to learn how to do this properly so I can do it better next time. So it's gonna have to be a TEFL when I get home. Have you done one? Was it a good experience? Got any advise for me? Ta muchly - appreciate it.
That's it. Oh yes - I went down to the beach this morning. It's only five minutes from out apartment buildings but it's a different world. Where we live is a bunch of apartment blocks that are very similar in size and construction to the down-market 1960s-built Brixton housing estate I lived in once. The salt water the comes out of the taps is especially exiting - it's that "just been to the beach" feeling after every shower and every clothes wash. The difference to Brixton is that Horizon Apartments are, for round here, terribly posh. High walls with glass concreted around the top, and armed guards on the gate keep the local Dalit community firmly out. Five minutes away are shanty towns and palm leaf roofed huts. I walk down there sometimes (nothing is going to stop me from sitting by the sea, and I find that if you walk down imagining that you're carrying a water butt on your head - fluid, straight and strong, eyes forward, smile at the children, it's fine).
So down I go, to clamber over rocks to get near the water. Rih-kee, Asok and Raji something soon join me to hang out. About 12, 14 and 15. One of them has TV-learned English (or rather WWWF American.) We have some good chats, and after a while only Rih-kee is left. School? "Nah, me fisherman". After a while he indicates a bunch of knife marks on his arm. "My name" he boasts proudly. "Oh...." I'm sceptical. Later he tells me that he saw the tsunami, and that both his parents were killed. It was like the Titanic he explains (they must have been in their fishing boat). He's pulling at the knife wounds as he tells me.... I take his hand and tell him that I'm sorry. He gazes into my eyes for a moment, holding so much pain... But boys will be boys, and when I turn away for an instant, he's turned his eyelids inside out to shock me (successfully). He's only about 12 but too close to manhood to dwell on his orphan status for long. But it makes you think....
How fortuneate we are.
With love, Tam x
