Onions: political miracle?

For the past week or so, Bryon and I have been staying with Father Gilbert, a friend of the family, at his children's home in Mysore (about three hours from Bengalore).

News here from House of Love is that India and Pakistan are now bffs.

I'll explain: today, because I didn't pay very close attention in history (sorry, Olathe South) I wanted to know the specific reason Pakistan and India were not friends.

The kids here will play chess and assign one side India and one Pakistan, and the children at New Life had a simple Game Boy-like video game in which they would always call the enemies Pakistan. I wanted to know the full story.

I asked Harry, one of the older boys, why there were such shaky relations. Bryon told him to keep the answer short, to three sentences. Harry gave us a look that said three sentences would be difficult, thought for a while, and then simply said, "Because they are bad people."

Some of the other children chimed in, saying they were terrorists, that they had bombs, etc., but nothing specific. It was sad to see hatred indoctrinated into such young children.

Then Priya said, "No, they are friends now!" I asked her to explain, and told her that to come to India, we had to get visas, and that if you were from Pakistan, you couldn't get a visa. (The official clause says something along the lines that if you are from Pakistan, game over. [Um, edit: I was informed by a Pakistani friend of mine that they can, indeed, get visas. I'm just here to uphold the stereotype that Americans are underinformed; you're welcome.] If you hold dual citizenship, say with Pakistan and the US, you must apply under your American citizenship and renounce your Pakistani ties. The process also asks if any of your parents or grandparents were ever affiliated with Pakistan. It's serious. But anyway.)

Priya elaborated, and because of her thick accent I had to clarify: "So, Pakistan gave India onions and now they're friends?" Priya nodded, adding that Obama wanted them to be friends.

Whew. Glad that's over. I'm also happy that both countries could put to rest such an extended dispute thanks to a shipment of vegetables.

I knew I loved onions for a reason.

Be home in a few days. Happy New Year! Don't worry, folks at home (can I call you "homies"?), I'll test drive 2011 for you...or at least the first 11.5 hours of it.

Lots of love,
Jessica

Elisha.

I've started this post many times, to tell you about the most hilarious and incredible boy on this entire subcontinent, in my humble and unbiased opinion. I don't know where to start.

I've tried starting from the beginning, how Bryon and I came to start sponsoring him. I tried to tell about how securely he has captured my heart as he has slowly come out of his shell over the past week. Words don't suffice for what I feel for this seven-year-old, it seems, so I will just have to understate the matter: I love him, and he is wonderful. Instead I want to share how I have seen myself become a well-intentioned hypocrite over a beautiful boy named Elisha.

Before I describe that, however, I'd like to make an unfair sweeping generalization (you know, while I'm at it and doing things I find unattractive in others). Americans have a savior complex. We have seen how wonderful and prosperous an industrialized, democratic society can be, and we have elected ourselves to positions of beneficent superiority, bent on rescuing others from the muck and grime of anything we perceive as oppression, injustice, or lack of the rights to education or McDonald's.

But really, (now I'll speak for myself alone) I feel that I have been indoctrinated to believe that what I have is "more" and anything else is "less." I believe it was no one's fault, really, that I didn't fully grasp the concept that "different" could be just as good.

Which brings me to the point of my Indian baby, Elisha. Bryon and I have both fallen in love with him, and have both, at times, expressed our desire to bring him home with us. When I intially arrived, I saw a boy, too small for his age, with severely-decayed teeth, wearing a dirty, faded Titanic shirt (complete with Leo and Kate) for the first three days we were there. He was a tiny, shy boy whose entirety of life possessions fit in a tackle box. With no parents, all he had was his younger brother. He had so little, and I wanted to give him everything I thought he needed.

As the week has gone on, though, I have had to come to terms with the idea that adopting a child like Elisha may not be what is best for him. Despite what I had initially thought, he has everything he needs and, I honestly believe, he wants: he has food, shelter, an education, friends, his brother...he's happy. And on top of that, this life--this country--is all he knows. Ripping him away from his only security, his quiet, simple way of life, and bringing him to a life of flush toilets, supermarkets, mandatory shoes, and mega-everything would be unfair at the least.

Instead of "fixing" all the sadness I see in the world, I've been learning here to appreciate the positives of a different life. I absolutely want what's best for Elisha, his brother Rajesh, and all the children, but I'm beginning to understand just how beautiful their lives already are, and how little help they might currently need. (To be honest, I'm a little jealous of how simple their lives are. You can wear the same clothes twice here!)

If, some day, he wants to go to America (or Germany, or Kenya, or wherever), I already know I'd want to help facilitate that. But for now, I recognize the fact that I need to put my selfish desire for his goodnight kisses and whole-body laughs aside to shift my focus to encouraging him to lead the life he wants for himself, whatever (and wherever) that may be.

I hope that is all coherent. We played some violent version of Red Rover today and I got my brain scrambled a little bit. So the Cliff Notes version is that this post could be titled "Elisha, The Boy I Want To Adopt and Hug Every Day" or "If It Ain't Broke, Don't Fix It."

Love you all so much.
Jessica!

(This is also the background on my phone. Just sayin'.)

Regarding: walking on cultural eggshells (and failing).

Because of cultural traditions and local conservative values, Bryon and I decided to keep our relationship on the down-low, at least when it comes to how the Indians (and especially the children) see us, which has meant basically no touching of any kind, etc.

What I find interesting is how much little ones can perceive, even with a rather thick language barrier. The following are examples from the last few days of when the girls have understood more than I would have liked, in a hilarious way.

DEVI, pointing: Jiseeka, brotha, brotha? [Jessica, is Bryon your brother?]
JESSICA: No.
DEVI: Husbahn'?
JESSICA: No, no. Friend.
DEVI: Friend?
JESSICA: Friend.
DEVI: Juuust friend?
JESSICA, uncomfortable: Yes, yes, friend, friend...

-----------------

LAKSHMI: Jiseeka, you marries? [Are you married?]
JESSICA: No, no...
LAKSHMI: No??
JESSICA: Nope.
LAKSHMI, gesturing: Bron no husbahn'? [Bryon's not your husband?]
JESSICA: No.
LAKSHMI: Friend?
JESSICA: Yes, just friend.
LAKSHMI: No husbahn?? [Why is he not your husband?]
JESSICA, laughing: No, no. No husband.
LAKSHMI: You, Bron, marries. [You and Bryon should get married.]
(She takes hold of both Bryon and my hands and brings them together in front of her; we both draw away like we've touched a hot stove.)
JESSICA: No, no! Why marries Bron? Perrico? [Telegu, the local language, for "Why?"]
LAKSHMI, pauses to find the English words, then: Your face, very beautiful. Face, face, same. Good match. Very supah. [You are both good-looking, so it would be a good match.]

Awesome how we don't speak more than fifty words of the same language, and yet, huge concepts are still conveyed. Kids are neat.

As a side note, because the kids have a pretty limited vocabulary, they say "very super" with their hand making what we would consider an "a-okay" sign for just about anything. It is hilarious and, I have surprisingly found, highly applicable. Trust you will see me use it back on the States.

Still trying to come up with a blog about Elisha. Still don't know how to convey him in words. Just come to India and meet him, mmk? You won't regret it! Promise!

With love and the hilarity of awkward moments,
Jessica

I feel that I should write, considering we've been here about three days now. As much as I'd like to share something eloquent and well thought-out, I'm afraid my lack of proper sleep will prevent such a post. You can thank the friendly neighborhood rooster, who is apparently under the (severely mistaken) impression that I prefer to start each day at 4:30.

Let me first say that I love this country. It is so vibrant, so alive, that I can't help but be excited to just be here. That excitement, however, has unfortunately been only in theory at times; I have been so mentally/emotionally/spiritually exhausted over the end of this school semester (which wrapped up twenty-four hours before my flight left) that interaction has sometimes been overwhelming. While I love people and being social, I also cherish Me Time, something that isn't very plentiful on this trip. It breaks my heart that these beautiful girls have been in want of love and attention for so long that they literally cling to me any time I walk anywhere around the grounds, but it's even harder for me that I can't be what they so desperately desire because I've been so tired; I find myself easily irritated not only by these precious children begging for attention, but with the petty complaints of my fellow travelers. It's just not the type of person I wanted--or want--to be.

These children and their constant one-question quiz, "My name? My name?" are, to me, such a reflection of one of our most basic needs: to be known. Not in any sort of way that implies celebrity or enhanced status, but almost a validation that, yes, I exist, and someone knows else knows it. I think it is one of our base desires, one that is fulfilled in many of our lives by friends and family, regardless of how imperfect. It is both beautiful and heartbreaking that, for these children, a simple handshake and smile can brighten their day.

I woke with the following verse running through my head:
Create in me a clean heart, oh God, and renew your steadfast spirit within me.
This verse has slowly been changing me, and things are always getting better.

Switching topics: we planned on doing health assessments while we were here, and we've completed those for all the boys. In general, they are healthy, just skinny. We saw some scabies, general owies, one case of ringworm? (How do you have just ONE case of ringworm?) an ear infection, eye infection, asthma, and one kid with some raspy chest sounds that I wanted tested for TB. Other than that, the boys seemed in pretty good physical shape. Some had signs of rough pasts: one boy had a thick, horizontal scar across his throat, and another's arm was glossy, with similar stripes going across his torso and down his leg. (The latter told me later that it was from "current" and pointed at a light switch. Yowza.)

All their physical scars must pale in comparison to their emotional scars--loss, abandonment, abuse, neglect, chronic fear--but in most cases, you can't tell by looking. These kids are so, so happy and loving; they are such a blessing.

There is one in particular who has stolen my heart. His name is Elisha, and he's the cutest little boy on this entire subcontinent. I'll tell you more about him when I'm hopefully not so low on sleep. We'll see if that can happen. (I'm lookin' at you, rooster.)

Sorry this was so disjointed. I'm so tired I keep forgetting what I'm saying as I talk. Oh well.

Love you all!
Jessica

Grounded.

Had things gone according to plan, we would probably be about halfway to Chennai right now. However, that's not the case...instead we're in London still, in lofty, airline-paid five-star hotel rooms with down comforters and animals made of towels and eucalyptus-scented granite showers with--

Oh wait. Sorry, I haven't slept really since we left yesterday; I must be delirious. We're in our second hour of waiting to be cleared to push off from the gate, with at least another hour ahead of us. How did this happen? I'll give the Cliff's Notes version:
Got to London on time. Yay!
It's cold in London.
Plane needed to be de-iced.
De-icing crew (They have that? What a terrible job. That's why I'm going to college.) could not be acquired in a timely manner. Perhaps thirty minutes pass.
Finally saddle up to the gate.
They have to call an engineer because a door won't open? Or close? I'm not sure.
Finally free! Head to check in for our next flight.
Which has closed.
Wait in line for over an hour.
(They fed us, which was nice.)
Get rerouted through Delhi, which is northwest from where we need to be.
Most (all but four) of our party will go to Vishak directly, which is closer to the children's home. Also, no twelve houyr train ride, which is a +/- because I've heard that's an experience to be had.
The other four (Schaun and family) are going to Chennai and will meet the gang down south soonish. This is all assuming this delay won't change those plans.

As I'm writing this, the captain tells us we're pushing off to go taxi in a "remote hold area," which may help our wait time? He says it'll still be another forty-ish minutes. "At least we're pushing off and feel like we're starting on our journey."

I mostly just feel more stranded and anxious. Uh, yes, sir? Do you have some Valium on that snack cart?

I'm fluctuating between being upset and finding this whole thing hilarious. I'm starting to believe that the entire sub-continent of India is a hoax, and that we may never get there.

Kidding. Have to shut my phone off. This is a good sign!

Jessica