tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37806042401620529202024-02-07T03:53:13.184-06:00PraxisMy time as a Young Adult Volunteer in Kerala, India.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-5028992543485757552009-06-04T04:41:00.003-05:002010-05-12T21:15:26.407-05:00There is some problem...For over a week now, I have woken each morning and faced the reality of no running water. In the States the only time I can remember not having water was when the power was out from a storm. Only during a hurricane would this waterless state of affairs approach twenty-four hours. I recently read a former YAV's blog on Americans' <a href="http://charlottekerickson.blogspot.com/2009/05/couple-weeks-ago-power-went-out.html">relationship with electricity</a> and how crippled we are without it. Her basic argument was nearly all our activities, "productive" and otherwise, require electricity. In a similar way, when our water stops coming through the pipes, we have no alternative.<div><br /><div></div><div>Here the alternative before I can bathe, brush my teeth, and/or shave is to take my two buckets and walk down with my friends to the nearby well. And I mean walk <i>down</i>, because the well is wonderfully positioned at the bottom of the hill our hostel sits on. While there's something fulfilling about dropping that silver pail down the well while trying not to get rope burn on your hands or let the pail hit the fern-covered sides, I miss the time when water kindly obeyed my request by falling out of the faucet in my wall when encouraged by the turn of a knob. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>A couple day ago, as we waited for one of my friends to draw water, I commented to another that it had now been a week since we had water. His response put me in my place: "Yes, John, but we have water. In India, many people have <i>no</i> water. There is some problem, but we have water." I realized immediately he was completely right; because of climate change, pollution by Western corporations, and a whole host of other causes I know too little about, many people here (and elsewhere) have lost the ability to use the water near their homes and are forced to walk miles each day. </div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Leaving the States hasn't perfected my awareness of global problems. Even in India I take for granted the convieniences I do have and forget that there are those who suffer to meet their daily needs. It frightens me to think of how much more disconnected I will be from my global siblings once I return to the States, but one of my goals for is to constantly work toward a higher level of awareness. But it will take an extraordinary of initiative; even when we live in the Majority/Third World, it's possible to protect ourselves from harsher realities. But doesn't this only limit our immersion in God's creation.</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-76122863770466894202009-06-02T23:50:00.001-05:002010-05-12T21:20:02.435-05:00New Stuff for You!<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">You can find my most recent newsletter on the PC(USA) <a href="http://www.pcusa.org/missionconnections/letters/yav/yav_stangerj_0906.htm">website</a>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Also you can find almost 200 photos from my <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/john.stanger/NorthIndia">All India Tour</a> and new photos from <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/john.stanger/KeralaIndia">Kerala</a>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: 13px;">(Blogs coming soon!)</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0Kottayam, Kerala, India9.586446 76.5217979.5441300000000009 76.463432000000012 9.628762 76.580162tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-53760469396914359652009-04-04T21:27:00.003-05:002010-05-12T21:15:12.465-05:00Alive in Delhi<span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:small;"><span style="font-size:13px;">After a 48-hour train ride up the subcontinent, we arrived in Delhi Friday to be hosted by <a href="http://www.pcusa.org/missionconnections/profiles/hudsond.htm">Sue</a> and David Hudson (as well as their daughter Mary), who both work for the PC(USA). It's evident they belong in India, because they have Indian hospitality nailed down. And it tastes <i>great</i>!</span></span><br /><div><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:small;"><span style="font-size:13px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:small;"><span style="font-size:13px;">After seeing <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/India_Gate">India Gate</a> and the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raisina_Hill">seat of government</a> at sunset Friday, we woke up and stormed Delhi with a vengeance Saturday. Last night I walked into the Hudson's apartment and informed them we had "conquered Delhi." Which is quite the overstatement as there is much more to see than the tourist sites we hit: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qutb_Minar"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Qutb</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Minar</span></a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bah%C3%A1%27%C3%AD_House_of_Worship">Lotus Temple</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humayun%27s_Tomb"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Humayun's</span> Tomb</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Connaught_Place,_New_Delhi"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Connaught</span> Place</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chandni_Chowk"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Chandni</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Chowk</span></a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_fort">Red Fort</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jama_Masjid,_Delhi"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Jama</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Masjid</span></a>.<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_fort"></a></span></span></div><div><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:small;"><span style="font-size:13px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:small;"><span style="font-size:13px;">It's a little early for a full-blown "John's Thoughts" post on Delhi, but my first impression is that Delhi is so <i>alive</i>. The last place we visited, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Jama</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Masjid</span> - one of the largest mosques in India, is found in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Delhi">Old Delhi</a>. What was so striking about the mosque was the long walk from the closest street to the bottom of the steps that led up to the mosque itself. So many people were gathered along the way selling, drinking, buying, talking, and throwing rocks at dogs. It was clear that there was such a sense of place for these people; they were so incredibly oriented to the mosque - it bound them together. From the top of the steps, I got the strong sense that I was standing right in the middle of so much. Such a sense of community! I just couldn't get enough. I can't imagine what it would be like if churches created that type of space.</span></span><br /><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:small;"><span style="font-size:13px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXLZpd_dBXAe46kHgakTg45JW8nwmvPc4CYeocKelP9l2pMlYczPTDsMQkCxfK_VQJjJwCEdfdqiGft3XTf7JAxPuUBO8RMFNPg76rNGluusyv7JXpryOKXQ5BlqZXbG7jcsEbxCfWDgY/s1600-h/IMG_1698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXLZpd_dBXAe46kHgakTg45JW8nwmvPc4CYeocKelP9l2pMlYczPTDsMQkCxfK_VQJjJwCEdfdqiGft3XTf7JAxPuUBO8RMFNPg76rNGluusyv7JXpryOKXQ5BlqZXbG7jcsEbxCfWDgY/s320/IMG_1698.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">From the top of the steps at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Jama</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Masjid</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:small;"><span style="font-size:13px;">Tonight we're headed to Agra via train and will return tomorrow evening to Delhi. I'm not sure how much <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">internet</span> access I'll have for the rest of the trip, so don't <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">necessarily</span> expect too much blogging along the way, but I'll do what I can. Here are a few pictures from the last couple days:</span></span></div><div><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;font-size:small;"><span style="font-size:13px;"><br /></span></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj45rkmY6HXxOZDvd3AwP4rziGSzm4YKAaPakGtdjlrDWn3559XZMF3oZmemww-gz2L4b5u-RVwGGZlhjOMlWNguMb_MOmFyiQlYI03-b3_OgETEV9AaH9e-SMUboa7GPbHPziyGN8wII/s1600-h/IMG_1547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj45rkmY6HXxOZDvd3AwP4rziGSzm4YKAaPakGtdjlrDWn3559XZMF3oZmemww-gz2L4b5u-RVwGGZlhjOMlWNguMb_MOmFyiQlYI03-b3_OgETEV9AaH9e-SMUboa7GPbHPziyGN8wII/s320/IMG_1547.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Sudie</span> and me in front of India Gate</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRjMkDPlscHTcj7Fg2W-EBCMbnURmVN_Ehx8LR3NEjqIXokEvRiz2lTCOaqqu-RMzzV4apNhTLQfFgSflug7cjzaQ2eFcOrXjkZsYRPCvZswqASGyaAcnE89bj9U29jmkTJ2P7v4q1BE/s1600-h/IMG_1568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRjMkDPlscHTcj7Fg2W-EBCMbnURmVN_Ehx8LR3NEjqIXokEvRiz2lTCOaqqu-RMzzV4apNhTLQfFgSflug7cjzaQ2eFcOrXjkZsYRPCvZswqASGyaAcnE89bj9U29jmkTJ2P7v4q1BE/s320/IMG_1568.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">At <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Qutb</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Minar</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCcsa2se3psCPAQ_qQ1JMLUX80pG6q5GZKCWlI8PARfLSMLYoW70v4bG5vnhoEC77EXZP3d-pUSPuhTUaBKGe94C5IC2tfs7A0t52dySEGWh5BY0Wzr75HlDlWSJd4jegQv_A7M8aFRPM/s1600-h/IMG_1586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCcsa2se3psCPAQ_qQ1JMLUX80pG6q5GZKCWlI8PARfLSMLYoW70v4bG5vnhoEC77EXZP3d-pUSPuhTUaBKGe94C5IC2tfs7A0t52dySEGWh5BY0Wzr75HlDlWSJd4jegQv_A7M8aFRPM/s320/IMG_1586.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Qutb</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Minar</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-3N5Cb2BzHCavfOtlCfQ8kkJHgoOf2tJ-n_bcuLTfP47dWl5oeXthkDZgcFJKC-yVmTs0i-RXGlocZKirAZy2qHTX7JRPoYqDbF5rqsAF84l55kWwmUKirlg_9XIl8AD0CRzL26pyG8o/s1600-h/IMG_1588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-3N5Cb2BzHCavfOtlCfQ8kkJHgoOf2tJ-n_bcuLTfP47dWl5oeXthkDZgcFJKC-yVmTs0i-RXGlocZKirAZy2qHTX7JRPoYqDbF5rqsAF84l55kWwmUKirlg_9XIl8AD0CRzL26pyG8o/s320/IMG_1588.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Lotus Temple</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigFMq8O_cue8RZ4fIOq4enH3Sw2sVv6EoRkOpoUB04-I2z5w02U-Ed8hdZHaeRqTCXM5qB9SNc0GPaeBHQt-M-NPRh7xrlP7ehBI8-6bvK6h0OiRCEbM9GeqHLdbxdbkW1IY60etRBhuw/s1600-h/IMG_1606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigFMq8O_cue8RZ4fIOq4enH3Sw2sVv6EoRkOpoUB04-I2z5w02U-Ed8hdZHaeRqTCXM5qB9SNc0GPaeBHQt-M-NPRh7xrlP7ehBI8-6bvK6h0OiRCEbM9GeqHLdbxdbkW1IY60etRBhuw/s320/IMG_1606.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Pulkit</span> - <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Sudie's</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">best-friend</span> from college - and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Sudie</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfE3JBdzfkJUri2cp_BLbmVvrSKV60VDvlTunagVhUMMcs8QuS10Y6HqajiQQVJluX2kYT9lK82OM0pm9XAylkSAph0CiakVQumfavszDbl85MWPgR2hJ2-MXz5aKsLVHtTlS6_0oVaj4/s1600-h/IMG_1664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfE3JBdzfkJUri2cp_BLbmVvrSKV60VDvlTunagVhUMMcs8QuS10Y6HqajiQQVJluX2kYT9lK82OM0pm9XAylkSAph0CiakVQumfavszDbl85MWPgR2hJ2-MXz5aKsLVHtTlS6_0oVaj4/s320/IMG_1664.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">At the Red Fort</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-50735779140421834842009-03-31T03:55:00.001-05:002010-05-12T21:20:02.436-05:00ExtensionThe <a href="http://johnstanger.blogspot.com/2009/03/hopes-and-concerns.html">essay</a> I wrote regarding the church's call to remain in community with one another is something I believe I'll always be able to look back on and be proud of. The idea of community and the struggle and joy integral to the pursuit of bringing diverse people together is something that over that last three or four years has continued to grow in importance to my personal philosophy and theology. Beginning in my sophomore year as a <a href="http://students.schreiner.edu/res_life/team.htm">Resident Assistant</a>, and through my roles as a <a href="http://students.schreiner.edu/ministry/">Peer Minister</a>, <a href="http://fpcjunction.blogspot.com/">pastoral intern</a>, and now <a href="http://www.pcusa.org/yav/">Young Adult Volunteer</a>, I have continued to learn how difficult, yet rewarding this struggle can be.<br /><br />But the struggle is so much bigger than simply looking at faith communities. It extends from churches, mosques, temples, and synagogues to neighborhoods, towns, cities, and eventually our society as a whole. Because it is easier, we often shy away from genuine, diverse community as it often asks something of us: critical reflection of our beliefs. As a result of the privilege of choice that wealth offers, we are able to move through our lives carefully controlling whom we interact with. Simply put, Americans are talented escapists.<br /><br />We move into neighborhoods, dine at restaurants, go to events, join churches, sleep in hotels, and shop at stores all in places that are frequented by those like us. This is often based on class and/or race. But no matter what factors influence these choices, it is those that we see as the "other," those that make us feel uncomfortable, that we subconsciously weed out of our lives. And once they have been successfully weeded out of our lives, we look around to find only those most like us.<br /><br />All of this works to affirm our position, ideology, theology, and politics in life. We surround ourselves with our "Yes!" men and women because we are afraid that we may be challenged in our notions, and God-forbid, proven wrong. How can we grow if we weren't challenged? The status <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">quo</span> would simply remain. No Reformation, no Emancipation Proclamation, etc. Growth and critical reflection can only come to true fruition through placing ourselves in communities that are diverse in their views and challenge us to take a critical look at our own.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-20344837595530365472009-03-18T03:17:00.001-05:002010-05-12T21:20:02.437-05:00Hopes and ConcernsWhen I was applying to <a href="http://www.austinseminary.edu/page.cfm?p=328">seminary</a> a couple months ago and came across this prompt: "Austin Seminary understands itself to be a seminary of the church of Jesus Christ. In a brief essay (1 page, double-spaced) please state your hopes and concerns for the church," this is what I wrote:<div><br /><blockquote>Though the Presbyterian Church U.S.A. is only a small piece of the mosaic that is the “church of Jesus Christ,” I have chosen to address a hope and concern through the lens of my own faith tradition while understanding that it is a challenge for all traditions. My hope is that as the PC(USA) continues to struggle with discerning God’s call concerning difficult questions (e.g. the ordination of homosexuals), above all, its members remember the importance of their own call to remain in community with one another. My resulting concern is that if we fail to work for God’s will as a diverse, loving community, we will splinter into smaller groups that simply affirm what we already believe and cease to challenge one another to grow.</blockquote><blockquote><br /></blockquote><blockquote>To use the aforementioned example, the arguments for and against ordaining homosexuals tend to be both passionate and personal. This results in people’s fears keeping them from genuinely listening to each other, and particularly to those who they disagree with. Listening to one another and scripture is one of the most important aspects of being in a faith community; the humbling act of listening affirms our respect for one other, challenges our own beliefs, and empowers all. This process of listening and evaluating our own theological beliefs offers an exciting opportunity for spiritual growth as a community. If faith communities abandon the call to actively listen to all voices and divide into the seductive comfort of sectarian groups, they lose the opportunity to have their faith challenged and reformed by varied perspectives.</blockquote><blockquote><br /></blockquote><blockquote>So as the PC(USA) and other faith traditions passionately discern where God is calling them, I pray everyone realizes the importance and beauty in listening to each other out of love and continues to wrestle with the questions that seem daunting, but in the end, strengthen all. Otherwise, I fear this gift will be lost and the opportunity for spiritual growth will be limited as people simply surround themselves with their personal “Yes!” men and women.<br /></blockquote></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-7605595463034903772009-03-12T23:30:00.000-05:002010-05-12T21:21:18.767-05:00Money and Forms, Horse and CarriageYou wouldn't know it from the amount of attention that this blog receives, but I am indeed alive, still in India, and functioning fairly well (according my own standards). As I discussed in a previous newsletter, I've found myself a little burned out on reflecting on my time here. To some degree this bothers me as I want to continue to be critical about what's going on with me, those around me, and God in this place and time. But I also feel it's fairly reasonable at this point for me to be a little tired of my attempts to reflect, chronicle, and distribute my musings. Now that I got that out, we can move on...<br />
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Being accepted to seminary was a milestone in my life. It felt kind of like getting a stamp on a form that had been sent through a long bureaucratic process over the last three years. Not because the journey was particularly difficult or stressful, more because there was a lot at stake and I didn't feel "secure" until the final approval was certain. I couldn't imagine myself coming back to the States to do anything other than study theology. And I couldn't imagine myself doing that anywhere other than Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary. Having that stamp of approval allows me to slump into my chair and let out a deep breath. Or, so I thought...<br />
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I had personally felt relatively unaffected by the "financial crisis" (said in a booming, pessimistic voice) until it hit me about seven minutes after getting the news that I was accepted: graduate school is what we would call expensive. It seems I have my own little financial crisis. Indeed, there are plenty of sources other than my own volunteer-stipend-stretched bank account to pull from. So that is what I've spent plenty of time over the last few weeks doing: searching for and filling out scholarship applications and - here's the kicker - attempting to coordinate references, transcripts, and sending my own forms from India. <br />
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Third parties have definitely made the process as painless as possible, but I had felt so relieved after dealing with all of this when applying for seminary that it never occurred to me that it was only the preliminary round of printing forms, scanning the same forms updated with my answers, and pelting emails at people. All the while having my mom do plenty of work State-side (thank you!). After this week, when I hope to have them all turned in, it seems that I'll have a bit of a respite from form-hugging until I hear back and get a sense of my financial situation.<br />
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And that respite will be nice as I've got quite a bit coming up in the next couple months. Next week (March 17-21) will be spent at Achen and Kochamma's home in Aluva for a retreat and to meet his daughter and her family as they are flying from Bahrain. I will then return to CMS College for what I predict will be a frantic week and a half as I prepare to tie up lose ends before leaving April 1 for a month-long tour North India, which I'm am absolutely ecstatic about. Upon returning we'll have another retreat in Aluva, visit a festival in Thrissur, and then go back to our sites around the end of the first week of May before we hop around doing summer camp style children's programs as a team at each other's sites (April-May is the summer holiday here). <br />
<br />
I'm just praying for some stamina!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-65628514005963275452009-02-01T22:28:00.005-06:002010-05-12T21:21:18.768-05:00Hello, FebruaryI'm so glad it's February and Monday all in one. For one, January seemed to absolutely crawl by. After spending so much time with the other volunteers in December, it made it more difficult to enter back into my sites and reengage. And I'm glad it's Monday because I missed my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/idli">idli</a> yesterday, as we had to go to a different hotel since our favorite is closed on Sundays. But today, I'll be having my idli and chutney.<br /><br /><div></div><div>This week itself is fairly exciting for a few reasons. The first is I'll be visiting two new schools Tuesday that I may be teaching at from now on. One is an all girls school and the other is a connected all boys school, both of which cater to lower income families. I believe they are Malayalam medium schools - meaning the classes are taught in Malayalam instead of English- so, that's a bit intimidating as I'll have my work cut out for me.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>Thursday I have my long-coming seminary interview. Last year, when I finally visited the seminary officially, they offered interviews to all the visitors, but being John, I didn't like not being mentally prepared, so I told them "no thanks". Now they're having to foot the bill to call India... I guess that wasn't very considerate of me. I'm really looking forward to this interview as it is the last of my application requirements; after Thursday night, all I have to do is wait. That should be fun.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>As far as seminary in general, I'm so glad that I waited. If I hadn't become a YAV, I would most likely be in seminary right now. It probably wouldn't have been bad for me at all, but I would have been going almost by default; last year I certainly wanted to go to seminary, but not to the same degree that I do now. Right before I came to India, I had a conversation with my Campus Minister about how I thought I <span style="font-style: italic;">didn't</span> want to go to seminary, which I think was a healthy stage to work through. However, since living through the last five months, I'm dying to go to seminary and explore the truck load of questions and spattering of realizations I've picked up along the way. Naturally, I feel the next three years will be much richer on the heels of this year's experience.</div><div></div><div><br />In other news, it looks like the only first-year will be moving out of PG Hostel this week, as it is rumored to be closing before next year. I understand that he wants to move sooner than later, but I will miss him. It will also be pretty lonely down here in the forest - it's pretty overgrown - once the second-years complete their courses this summer and go off to their homes. I'll survive and it will provide an opportunity to visit the house he will be living in with four other men.</div><div></div><div><br />Finally, I've put a few <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/john.stanger/IndiaJanuary#">pictures</a> that actually have me in them, as they were taken by another American that visited my sites with me. So, now you know I'm actually here.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-18800665786369543262009-01-21T22:40:00.008-06:002010-05-12T21:15:26.408-05:00Nuthin' SpecialI just finished my morning run, went to take a bath, and found there was no water. Not an ideal situation, so I decided to write a post as I listen for water to coming rushing from the tap. Unlike other days when there is simply no water to be had, today the cause is the college has been turning off the water at night so that students don’t sneak into the science labs and turn on all the taps – apparently recently a frequent pastime.<br /><br />Tuesday, after a “normal” day at CMS, I went over to Mandirim, Becca’s site, via the back of a friend’s motorcycle (much more fun than a bus). We were joined by a girl from California, Kacee, who was traveling in Thailand and decided she wanted to volunteer for a few weeks in India, so she’ll be staying at Mandirim and helping out. As many Malayalis did, we stayed up quite late to watch the President’s inauguration. It’s phenomenal how important the rest of the world, from the looks of things, and especially India, from firsthand experience, sees this moment in history.<br /><br />I was impressed with the inclusivity of President Obama’s speech; reminding our country and the world that our nation is one of “Christians and Muslims,” etc. is powerful in reminding people of the identity of a democracy that claims to represent all its citizens. I also appreciated that he bluntly told the nation we can no longer afford to be “indifferent” to the relative poverty of other nations as we continue to selfishly consume. Apparently, he agrees that all of God’s children deserve fundamental necessities. I know that these are things that many people don’t want to hear and/or don’t agree with, but I believe it’s crucial to have leaders who will faithfully challenge the complacency we often slip into.<br /><br />Wednesday we spent a lot of time sitting with the grandmothers and grandfathers at Madirim, which has begun to confirm what I learned through my senior project on Older Adult Ministry – I really love old people. That afternoon Becca and Kacey joined me for my usual hour of talking in English over coffee with a social work student. I was really moved when I watched him interact with Kacey (who, unlike Becca, he was meeting for the first time); his confidence in English has grown exponentially since coming to me last Fall for help.<br /><br />I’m now back at CMS, but will be leaving today to travel to Wayanad for the weekend with the other volunteers. We will be meeting with a tribal community there to learn about their struggles and joys. I’ll probably save that upcoming story for my January Newsletter, so you can look forward to that!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-25340344995284474832009-01-19T00:41:00.004-06:002010-05-12T21:20:02.438-05:00I'm Back... For NowI'll admit it. I've been a terrible blogger these last couple months. Both of December's post were taken directly from my November Newsletter. Just shameful, John. I've reprimanded myself and hope to be blogging in full force again soon. I've just posted a couple picture-heavy blogs that I thought might interest a few people who are interested in either <a href="http://johnstanger.blogspot.com/2009/01/bovine.html">beef</a> or <a href="http://johnstanger.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-thought-id-treat-you-to-assortment-of.html">food</a> in general.<div><br /><div></div><div>My blogging pre-YAV wasn't reflective enough, I felt. And my blogging during my time as a YAV has felt a little overly serious, which isn't my style. So, yet again, here I am trying to strike a healthy balance. I'm hoping if I allow myself to be a little lighter here, I might feel like blogging more often - instead of making myself feel like my blogs are under the scrutiny of an admissions committee (which my seminary application is about to be).</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-3616230148312835382009-01-19T00:30:00.001-06:002010-05-12T21:15:12.470-05:00Bovine<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I can't believe I'm actually doing this. But my father, being the cow connoisseur that he is, requested pictures of cows. Enjoy!</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPected7QDeMe-hAa7DRN3HTq2OJay8OhnBF_kvhpou_244j6kGkV1yvoNWJ50gKE5RZZxq77aY5aRXeTVhIGJL_690YiNorck8pQWOvM-UI8D3aHxTfwYrLvZYYdhXulYC6_JKLqGGo/s1600-h/India+037.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLPected7QDeMe-hAa7DRN3HTq2OJay8OhnBF_kvhpou_244j6kGkV1yvoNWJ50gKE5RZZxq77aY5aRXeTVhIGJL_690YiNorck8pQWOvM-UI8D3aHxTfwYrLvZYYdhXulYC6_JKLqGGo/s320/India+037.JPG" /></a> </div><br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiey66Hqt89loGFVe5lRm1F8I-rOknI-bvB8Gt4PA7m2p7G5gZqjkgIz_1hbKY4ukk4o56LCZAKNUfPRYER_OmdB4qUoFF7uV7y_KtLZDVSgAW31Xc4YwRfcVxGzfGkBYSG1eUk_8quo3A/s1600-h/India+041.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiey66Hqt89loGFVe5lRm1F8I-rOknI-bvB8Gt4PA7m2p7G5gZqjkgIz_1hbKY4ukk4o56LCZAKNUfPRYER_OmdB4qUoFF7uV7y_KtLZDVSgAW31Xc4YwRfcVxGzfGkBYSG1eUk_8quo3A/s320/India+041.JPG" /></a> </div><br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLSjeAkvAdXjejiFrv2UHFEeaFEL2mfpkgQ29PZMmxuDAvXWnFEPr5zRLOsSyHIEQAiv7TdJPqCgC7D7gM7ImxurikzGW_TYXBU0ZCuQ6Dd_sm4iOlViT3KAkRVn-nByDKBe6hD8YET3U/s1600-h/India+061.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLSjeAkvAdXjejiFrv2UHFEeaFEL2mfpkgQ29PZMmxuDAvXWnFEPr5zRLOsSyHIEQAiv7TdJPqCgC7D7gM7ImxurikzGW_TYXBU0ZCuQ6Dd_sm4iOlViT3KAkRVn-nByDKBe6hD8YET3U/s320/India+061.JPG" /></a> </div><br />
<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk_0wFgBY7Qm2IfXRFbxEbbiExiP9iuuyz0f4hIng5fJ9mxbGz61Gq_cvFCoQ0Dsi6MelG8MMX-klftmpNOILPX87RzXy_nuAyabG6rM0QsLQxPqx8FVabmA42ZMfeTGMHQl9PSL7J2dY/s1600-h/India+064.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk_0wFgBY7Qm2IfXRFbxEbbiExiP9iuuyz0f4hIng5fJ9mxbGz61Gq_cvFCoQ0Dsi6MelG8MMX-klftmpNOILPX87RzXy_nuAyabG6rM0QsLQxPqx8FVabmA42ZMfeTGMHQl9PSL7J2dY/s320/India+064.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: CENTER;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; border: 0px none; padding: 0px;" /></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0Parkal, Andhra Pradesh, India18.19978 79.70440718.179396 79.6752245 18.220164 79.733589500000008tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-77909933551456752072009-01-19T00:10:00.002-06:002010-05-12T21:15:12.466-05:00A Lesson in Food<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I thought I’d treat you to an assortment of foods that I’ve eaten since coming to Kerala. With riveting commentary, of course!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGo-Nk53KDzE9tXPengQeXQS-UEVN6Gnn2lKr70s4TScUM3Xm8F30EFVqRWOqG4A3X0OE7kDNyU1nOnhsZBoSWxJgABCOgtmrioYSPseHeyfc-VPg_AgihoO9xTXZ_O2WAIQ8qnHxAiKw/s1600-h/India+021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGo-Nk53KDzE9tXPengQeXQS-UEVN6Gnn2lKr70s4TScUM3Xm8F30EFVqRWOqG4A3X0OE7kDNyU1nOnhsZBoSWxJgABCOgtmrioYSPseHeyfc-VPg_AgihoO9xTXZ_O2WAIQ8qnHxAiKw/s320/India+021.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">Meals</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">That’s right. We just call this “meals.” Basically, this is about as traditional Keralite faire as you’ll ever get: an assortment of curries and other random, sometimes scary, goodies [not labeled] to mix with your rice [A], all lain upon a freshly chopped off banana leaf [F]. Also included is a banana itself [B] and something that I can’t spell that sounds like “pop-a-dumb” [E] – a very tasty (as in salty), crispy item that I usually save for the end and eat separately instead of breaking into the rice as most people do. And don’t forget your pickle! [D] “Pickle” is any kind of random fruit (mango is the safest) that has gone through some kind of process – maybe be pickling if I dared to guess – that creates one overwhelming flavor in your mouth; it’s an intricate fusion of sweet, sour, and spicy that I stay away from. Also in the same not-so-tasty category is (don’t know how to transliterate this one either) “pie-a-sum,” a thick drink full of rice that is so sweet you’ll pucker. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhlF5OH9RkVW3AhlcH-aHN63FrPgLOg86a-LmYu9uaxxhMaEofG57LvyRqWZj9ZY-lc1eXCAW3bE8PpbOH-xPbwqFXIC5ecREwt-Rcg9ZCB7jkDvK8ZAIksQ5VwoIXa0HNnQNKBJcm4M/s1600-h/India+081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhlF5OH9RkVW3AhlcH-aHN63FrPgLOg86a-LmYu9uaxxhMaEofG57LvyRqWZj9ZY-lc1eXCAW3bE8PpbOH-xPbwqFXIC5ecREwt-Rcg9ZCB7jkDvK8ZAIksQ5VwoIXa0HNnQNKBJcm4M/s320/India+081.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">Tender Coconut – Stage 1</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">You can find vendors along road selling these. They’ll simply chop off one from their little bushel, then take a hatchet and create a hole in one end, stick a straw in, and then present to you for your drinking pleasure. The vendor will tell you that the coconut water will cure anything from insomnia to both types of diabetes, but I’m not convinced. However, I do believe it when they say it’s hydrating and about the purest water in Kerala.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfsC4qFcqhfn1-VCU7XjdaL8X1MCv00ihoOsyv5UuNm6qH-q5-UhpHt257jHYkF4Q1Xq6Tkx_952vCEWnn_q48-i8FGXgT_6pVRu1GfHDOJKBBE926_yFMwqwvs-PtdhT5xHVbFyRunrg/s1600-h/India+079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfsC4qFcqhfn1-VCU7XjdaL8X1MCv00ihoOsyv5UuNm6qH-q5-UhpHt257jHYkF4Q1Xq6Tkx_952vCEWnn_q48-i8FGXgT_6pVRu1GfHDOJKBBE926_yFMwqwvs-PtdhT5xHVbFyRunrg/s320/India+079.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">Tender Coconut – Stage 2</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">After drinking, the vendor will chop open the coconut for you to eat the meat. Now, the meat was definitely an acquired flavor for me, but I’ve learned to enjoy it. You scoop out the meat with a sliver of coconut the vendor will provide from your very own coconut. Quite the process!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9gWE5AMIHmPE1ED_lLE0Qs0r9iTpvHfwTNxbRbw72dTZm5Yu1agME9ug43XL-FuMkCcR-JX4cCn0RAiD4IQmqY6CanHA08Fun-eMo6FvmzXkTOrsEhVR8qNdPb8n8u4fHk8b25GMrQt8/s1600-h/India+028+Pineapple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9gWE5AMIHmPE1ED_lLE0Qs0r9iTpvHfwTNxbRbw72dTZm5Yu1agME9ug43XL-FuMkCcR-JX4cCn0RAiD4IQmqY6CanHA08Fun-eMo6FvmzXkTOrsEhVR8qNdPb8n8u4fHk8b25GMrQt8/s320/India+028+Pineapple.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">Pineapple</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">If the picture I took weren’t so washed out, I’d trust you could figure out this one on your own. Pineapple grow all over Kerala it seems (there’s a farm just outside of CMS). The pineapple tastes pretty much like you’d expect, but it’s always a fun, tasty experience whether in liquid or solid form.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7sxwyqwFpLzIOSTIIOnCaFoQRSf1V2pUiIbBT38UXhOIE5W1IfA0lYnn5kMWpFMftljj6hfd1fLGacdtA5bLnxtPzKuIDajFZYv8UEti_ijhewU7tVQO9y15llpO_CrjV0N83TijCf8/s1600-h/India+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie7sxwyqwFpLzIOSTIIOnCaFoQRSf1V2pUiIbBT38UXhOIE5W1IfA0lYnn5kMWpFMftljj6hfd1fLGacdtA5bLnxtPzKuIDajFZYv8UEti_ijhewU7tVQO9y15llpO_CrjV0N83TijCf8/s320/India+001.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">Christmas Cake</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Oh, Christmas cake. So, I’m not a fan of cake at Christmas; I feel like it should be reserved for birthdays. Maybe this is because I’m not really a fan of cake in the first place (I usually ask for an alternative for my own birthday), but at Christmas?! It kind of tasted like a carrot/fruit cake hybrid. You do the math. I survived, but this won’t be something I incorporate into my Christmases in the future.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style=" text-decoration: underline;color:#0000ee;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfp-3SdxpxobdISz0IpM2tXKtSqeXl8uIffj5MdzdXZ1rtItIayWoypjbjHN96fk0Huc46141558hUL6SumFQZ3cHQ1y9j4DV8nf12U6SCCZCyITkqXK8FUOqsPCgM-9Ab6PVEsCbjSgk/s1600-h/India+033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfp-3SdxpxobdISz0IpM2tXKtSqeXl8uIffj5MdzdXZ1rtItIayWoypjbjHN96fk0Huc46141558hUL6SumFQZ3cHQ1y9j4DV8nf12U6SCCZCyITkqXK8FUOqsPCgM-9Ab6PVEsCbjSgk/s320/India+033.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">Kappa and Meen</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">This is a personal favorite! <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kappa</i> is Malayalam for tapioca, a yellow, potato-like root I’m sure you’ve heard of, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">meen</i> is fish. The fish curry is arguably the spiciest that I’ve had, but it goes great with the mashed potato like consistency of tapioca. Also included here is what we call “small fish fry, ” a whole plate of fried fish so small you eat them whole without the bones bothering you, but large enough to see their beady little eyes. These fish, with curry leaves and onions atop, can be dipped in some <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kappa</i> or simply popped into your mouth. Now, if you know me well, you’re aware that whole fish being something John now enjoys placing in his mouth is what we call “growth” – or possibly regression – I’m not sure. And don’t forget your discard pile for curry leaves and the tough fiber that runs down the middle of the tapioca. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilqj9cG2V8j2SzY2_c4hm-5rtHRNnM50EMASFq2TqE_sFCl0ycDtMnNyAV7mdH-Diy0-Cnw1Ea0au0SouGLkEqYfITy0XPKm-ZbxyU5XJ2eDAU3cME0hXjYqPfuThylIrqT6F6NTnYBt4/s1600-h/India+034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilqj9cG2V8j2SzY2_c4hm-5rtHRNnM50EMASFq2TqE_sFCl0ycDtMnNyAV7mdH-Diy0-Cnw1Ea0au0SouGLkEqYfITy0XPKm-ZbxyU5XJ2eDAU3cME0hXjYqPfuThylIrqT6F6NTnYBt4/s320/India+034.JPG" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">Chicken Biriyani </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">I saved the best for last! Easily one of my favorites here in Kerala, biriyani [D], whether chicken [B], beef, or vegetarian, is delicious. Very similar to fried rice, the difference, a Malayali recently told me, is that biriyani is cooked with the meat and/or vegetables. This biriyani came with a few personal favorites, a hard-boiled egg [C], “salad” [A], and a “pop-a-dumb” [E].</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-86845783992547861982008-12-22T06:16:00.004-06:002010-05-12T21:15:26.409-05:00ThanksgivingThe morning India woke to learn about the violence in Mumbai was also Thanksgiving Day. The volunteers traveled by train, being joined by one another along the way, south to Trivandrum (Thiruvananthapuram), Kerala's capital, for our November retreat. Thanksgiving, possibly my favorite holiday because of its pressure-free, (largely) noncommercial nature, brought a mixture of emotions. Although we had been promised<br />
pumpkin pie, I was skeptical of how much a single pie could make the day actually feel like Thanksgiving. There was no way around the fact that none of us had family, cold weather, or turkey to celebrate with. After we arrived in Trivandrum, visited the much-too-touristy beach, and got cleaned up, we met for "Thanksgiving" dinner in the hotel's dining room. Well, they sure showed us.<br />
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With Kochamma's direction, the kitchen staff had conjured up roasted chickens, potatoes, something yellow that tasted as much like a sweet potato as possible without being one, real stuffing, tomato and cucumber salad, delicious soup, and pumpkin pie with ice cream. It really tasted like Thanksgiving! However, what meant the most to me was the amount of effort, preparation, and love that went into that<br />
meal. None of the dishes we were served (other than the rice and chicken curry that none of us could reconcile with the rest of the courses) are typical Kerala cuisine. Far from it, for that matter. All said and done, this Thanksgiving may be the most memorable one I'll have for the rest of my life. And of course, before eating we<br />
discussed what we were thankful for. My gratitude was for all of those supporting me; I am reminded daily that this passage is far from a solitary one; family, friends, and most importantly, Christ are journeying with me.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">[Excerpt from my <a href="http://www.pcusa.org/missionconnections/letters/yav/yav_stangerj_0901.htm">November Newsletter</a> to friends, family, and supporters.]</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-26101038406398733202008-12-22T06:15:00.004-06:002010-05-12T21:15:12.460-05:00MumbaiAfter the horrible attacks on Mumbai many people expressed their concern for the other volunteers and myself. Your concern means a lot to me and I ask that you continue to pray for those directly impacted by the attacks, the attackers, and the governments of India and Pakistan.<br />
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I feel like I should begin by assuring you that I feel as safe here as I ever have in the States. India is an incredibly diverse country with over 20 official languages whose cultures and peoples are as distinct as the languages they speak. Unlike Mumbai, a huge, cosmopolitan metropolis in the state of Maharashtra, I am living in Kottayam, Kerala. I feel incredibly secure in Kottayam, a city of ~ 60,000 people, venturing into new neighborhoods on my own (a morning walk favorite) and do not have even a single story of hostility directed at me for being a Westerner/Northerner/American.<br />
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It is for this reason that the travel advisories from the U.S. and some European countries against traveling to India distress me. In no way do the attacks reflect the atmosphere of Kerala, other parts of India, and even Mumbai usually. As with traveling anywhere, you must simply be cautious and aware. There is always risk; should that fear keep us from exploring the world? I don't believe it should. It is evident our Mumbai, New York City, has survived attacks of its own and I plan to visit there one day as well. I hope that when we speak of other nations we do not generalize a country as "dangerous" with a tone of superiority, but are careful to speak of specific regions facing conflict (instead of an entire nation of more than 1 billion people).<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">[Excerpt from my <a href="http://www.pcusa.org/missionconnections/letters/yav/yav_stangerj_0901.htm">November Newsletter</a> to friends, family, and supporters.]</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-68197496221208586082008-11-21T03:48:00.000-06:002010-05-12T21:15:12.444-05:00Host FamilyMany of you may know that one of the aspects of the Guatemala site that really drew me to it was that the volunteers live with host families. There’s just something about living in the midst of other people’s lives that offers you a deeper glimpse into who they are. I thought that if there were one thing I would change about the India site, I would have lived with a host family.<br />
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What I’ve recently realized is that I do have a host family in PG Hostel. There are only seven of us, me, two first year Chemistry students, and four second year Chemistry students. I do everything with them that I would with a traditional host family: share meals, run errands, see each other off at the railway station, complain, rejoice, say “goodnight,” read (they study), and play. <br />
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What’s really special about these six men is that they don’t see me as their token American friend. At least not to the same extent as I feel many other CMS students do. With the hostel guys, my Indian family, I feel like as much of a Malayali as I’m ever going to. I can be honest with them: ask them not to call me saip, tell them when I’m not having a great day, and share that I miss my American family and friends deeply. In return, they listen to me and show genuine concern as if they were my brothers.<br />
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I recently found out the four second years are leaving at the end of March and will only return occasionally for their last exams. That only leaves the two first years and me until August. Except I found out this morning that one of the first years is leaving CMS. He has decided that a Masters in Chemistry has absolutely nothing to do with what he wants to do professionally, become a civil servant. I can’t say that I blame him, but this is a rough time for everyone. <br />
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Back in September, he was by far the most exhausting person I had met at CMS. He threw a ceaseless volley of questions at me concerning United States and Indian politics and social issues. To illustrate the struggle, I told the other volunteers that he must be the person God is “calling me to love.” I was soon able to appreciate that at least he asked the questions others were afraid to and spending time with him has become a joy, not a struggle.<br />
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But now he is leaving us. And to further complicate matters, that would leave only one student in PG Hostel proper (I live in an adjoining room), which leads them to think they may close the hostel after March. I pray this doesn’t happen. Not because I don’t want to move (frankly I don’t have enough things to even make it a hassle), but because I don’t want to lose my host family. I hope that they are able to find more students or some other solution. As long as I don’t lose the family I’ve found, I’ll be content.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-33306409202443808742008-11-21T03:47:00.000-06:002010-05-12T21:15:26.409-05:00I DoI was sitting in my room Tuesday night when I saw two figures approach my door. It was two men, one of which I knew better (and took care of the speaking) and the other I had seen around CMS. The former informed me that the latter was getting married on Thursday at the CSI Cathedral in Kottayam and wanted me to be at the wedding. “Of course,” I immediately replied. It didn’t hurt that they also mentioned that biriyani (a kind of glorified fried rice) would be served at the reception.<br />
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I was so excited to have finally been invited to and Indian wedding that I called another volunteer as soon as they left. While I was on the phone with her, two other men approached my door. I quickly got off the phone, walked over, and saw that one of them was a PG hostel guy and the other I didn’t know. My friend proceeds to inform me that the latter is getting married during the weekend that I’ll be on retreat with the other YAVs; I explained and declined feeling quite disappointed.<br />
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I know, I know. I had just been invited to another wedding, but the second was going to be quite the affair. Not only was it a Hindu wedding, meaning another level of opportunity for cultural and religious observation, but it was going to involve traveling with the guys and to another part of Kerala. But I love weddings, so I was still excited to go to the Christian one on Thursday. And of course, Becca had been invited too (her Malayalam tutor is the groom’s grandfather); the Christian community in Kerala is quite the network.<br />
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So after teaching a class on Thursday morning, I made the fifteen minute walk (yes, uphill) to the CSI Cathedral, where I’d attended a worship service previously, to wait for Becca. She was being brought from Mandirim by a Malayali, so they were naturally late, culturally on time. I took a seat by myself and soon found that I didn’t have the best view. Frankly I’m not sure what went on for the next forty-five minutes because of my vantage point and the language barrier. But of course, I do have a few observations:<br />
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One of the most astounding moments was when the wedding march began (same “Here Comes the Bride” that we have) and the bride was proceeded by twenty Achens (Pastors). No exaggeration, I counted. The aforementioned grandfather to the groom explained that the family was basically well connected. Normally, he said, only three Achens are necessary. And don’t you worry, the Bishop was also present.<br />
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A general cultural observation is the clothing worn by the guests. Although the groom wore a suit and the bride a white wedding sari, guests wore what they would to go out for tea in. Kerala just doesn’t have the same concept of levels of dress that we have. It was incredibly nice to know that I could wear the same thing to teach and then to the wedding. I didn’t have to worry about being over or under-dressed for either. <br />
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We go as far as to tell our guests what to wear on the invitation. Why!? Where does our concept of dressing “up” come from? It doesn’t change who the person is. Why try to alter the perception? And because Malayalis don’t dress up for events doesn’t mean they take them any less seriously. They just have other, less material ways of making events special. After being here, it just seems strange to me how much importance we place on a person’s clothing.<br />
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The reception was fairly similar to American weddings. The couple sat up front and the guests at tables to eat the delicious biriyani (I consumed more in one sitting than I have since coming). However, it was only an hour long and didn’t involve dancing. What it did involve was a soundtrack of American 90’s boybands; spectacular!<br />
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One last similarity and difference. Similarity: the wedding photographers (film and still) were all over the place just like ours. And I’ve found that Malayali wedding albums are quite the sight and are shown enthusiastically to guests in homes. Difference: the time and day of the wedding (11:30 AM on a Thursday) was quite different from your typical Saturday evening American wedding. I’m not sure when most Indian wedding are, but this one was a little different than what I’m used to.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-34656167994325317672008-11-21T03:46:00.001-06:002010-05-12T21:15:26.410-05:00ScheduleSlowly but surely, I’m uncovering my path here in India. While it is sometimes frustrating to not have the amount of guidance and pressure that I’m used to, it’s also a blessing to have the kind of flexibility my site offers me concerning the utilization of my time. I thought it would be nice to provide some of you at home with an idea of how I make use of my time in the form of a schedule of sorts:<br /><br /><strong>Tuesday</strong>/Up-for-Grabs-day – Nothing formally scheduled here; it is becoming a pseudo-Sabbath of sorts (unless I am asked to teach three classes like this week). I do usually tutor an MSW student from a neighboring town in spoken English any day of the week I’m available. So, a lot of catching up on emails, reading, relaxing, praying (ok, maybe not a lot on this one), and grabbing any opportunities that arise. Of course, everyday that I’m here (not including Sunday), I go to Jacob’s (a coffee shop) with the PG hostel guys, where a woman about 40 years serves us coffee and gives us free snacks sometimes. What can I say; she loves us and we love her. Other than that, I do whatever pops up on Tuesday. For example, while I was at a wedding yesterday, an Achen (Pastor) introduced himself and proceeded to tell me he would pick me up next Tuesday to visit a seminary that he’s speaking at. My response: Sounds good! Indian flexibility, my friends.<br /><br /><strong>Wednesday</strong>/Mandirim-day – After talking with Becca, who is often overwhelmed by the number of ammachis and appachens (elderly women and men) she needs to visit each week at her site, Mandirim Society, and realizing that I have an excess of time, it has been decided that I will visit Mandirim each Wednesday to spend time with the residents there. This week was my first visit and Becca had to kind of escort me around, but soon I’ll be visiting on my own. It’s also great to spend time with another volunteer to process, rejoice, complain, and generally have some good laughs. Of course, I go to Jacobs when I get back to Kottayam (it’s about a 20 minute bus ride) and tutor the MSW student, who is not from CMS by the way. I actually met a friend of his at Jacobs and was then surprised with a visit from the two of them at my room that night. Slightly random, but mostly an exciting opportunity (I much prefer “tutoring” one person to “teaching” a class).<br /><br /><strong>Thursday</strong>/Teaching-day – At ten o’clock I teach a class on Critical Essay Writing to the Communicative English students for an hour. The students generally have better English skills than other departments and there are some real characters in this class. They’re a lot of fun and when we have time, we even play games. From 1:15-1:45 I engage a class over at the Baker L.P. school (about a 10 minute walk to the elementary school). This is a bit of a struggle. Mostly because I don’t really know what to do with the kids; their English is pretty limited so I will read them a short story and ask a couple comprehension questions. We also play games like Simon Says, which build vocabulary. I’m learning what works and doesn’t. And there’s always Jacob’s and tutoring (have you caught on yet?).<br /><br /><strong>Friday</strong>-<strong>Monday</strong>/Kanam Time! – Anywhere between Friday and Monday (leave on Friday or Saturday and return on Sunday or Monday) I take a one hour bus ride to Kanam to stay at the CSI Boys Hostel there. The children are either orphans, deserted, or come from families too poor to support them. There are almost 50 boys that range from fifth standard to college (including two at CMS who I ride the bus with). I’ve really begun to look forward to my time there. I feel a real sense of purpose when I’m in Kanam that I don’t always feel at CMS. We sit around and talk, play cricket, badminton, or volleyball (that’s right, I’m playing sports), eat, sleep, read, teach/learn English grammar, and attend Friday night prayer and Sunday morning worship. And whichever days I’m not there, of course include Jacobs and tutoring.<br /><br />Other…<br /><br />Chapel – Chapel services at CMS are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 9:30-10:00. I attend each of these that I’m here for and sometimes lead the English service, which is on Monday.<br /><br />Breakfast – Sometime between 7:30 and 8:3, the guys and I take about a 10 minute walk to a hole-in-the-wall hotel (restaurant) for delicious breakfast. It’s so good, I always get the same thing: iddyappam and mota curry.<br /><br />Lunch – Anywhere between 12:00 and 2:00, I usually go to the college canteen for rice unless I’m invited by students somewhere else.<br /><br />Supper – Between 7:00 and 8:30, the guys and I take another 10 minute walk in the opposite direction to have canye (rice soup) from Deepika Canteen (a place for newspaper employees, but others are welcome).<br /><br />This in no way covers all the random events I find myself at or illustrates my time spent at the hostel with the guys, but should give you a pretty good idea of how I use a good portion of my time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-65420296833543791252008-11-21T03:43:00.000-06:002010-05-12T21:15:12.443-05:00Being...Back in February, when I began applying for the YAV program, I was emailed a Word document named “Important YAV Concepts.” The first section, “Being and Doing,” explains the challenge and “healthy tension” between these two ways of living; “In our culture, much value is placed upon what we do and achieve. If we cannot show that we are ‘usefully’ occupied or point to the evidence of our work, we can feel a sense of failure or lack of purpose because our culture values doing… Allow God to use you whether you are being or doing. Often times one leads richly to the other.” This tension is probably the biggest struggle I’m having in India. <br />
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Because CMS simply does not ask much of me, I can rarely show that I am “usefully occupied” which has at times led to feeling a “lack of purpose”. Much of what I’m asked to do simply involves showing up at events to simply be present and not directly participate. In the beginning, when my focus was on simply adjusting, it was nice to not have too much asked of me. But eventually it was not nice at all, primarily frustrating. Being present at event after event is simply not quantifiable, and quantifying work and time is what American culture does best. <br />
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Yet slowly I am coming to realize that the most beautiful, fulfilling moments really do come from my least structured activities (e.g. going to coffee each day with the guys, walking around and striking up conversations with students, visiting people’s homes, even reading with students). It is in these moments that I am able to offer myself, not what I can accomplish. In a recent email, a close pastor and mentor reminded me, “The work you are doing - the ministry of presence - is truly one of the things that is the hardest to learn.”<br />
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[Excerpt from my <a href="http://www.pcusa.org/missionconnections/letters/yav/yav_stangerj_0811.htm">October Newsletter</a> to friends, family, and supports.]Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-43168254311182395922008-10-28T00:32:00.001-05:002010-05-12T21:15:26.410-05:00Holidays, Services, and UntouchabilityThis Monday was a holiday and all but one of the men in the hostel went home to take advantage of the three-day weekend. Overall, the weekend was fairly uneventful; the two of us both enjoy reading, which consumed most of our time. In fact, we spent about an hour on Sunday afternoon reading The Hindu, the national English newspaper, and I would explain the definitions of words here and there. Also on Sunday, I was able to visit my fifth church in Kerala. I must say the differences between services that I am able to pick up on are few and far between thanks to my friend The Language Barrier. <br /><br />However, my first Sunday at CMS I went with a friend (now gone to Goa, another state, to work after completing his graduate work this September) to a Catholic service. Some clear differences were definitely present. Of special note was the amazingness that was the priest’s robe and cape combo; he would have fit right in on a stage in Vegas. I found myself daydreaming of becoming Catholic so that upon ordination I could take advantage of such exhilarating attire (it would even make up for that whole celibacy thing… maybe). But I digress…<br /><br />After spending the entire weekend at a professor’s house the weekend before, I learned this Sunday that I much prefer one-day visits where I am able to return to my room to process the day. This trip consisted of being picked up at the hostel by my Malayalam tutor, a CMS student and quite the character, taking a rather empty bus to his village, having coffee with his family (including his adorable 29-day-old nephew who made me miss my own nephew terribly), having breakfast at a CMS staff members home, attending the customary two hour church service, being escorted back to the bus stop, braving an impressively crowded bus back to Kottayam on my own, and finally crashing on my bed for a nap until lunch. One of my “favorite” things is being asked by everyone, “How was the service?” Of course, my answer is always positive while I think to myself, “I have no idea what was going on!” This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy the visit, because I most certainly did. <br /><br />Aside from The Language Barrier, my constant companion, there are a few other aspects of Kerala worship services that I have found challenging to reconcile with my theology. One of the main characteristics is that women sit on one side of the church and men on the other. This isn’t particular to churches though; the same is true for busses, classrooms, eating, etc. Communion, which I’m thinking may be served every Sunday, further reinforces some gender separation. Not only do men go to one side of the altar(?) and women to the other, but the women obediently cover their heads with their saris to receive communion. And lastly, the services are extraordinarily liturgical. Every week the same order of worship is followed with the same prayers (except for slight variations where allowed by the Book). And they call Presbyterians “the frozen chosen.” Oh, and did I mention the services are usually around two hours long? <br /><br />Disclaimer: I mean for none of this to serve as a critique; I just thought I’d share a few examples of what has made me appreciate my own Presbyterianism and give my readers a little less of my regular white-washed view of India<br /><br />After tea on Sunday, my friend and I watched a documentary that his friend, who is working on a Masters in Film and Editing, lent him. The documentary, India Untouched, was directed by Stalin K, who is, I believe, a Malayali (a more often used term for Keralite) to highlight the issue of Untouchability in India. Now I’m not going to go into an explanation of the caste system because (1) I don’t know enough about it and (2) it’s two exhaustive of a subject to attempt to explain in a blog, but the film brought a lot to my attention; mostly along the lines of how incredibly diverse India is and as a result, how little I really comprehend of this nation’s complexity. <br /><br />Kerala, which, by the way, uses Untouchability (practiced like it sounds) against the Dalits (lowest caste) only in more subtle ways, is renowned for its level of development, literacy rates, and beauty. Therefore, I’m really looking forward to April when the volunteers will embark on our All-India Tour (specific states yet to be determined by us) and Christmas break which will be spent at an orphanage in Andhra Pradesh. I’m excited to be able to have something to compare Kerala too because I’m finding my current lens is pretty limited.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-32436994567517888032008-10-28T00:29:00.004-05:002010-05-12T21:15:12.456-05:00The ForeignerThere is a word that follows each volunteer of Team India, as we jovially refer to ourselves, like a persistent mosquito. Yes, that really is an accurate analogy. For David and me, the word is <em>saip</em>. And for Lindsey, Sudie, Ariel, and Becca, it is <em>madama</em>. Each of the volunteers has a different relationship with their word/mosquito. Some swat it immediately, others wear Off! to prevent it’s attacks, and some may smile lovingly at this integral part of God’s creation. I fall into Category 1: The Swatters. I anticipate swatting the word when no one is even speaking. I dream about its death. If this word, <em>saip</em>, were actually a tangible being I would guillotine it. <br />
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The word <em>saip</em>, I am told, is the Malayalam counterpart to <em>sahib</em>, which simply means sir in Hindi. And now, Dear Reader, you are thinking, “Oh, how polite and innocent of a word.” Not so fast! During India’s visit from her "friend" (intended to read sarcasticaly) Colonization, <em>sahib</em>/<em>saip</em> began to be used out of (undeserved) respect for Englishmen (and <em>madama</em> for women in case you hadn’t put that together yet). And now the term is synonymous with “foreigner.” Having people recognize me as a foreigner isn’t offensive in and of itself; indeed, I am a foreigner and have no shame in being one. But there’s something about me that allows people to make that judgment: my skin. <br />
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I am struggling because for the first time in my life I feel defined by the color of my skin. As a white man who grew up in the U.S., I have always been the majority. And while there were times when I’m sure I was the minority in a room, they were rare and passing. No, unlike others, my skin has never made me feel abnormal. The society I come from repeatedly affirms that I am the normal one whose Band-aids have always matched my skin. But the truth is there’s nothing any more “normal” about the color of my skin, yours, an Indian’s, or Barack Obama’s. The challenge is that I have now received a label that I did not ask for and would prefer to reject. And because I don’t speak Malayalam, I will never even understand the complexity of the connotations associated with the word <em>saip</em>, my label, like its users do. <br />
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What I do have control over, and will use more carefully from here on out, is the labels that I place on others. For example, until now, I have never really understood why U.S. citizens whose ancestors were Mexican do not want to be referred to as Mexican themselves. I always thought, “Well, my grandmother doesn’t mind being called German.” I think I get it now. There are plenty of connotations and various understandings associated with the word “Mexican” and if you prefer “Hispanic” or “Latina/o,” I am happy to oblige. It is not denying someone’s identity; it is recognizing the common humanity and honoring people enough to empower them to choose how that identity is expressed through a medium as powerful as language. <br />
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So, one of my struggles in India is to <i>not</i> become frustrated or offended as I hear <em>saip</em> littered throughout Malayalam conversations right in from of me or when a child sights me on the street and immediately starts pointing to their parent while saying that dreaded word. Instead, I will try to appreciate that this situation offers me an opportunity to feel the uncomfortableness of being the minority (and believe me, it’s a unique, powerful, and irreplaceable experience) and allows me, in a small way, to be in solidarity with other minorities in the world, especially in my own country, who struggle to escape undesired, painful, divisive labels.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-2525439605871259882008-10-08T06:59:00.006-05:002010-05-12T21:15:26.411-05:00Temple ShenanigansThere’s something about walking around Kottayam at night that I really like. Last night was even better because it marked the beginning of the Hindu holy days this week, which have to do with the goddess of arts and education. So, I went with a few of my friends to the nearby temple for them to drop off their books to be blessed because no one studies over the next two days. Think of it like an extended Sabbath specifically for academia.<br /><br />Of course, I’m not allowed to go into the temple, so Geevarghese and I waited outside while I amused myself with taking pictures and video (mostly to record the awesome singing that was coming from the temple) of the goings-on. And because I woke up very early this morning and have already finished reading more of the Bible than I honestly enjoy in one sitting, I gladly present the fruits of my effort: a short video. Enjoy! </p><p></p><p align="center"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwn0WK-5kggdiFNvcyGDeaq61CgHyvhJNsBO_QEUApWVp-4ZZ4Dz1ShUiQRpCEXCcfbnC7NljvXfBGigPgZ0Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-54741277638562744832008-10-07T00:12:00.008-05:002010-05-12T21:15:26.412-05:00Off to the MountainsI bet you thought our trip to Cherai Beach was fun, huh? Well guess what, it only got better from there! Achen and Kochamma took us for an overnight trip to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Munnar">Munnar</a>, a small tea plantation town in the mountains along the eastern border of Kerala. Munnar was breathtakingly beautiful and also cold! I don’t remember the last time, I was actually woken up at night from being too cold. We had a great time at the hotel relaxing, visiting a wildlife reserve for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tahr">tahr</a> (a threatened species of goat), and a tour through a tea factory.<br /><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"></div><br /><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none">The retreat (considered phase two of our in-country orientation) was really helpful to all of us. Achen has a knack for putting things into perspective. And simply knowing that all the volunteers are struggling with something at their sites, some more than others, is comforting. My challenge is trying to figure out how exactly I can be of the most use here. While the retreat was refreshing, I was really excited to get back to CMS to catch up with the guys and wear my mundu again to breakfast. </div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"></div><br /><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: 1em; MARGIN-RIGHT: 1em" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh080L4fFv3-dstKLsZ7EMsE-B-bHcRBgpLdWN9_OVlBXYk-I5fTOeLNuGhRqVf10IpkLZq1xL7PdacLLJTWEkcuZqdi9oz7T2ejc0Az20fXS64sdVvCxZyQh4aZM5OMIbguFvVUaYAaLQ/s1600-h/India+057.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVwyWsiBdXOODiSW4-kb9ywTeRHRhIuaQ8R8Rcbzujtm1Z2jnKp_FEOZeyqS1QnIwwt2b-svjHjJhsXPVhk_8O6uJXnRZOD227RtMS128GIOU314fFpeSZM8HWvAAyxBXN2HHsrOTK1q8/s320-r/India+057.JPG" border="0" xd="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Tea plantains from a moving car.</div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; 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BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center">More tea...</div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: 1em; MARGIN-RIGHT: 1em" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirY5tDXuUxjuWtOwBqYduOQDa48zWQYua1EPlRDY1b-hk8e9lVY4Q641YtnD3wQnDsTFvpuP7yOi2zSVBCvEGif-OsKCrqTjESHDPzs_dmXjuEVG6RJdgphwcf18-vhy9LSiU2XuGWvhQ/s1600-h/India+096.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo-XgGhPp6fZZ_GwW1MgH-6BIKo0cfmKa9pSZHuVf_-kZt3mW1i-KR6l1-XOhwK2-EdMZ_RPU8zlajcDhT3FpeZSiMG2nf7TrRqjSTE83L7Ju4bhDnqc9A09s9WNiO4cXkcP48-uesQhs/s320-r/India+096.JPG" border="0" xd="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Homes in the valley of Munnar.</div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"> </div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: 1em; MARGIN-RIGHT: 1em" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA49TLrF5yWFPPjka65i0uUt4a5Tp4BaXk7tA-yvbtLBzssTD2Eqx6vCP0kbRsz2VdRvH38uzomckZCkt821mGTWg1Xu35mmuDT00_Zdgy19f5KbBzf7-OA6Hs0OhSDfzhddNUy1oWOf0/s1600-h/India+132.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Um01xX3AUVyvqIL-6vQi6PnbbeoA6c2iHiuDvgaxuGlsDMfPJ8Z7IQEC-SAzJ9LBjMJQQd6N7GWCXbTIwFtnbJDx0nuDuaQWzGgxO-_xh6PsqyZzXc6DhjerBCgtQbwtBQMTGdF5wXQ/s320-r/India+132.JPG" border="0" xd="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center">A tahr.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-40268345036894538952008-10-01T20:17:00.001-05:002010-05-12T21:15:12.454-05:00Fun in the SunAfter four of us traveled by train to Aluva from Kottayam (largely uneventful, yet successful), the six of us volunteers, Achen, Kochamma, and their niece drove to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cherai_beach">Cherai Beach</a> , where we hung out for a few hours. Words just don't do the experience justice, so enjoy these pictures instead. And as always, there are loads more pictures to be found on my <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/john.stanger">web album</a>.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqLH21Kzg7NBAx2hAD2tMPV3xHwqVsuCtMG_cHo7T8RumZ7WejhFYl-sWeRZ0_EkB7getMlYUn0ogmzFm1SwT0-8vrbnuS4Rxf3lkPXGkXCxwlUdRxPuhj9chGBjzRZvbFD0cyVytX4lQ/s1600-h/India+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNWMbeDLPSt44DlzxLNiFsgZjTp_uMC2wJI2kJLHCGjNJHOAUUS72CDgPice6HsvazC5Vhc9r2ygkmUEOKjcnfLxH0PNzN7mfnje6KUI3irUZQSj3uzMdH7uYPRQEbQRI3XusREDR_LI0/s320-r/India+025.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Becca and Sudie upon arrival.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpc6mwR-gL94WzJnzWhIIfVLAlXniQt6xdZDZONT_6EmkSEwwUFQBJA7uFbkNhC2yzGR7oQgwSWVbZ1ZJZCIXBCsB-EmRtAgNa6JsDHbrnFcEOR0cPKvHnPOTdD_JwTMz6xEyQq1J6ao/s1600-h/India+030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjebZjBJCWdreEeWovzlMy5XCQy0BzdcIHZf1mMPxQxPT1YbCLpppUpB4BWHujpDUGFs7wugWloXKm9mpleJHRJgym-tpAwTEHvGW_Y5H0Odml5Rnhjmf-jevshL7hmSqy59Et42Noz4Z8/s320-r/India+030.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Me, pretty excited to be out and about!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzBftSWK2JEDhyaQd8jhFTfmrtOTy4lQ6u0RfTV4fQE4P2I8F1bvMksSJq-_tdsdsUfARGatP29tNf_KhFTsrCRMUql98DoNsdt8G5UsrJC5hlFnk2MBzzlI3yyFHSdE1UjQt_SUFwGwI/s1600-h/India+039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Adh4HYctW-JXDZtfRcykmGjVl1LX901M2upl9Tvy0m2ayjLWWoIubBWZDKBBZf6Q4H0NiB-tb6egWV6WIbUWD-k7IANf_us1IqsOfd2U0zpXKMzazkkz4_Z2FlscK7J5AY-TNQJuz0U/s320-r/India+039.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lindsey and Ariel showing off their talents.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1XdajEho5WkoJqdlJzk6aerNlqPanmtoHM-OI2kBbXZWoTkvarlkYI9rAQq71D70cHaTVskRx7mYCM2GSg9jsHJJ6XUSq8WJvc5YGMXZb2FqRSa8L9G3aDH8az2mhq209bqsTVr2jn6A/s1600-h/India+050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHlJhfdRBjDw2K5wDwOsL4l5iSd2lxGH2rp2cslotTiVpUUsNd6HtA-14EL1QRg17hQf2a3rBQjTxsFcBHDehOJQb1yov7FNko44aWBkCaykpXCgczX6xQv7YDJj4bH736sIBAwywUl34/s320-r/India+050.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sudie, Becca, and Ariel frolicking!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfC-rlTk89-KhmNyRu4ygiyh4fl_tpjh0rGnPmC5kul40fXUvd6i3LuP1OCrCWu8d3L5zh13Hpf6131iCKe3PS75xhIOXtmL_QVpaLDY2gdutwaJdUsWSW4UNOZ3OpZ0XpOAGiFqKYNM/s1600-h/India+051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmLysjmGaXUeN-bl6O6J1Bxp4Bow06Tk8I_3RFlWWNfrTaFgIBWRS2sLZYkk6jLg89HFTcJMSViHd2rN4qYQAMzErpfIuIPU3IMan11BoligDE8yipXtCdweUI1OJPqLYU_GIsVccuWt8/s320-r/India+051.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Goodbye, Mr. Sun.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5X3t4uaBoRAlgQB_P6YLq4QssLdU0X3I58VlsgGcJ5U2mLEOzLOKCae72LVizqktOIYHj9wHNi5qztb_kXQfDK7JpaxpIrEjtG2gXztGsdxL912VIG9q12bJMDavBs9qFGRT-PtSIPk/s1600-h/India+074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPbLWYBVG6_OeYn3jNLlPjo6_ZbIgyqIA3E6croF71LXlSC_XmTdRzl2UJ2dwpaDfr3bOfzh3oNJ84XB5qPum0on0EbFTKzYB8RcEz472nP4OxnVRfB8gEa_HXkt9B6OLmZIM7acnH9SA/s320-r/India+074.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The whole Team: Lindsey, Me, Sudie, David, Becca, and Ariel.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJVuGRIX40FV_4FKXvrFa-9EAJvuyhSGrtGoDQcdzz2-NM8wHvmFeOnuaYG9i3FIWjiLHQmcdULwFheSodxfVAX83-GyNq4Rygf1lqIlqQ4Db1hI-azmDo_v9KJM8vKffeNoZYxfYhrI/s1600-h/India+077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQwNb6JB5hgfxw7MjoF7RYGAs08sevuakbASpR1j6Ihv4GutWoZClIrlVXW2X8TtbOMn0mhWY0gali60hTDkxg8kGtRIR22I8wI4uDu-6ptDjsg7NcipaIvG2Wjeesp8_ALJnjWsW2J1Q/s320-r/India+077.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Woman who can wield a machete like you wouldn't believe.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioocRaY1CAjMPcGL2oc1UwqWc_NuiazBI4v9FuKWau9KnhbLwkps0nOGuAUkaM5f8nK_gJbJ2bxxoLDAnH71jWJPiFuN9judxrYcH9VtDYlEzO2Gvf9tjcnM0ntXGyL9ECymfn4Zr5TTc/s1600-h/India+079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhei4MtXlPreXU17z3JnWpGmZXdtU9y7KvS09-8KTFL44V-s3nu3uj_HX8EUFwn76MNtnQK8W0YvTtCI4Xr1tYcGJtN1CDSDqdSNVqfIqrhzgU7JScl4uLSee8yRTvoc6ywD7kaewLeaZA/s320-r/India+079.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Me "enjoying" some coconut water/milk.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-5178378959476475832008-09-29T23:57:00.001-05:002010-05-12T21:15:12.481-05:00A Day of PossibilitiesAs he rolled out of bed this morning, it felt just like any other Tuesday at CMS. Nothing special was on the schedule today… actually, almost nothing was scheduled. It then occurred to him that this Tuesday was not just another day; instead, it was a Day of Possibilities. “You have to grab DoP’s by the horns and make the most of them,” he had always said. Yes, a Day of Possibilities is something to be treasured and he felt his excitement building as he brushed his teeth.<br /><br />He went about his initial routine as normal, but noted the surge of confidence he felt. It was nothing abnormal; he felt this way on most DoPs. “Is today the day? Will I actually have the guts to try it?” he asked himself. The fear of what today could bring almost kept him from walking out of the door, but finally, he knew it was time for breakfast. And this breakfast would be special; it would mark the beginning of a new era of his time in Kerala.<br /><br />It was time… time to step out into the world in a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mundu">mundu</a>.<br /><br />Why shouldn’t he? All the other PG Hostel inmates wore them to breakfast and supper. John had even gotten used to wearing this man-skirt around his room and sometimes, only when feeling abnormally brave, on the veranda of the hostel. He reminded himself that he never knew when the next DoP would be; for all he knew this would be the only one God would bestow on him for the entire year! He sure hoped not, but there was truly no way to know.<br /><br />He walked over to the chair that his mundu usually called home. After taking a deep breath and a long look at it, he seized the sheet-like article of “clothing” that is so special to Keralite men, and wrapped it around his waist, pulling it as tight as possible to minimize the risk of his greatest fear: that it would disloyally leave his waist and fall to the ground as he trekked to breakfast. Yes, it was this Fear of the Mundu, and the resulting embarrassment if the dreaded event were to take place, that had prevented his mundu from seeing the world up to this point.<br /><br />Upon visiting the other PG Hostel inmates, he resolutely declared his intent to join them in their mundus for breakfast. They all heartily agreed that it was time. After a quick lesson on how to flip the mundu up to make walking easier, it was decided that a picture had to be taken to mark an event as special as this.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: 1em; MARGIN-RIGHT: 1em" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-gL9vYBLxrlIZHkvZ9_6vT3uKnDUHVpbB4HR9knQnQYpbc6skCbKMBaewcoco2OUM6AmRvezPtQyWLKxaY7CghT8NbbcBrT7PNKR_nX43mF6JRGs1UkzUzmQeIxHkqG-gdXrC8Ts2S0w/s1600-h/India+004.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz43TVDNFvi0bVa40QPLhFK2Gb3oxOp-uAIoaUjjNsiE6KsD96YGOzC_BON7vXJ2-PyIe-PyxitLHG_Afus0ric7mRYhP-b6d0Q5_diJVYCSGwGFrSwNkOn0IN7CaHsLugqTMtuOXETwU/s320-r/India+004.JPG" border="0" dd="true" /></a></div>To be concise, the morning went off without a hitch. John & Co. successfully made it all the way to the hotel, which includes jumping a rock wall, ate their breakfast (idiyappam and egg curry for John, of course), and made it back to the hostel, after climbing the rock wall again, with all mundus securely attached at the end of the journey.<br /><br />John soon found that there’s nothing quite as rewarding as conquering the Fear of the Mundu. And to think that so much could be accomplished before 9:00 AM! He looks forward to what the rest of this Day of Possibilities will bring, which will surely include donning the his mundu for supper.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-30977974886898169772008-09-23T23:48:00.003-05:002010-05-12T21:15:26.412-05:00My Humble Abode<div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: left">It seems that I’ve now been at CMS over a week… and what a week it has been! The adjustment has gone exceedingly well over all (from my vantage point). After accepting the fact that I am not going to be told what to here, but am left to my own devices to discover how I am to be of use, I’ve enjoyed my time quite a lot. </div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"></div><br /><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none">Most of my time has been spent walking or sitting around meeting new students (all with names I find I am currently incapable of pronouncing) or reading. Now, we were told early on that most YAV’s found themselves reading a sufficient amount, and truth-tellers they are! Since coming here to CMS, I have completed The Shack and The Inheritance of Loss and am currently enjoying Pride and Prejudice.</div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"></div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"><br />While both completed novels are worth recommending, I will heartily encourage all readers of this blog to take the time to read The Shack if they have even the most minimal interest in God and the relationship humans share with the Trinity. Even if the book makes plenty of theological assumptions, most of which I agree with, I’m certain that people from any point in the theological spectrum have something to gain from the novel.</div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"></div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"><br />Back to my activities… I was thrilled to receive my first “assignment” on Monday, after delivering my (now weekly) message at the English chapel service, which was to edit and help publish the Malayalam-English Order of Worship for Morning Services, which will be used for the three services per week. Wow, a real duty; my ego quite enjoyed the opportunity to feel needed. After 24 hours my editing was complete and I was escorted to CMS Press (run by the local Diocese of the Church of South India) where I was able to view the first printing press in Kerala, brought over by Benjamin Bailey, founder of CMS College, himself in order to print the first Malayalam Bible in the early 19th Century.</div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"></div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"><br />On a completely unrelated note, I know there has been concern expressed about my becoming more of a stick figure than I already am while living in India. Let me put these fears to rest: I am eating more here than I ever have in my life (possibly combined). Not only am I eating breakfast, but each meal is huge and a clean plate is expected… and often refilled if a quick “mathi!” is not expressed. So, no fear is required; the John you told goodbye was only half of the John that will return in August.</div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"></div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"><br />Of particular interest was the first student strike, of which CMS is particularly famous I’m told, during my stay here. You see, student politics are taken more seriously than you can imagine. I’m still unclear as to the particulars, but suffice it to say there are two parties here at CMS (under the direction of legitimate national parties) who allegedly had some kind of (possibly physical) unfriendly exchange and one party, out of concern that the other would beat them to it, called a strike yesterday morning. Naturally, the professors simply don’t teach and all education halts. It’s as simple as that. Also, I’m told that there is no limit on the amount or frequency in which the strikes are called by the students. Naturally, the other party retaliated with their own strike today… welcome to Kerala!</div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"></div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"><br />I finally got around to taking some picture of my room: </div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"><br /> </div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: 1em; MARGIN-RIGHT: 1em" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtxLeFEpRZPL8_zL3-67HUEdQ03bRJvDB-1znX6ANKbV7-3nQsFi2iGLKkH86lYnxOgAeaYwkGpbj1B1g6Ms1pz48181Lk2DiWjd2CX2pFQaw62BCNtaLKwwSTwM91pc-ufxnBaROmGA/s1600-h/India+004.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhYT8gULh00CzcddGsLT4lGpTSQlvjSEfMZaoIwYnubjjnipeMqE0qUaXVj7AI327NlfhncIutsmHlFaEXLJgqtuvhQ_sevwePaguwIN0gXN_Ha1GG1rtdkavZalMRGOhoArIwnrnGbFM/s320-r/India+004.JPG" border="0" dd="true" /></a></div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Simply, my bed and desk. And that’s only half of the room I was provided with! </div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /></div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center"></div><div class="separator" style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a style="MARGIN-LEFT: 1em; MARGIN-RIGHT: 1em" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRuXXZJ0YC6Z6OMJiKl84oc6THrxU5ul-Mvx1BMs-tmD3e2IINi08JUiYgkljDfje4DNtw2SZ4tpKASt4Gf4ghjC-ZSLFdk7lhU6ibgzB25UO2nacg5rUwoyppdPg7DSsCm0uAt7_Ces/s1600-h/India+006.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoR3xOR_G4OWerA2r_dMg9eC6OeXfC3enbQyZDUjTW7M8R8e1x5JEq0ugNBANQzRMKOuqBrBVKVHxKKNiNha8i2laToVSlqmo3ifPX1Y-3XyFEZVz2EDLXMvPjP33OvSxaHM1dK91EgZM/s320-r/India+006.JPG" border="0" dd="true" /></a></div><div style="BORDER-RIGHT: medium none; BORDER-TOP: medium none; BORDER-LEFT: medium none; BORDER-BOTTOM: medium none; TEXT-ALIGN: center">Part of my bathroom (separate room for my toilet!). Notice the buckets; one I use for laundry, the other is for drawing hot water, and the cup is to remove the suds after I’m squeaky clean.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3780604240162052920.post-51555161710324695702008-09-17T02:59:00.002-05:002010-05-12T21:15:26.413-05:00Finally HereI’ve realized over the last couple weeks, and especially the last three days, just how inadequate the words “thank you” are in expressing the gratitude I feel for the hospitality I’ve been given. I arrived at my site yesterday, with Becca, Lindsey, and Ariel in tow, to find the Principal (think President of a university in the States), my site supervisor, and a close friend of Achen’s ready to greet the four of us with tea and snacks prepared by the Principal’s wife at their house. From that point onward I have been bombarded with undeserved excitement and appreciation for my presence here. I kept saying “thank you” for each expression of hospitality while knowing that it in no way conveyed the depth of my gratitude.<br /><br />As I was shown around CMS College, I couldn’t help but feel my excitement for being here grow more and more. My supervisor, Gigi Sir, took the entire afternoon to show me around the college and then Kottayam. CMS is an absolutely beautiful, lush campus with old buildings that have so much character. After tea, the first place Gigi Sir escorted us was my room at the Post Graduate (PG) Hostel. As he opened the double doors, I was shocked. My room is at least twice as big as any room I lived in while in college. It comes complete with a separate room for the toilet and shower, shelves galore (including a small, and very much appreciated, library left by the previous volunteer), a couple tables, a bed, and everything else I could ever need. As you can imagine, the other volunteers were a bit envious.<br /><br />After seeing the other volunteers off as they headed to their sites (one only a few kilometers from me), Gigi Sir took me out to lunch at little hotel (synonymous with restaurant I’ve discovered) that is apparently quite the hit. We then walked around Kottayam for a couple hours buying this and that. Kottayam has everything you could ask for in a small city. It’s not too big and not too small. The college is in the heart of the city (while being remarkably calm and quiet), which has every kind of shop known to man available in walking distance. I was surprised to find that I already feel quite comfortable strolling the streets of this new place.<br /><br />My day really began after Gigi Sir brought me back to PG Hostel and left me to finish getting situated in my room. After a few minutes, the PG men (studying for their Masters) began dropping by and the laughs haven’t ended since. Because they were so close to the previous volunteer, they’re quite adept in dealing with a spoiled American it seems. After spending a little while getting to know each other, they took me out for coffee at a different hotel. Finally, my first cup of coffee since arriving in India! I don’t know if it was deprivation or that the coffee had a little crack in it, but it may be the best coffee I’ve ever had (and I went back the next day to have more)!<br /><br />After coffee, we took the long way back to the college, which was a relaxing walk through smaller streets. Back at the hostel, we visited some more and then I went back to the Principal’s house for supper/dinner (depending on what you call it). I was surprised to find that “eating” consisted of driving me over to the Bishop’s house (who wasn’t there unfortunately) and then giving me a night tour of Kottayam. I had a great time and we even picked up some beef curry to add to the meal that his wife was preparing for us back at the house. After picking up the Principal’s daughter from work, we went back and I ate more food that I ever have in one sitting in my entire life.<br /><br />Since the my first day (I’m on my third as I write this), I’ve enjoyed relaxing, reading, being introduced to the faculty, spending time with the PG guys, eating out, walking here and there, and meeting former students as well. It seems that CMS students feel a real connection to this place even after they’ve graduated; I’ve possibly met as many alum as I have current students. While being away from the volunteers has unveiled a little homesickness, I’m really coming to enjoy my time here and it’s only the beginning!<br /><br />One last note: I don’t have any pictures yet because the idea of walking around with a camera taking photos of this and that is a little touristy for my liking right now. But don’t worry, you’ll get pictures of this beautiful place soon enough. Also, from here on out updates will probably be less frequent seeing as my priority is to focus on being here, but I'll be sure to update a reasonable amount.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026058160855620216noreply@blogger.com3