7 Days In India - Day 5 - One Night In Agra

It was mid-afternoon and having just completed the sewing school graduation, we were all feeling quite worn out.  The hurry and intensity of the last few days in a strange culture were catching up to us.  Since we had checked into our hotel in the morning, we were dropped off at the door and trudged our way up the stairway, confirmed the time that we would have to meet again before leaving, and locked ourselves into our separate hotel rooms.

For the price we paid, it seemed that this was supposed to be a "nicer" hotel, yet the white bedspread was stained and the bathroom was not very clean.  It made us realize what a luxury it was to be staying in the home of the pastors, back in Delhi - there was nothing very homey or comfortable about this tile-floored stark white room.  The one bonus was that we had a balcony that looked out onto the hotel's lawn, but even that had a downside since each hotel room's balcony was connected and I immediately wondered about people looking in our room or knocking at our exterior door in the middle of the night.  So much for feeling safe and secure.

Our room had a television, and feeling the need for some down time, we flipped through the channels... In typical Asian fashion, there appeared to be a lot of day-time "soap operas" and despite their bizarre plot lines (as best as we could understand with the language barrier) I soon drifted off to sleep.  After a brief nap, I awoke to the sound of Dan groaning as he lay on the bed next to me, and he didn't look so good!

 "What's wrong?"  I asked with concern.

"I don't feel very good" he said, with one hand on his stomach and an arm thrown across his face to block out the light.

I realized at that point that I also had a strange percolating, gurgling sensation in my stomach.  It felt all acidly inside - but not too much... just a slightly uncomfortable feeling.  So far, we had remained quite healthy during our trip.  The infamous "Delhi belly" had yet to assault our bowels and the food had caused no problems for us.  It was nearly time for us to get dressed and ready for the special church service, so we decided to knock on Steve and Kindra's door and see how they were faring.

Apparently, Dan was not the only one feeling a little bit "off".  Kindra's skin was more pale than usual, and she confirmed that she also was feeling a bit of "indigestion".  We talked for a few moments, going over what we had eaten that day and we soon narrowed it down to the fresh bits of onion and cucumber that were served alongside our delicious Tikka Chicken earlier that day.  So much for the adventure of dining on our own!  No wonder the pastor had been sheltering us so much during our stay - we rarely got the chance to eat out, and it was never ever at a roadside stall.  Far too many times, we would be driving down the road and some delicious scent would assault my nostrils... somosas or curry or something that I had never experienced before.  But we were sternly admonished to stay away from these places, at risk of serious illness!  Now, the very restaurant that we had been sent to for lunch may be the culprit for our stomach troubles.

If there is anything that I learned back in the days of my much tamer youth "mission trips", it is that when it comes to ministry, you must persevere.  There is no sense in letting the short time go to waste, no matter how badly you are feeling.  So there was no question in our minds about the schedule that evening - no changes would be made - we would go "on with the show" as they say.

We all got dressed and headed downstairs to the lobby to search for our driver who was supposed to be meeting us.  He walked up to us on the hotel's driveway and motioned for us to follow him across the street where he was parked.  Stepping outside the hotel's gates, I was once again reminded of the intensity of this culture - people absolutely everywhere, garbage on the ground and the dust and dirt clinging to every tree, brick, and the sidewalk.  Then there was the unusual combination of cars, rickshaws, motorcycles, bicycles, horse-and-cart, the occasional camel and the ever-present stray cows and water buffalo that shared this street.  Just before I was going to walk across, I jumped back, startled and realized that I had to look the opposite way for oncoming traffic!  Not only that, but we were in a society where the rule "pedestrians have the right-of-way" was non-existent!  Instead, it was our responsibility to find a gap in the traffic and weave our way through the chaotic traffic. Fortunately, this was a less busy street than many we had seen, and we managed to cross over to the vehicle safely!  What an adventure...and this was just us trying to get into our taxi!

We drove down some narrow side streets and were approaching what appeared to be dead end in the road, with a high wall at the end of our path in a fairly isolated area.  To be perfectly honest, at this time I started to become quite nervous and wondered just where this driver was taking us!  For all we knew, we could be taken to a deserted area to be robbed - everything felt so unfamiliar and we weren't being accompanied by anyone from the church so we couldn't even communicate with our driver!  I silently prayed for safety as the vehicle lurched around potholes and slowed as it neared the wall and vacant lot.  Suddenly, the driver took a left turn, and then sped his way through a narrow underpass which I could now see was a shortcut under the highway.  With a sigh of relief, I turned to my fellow Canadian passengers and admitted quietly: "I was getting a little concerned for a moment..."

One of them nodded and said that they had experienced similar thoughts, but now we were in an obviously populated area once again and we didn't seem to be lost... so we had to assume that we would see the church soon!  I think this is where I realized how much of an effect the lack of sleep and the stress of so many new situations was wearing on me!  We were in such a foreign environment and experiencing so many new things that it was difficult to relax and trust that everything would work out smoothly.  I think also, it was the lack of control over the situation - it felt as though anything unexpected could happen, and we had so little understanding of the culture around us so any problem that arose would be difficult to handle.  I suppose that these feelings are all part of the complete experience of a mission trip - prayer and trust in God is of necessity!

It wasn't much longer before the vehicle slowed down and the driver honked the horn at the gate of a building.  Smiling, friendly people opened the gate and came out to greet us, and at once we knew that all was well!  We hopped out of the vehicle and said "goodbye" to our driver, whom we would see the next day for our sightseeing excursion.  Once again, it was such a comfort to leave the chaotic, unfamiliar and dirty world that surrounded us and enter into another safe and peaceful haven.  There was such an obvious difference as soon as you were within the church complex - it was quiet, calm and comforting.

That evening we had the privilege of joining in a special church service that was planned specifically for our visit.  Steve and I played some of our music from our home church, The Gate, and Dan (my hubby) preached a message of encouragement, with the aide of a translator.  Afterwards, the people were invited up for prayer, and it was up to our team to help minister to them!  We prayed for sick people, people with struggling businesses and even for a woman who was of the Hindu religion, who had just come to "check us out" and see what the church offered.  We also prayed for a young man who was wanting to be married and was waiting for his parents to pick the right bride.  It really was a privilege to join our faith together with these people, who opened their hearts to us in trust.  Not only that, but you could tell just how important they deemed the power of prayer - they stood expectantly and you could really sense the presence of God as we prayed.

After the service we were treated to another amazing home cooked dinner, this time made by Pastor John's wife.  We were seated around the table, along with Pastor J and several dishes with enormous mounds of food were placed in front of us.  I felt my stomach clench a little at the idea of more curry, but unlike my companions, I didn't feel sick -just not very hungry, so despite my lack of an appetite, I filled my plate with slightly smaller than normal portions.  Kindra, on the other hand, was obviously feeling quite ill yet was trying to hide it from our generous hosts.  She politely spooned a tiny amount of each dish onto her plate and I watched as she nibbled reluctantly on her child-sized servings.  At one point Pastor John looked at her and said "You need to eat more food!" and Kindra apologetically explained that she was harboring an upset stomach.

Despite the hospitable nature of our new friends, I found myself yawning through the conversation that cheerfully filled the room.  It had been an exceptionally long day... from waking early to catch a train in Delhi, to our visit to the Dalit school, and the evening at the church; it felt as though we had filled the day with enough activity and new experiences for several weeks!  Fortunately, our hosts were understanding and before too long, we were driven back to our hotel so we could get some sleep.

Of course, to be expected, we encountered another blaring expression of Indian culture when we arrived at our hotel.  Loud music blared as we approached the hotel's lobby... apparently there was a wedding in the banquet hall that evening and we would be treated to the obnoxiously loud rhythms of Hindi wedding music as we attempted to fall asleep!  Thankfully, the music wasn't too loud once we were locked in our bedroom.  And at least it provided continuous melodic background noise that we could attempt to tune out once we collapsed onto our bed.

I climbed between the crisp, cool sheets and tried in vain to smush down my overly large pillow.  My mind was reeling with all the experiences of this day, and the previous few days.  It seemed like we had been away from Canada for a month, and after our jam-packed schedule, not only was my body tired, but I was nearing emotional exhaustion.  As I was thinking of all the beautiful children and the generous sewing school girls whom I'd been so touched by, I dozed off to sleep despite the party that was carrying on in the hotel.  It was time to rest my body and my mind in preparation for just a few more days of adventure.

Little children from the Dalit school, praying.

7 Days In India - Day 3

Saturday, Nov. 26

Just another cow on the road, slowing down traffic...

This day we had the opportunity to visit another slum school, earlier in the morning before the Pastor conducted a church service for the slum area.  By this point we were already more comfortable with the ridiculous, confusing flow of traffic that followed no typical Canadian laws or standards.  So the drive over to this slum school was less stressful than our previous day's journey.  We still would poke at each other occasionally, wide-eyed and gasping with comments of how INSANE everything was - like seeing an entire family perched on the back of a scooter, weaving in and out of the traffic, or a rickshaw packed with 7 or 8 passengers, or the fact that our driver would continually squeeze our vehicle into utterly small spaces, in effort to get ahead of the buses, trucks and rickshaws that slowed us down.

There was hardly ever a break from the poverty.  Occasionally, we would see a new, updated building and it may have wall surrounding it - but that didn't stop the garbage from piling up outside.  And it didn't' stop people from constructing shacks of wood, bricks and tarp outside the walls.  Again and again, we would pass an empty lot cluttered with trash - and there was almost always people living on the outskirts of the heaps of refuse, and children picking their way through the junk; either playing or searching for something of value.

We stopped at a red light - at least I think it was a red light , but it felt like a traffic jam and all the cars were wedged together and waiting.  Along came a dirty, barefooted little boy, his clothing permanently grayed with the dust and pollution.  Around his waist was a medium sized metal hoop - somewhat smaller than most colorful, plastic hula-hoops that we are familiar with.  He began to dance around outside our window on the side of the road, attempting to provide entertainment and perhaps acquire a few rupees.  When his tricks were done, he came over and held his hands out to my closed window.  This time, I was prepared and I pulled out an apple from my bag and handed it to him through the window.  He took it, looking both puzzled and a little bit miffed.  He rubbed his fingers and thumb together, slightly shaking his head at us and said "Rupees... Rupees!" with an aggressive plea.  He was actually snubbing our offering of food!

We looked at each other with dismay, astonished that he was upset with us.  "No rupees!" Steve said to him, and I shook my head as well.  He plodded off towards an older boy on the other side of the median, showing his apple to him.

Just a minute later, a pretty young street girl spotted us in our vehicle.  (As I've mentioned, traffic here is crazy, so you can be stuck in one spot for quite a while!)  This girl wore a dirty old tunic an pants, and she also had metal hoops to do tricks with as well.  She seemed quite excited at the prospect of performing for some white people, and right away did some hand stands and flips, jumping through her hoop and twisting acrobatically.  She actually was quite impressive in her antics! As she came to my window to be rewarded I as a little nervous and wondering whether she would even appreciate my offering of food.  I pulled out a packaged brownie, leftover from our flight, and pointed at it, asking if she would like it.  She nodded and I handed it to her through the window, glad that she seemed a bit more grateful for the food.  We watched her as she brought it over to an older woman who opened the little plastic box as if to inspect it, and then closed it again.  The transaction was complete.

It was quite frustrating to see the behavior of these street kids.  There was a system in place and at work.  They were being manipulated and used for their age and vulnerability and they didn't even get to enjoy the "fruit" of their labors, so to speak.  Obviously these kids were working for a handler - someone who would guard them and send them on the streets to beg.  Every bit of money and food would go directly to their handler, who would, in exchange see that they were fed and somewhat protected.  If the child had an extra good day, and brought in a greater amount of rupees, than they might get extra food that night.  The handlers themselves, reported to a higher power, including the requirement to bribe the police so that they wouldn't be disturbed on their territory as "their kids" worked the streets.

It was really difficult seeing this, and feeling like our contribution and helping hand really didn't help.  We could give them more money, and maybe the child would be treated better that day, but then we were just feeding the system.  We could give them food to eat, but as we just witnessed, they might not even have the freedom to eat the food themselves, having to bring every bit of profit to their handlers.

So many children spent their days out of school, wandering the streets and begging.  While there are free government schools available for all people, the quality of these free schools is very poor and the kids have both no encouragement or discipline so it is difficult to get a real education.  Not only that, but using children to beg is a very lucrative business.  Those who profit from the children's efforts - whether it be their own parents, or a handler - will prevent the kids from attending school and continue to force them to work the streets.  it means that these kids have no sense of a future and no scope of life outside of the streets.  They are doomed from the start to live out their lives as the lowest of the low - helpless and hopeless.

This is where the slum schools were were visiting showed such a huge difference and turn-around for these types of people.  The moment you walked in the doors, you would enter an oasis of peace and hope.  Everything is cleaner and tidy.  The busyness, clamor and clutter is gone.  It is like walking into a different world, one that offers an entirely different way of living.

We drove into one of the worst areas we had seen so far and hopped out of the vehicle.  There was a narrow walkway alongside a brick building, and all sorts of people stopped their activities and began to watch us as we walked through the area.  Some appeared merely curious at our presence, others looked a bit more suspicious.

We turned a corner, and stepping up five worn and slightly crumbling concrete steps, we found ourselves at the entrance of a 12 X 12 brick building filled with children.  We were welcomed into the dark, cramped space that had a small spiral staircase just to the right of the doorway, that led to living quarters for the slum school's directors - a married couple with a baby.  The children greeted us with their practiced English words: "Good morning!" and we waved and smiled back at them.

We were seated in plastic chairs in front of the crowd of 60 or so children who sat, crowded together on the floor.   There were a couple of chalkboards attached to the walls and a few colorful posters with English words for things such as vegetables or days of the week.  Other than that, it was drab, dark and felt more like a tiny, old brick garage than a school for 75+ children.

Packed into the classroom, some even sitting on the spiral staircase

The first part of our visit, the children sang a couple of songs and then began to show off their learning.  Some of them were painfully shy as they quoted a scripture or told us the days of the week and their spelling, in English - others seemed excited at the prospect of preforming for and impressing some white foreigners. 

All too soon, it was our time to impress and we were given the opportunity, with a translator, to speak to the children.  Today, we felt much more at ease and having experienced the slum schools yesterday, we had processed in our hearts more of what we desired to give to these kids.  We smiled and greeted them, and Dan introduced all of us and told how we were so happy to visit.  I spoke to them, asking if they were working hard on their studies, to which they answered in English a resounding "Yes!".  We told them how we were so proud of them, and that if they worked hard, and if they followed God, that their lives would be blessed and that they would do well in life.

A couple of us had the opportunity to pray for the kids, and when I prayed, I think they thought they were supposed to repeat me, because every time I paused, they copied my words!  I quickly changed the direction of my prayer into something that the children could say with meaning, asking for God's help and blessing.  Kindra prayed as well, speaking blessing and protection over their lives.  It was so strange how inadequate we felt to minister to these kids - they deserved so much more, yet they looked to us like we were celebrities.  We just wanted to bless them - yet they honored and blessed us so much.

Next it was time to hand out milk and buns to the children, since they had to clear out the building for that morning's church service.  They brought the large stainless steel vat of steaming buffalo milk, and we lined up and began to hand out the cups of milk and small buns as the children walked out the door.  I went outside to get a better camera angle as the children emptied from the building with their treat.

After taking a bunch of pictures, someone invited me to see inside the building next to the school where I saw a small area where they were heating up the buffalo milk in a large stainless steel pot.  This was in a tiny "kitchen" area that would be comparable to the space that most of us have for an entryway into our homes.  From there, I could see into a doorway of another very small room that held around 30 children, all seated on the floor, with a couple young woman standing at the front of the crowd with a tambourine, leading the children in some worship music, in Hindi.  I loved how their singing was so heartfelt and real.  They didn't have an amazing band, with professional musicians.  They didn't even have instruments.  Yet they sang with joy and faith, lifting up their hands and worshiping the Lord.
 

Preparing the Buffalo Milk

I could tell that my presence was a bit of a distraction, and I didn't want to disrupt this group, that appeared to be a Sunday-school class for the slum kids.  So I squatted down on the floor in the doorway, attempting to connect and be a part of this whole experience, not detract from it.  I gazed upon the children, all so obviously poor, but somehow looking clean and healthy in this otherwise dump of an area.    There seemed to be such a night and day difference between the beggars on the street and the children just wandering around in the slums - and the kids here, who were attending the slum school.  They didn't have the same empty, helpless look on their faces.  They looked hopeful and you could tell that they had a sense of worth.  I continued to sway and nod my head in time to the music, enjoying it wholeheartedly even though I couldn't understand the words, and I felt my heart fill with the hope that was represented in these beautiful children in the room.


After a couple more songs, I reluctantly went back outside to the open space between the two buildings where the children were still coming out of the school with their cups of milk.  I attempted to connect with some of the kids nearby, pulling out the pictures of my own kids again, and showing them to some of the children who were standing there.  Again, there was great interest in these cute little white children - a novelty with their blond hair and blue eyes.  Suddenly, our driver came over and asked us to go back inside the building.  Apparently there was a concern that we were drawing too much of a crowd, and there could soon be a riot of people, demanding milk and bread, if we did not get out of sight.  We spent a couple more minutes within the brick walls, talking with the pastor and meeting his wife and baby.  Then, all too soon, it was time to leave.

It felt like we really didn't have enough time to spend with these kids - all of us felt a sense of loss, wanting to express more love and just be able to sit with the kids and show them that we cared.  However, we were still at risk, being a novelty within this small slum village and we had to leave quickly before more people were attracted to the area.  We walked away, down a dirty sidewalk, with people lining each side and staring at us with their solemn brown eyes.  In the midst of such despair and dirt and desolation, it was amazing to see the contrast of the people with their bright, colorfully dyed clothes.  There was life, and hope within this desperate, run-down area.

It felt so different today, to be able to come and visit this slum area and minister to the children.  We didn't feel as out of touch and out of place, and found our hearts drawn to the children - wanting to be with them and to really do something to make a difference.  We reluctantly piled into the vehicle, gazing back at some of the children who had followed us out to the road.  It was such a picture -words cannot describe it, and the pictures that we took can hardly even capture what we saw and felt.  We waved back at the children, and snapped a few more photos.  Suddenly, one of the young boys came running after us - we had forgotten a water bottle and he wanted to make sure it was returned to us!  We felt such a gratefulness for their openness and hospitality.  They welcomed us as friends and made us feel like we were special to them... and all we could offer back was a smile and a cup of milk.

All of us felt sad that our time was so short here.  Something had changed in us, and the awkwardness was gone - replaced by true compassion and a God-given love.

"Don't forget your water!"