Dream House IV
I couldn’t understand why but my wife was emphatically in favour of accepting the invitation to lunch – perhaps it was her sense of adventure or her love of an authentic curry. I was particularly glad to see that the curries were vegetarian after I had walked past the meat seller earlier – selling meat without a fridge means that flies are your best customers.
I felt so awkward as we sat down for the meal but watching my children be so at ease must have encouraged me to forget my questions and enjoy the moment. The kids were eating new foods without any drama although the heat of the spice was starting to affect them. I realised Sanjiv was there, obviously added to the party as our trusty translator.
My wife started to ask Sanjiv about his life and his family. His story did not at all reflect the beaming smile that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face, or maybe it did. Sanjiv’s parents had both died within a few weeks of each other, seemingly of simple sicknesses that were never diagnosed and for which they were never hospitalised. Sanjiv spent time on the streets before finding extended family in this slum.
The real turnaround in fortunes came when Sanjiv learned that he could go to school. There was a bus that came each morning to pick up children for school. The school was free and just for children of the slum. They said it was paid for by Jesus and people in other countries who love Jesus. There Sanjiv was nourished, in his body and his spirit and in his dreams. He was getting good results and hoped in the future to become an accountant and get a home outside the slum.
I started to recognise the incredible generosity that we were receiving. It wasn’t just that they were sharing all they had, but their manner in serving us the food and attending to us was remarkable. I snapped out of this reflection as I heard Sanjiv share about his sister who had not been so fortunate. I watched my wife listening intently, I could see the emotion rising in her face, what could have been tears became an incredible resolve as she asked Sanjiv, “Is there anything we can do?”
Sanjiv’s sister, now 16, had been lured in and kidnapped by a brothel almost two years earlier. I had left the lunch quickly with Sanjiv and after finding his uncle we were on our way across the city in an auto-rickshaw, through traffic that flowed in a way that I could not understand. I was getting an emergency education in such a disgusting industry. Sanjiv’s family had recently heard word about his sister, that she was now quite sick, and this was an opportunity because it meant that her value to the brothel was much lower and maybe we could buy her out.
Sanjiv and I waited in the rickshaw that we kept while his uncle negotiated. I braced myself for whatever the cost may be – this day was a whirlwind in my mind but the purpose I felt in this was solid like stone. Sanjiv’s uncle came out looking positive and asked me for the equivalent to our thirty dollars. He was desperate. I couldn’t believe that it was enough - I was staggered to think that this could be what a life is worth – and how easy it was for me.
She really was very sick. There was relief in her eyes as she saw Sanjiv but there was such pain that stopped her from expressing her joy. We rushed her to the hospital where her uncle stayed with her. Sanjiv had a plan for her to be taken in by a women’s shelter that was run by the people that also run the school.
I was glad to see my family again as they were just saying goodbye to our lunch hosts. I was shaken by the day but felt something powerful, that we had been engaged in the most important things.
Dream House V
We woke again. As we had all fallen asleep in our bed we all stirred awake together. We rushed to the windows and the result was a mix of confusion, relief and loss. We were home – back in the suburbs.
We didn’t say much but we knew that things had changed, we had changed. Our minds and experience had been expanded explosively. Our world had become much bigger and much smaller.
Even as our house was less cluttered as we had found ways to share many things, our minds too were less cluttered. We were starting to see the world clearly and our place in it. And we couldn’t wait to go back.
Showing posts with label dream house. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dream house. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Dream House II & III
(The link to Dream House I is here
http://notwant.blogspot.com/2011/01/dream-house-i.html)
Dream House II
It was completely jarring to feel such relief at seeing my kids smiling widely and yet to feel so awkward about them being so close to these kids that I didn’t know. Sure their smiles were endearing but their clothing, their hair, and their faces were less than clean.
My kids couldn’t understand their new friends but they were playing happily together with some kind of wooden puppet. One young man, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, was obviously a bit of an organiser. He seemed to be gathering a crowd just below the back of our deck.
My wife appeared at the back door – half asleep and half in shock. We met side-by-side as we watched our children, she restrained herself from ordering the kids back inside as she noticed the ease at which they played with the local children.
At the orders of the organiser, a few children – some with long drums, some with puppets, and girls in dress costumes came up to the deck and assembled themselves for an impromptu performance. We were treated to an amazing performance, the children were quite skilled and they were obviously enjoying themselves immensely to have such a stage and a crowd in their own community. The colours weren’t quite the same as a Bollywood movie but the life and the energy were the same.
As the performance finished some of the key performers gave puppets to our own children. My wife and I were quietly shocked at the generosity but didn’t interfere as these experiences washed over us. I was very glad that my kids were so emphatic in their thanks and even tried some makeshift bows to show their gratitude. A spark of an idea in our oldest son quickly became a request whispered into our ears. And we were more than happy to go along with it.
We were so used to our kids’ more unattractive tones complaining about hunger and whinging for snacks, now they were busy gathering lollies and biscuits and all the leftover snacks from Christmas and bringing them out to share with everyone.
Now a middle-aged woman was moving determinedly through the crowd followed closely by the young organiser. I started to wonder about all the possible things she could be angry about.
Dream House III
I was beginning to wonder what this was all about, why this was happening. The woman spoke with the authority that all mothers have. Even without translation I knew I was to follow. I surprised myself by just going along with it as I slipped on some sandals and walked down our back steps.
The young organiser identified himself as Sanjiv. He spoke simple English clearly and confidently. He explained that we were walking to the house of a man who was very sick. Sanjiv apologised that he didn’t know the words to describe the injury beyond, ‘arm’ and ‘bad’.
We walked through alleys about one and a half people wide as we dodged the open drains. Finally we stopped and stepped inside a small concrete room. We went through and into another smaller room at the back. It was almost completely dark. A man lay next to the wall, he was obviously in pain. Another young man stepped into the room carrying a light globe which he deftly attached to the makeshift wiring on the ceiling.
The light revealed a wound that covered most of the man’s right arm. The flesh could be seen, pink and red. The movement on the surface was the tiny worms that were slowly consuming him. It was entirely disgusting. I wanted to vomit. I had never even seen anything like it. I hastily and whole-heartedly started to make it clear that I wasn’t a doctor.
Sanjiv began to translate for the woman. They were very sorry but they were even more desperate. They hoped that I might have some money so that Mukesh could be treated at a hospital. I learned that without having the money up front and purchasing the medicines and bandages yourself, the hospital did not have any means to treat you.
Mukesh’s brother took what I thought was a small amount of money and took him to the closest hospital. I was still dazed. I still felt quite overwhelmed by what I was seeing.
Now the woman had another request but this time I had no idea what it was she was asking. Sanjiv smiled and explained that she would like me to bring my family back to share lunch with her family.
There was no way that I wanted to expose my family to the kind of risks that such a lack of hygiene can bring.
http://notwant.blogspot.com/2011/01/dream-house-i.html)
Dream House II
It was completely jarring to feel such relief at seeing my kids smiling widely and yet to feel so awkward about them being so close to these kids that I didn’t know. Sure their smiles were endearing but their clothing, their hair, and their faces were less than clean.
My kids couldn’t understand their new friends but they were playing happily together with some kind of wooden puppet. One young man, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, was obviously a bit of an organiser. He seemed to be gathering a crowd just below the back of our deck.
My wife appeared at the back door – half asleep and half in shock. We met side-by-side as we watched our children, she restrained herself from ordering the kids back inside as she noticed the ease at which they played with the local children.
At the orders of the organiser, a few children – some with long drums, some with puppets, and girls in dress costumes came up to the deck and assembled themselves for an impromptu performance. We were treated to an amazing performance, the children were quite skilled and they were obviously enjoying themselves immensely to have such a stage and a crowd in their own community. The colours weren’t quite the same as a Bollywood movie but the life and the energy were the same.
As the performance finished some of the key performers gave puppets to our own children. My wife and I were quietly shocked at the generosity but didn’t interfere as these experiences washed over us. I was very glad that my kids were so emphatic in their thanks and even tried some makeshift bows to show their gratitude. A spark of an idea in our oldest son quickly became a request whispered into our ears. And we were more than happy to go along with it.
We were so used to our kids’ more unattractive tones complaining about hunger and whinging for snacks, now they were busy gathering lollies and biscuits and all the leftover snacks from Christmas and bringing them out to share with everyone.
Now a middle-aged woman was moving determinedly through the crowd followed closely by the young organiser. I started to wonder about all the possible things she could be angry about.
Dream House III
I was beginning to wonder what this was all about, why this was happening. The woman spoke with the authority that all mothers have. Even without translation I knew I was to follow. I surprised myself by just going along with it as I slipped on some sandals and walked down our back steps.
The young organiser identified himself as Sanjiv. He spoke simple English clearly and confidently. He explained that we were walking to the house of a man who was very sick. Sanjiv apologised that he didn’t know the words to describe the injury beyond, ‘arm’ and ‘bad’.
We walked through alleys about one and a half people wide as we dodged the open drains. Finally we stopped and stepped inside a small concrete room. We went through and into another smaller room at the back. It was almost completely dark. A man lay next to the wall, he was obviously in pain. Another young man stepped into the room carrying a light globe which he deftly attached to the makeshift wiring on the ceiling.
The light revealed a wound that covered most of the man’s right arm. The flesh could be seen, pink and red. The movement on the surface was the tiny worms that were slowly consuming him. It was entirely disgusting. I wanted to vomit. I had never even seen anything like it. I hastily and whole-heartedly started to make it clear that I wasn’t a doctor.
Sanjiv began to translate for the woman. They were very sorry but they were even more desperate. They hoped that I might have some money so that Mukesh could be treated at a hospital. I learned that without having the money up front and purchasing the medicines and bandages yourself, the hospital did not have any means to treat you.
Mukesh’s brother took what I thought was a small amount of money and took him to the closest hospital. I was still dazed. I still felt quite overwhelmed by what I was seeing.
Now the woman had another request but this time I had no idea what it was she was asking. Sanjiv smiled and explained that she would like me to bring my family back to share lunch with her family.
There was no way that I wanted to expose my family to the kind of risks that such a lack of hygiene can bring.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Dream House I
When I awoke I knew that something was different. The air felt different. I couldn’t quite pick why. I thought that I must have left the window closed – or open. It wasn’t that I was thinking again last night about how this house could never be our dream house. It was a new kind of disorientation.
Everything looked the same but the world felt more cramped. Like the air had become more crowded-in. The feeling wasn’t subtle. It felt very real. I could hear a buzz, well actually that makes it sound somehow electrical or mechanical. It was more of a hum – a sense of people and activity.
This feeling warned me that things were different but I was still surprised when I went to the window to see the noise I could hear. The whole world had certainly come closer. Instead of the familiar sights of the fence and my neighbour’s house I could see the ramshackle tin roofs of tens of, well, some kind of dwellings. All our space was gone, replaced with small laneways and homes heaped on one another – and people moving everywhere.
Our suburban house had been picked up and dropped into the middle of a slum. The sky was hazy, the air was hot and full of the noise and sweat of ten thousand people living in a space the size of a city block. My brain was already peaking with all this new information. I could see sick looking dogs, an open sewer gutter, and everything seemed so dirty and broken.
For the people walking near I could tell that it was out of their routine to see a large white house, brick footings and all, in the middle of their community. Their faces showed bewilderment and confusion. I rushed to check on my own family. My wife was still sleeping soundly but the kids were unaccounted for.
I rushed towards the back door hoping the kids would be playing on the deck. As I got closer I could hear the sound of children, but it was that slightly hysterical sound that without seeing was hard to tell if it was crying or laughing.
Everything looked the same but the world felt more cramped. Like the air had become more crowded-in. The feeling wasn’t subtle. It felt very real. I could hear a buzz, well actually that makes it sound somehow electrical or mechanical. It was more of a hum – a sense of people and activity.
This feeling warned me that things were different but I was still surprised when I went to the window to see the noise I could hear. The whole world had certainly come closer. Instead of the familiar sights of the fence and my neighbour’s house I could see the ramshackle tin roofs of tens of, well, some kind of dwellings. All our space was gone, replaced with small laneways and homes heaped on one another – and people moving everywhere.
Our suburban house had been picked up and dropped into the middle of a slum. The sky was hazy, the air was hot and full of the noise and sweat of ten thousand people living in a space the size of a city block. My brain was already peaking with all this new information. I could see sick looking dogs, an open sewer gutter, and everything seemed so dirty and broken.
For the people walking near I could tell that it was out of their routine to see a large white house, brick footings and all, in the middle of their community. Their faces showed bewilderment and confusion. I rushed to check on my own family. My wife was still sleeping soundly but the kids were unaccounted for.
I rushed towards the back door hoping the kids would be playing on the deck. As I got closer I could hear the sound of children, but it was that slightly hysterical sound that without seeing was hard to tell if it was crying or laughing.
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