Orphanage in India Part 3 of 6

Mission Trip to Andhra Pradesh, India
Part 3: Local Customs and Auto-rickshaws

By Elizabeth Dewhurst

I was taking third class for Art one morning this week, when I noticed one of the boys had a deep open wound right across his chin. It looked like something from a horror film. I tried to disguise my shock and asked him if he was ok. He looked like he was about to faint and said it was painful to speak. He told me an insect had done it to him the night before. When I mentioned this to Nicky, who is hardened to life in India nowadays, she told me casually that there’s a type of insect here that crawls across people, usually while they sleep, and leaves deep cuts in their skin.

Apparently there’s nothing you can do about them and poor Kali is not the only victim this week, although his wound is in the worst place and doesn’t seem to have healed yet at all. Since then, I’ve been trying to sleep with as much of my face on the pillow as possible without suffocating. But, despite the lingering fear that one of these strange insects will assault me in the middle of the night, I feel quite at home here now. But every so often something happens to remind me that this is India. I am actually thousands of miles from home and about as far from English culture as you can get.

Becoming a Woman

On Wednesday afternoon, a buzz of excitement filled the campus. Samuel was first to let us know what had happened. Apparently, Bagghesri, who is 12 and one of the oldest girls here, had become a woman. Her family were informed immediately. They doubtless were quick to spread the word and within hours had made the long journey from their village to the campus. But not before Bagghesri herself had been taken out of school to a room away from everyone; she was dressed in a sari, made to stand for about two hours whilst a coconut leaf mat was fetched from the city for her to sit on; she was fed three raw cloves of garlic with teaspoons of sugar and oil, then covered in tumeric from head to toe and finally sprinkled with rice. I duly participated in the ceremony and had the honour of being the first to smear turmeric all over her face. Then we left her alone and I was told no one must touch her. It is at times like this that you realise how different India culture really is. Something that we would only ever mention behind closed doors in England is a cause for enormous celebration here.

‘Maturation Function’

But by far the most unusual thing about becoming a woman here is that Bagghesri must now sit down in a room by herself for 11 days and do nothing until the 15th August, the date chosen for her ‘maturation function’. We will be celebrating Indian Independence Day then anyway so that date was the obvious choice. Every time I’ve visited her room she seems to be dressed in a new sari someone has bought her and appears to be very bored indeed! There are 11 turmeric crosses on the wall behind where she sits to mark the time she must sit there for. The cook’s wife told me she had to sit down for 13 days before her ‘maturation function’ because that is the tradition in her family. Bagghesri’s diet for the 11 days is also completely different. For some reason, everything she eats must be sweet and contain no spices. It is, of course, still very important throughout this time that no one touches her. She must be quite lonely too, given that she is usually one of 7 girls on a bunk bed sharing the room with 14 other girls. Throughout the week family members have arrived wielding sweets, which I have been force-fed on more than one occasion. I can only imagine what next week’s ‘maturation function’ will involve…

Pointing and Staring

Being a white person here is not something you can easily imagine without experiencing it. On the one hand it feels like what I would imagine it’s like to be a celebrity. You are treated like royalty wherever you go and everyone wants to speak to you, touch you and have their photo taken with you. People in the cities usually assume you are very rich Americans or Australians and ask you for money. On the other hand it’s like being part of a circus. People stare and point at you everywhere as if you are a creature from outer space. An old man and his wife stood and watched me for almost an hour the other day whilst I hand washed all my clothes and hung them out to dry. 

Auto-Rickshaws

I felt like even more like some sort of strange alien than ever this week on a trip out with the Bible college students. On Thursday, David and I joined them on one of their evangelism trips.  Twice a week they visit one of the local villages to preach the Gospel. But local just means one of the 300 odd villages in the district and local is hardly how I would describe the village we visited. The round trip took at least 3 hours including various stops to change to different auto-rickshaws. In total we had to take 6 autos: auto drivers don’t ask you where you want to go – you just pile in and when the driver feels he has taken you far enough he stops, tells everyone to get out and demands payment. Until now I’ve always been amazed at how many people manage to squeeze themselves into one tiny auto as I observe them from the relative comfort of the jeep.

Actually travelling inside one of these loud, cramped, sweat-inducing go-karts is an entirely different matter. Eight of us piled into one as we set off from the village, until we were dumped on the roadside for the first of our unscheduled stops. At each stop we were glared at by amazed villagers. Apparently in India it is not considered rude to stare. When the third auto arrived, I thought it was already full – at least two families seemed to be occupying all the available space. But the students decided we should get in so we all duly contorted ourselves to fit between various men and women holding crying babies. By the time we set off I was lucky enough to find myself sitting right on the edge of the auto. Whilst this greatly increased the risk of falling out as we bounced in and out of potholes, it also allowed me to breathe. So whilst we had to hold on for dear life during most of the journey, I, and the man hanging from the roof, at least had the luxury of not being pressed up against someone else’s armpit. I counted 17 people on board and there may well have been more I couldn’t see.

Preaching From House to House

Living conditions in the village were frightening and the stench that greeted us as the auto stopped was like a horrific combination of all the worst things I have ever smelt. But after a few minutes, I just promised myself I’d have a very long shower later and got on with the job in hand. David and I were called upon several times to pray for and preach to the villagers as Dileep, who is very good at English, translated. The students would just walk up to people in their homes and start preaching, then encourage us to join in. It was a very new experience for me, walking up to people’s homes uninvited to tell them what I believe. But you soon get used to it. It always seemed at first like the students were starting arguments with people but that is just how people preach here. At one point I thought a man was telling me off but apparently he thought I spoke Telegu and was telling me he was a Christian and was very happy we had come all the way from England to preach. The students loved having white people with them because a huge crowd had gathered in the village to look at us as they preached, sang and prayed. Whenever we spoke everyone fell silent to listen to what the ‘funny white people’ were saying.

Evangelism in Rural India

Overall our trip to the village was pretty successful. We met many Hindus and a few Christians who said they would love to have a church in the village. Before we left one man said he wanted to become a follower of Jesus so the students prayed specifically with him. One heavily pregnant woman came out of her house and motioned towards us. Then Aruna, who came along with me as a female chaperone, said she wanted me to pray that her baby’s delivery would go well. At first it struck me as odd that she had no idea how long she had been pregnant or when she would have the baby. But there are no doctors for miles around so people here know only as much as their mothers tell them.

We were on our way back from the village that evening when the sixth auto screeched to a halt. It was dark. The 12 people crammed inside were silently sweating. The eyes of a deadly snake were fixed on our stationary cart. Snakes have never bothered me here before because if someone sees one at school, they just scream and within seconds Ganesh, the cook, appears brandishing a hug stick and a machete to deal with it. But when we were forced to stop because a huge snake was blocking the road, Ganesh was nowhere to be seen – he was back at the campus cooking dinner.   Luckily, after a few anxious minutes, the snake got bored and slithered away past my side of the auto. That was my first experience of evangelism in rural India.

Choc Ices and Sports’ Day

The ice cream van was called this week as a reward to the children for finishing their exams. As usual, when it arrived they were keen to pose for photos holding and eating their choc ices. That Friday there was no school, and we had a sports’ day instead. Splitting children into teams when you’ve only taught them English isn’t easy. And although the Blue team won by a huge margin, no one complained the teams weren’t fair. Sports’ day was a hot and sweaty affair. A tiny boy called CharunKumar didn’t actually manage to leave the start line for two of his races and one of the older girls started crying because she didn’t win the onion and spoon race (eggs are too valuable as food to be dropped on the ground.)

Face Painting

Later on in the afternoon, everyone had their faces painted. A few boys wanted to be tigers but the majority asked for butterflies and pink flowers to be painted on their cheeks. In that regard, England is very different to India – both girls and boys are quite happy to wear flowers. And boys are not more likely to draw cars or motorbikes than anything else. Samuel himself used to wear a bright pink jumper with a flower on until Nicky forbad him from taking it to England and threw it out! It’s not uncommon to see men wearing nail varnish here either. And in India holding hands with your wife is an unacceptable public display of affection whereas men will walk arm-in-arm as a sign they are great friends.

Family Visits

Saturday at the campus was another eagerly awaited event. It was the second Saturday in August and every second Saturday of the month, family members of the children here are allowed to come and visit them. For those who have parents, they usually come…otherwise brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts or grandparents will come. I felt sad for the children who no one came to see and for whom no one brought snacks or sweets but they didn’t really seem to mind. It was actually very interesting meeting some of the relatives. No matter how many stories you hear, the reality of life here is always more shocking seeing it first hand. Some of the relatives had travelled for miles to come here – they don’t have much but they are clearly extremely grateful that the children are so well cared for at the campus. And when you see how poor some of these people really are, you finally understand why a place like this is so important.