Oh, this darn language

Well, I have no good news to share about my mad language-learning abilities. I am not any more confident or brave. I have had no stellar conversations.

However, yesterday Melissa and I began a new class with our language tutor here. We in K-town have been going to Protima Didi since the beginning of the field, so she knows our organization well. She's an amazing lady who has too much to do so decided to consolidate her evening language students to a three-night-a-week class. It's a lot to process and it gets out too late in the evening, but our first class yesterday was really fun.

There was one moment that made me feel so much more at ease. I was trying to speak, albeit haltingly, and I asked if I said it right--kind of shyly as per my norm. The teacher, a new teacher to us, said to me, Don't worry about if you say it right. Say it and I will correct you later. In essence, I heard him say, Make mistakes and make them boldly. Whew. I will try.

And then today at Sari Bari I was working hard sorting saris (which caused endless sneezing), and I did a darn good job organizing them by color (apparently, Upendra later told Beth that he will hire me as his assistant). After sorting saris, I was given the task of cutting bag handles, which, I found out, is not easy task. The scissors are huge, but it is tough material. Nazir, our master tailor, saw me struggling, came over to move me along quicker (at which point I thought he was giving up on me), and then tried to show me how to do it better. He was very patient, but I tried telling him that his hand is stronger. He said it wasn't not true. The entire time I was cutting bag handles, I was laughing with Nazir at myself. I think he was shaking his head at the bumbling white girl, but it was funny. Not a whole lot of language was going on, but a lot of good communication was. Laughing brings people together. And it's good medicine.

I'll take it as a God-thing

Somehow, I lost an hour this morning. All day I have been trying to figure out how it happened. I woke up at 7:30 and did my morning ritual of making coffee and oatmeal. Echoing the words Beth said to me this morning, I have to say that liking coffee is such a pleasure because each morning has a routine that no matter what happens the night before or the rest of the day, there is something that is normal and comforting.

Every Monday and Wednesday I go to Sari Bari in the south of Kolkata, which means I have to take the metro. After my first day back to Kolkata in June, I always leave at 8:45 so I don't have to fight the crowds at the height of morning rush hour.

I could have sworn I looked at the clock just before I went back to my room and it said 5 minutes till 8. So I am sitting in my room, drinking my coffee, eating my oatmeal, and reading my Bible when Melissa comes in and is startled to see me. She said, "I thought you had left already, and I was going to turn off your light." "I don't leave until 8:45." She looks at me like I am going crazy: "It's 9:15." What?! This is not possible . . .

I did this somewhere on my trip to the States where my clock was set wrong, so I woke up late, but my clock was right this time, and my alarm was set for 7:30. I wasn't putzing around. How did I lose an hour? I really have no idea; I am still quite perplexed. Melissa and Beth say I can still attribute it to jet lag if I want. But, what the heck?! Where did it go?

And so, after this realization, I decided to just take my time. At 9:15, the metro is insane, and trying to cram into a train where there is absolutely no room gives me a panic attack just thinking about it. Instead I left at 9:45 and told myself that if the first train that comes is crowded, I will just wait . . . and I did. I let 3 trains go before I finally got on one.

It's actually a bit embarrassing to admit that . . . am I that much of a wuss? Yes and no. Yes because getting caught in the middle of men and then having to stay there for at least 15 minutes until the larger part of the crowd gets off is liable to give me nightmares for days, which is what happened back in June. On the other hand, no because I want to keep my heart in a soft place where I don't become angry at everything and I don't want to be scared, so to be wise with how I react, I am choosing my battles. I was already late, so why rush now? There will be plenty of other days where I will have to get on the train in that crowd. Today was not that day.

I arrived at Sari Bari in time for tea. Really, I was only a half hour late. And as I was sitting there drinking my tea and eating my biscuits (aka crackers), I realized just how much I love our ladies. I don't always say much to them--working on that language thing, and I don't often understand the gist of the conversations floating around me, but I love being there. They are so incredibly beautiful.

God really is really great.

The Return

I was trying to tell my cousins (whom I stayed with for 3 weeks in August), that since I left them, I had such a great time . . . but it came out wrong because my time with them had been so good as well. I just meant that life is good.

The last two and a half months in the States were really good and refreshing. I am not sure that I deserved my time there, but I definitely made the most of it.

Just a quick word to say that I am back in K-town, India, and that I will be returning to the blogging world.

Great timing

In what will be a few short hours, I will be on my way to the airport. From Kolkata to Mumbai to Frankfurt to Chicago to Omaha . . .

What am I excited about most at the moment? I am going to make it into Chicago in time to watch the World Cup final game! And my team? Go Netherlands!

Melissa and I are on different flights but our layovers will overlap in both Frankfurt and Chicago. She just can't get rid of me . . . if I can make it, I will greet her each time she steps off that plane. And she thought she'd get some peace :-) The World Cup final game is especially exciting to me because I get to share it with her.

It's better when it's shared.

Please keep me in your prayers. Pray that I make all my connections.

See you on the other side!

“Hasten, Heavenly Father, the coming of your kingdom.”

I have been attending an Anglican church since being here in Kolkata. The pace of the service is different than any I have ever attended, and I have found something beautifully stable within the large, stain-glassed walls.

Sunday was a very bright, clear day, which is unusual because there is most often a layer of smog covering this city even when it’s sunny outside. As we walked toward the church, it was difficult to look at because it was so bright—the white of the outside shone. This is so contrary to every other building in Kolkata (besides the Victoria Memorial, of course).

Since I have been there for multiple Sundays, I am now getting to know the order of the service. Each week, there are more words in the liturgy that have resounded strongly with my heart.

Pausing for a brief moment after the service, I stared at the walls and paintings and windows inside the church. It’s beautiful and restful. I didn’t hear horns; I just heard the little birds that were inside. There were no crows. The wood of the pews, although dusty, is beautiful and old. I cherished the moment, and thought, this reminds me of the beauty and awesomeness of God. Not like the mountains do, but there is a sacredness within the church that reminds me God is sovereign and good.

And then the suffering and sights I see every day came pouring into my mind. A question rose in me: how can I relish this beauty when it seems so superficial to what is really happening outside?

But as my heart fluttered for a brief moment at the restlessness that wanted to stay, an answer came:

I can’t know God from going to church, singing hymns and reciting liturgy. I can only know God in as much as I know my neighbors in the world around me. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. I cannot love God without loving my neighbor.

But the beauty I see in the church is not superficial and being there at the church is not something I should feel guilty about. It’s not an avoidance of reality, which is what the lies going through my head wanted me to believe. As I sit in this beautiful cathedral in the midst of a city of poverty and suffering, I can for a brief moment hear a voice different than the world’s screaming voice.

If I know God only from inside a church, from simply sitting through sermon and liturgy for a lifetime, my knowledge and understanding of him will be thin and will bear no weight. But, these practices will teach me about God—what is right and true and good. Living outside the church building introduces me to a physical reality contrary to what God originally intended for his creation.

It’s the collision of truth about God and the physical day-to-day living that allows me to truly know God.

In church I can know about God's character; in the world I can see God's character. If I only am told his character from inside a safe place, no one who is in the dangerous places will believe me. If I only see the world without knowledge of God, I will have a very difficult time finding the true character of God. However, once I am told his character and can see him at work in the world, then I can truly know God.

The beauty of hymns and liturgy is that they have stood the test of time. What was true when the Nicene Creed was written is still true today. Over the centuries, the church as a whole has seen more injustice and inhumanity, whether outside its walls or within, than I will ever see in my lifetime, yet the words of the Nicene Creed have not changed. God has not changed.

Church is a beautiful place to go and remind myself of God’s character and goodness, especially when all throughout the week I am struggling not to believe what “reality” is trying to teach about God. Church is absolutely necessary; it anchors me in truth. In reciting words together with the body of believers here in Kolkata and, inevitably, with those around the world, I find strength.

On Sunday, I was reminded that God is with me in church. He is also with me in the metro. He is with me walking the streets. He is with the boys playing soccer and the girls going to school. He is with our beautiful women who work at Sari Bari. He is with our women who are still working the line. He is with the little girl who just got trafficked. He is with the men who buy our women. He is with the madams and pimps and crooked officials who perpetuate mercilessness.

When I walk in a world where there is no mercy, it is not only good but it is necessary for me to be reminded that the God I serve, He whose nature is to always have mercy, is everywhere.

I am back in Kolkata.

A few things I have noticed:

It’s dirtier here. I have dirt under my nails at all times, which is very bothersome to me. I am a nurse and very much about clean hands, but my hands never look or feel clean.

It’s hotter here. I didn’t think that was possible. Two days ago, the temperature was 111 degrees, but the weather report said that with humidity it felt like 140 degrees. It was no wonder when I walked into an air-conditioned store and thought it was frigid: Imagine having a sudden 60 degree drop in temperature (if it felt like 140 degrees and you walked into an 80 degree building) . . . that’s like 80 degrees to 20 degrees at home. Yeah, that’s cold . . . Or, more accurately, dang, it’s hot.

I have also noticed the feel of going from a monotheistic culture (Bangladesh) to a very polytheistic culture (India). It’s quite different although a little hard to describe; it seems a little messier here. I noticed this when I went to Dhaka at first (although the reverse). Somehow I feel slightly more comfortable in a monotheistic culture where there are not shrines on every corner, but there is still oppression in both places.

Welcome back to India.

As an FYI, the business we have here, is growing! We are in the next five days opening a 3rd unit in a village outside of the city. This unit is a PREVENTION unit. Woohoo! We are moving from not just trying to pull girls out, but we are now trying to prevent girls from getting there in the first place.

As I tell you this hopeful news, I also need to ask for your support. Check out our website (www.saribari.com or www.wordmadeflesh.org), buy our products or donate to our cause. Pray for our women and our community. Tell people about what is happening—spread the word.

Always with hope . . .

I never thought I would be writing on this subject . . .

And as a disclaimer, I do not claim to be an expert nor do I claim to know much at all. I am just sharing what I have learned, what I am learning.

The textile factory workers here in Bangladesh went on strike the other week; they want the minimum wage increased. A friend of mine here (let’s call him Monir) described a bit of the conundrum he is in over the textile workers demanding to be paid higher wages. Monir owns a textile factory. Personally, I think it is only right and just and fair that the textile workers be paid more (currently, they are getting 1600 Taka a month, which is less than a dollar a day), but as Monir explained, there are repercussions for being paid more . . . some people will be paid more while others will lose their jobs. And then the factory will not be able to produce what is needed. I also remember learning in economics class how (usually) if the minimum wage is increased, the cost of living also increases, thereby nixing the higher wage.

And then I think, seriously, Monir, I see the life you are living—the lavishness of it. Surely you could pay them more. I recognize not all of Monir’s money comes from the garment industry. I also recognize that Monir is one person, and although one person can make a small difference, this is not where the heart of the problem lies. So Monir talked about the companies that buy the textiles made here in Bangladesh. I am no economist and I am not a businessperson. A conversation pertaining to business can soon be lost on me, but this is what I understood:

Companies come in with an amount they are willing to pay. They want cheap clothes. Who doesn’t want cheap clothes? Who hasn’t gone to Walmart because clothes are cheaper there than at Target or Old Navy and you don’t have to spend as much money? Monir said that the prices these companies are willing to pay for the textiles is not enough to keep the factories running, to allow for a profit, to pay the people a livable wage. The only reason textile industries on this side of the world are even considering these prices is because of the sheer volume. Why are the companies in the US demanding lower prices? Because we the consumers are demanding lower prices.

Everyone is out for his or her own profit, right? That’s what runs the world, the capitalistic society. Two businesses are competing, one lowers their prices a fraction to attract the customers, so the other one must also lower their costs. Eventually, the prices become so low that the businesses must go to where the clothes originally come from to get lower prices so they can still make a profit. Through all this, we the consumers will only now shop where clothes are cheap (we’ve been spoiled), and because of that, the people in these factories are being paid less and less, and when they form a union (it worked in the USA), they may eventually get a higher wage, but it won’t matter because the price of all other living expenses in these countries will go up. And some will lose their jobs.

And then I think about the stores that offer clothes at astronomical prices and people still pay those prices. I have a feeling that where those clothes come from is right next door to where clothes from Walmart come from. I know because people buy the Walmart clothes and the outlandish-priced clothes in the “seconds” markets here in Dhaka. Those factory workers should get paid more, but they don’t. It’s the same wage.

This subject has been written about many times. I have heard many discussions. Many I have eventually tuned out. But I have heard. I try not to shop at Walmart . . . but mainly because I think they treat their employees like crap. Now I have a whole new perspective because I have heard the textile factory owner’s story.

I still think he has too much money and that somehow he could treat his employees better, but I am seeing that it looks like a futile battle on this end when the American consumers are on the other end of the tug-of-war.

I never thought I would meet the owner of a textile factory in Bangladesh. I never thought about what I would say if I met one. I have had many bad thoughts about textile factory owners. Surely, I could have said quite a few choice words concerning them. But then I met Monir. He told me about a girl that went off on him while on a plane when she learned what his job was. He laughed it off. That girl didn’t change his life. Now I have gotten to know his family. I was invited to a thank you party he and his wife threw for those who’ve helped them throughout the year . . . I did nothing but go to a few dinners with them. Maybe Melissa and I opened Monir to a view of the world through our eyes: seeing what we do and why we do it. Maybe that’s affected him more than I realize or maybe that’ll affect him down the road; maybe it won’t. I do know that I can learn from him. And I will tell others this story, this bit of truth.

Don’t shop at Walmart. Learn to do with less. Try to find the fair trade stores where at least they try to only buy from factories where the employees get paid a living wage. I am told Target at least tries (Monir does business with Target). Walmart does not try. Target still isn’t the greatest. I know there are better out there. It’ll cost you time to hunt down stores that try to pay fair costs. Pay a little more and have a smaller wardrobe; it’s not the end of the world.

That little girl and boy might have a chance to eat an ice cream cone.