Thursday, May 13, 2010

Warning: I'm in a foul mood today

During our Preparing for Change training (PFC) in VSO, soon after we passed the assessment, we were told that volunteers are a rare breed of people. For one, it is not easy to decide to just leave your country and live among people in a cultural setting that one is not used to. One thing that was given so much focus was the aspect of culture, how to be sensitive, how to handle culture shock, how to be adapatable. Rare might we be but volunteers are not saints.

Enough of disclaimer, I am simply in a foul mood today and I want to rant.(I promise to rave next time) For a valid reason I cannot talk about what’s making me feel short-tempered but I do need to vent , and I’ve decided to pick on the construction workers in our compound as my hapless victims.

There’s a construction going on in our compound. The landlord is building three more apartment units in the second floor. It was started by two sari-clad women carrying 15 to 20 kilos of cement bricks each on their heads. The bricks were stacked outside the compound and transferred to what used to be our rooftop. Then more women came, and then men came, maybe not in that order. Now there are about 10 people working in the compound everyday; the construction according to my landlord will take three months.

I must thank these people who work so fast that in just a couple of days they’ve erected the walls that insulated our apartments from the scorching summer heat. It doesn’t feel like an oven anymore and I’ve stopped using my air-conditioner every night.

Now just as fast as they build the second floor the garbage accumulates faster. Our junkyard, er, our front yard already looked like a junkyard even before the construction began. There are steel bars that might have been used as scaffolding when our part of the building was constructed, slabs of wood, surplus bricks, a corroded motorbike, a guava tree, a coconut tree, and dry fallen leaves, all of them forms the landscape of our junkyard, er front yard.

The construction workers have their lunch in our walkway, right in front of Francesca’s (the other volunteer) flat. I want to digress for a moment, F and I often come home for lunch and every time we give them cold water, whoever gets home first. We’re volunteers, we’re a rare breed of people so we don’t complain if we must supply them with drinking water daily which we buy from the landlord‘s store. If only they could be more polite and request rather than always command us to get them cold water.

About the trash, some of them (the workers, not the trash) bring food from home packed in stainless metal containers that is common in India. Others buy food from the hotels (restaurants). A typical Tamil Nadu lunch you get from hotels is ¼ kilo of cooked rice wrapped either in plastic bag or banana leaf, sambar (a tasty mix of smothered vegetables), wrapped in small cellophane bag, rasam (clear soup with coriander and I dunno what else) wrapped in small cellophane bag, a dahl also wrapped in cellophane bag, and curd (diluted milk with onion, coriander, chili) yes another cellophane bag. Curd helps in digestion, rasam cools the body. Sometimes there’s an extra treat of papad, wrapped in old newspaper. These come in set and contained in a bigger plastic bag. So if at least half of them (the workers, not the trash) didn’t bring lunch from home and throw their garbage in our front yard, that’s 5 banana leaves, 20 to 30 plastic bags and 5 sheets of old newspaper flung haphazardly in our front yard e-very single day. And I’m not even counting the disposable tea cups (morning and afternoon, they each have a cup of tea).

One morning during the first week of construction, I wore my pink rubber mitts and picked up all their rubbish. I made sure they saw me did it with a grimace. The women, with cement bricks on their heads, stopped to watch me and chattered in Tamil. Soon I realised they wanted me to stop and told me they’d clean up later. I didn’t. One woman who just deposited her bricks on the second floor joined me and quickly reaped all litters she could. I gave them an old bucket they could use to collect their garbage, “deyavu seda” (please). For a good two days there was no visible trash. But soon enough, more rubbish piled up, now this time with cement bags, empty tins, more slabs of wood, more metals. F talked to the landlord that he should have it cleaned, he said ‘uh, yes maybe after construction’. MAYBE???? Now tell me if I shouldn’t rant.

My Indian friends and colleagues will pardon me when I say that lack of environmental sanitation is an obnoxious characteristic in India, and this is true anywhere. I hear some of them who complain about these themselves and said that educated or not, majority of Indians don’t care about sanitation.

I come from a developing country and garbage collection system is never at its best. In fact annual inundation in some parts of Manila during the rainy season, are partly to be blamed on uncollected solid wastes. But the difference is that people in the Philippines would always at least think twice before disposing their garbage just anywhere, and try not to get caught doing it. There are huge garbage bins in the major streets here but are often only half-full (or half-empty, depends on the type of person you are) while around it are piles of litters. What is so hard about making sure a small plastic tea cup they throw lands inside the bin and if they missed pick it up and try shooting again? This and the frenzied streets of India are two things I’ll never get accustomed to.

Oh, I feel better now, enough of ranting for tonight. I have to save some so I’ll have an excuse to rant the next time I feel down again. Apologies to the construction workers in our compound, more cold drinking water coming up.

Monday, May 10, 2010

A brief trip back to the Philippines on Election Day

For the first time since I came of legal age to vote I am waiving my right of suffrage in exchange of a volunteer service in India. It’s one right that I have always enjoyed to exercise despite the fact that not of one of my choices emerged as winner. For some reason I am glad not to be in my country today and unable to vote because of the stultifying inanity in the conduct of this year’s elections. I’d start with the outgoing president running for Congress, two notch lower than her current position. Many sincerely believed that with her unquenchable thirst for power, this is a ploy so that if she made it to congress she, along with her would-be congressional cohorts can amend the constitution and orchestrate a shift from presidential to parliamentary system that would catapult her to the position of prime minister. Others think that this is an attempt to still still hide from the cloak of impunity, elude the copious charges of corruption that will be thrown at her feet once she is no longer in power.

Then there’s a former president ousted less than a decade ago and is trying to stage a comeback even after being jailed, convicted of plunder, then pardoned and released. There’s also the candidate overtly supported by the administration but all indications show that there is another candidate who woos the voters with his rags-to-riches story, who has the clandestine backing of the administration. And then there’s the former president’s son not known for stellar performance in the senate but banks on the legacy of his parents. There are other candidates vying for presidential post but surveys showed their poor ranking as people’s choice. That they sling filthy mud at one another needs no mention . Sadly, this is a norm rather than an exception.

For another reason I feel that I want to be there and be part of the historic national elections. It is yet the most crucial election since 1985 when I was a year short of the age to vote. Today, my country decides on its plight through an automated election, something that people have been clamoring for years, weary of the constant cheating and protracted canvassing that keeps filipinos in suspended animation and anticipation of whether those who were expected to rig the results could actually carry it out .

It is also a crucial day because the country has been muddled in deep political and economic crises for the last nine years that many Filipinos, and this is just my own take, have been worn out with actions to replace an unwanted government through another people power. Today, Filipinos decide with a glimpse of hope for genuine change thru reviving virtues and morals that eluded us for the last couple of years.

Doubts about the cleanliness of this election still looms but people are more engaged and vigilant now. I don’t know what will happen 36 hours after the polls officially close and the new president is announced. Talks about another people power are floating, just as I was writing this I saw a video of a former military officer, now at large, one of those who staged mutiny against the current government announced that they will support another people power, if the election results do not turn out the way the people want it. Other more popular leaders however disapproves of another marching on the streets.

I am not registered as an absentee voter. I am simply not a voter this year, period. All I could do now is hope that this year election is clean and that the true voices of the people will emerge. Together with the Filipinos casting their votes today I dream with them that we have a new government that will genuinely lift the country from economic and political despondency.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Go with the flow

As someone who is used to going against the tide I was surprised with myself that during the last three days I just went with the flow. I’ve heard some volunteers say “go with the flow” referring to how they dealt with happenings in their placements. I couldn’t really grasp it until the retreat our organization had last week.

It was called a retreat but it didn’t fall under my category so I’d rather call it a welcome break from monotony of work. The departure from office was set at 3 pm, Thursday; went to office in the morning and did whatever work I could finish before we took a three-day off. I already packed in the morning but left my luggage at home as my flat is one-minute walk away so I just picked it up right after lunch at 2 pm. I was back in the office by 2:30. Two maxi-cabs were waiting outside, everyone was just getting tidied up and prepping to go. I smiled at the thought that we might just leave on time. Alas, we didn’t.

For some reason, even as we have all loaded up our bags in the vans we just didn’t leave right away. Most of us were either standing next to the vans or at the front door of the office, waiting… waiting… No one appeared impatient but I and F, the other volunteer. The time that passed seemed like eternity because we didn’t know what we were waiting for. We found out later that some people went some place to get a few more things we’d need for the retreat. (took a deep breath, no use grumbling).

Fast forward to the retreat up in Yelagiri Hills. (A post about Yelagiri Hills coming up soon, or you can just google)

April 29, 8:30 pm. With the one hour delay in departure time the planned agenda instantly changed. After dinner we had a brief orientation and postponed playing Tambola till the following day. Tambola is an Italian game like BINGO, but without the letters B-I-N-G-O, and the numbers to be drawn were up to 90 instead of 75.

April 30, At 6:30 am the men were already in the field readying for our cricket match when I and F got there. Indians are passionate about cricket and know the sport by heart. While I, being a Filipino, am utterly ignorant of how the game is played, and couldn’t make a sense out of it even after trying to watch the IPL. Still unacquainted with the rules I found myself a member of one team. Asking about the rules didn’t help because no one explained. They know the game and it was enough. Just go with the flow.

I took the bat and positioned myself in the base, I didn’t know that I had to protect the wicket behind me (three poles standing at the base) and just tried to hit the ball thrown at me by the bowler (the pitcher in baseball). I managed to hit a no-run ball a few times, and one when I was told to run and exchange places with one of our team players standing next to the bowler. Run I did. My Indian colleagues seemed to be enjoying the game, some of them shouting words that didn’t mean anything to me, “5 balls, 7 runs”, “over”, “four”. I didn’t know what was happening but at least I knew who were my team mates. I cheered for them regardless if it was called for or not. My team lost the game, how and why I had no inkling at all.

After breakfast we went to the session hall, located in the basement of our hostel, to play Tambola. This time, because not every one knew how the game is played, there was an instruction. Cool. What I couldn’t understand was why D who directed the game after every number was called, kept blowing the whistle with great intensity in a large almost empty room that a whisper would be amplified ten times. I was sitting next to him. Remember that there were 90 tiles to be drawn, winner emerged only after one managed to block out all 15 numbers in his/her ticket. There was no winner until the 85th tile, that meant 85 times he blew the whistle. If ever I won, the prize wouldn’t have been enough to pay for the ear doctor.

When one round of Tambola was over, F and I ran an activity on communication. We divided the group into 3 and asked each of them to complete their puzzles as quickly as possible. We were given an hour for the entire activity, including a short discussion afterwards. Half an hour passed and the teams were still struggling with their puzzles (for kids aged 3++). What made it difficult was we had the pieces mixed up, and didn’t tell them, so each team needed to negotiate with another if they wanted to complete their puzzles. The activity took longer than expected because no one wanted to stop. No amount of whistling from F helped, they just did what they wanted to do. Everything I learned about facilitation of group dynamics exercise vanished. Well, they were having fun and it was a rest and recreation for them. Just go with the flow.

The power was on and off the entire day, towards the afternoon the sky dimmed and it started raining, the bonfire in the evening was out of the question now. Other plans changed as well and I didn’t know why. Going to the local market was not in the to-do list but after lunch we went anyway, it being Yelagiri’s market day. The market day meant producers from all over the town assmebled in one place. We saw enormous jackfruits and homemade honey, other than that there was nothing to fancy.

It seemed like we were taking each hour at a time, did whatever was convenient at the given time. From the market we proceeded to Nature Park, though the YMCA compound where we stayed looked more natural . It was basically a huge fenced garden with few benches and a tea stall. The fun thing to do was skipping your way around the park dodging the sprinklers which were all turned on the time we visited.

We wanted to check out a waterfall downhill but from where we were standing we could not see water falling. A visit to Wikitravel confirms that April is not a good time to see the falls, which I just found out is called Jalagamaparai. In fact any time of the year may not be a good time because again, according to Wikitravel, there has been no water in the falls for the last five years.

Power was still out when we came back to YMCA, right in time for tea. I had no idea what we’d do next. I don’t know if it’s because my colleagues spoke Tamil most of the time that I could barely make out what they were discussing. I had a copy of the 3-day program with me but that seemed to be completely useless at the time. Obviously the plan was being revised every hour but no one would explain to me and F unless we asked. And often, even if we asked the reply we’d get was “polama” (let’s go) . When it got dark, I followed some colleagues as they walked towards the chartered maxi-cab. K, the ever-efficient staff was counting the people standing next to the vehicle, next thing I knew we were boarding the maxi-cab to go back to the market. Oh well, I could use another bottle of Sprite and a bar of Kitkat.

May 1. Back in the field at 6:30, tomatoes and water in sachets were laid on the ground like a maze, the original cricket players were there. We would play a game called Boys versus Girls (i wonder if there was any debate before they arrived at the best name for the game). Only one person knew what was the game about so there was an instruction in Tamil and English, thank goodness. All men in one team, all women in another. One at a time, a team member was blindfolded, the rest of the team will guide him/her through the maze. The objective is to get to the other side of the maze without stepping on the tomatoes and packets of water. Men scored 3, we scored 2.

To my delight, there were very specific instructions today. After the Boys versus girls, there’s breakfast, “pack all your things, we meet at nine am”. “Where do we put our bags?”, asked F. “Pack your things and I will tell you later”, was the reply. Aghh, was it too much to ask?

Someone said we’d depart at 9, but we gathered at the basement instead. Half of us were already there, the other half… waiting..waiting.. faces gloomy now. Half an hour later everyone finally came. there was an awarding ceremony for the game winners. If I knew it, I would have joined more games. (I missed the volleyball match). Then time to go, move out, go for boating and a biryani lunch on the way back to Chennai. The trip back to the city was uneventful, and so was the waiting before we actually left YMCA. For a good one hour we were just sitting inside the vans waiting…waiting… by this time I no longer cared what was keeping us.

I didn’t pack a good amount of patience from home, being here in India however the little supply I have seemed to be multiplying on a daily basis. Months of being here taught me that there is no sense of urgency here. I think this is what is meant when they say life is slow in India.

The other thing is lack of fluency in the spoken language inhibits me from fully grasping t the minute details. I feel my colleagues have become well acquainted with me that they tend to forget I can’t understand their language, without meaning to exclude me from any discussion.

As a volunteer i know that in some ways i have to create a flow, but there are times when the best thing to do is to just go with the flow. It makes life bearable and i don't miss the fun.