This has become our first long term project since arriving at MCCSS.  Isabel will be attending a global conference in April at Appalachian State University to talk about the programs at MCCSS, especially the Night Shelter for boys.  Accompanying her this year will be a young boy from the shelter, Aryan*.

Aryan is 11 years old and came to the shelter a little over a year ago I think.  MCCSS was notified about Aryan after his father committed suicide one day while rag picking in the dump yard by setting himself on fire.   Aryan, like most boys living in the short stay home, were rag pickers along with other members of their family.  Most living on the street or in the slums, rag pickers earn little money by sorting through mountains of trash at the dumping grounds, looking for scrap plastic and metal that they can then sell.

Since coming to MCCSS,  Aryan has stopped going to the dumping grounds and is attending school.

This year, funding for the boy’s home has been cut.  This means that there is not an actual program in place to help them.  However, MCCSS still provides a safe place for the boys to come every night after school, to receive a meal, shower and a bed to sleep.  Unlike any young boys that I have ever met, they are completely capable of taking core of themselves.  JB and I are the closest thing to guardians that they have being that we are always here, but they don’t even need us.

They come home from school, do their homework, spend some time playing and are in bed by 10 so they can be up and ready for school the next day.  They, along with all the young girls at the short stay home, all call me Sister.  They smile and joke every time I see them, an re some of the brightest young boys I have ever met.  They are each other’s protectors.  On the inside they are just the same as any other little boy you will ever meet, but on the outside they are toughened, thick skinned.  Some of the things they’ve experienced seem absolutely horrid and unimaginable to us.  But to them it’s life.  They talk about past abuse as if its nothing.  While at first it seems that they are hardened by hardship and incapable of feeling, it’s the exact opposite.

These boys feel love and joy in a way we might not understand because they cherish it.  They know the hardship and the sadness, but rather then allow that to alter their attitude towards life, they let it slide and allow the blessings they’ve received to radiate throughout.

*Name changed for client confidentiality.

Home Sweet India

My first Indian meal at the Delhi Airport!

Its been a week since I first stepped foot on India soil, and it's been a constant adventure. After a solid 24 hours spent in airports and planes, Air India and the Delhi airport had me convinced that India wasn't that different at all compared to my Western world. Cushioned reclining seats, neat orderly shopping centers, air conditioning. My first step outside those airport doors was a harsh awakening. Culture shock might be considered an understatement. What greeted me in the hot musty air was a chaotic mergence of traffic, pedestrians, bikes, more traffic, and cattle. I was frozen. Luckily, JB’s friends, Kishore, Amos, and Praveen, were there to rescue us. As we waited for them to arrange a ride for us, I stood in the middle of this madhouse and was honked at, yelled at, and almost ran over a million times even though I could have sworn I was standing on the sidewalk. This chaotic jumble I would soon come to learn as their orderly norm.

First hotel room

Our first night was spent in a hotel, or a room that would never pass American standards. Still it was cheap, cool, and had a porcelain toilet. This would be the last Westernized toilet I would see for days. Despite its shortcomings, I was thankful to just be done traveling. The taxi ride there was almost as bad as the 14 hours spent in the plane. Constant weaving in and out of traffic, butt puckering close calls, road signs and lines just merely suggestions, cattle and dogs. So many people sleeping on the road. Trash everywhere. Buildings on buildings on shacks. No urban planning. Every twist and turn with not one road sign as a guide had me wondering if anyone had made an executive decision on how to build this city or was it just a collaboration of individual ideas. A scary and harsh difference from my world at home, but just a week here has allowed me to understand this new way of life, and at times find sense in it all.

Inside my sleeper train cubby. Goodmorning India.

The next three days were spent traveling about southern India. We travelled the next night on a sleeper train to Kishore’s hometown, Midalam. The sleeper train I had heard was the way to travel in India. Sleeping in the 3-tier bunks eliminates the need for a hotel that night. And with a dinner of chapatti and docai served, it’s nearly luxury. I heard rumors of toilets on trains, just holes in the floor that led straight to the tracks. Well this isn’t just the case for trains. Turns out our flushing throne in the hotel was a treat. Still toilet paper is a foreign concept. Squat, drip dry, and pray for a clean poop.

Typical Indian bus

The air in Midalam was much cooler, the town much smaller, and the landscape BREATHTAKING. A low flat lying coastal town with sporadically placed mountains jutting up thousands of feet in the air, perfectly reflecting the morning light. Kishore’s family was absolutely beautiful and so welcoming of their foreign guests. They days were spent traveling to various tourist attractions, temples, bridges, dams, waterfalls, palaces, and their own private beach in paradise. When we returned home, his mother and grandmother had prepared dinner for us, as guests we dined first. Kishore allows me to watch them prepare the meals so I can maybe learn how to cook it myself. Very simple with few ingredients, seemingly little room for error. A small kerosene stove heating a black iron plate. An iron pot over the wood stove for the rice. I would love to help them in the kitchen, but Kishore explains that in an Indian family, a guest does no work. In America we have kind of have the same policy. Except the guest insists, the host says no, but eventually it’s a team effort because secretly the host doesn’t want to do all the work alone.

Kishore's family kitchen

Kishore's Grandmother (Parte)

@Kanyakumari

Ghandi's ashes

I’ve done a lot of comparison of Tamil culture to American. Obviously to help make sense of it all . I find that Indian culture and customs make more sense. As with driving, in America we drive as individuals, focused only on our route and destination. And as long as everyone sticks to their path, everything runs smoothly, no collisions. But the moment someone varies from their lane, crosses that line, ignores right-of-way, we lock up, get angry and inevitably continue on our path which is now destined for collision. Indians are simply organized chaos. Lines or meant to be ignored, stop signs are always yields. However, everyone drives with everyone in mind. Actions are completely dependent on the actions of others and adjusted accordingly to avoid collision. Not one accident. Its like a dance, very synced. Horns are not used as tools of aggression but rather means of communication and alert. Although I doubt I could ever drive in their chaos, I can appreciate this way of life. A true example of coexisting.

Praveen & I

On the plane over here, I did my best to cram in as much Hindi as possible. Turns out this was useless. In south India, in the state of Tamil Nadu, everyone speaks Tamil. More understand English better than Hindi. Praveen, with his broken English, has been an amazing teacher. As much as he wants to improve his English, I make him teach me the Tamil word for every little thing. When we returned from our day of sightseeing, Kishore wanted to show off my new knowledge to his family. Most of the words I’ve learned will probably be useless in everyday life, but I had them laughing with every word that came out of my mouth. They’ve even given me a Tamil name, one that his family now uses when talking to me. Chellathai. It means loving mother. I find it ironic, yet beautiful.


Another two words I love are their words for love and ocean. Kadhl and Kadal. A slight variance in vowel sound. It makes me wonder, are the words similar because they view the two similar? Maybe one a physical metaphor for the other. Maybe a lesson on how to love or what love is.

The goodbyes with Kishore’s family was even longer than the introductions. Although we had only been there 2 days, and barely had any direct conversation with his family, his mother began crying before we had even grabbed our bags to walk out the door. Aunts, uncles, and cousins all wanted their picture with us. As we piled into the car, everyone came out reaching in, kissing our hands, shaking them through the window. His uncle gave us a parting gift of oranges and bananas for the bus ride ahead.

Words can not even describe the misery of that bus ride ahead. 16 HOURS spent traveling back to Chennai. And this isn’t your normal charter bus with padded reclining chairs, little TV’s on the ceiling every few rows. No. This bus was one rusty hunk of metal with metal seats and an engine that I feared was going to give out on a handful of occasions. There was no bathroom and no hot meal served like on the train. I slept maybe 2 hours total. The roads in India are so bad that every bump, ditch and pot hole sent me flying out of my seat.

We finally arrived in Chennai and began the last stretch of our journey to MCCSS, of course after struggling with auto drivers to decode the address we found on the website. The whole bus ride to Chennai I had been longing for this arrival. Finally we would have a home, a place where we could sleep and leave our heave bags. I’m not sure what I had pictured in my mind about MCCSS, but it was surely not what awaited us. We walked in and there was one man sitting at the front desk. We ask for Isabel and after a phone call he leads us upstairs to where will be staying. I had imagined there being many interns and meeting my roommate, but he opened up the door to an empty 10 person bunk room. Not a word said, just nodded his head and left. Apparently JB and I had this whole room to ourselves. We started searching the building for others but found no one. There was no introduction, direction of where to get food, nothing. I was unbelievably exhausted, mentally and physically. I called my mother crying, wondering how in the world I was going to live here for four months. April suddenly seemed an eternity away. My mind flooded with thoughts of failure as I drifted off to sleep.

When we finally awoke, it was nighttime and I heard voices coming from down the hall. There were three Danish girls. I could not even express how relieved it was to see them. Turns out it was their last night at the agency, one girl had already been there for three months, but the short time spent with them helped prepare me for my work ahead. She told us about all the work she had done, what the staff was like, and took us to meet the boys.

The boys, they are absolutely phenomenal. My feelings of isolation and homesickness began to dissolve as I was greeted by 15 young boys, full of energy and excitement to meet us, and to my relief spoke perfect English. As they went around introducing themselves and playing, they began calling me Sister.

The first few days at MCCSS have been amazing. All fears of not being able to survive hear vanished after our orientation of the agency and the city surrounding us. Even though I haven’t even been in the area for a week, I already feel at home and as if I know my way around. Many of the shop owners recognize us and wave as we pass by.

The third night there, I met the girls. And I fell in love 20 times over. I had been so scared to meet them. Putting it off as much as possible telling myself that I wasn’t ready and I needed more preparation. The Danish intern shared briefly about some of the girls’ cases and how when sitting with them they would randomly share tidbits of their story as if it was nothing. I though that if I could read their cases before hand, I would know how to handle the situation better. She also said that visiting with them could be challenging and awkward because they were quiet and spoke little English.

I’m not sure what she was talking about.

Before going to dinner with Isabel that night, she invited us up to her apartment which is attached to the home for human trafficking victims. So inevitably we were going to be forced to meet them. Forced ended up having a whole new meaning. The moment we reached the top of the stairs, we were swarmed and dragged into the home with hugs, smiles, and introductions by some of the most beautiful girls I will ever meet. There was about 15-20 of them, all speaking about perfect English, wanting to know our names, where we are from, and to show us their home. There was so much life and energy about them, that I felt ignorant for ever thinking of them as sad, broken victims. These young women were survivors.

The next half hour was spent laughing, dancing, and playing games. They even convinced JB and I to join in their performance and taught us a little Bollywood dancing.

I was so happy that I couldn’t stop smiling even after we left. In the car ride to dinner, Isabel shared with us some of their stories. And while all of them were terrible and horrific in different ways, it made me see the strength and resilience in these girls and how far thy have come.

This is where I will be spending most of my time in the upcoming months.

This will become my home. These girls, my family.

The hourly countdown has begun.

The reality of it comes in waves with fear, excitement, then heartache, followed by nervousness.  Although I've done everything I can to prepare, to talk those who've already been, to try and map out how the next few months will go, I still can't see myself there and I have no idea what to expect.  But that's how it is anyways right?  We try so hard to plan out life and make things happen, but in actuality it always seems that life and fate have the upper hand.  Being the controller and fixer that I am, I find it hard to remember this and to let things just be.  From what I've heard, India might be the perfect remedy. With its chaos and unpredictability, I'll have no choice but to just roll with the punches.  On that note, I believe that India will be a remedy for many of the things that plague my Western lifestyle.  I'm hoping to gain a sense of simplicity there, a new understanding of what it means to just be and exist, equipped with only the necessities to carry me through.

The journey excites me, but my mission worries me.  For the past two years I've been waiting for this opportunity to come along and you can imagine the buildup of hopes, dreams, and aspirations that come with that.  I have such high hopes for really making a difference over there that I'm scared of not succeeding.  What if I can't adjust?  What if I can't handle the poverty and immense need?  Like I said, I'm a fixer.  I fear that my empathy for others will lead to me wanting to carry the burden for them and it will eventually weigh to heavy for my heart to handle.  It's something that I've always struggled with, whereas I need remember that positivity, love, and uplifted spirits will spread and act as a remedy for others.

My last few hours in the states are going to filled with good company and good food, I can already smell my dad's famous meatloaf making its way up the stairs.  I hear a car door slam and a knock at the door as  my last visits with friends begin.  I'm going to miss this place more than I can even comprehend at the moment, but I know that this is what I'm meant to do.  Please keep me in your thoughts when I'm away, and if you can, give my mom a call.  I know she'll be needing just as much comforting as I will.

Last family photo before I leave.  And before the loser on the far left decides to get married.

Please send me mail. I'll be needing the love.

MCCSS

Attn: Jessica Cord

No. 21, 6th Main Road

Jawahar Nagar, Chennai – 600 082

Tamilnadu

India

The golden locket, from my dearest Lindsey.
The tree, from my cousin, might as well be sister, Brooke.
These will carry me while I'm gone.  Will remind me everyday of the love that awaits me when I come home.

Namaste Boone

This will be my first time moving off the mountain since the week I walked across the stage of my high school graduation.  And although I will (most likely) be returning to Boone after my travels across the globe, today marked the end of an era. A majority of the people who I have chosen to surround myself with, who have become close as family, who have made Boone home, and who have made these past few years the best of my life, will not be there when I return. I feel like I should be used to this by now, first time I had to say goodbye was my first semester freshmen year.  But each year saying goodbye gets harder and harder.

Last weekend was my going away party, and my amazing roommate Shan helped pull it all together, and even got festive with me for the occasion.  I was completely astonished of all the people who have been some significant part of my life that came flooding in.  Even those I didn't know were unbelievably supportive and uplifting when they heard of my trip.  And I realized, even though I'm leaving and I feel as though life will continue on without me up there, and I think of all the memories I won't be apart of, I was apart of so much already and there will be so much waiting for me when I get back.  I wish it didn't have to end, but I'm eternally grateful for the time I've spent there and all the amazing people who have been placed in my life.  I thank you, will miss you, and love you all so dearly.

Here's a few snapshots from one of the most beautiful nights.

Velvet Elvis came out to play!  Thanks to my dear friend Charlie.

Swift Science, as always, put on an amazing show.  The best I've seen yet.

It might be hard to tell, but these girls are the most beautiful girls I've ever met.

Namaste Boone, see you in a few months.

United Methodist Women

After I received my acceptance letter into the MCCSS internship program, I began fund raising along with my fellow intern JB.  He had already done his own fund raiser and had received a huge response and support from many in his church and community, and encouraged me to do the same.  The purpose was to receive support not only for my internship but as well as for MCCSS, dividing the money in half.  The American dollar is worth so much more in India, and what might seem little contributions made will go much further in the hands of MCCSS providing supplies and funding for their many programs.

So I sent out support letters to many family members, friends, and members of my home church, Muirs Chapel United Methodist Church.  I was hesitant at first to be upfront about the work I would be doing knowing that Human Trafficking can be a touchy subject, one that many shy away from.  After much thought and consideration I decided to include it, knowing that shying away from it would be aiding the problem, and talking about it, being open and aware, would raise awareness and support.  The response was more than I ever dreamed of.

Not only did I discover many families and friends were eager to help, but an old family friend and member of Muirs Chapel, Tammy Bason, contacted me on behalf of the United Methodist Women.  It just so happened that the mission of the UMW the previous year was Human Trafficking!  These women that had watch me grow up my entire life, generations separating us, shared the same passion and determination as I did to see this crime against humanity abolished.  She asked if I would come speak at their end of the year meeting and I with no hesitation agreed.

I'm by no means a public speaker, never liked the idea of it.  But I knew that this was an important opportunity to not only share my experience, but also to educate more on the matter with knowledge I have gained over the years.  I decided that the best thing to do was to talk to them, have a conversation rather than give a speech.  My nerves at ease, I talked to them just as I had with Tammy and Lynn over a cup of coffee.  It was just a conversation, and an important conversation that I encouraged all of them to have, because until we start talking about it and making it a priority, nothing will be done.

As I tried to bolt back to my seat, Lynn had me stay up front for just a second longer.  The UMW has a scholarship program in place to grant to young women seeking to better their community.  The past two years they have not had a candidate to award this to, until Tammy received my letter.  After presenting it to the board, they agreed to sponsor me on my internship and support MCCSS!  I was completely blown away.  I had no idea about the scholarship much less the support I would receive from these women.

The UMW is very involved in the Greensboro community as well as globally.  Each year they set a mission to educate themselves on an issue and do everything they can to advocate and support.  They are amazing network of women and I'm truly blessed to have their faith in me and my trip.

I thank them all very much for their love and support, and I promise to do everything I can to make them proud.