9/14/08 madolin room (on new bed in room extention)

So I know that I have been neglecting to write all that I am experiencing, and I'll try to write more and give you a clearer picture of what it's like over here. So far I have stayed away from posting my wittings that are sad or negative, because I'm sure everyone hears enough sad and negative things every day, and from every YWAM student that comes back to the states from a foreign country, telling you what terrible people you are for not helping. I didn't want to be just another beating drum. But as I talk to people, they seem to want to know about those kind of things, and they tell me to write about it more, so I guess I will. Starting...... NOW....no wait...............NOW.......no hold on.... not yet..... not yet.........................NOW!

As most of you know, I'm teaching kids in a slum English (take that Darwin!... and All the English teachers who never gave me passing grades! and to those of you sending this post back with all the spelling and grammar errors highlighted!). The place is called Wazzipor and it is a slum not to far from the metro. When I first went there with my Nepali friend Yuvraj the kids were chasing our rickshaw screaming "KALI!!" (WWE wrestler) at me and "JACKY CHAN!" at Yuvraj. I don't think alot of white guys come in their neighborhood. It's been pretty fun the few times I've gone. I'm scheduled to go there every wensday and we get to make up are own curriculum, which makes it really fun.

Last week one of our students died. I had only met him a couple of times, and couldn't picture his face until someone showed me a photo (he's in that big group photo with me and the rest of VDS if you've seen it). His name is Umesh, and although he looked like he was 6, he was actually 12 (malnutrition). He went to a cheap, unlicensed, untrained chemist to get an injection for loose motion (probably caused by the water or food he's exposed to). The chemist gave him either an overdose of the medicine, or an expired injection gone toxic. Umesh reacted to the injection and died. The injection he had cost Rs.10 (about 20 cents). He could have had the same injection done by an actual doctor for 20 more rupees. His death was cause by poverty; a social crime, a social murder. Amy said the more they ask around, the more they hear these kinds of stories. It's the "norm" in the slum.

A few days after his death, we visited his mother just to offer some love and comfort. I found out that she was already a widow and had already lost her eldest son a few years ago. Her husband and eldest child both died of suicides at different times. Now that Umesh is dead she only has 2 children left. One of them is a cute little girl that I teach, and the other is a 17 year old boy (who looks like he should be 11 or 12) who is a drug addict. It was pretty sad. The Mother would softly cry at different times of our stay, but for the most part, she just carried this blank, hopeless stare that seems so familiar to so many of the poor here in India.

After we visited Umesh's family, we went to a peace rally to protest communalism and the neglect of the government with the flood victims of Vihar, and the victims of persecution in Orrisa. One theme of the night was "How close does the bloodshed have to get before we hear the cries of the victims?".

Well... it got pretty damn close.

Saturday was my day off, so I slept in and spent the late morning talking to mayang. At 1pm when the cyber cafe' opened, I headed to the hospital to check my email. I was online for 2 or 3 hours writing friends and researching international teaching techniques. Ashley was on and I got to touch base with her for the first time in what seems like years. As usual she was very refreshing to talk to (when she talks it seems as if she's been reading my mail). Around 4pm I was about to get off the the web and I was just wrapping up a message to April where I said "I'm going to go now and look for a cell phone in CP (Connaught Place)."

And that was my plan. At 5 I walked to the metro station and planned to go to CP (which is like the most popular shopping place in Delhi) to look for a cell phone, an ATM and maybe grab a coffee at Cafe Day. But I was feeling extremely unmotivated. I hadn't showered since the day before, and just the thought of all that shopping drained my energy. So I decided to go home first and take a nap.

When I woke up everyone was glued to the TV where they were watching the news in Hindi. Mayang and Yuvraj translated it for me. There were five bombings in three different areas in Delhi. All of them at real central shopping areas where people all over Delhi go, and the bombs went off at the peek of the shopping traffic. 3 of the bombings happened in 2 different places that I can't remember the name of, and then two bombs went of in CP (Connaught Place) at 6:20. CP was where I had been planning to go. In all 30 people were killed and 100 injured. The bombs where simple small chemical explosives, lined with ball bearings. They where put there by a Pakistani, anti Indian Muslim terrorist group Mujahideen.

It felt a lot like 9/11 for an hour for me, and I seemed to be the only one the least bit shaken by this. I realized it's just the difference between the American mentality and the Indians. In India, there has been invasion and killing for thousands of years, and around the world these things seem normal. Death is real. Not to say they didn't care, weren't afraid or even that they were callused, it's just part of Indian living. their attitude and outlook differed from mine.

When 9/11 happened America was so stunned and paralyzed by fear. So shocked that people from another country had caused death and devastation. We rallied under our patriotism and suddenly revenge seemed biblically sound. Revenge is the cause of these terror attacks. Every time we take an eye for an eye it just fuels more hate and more death. I immediately felt compassion not only for the victims and their family's, but for the people that were behind the bombings. For the Muslim familys in India that will be vicariously associated with these bombings because of their faith and probably persecuted by the Hindus. Revenge and civil war have scarred India for too long, and the violence needs to end. The only way this can be possible is if we learn to Love. Perfect love casts out fear (terror). Perfect love casts out terrorism. I'm not saying that I don't believe in justice, I just think most of the world needs to redefine it. Revenge is not Justice.

I had the thought right after this happened "will my parents make me come home? do I want to go home?". I don't want to go home. I don't see why I should leave here when my family has to stay. I wouldn't forgive myself if I let something like this send me running for the hills, abandoning my new family. I love it here.


Ha I'm surprised I haven't been mentioned on the local news! haha. It seems like they are always trying to connect themselves national and international events that have nothing to do with Fresno by leeching onto someone born from there who happens to be there. "josiah siemens, our beloved, native son of fresno, was 10 miles away from the bombings.... sleeping." I don't know why this thought cracks me up so much, it just does. hahaha