The Happy Home

It must have been getting close to 8:00 pm when we boarded our bus and van again to visit the Happy Home. We were supposed to be making two visits on this arrival day, one to the Happy Home and one to a home for the aged; however, given the late hour we opted for just a quick visit to see the kids at the Happy Home.

It occurs to me now that this was the moment that Sarah made the disparaging comment about the amount of travel. She just couldn't believe that we were climbing back into those vehicles, and I suppose it didn't make a whole lot of sense to any of us until we made our way down a dirt street in falling darkness and came upon a lighted courtyard full of bright smiling faces eagerly awaiting our arrival.

The Happy Home is a home for HIV infected and affected children. It is run by a man and his wife who were inspired to open the home after adopting a child with HIV. The founder, with John Mark helping the translation, told the story of how his wife and he came to adopt that child who had been abandoned because of the burden of the disease and lack of hope for his future. He told how he had come to realize that there were many children in his new child's position; children who had lost their homes to HIV because they themselves were infected; because a parent was infected and couldn't care for them; or because they had lost a parent to the disease. While other looked at these children as hopeless cases, he had great hope for them and was inspired to do everything he could to give them a safe and secure future.

He told us about how he found a place to rent 14 years ago, so that he would have space to take more children in and how, for the next fourteen years, he was forced to move these children from place to place because they were repeatedly kicked out by landlords when they discovered he was sheltering children with HIV. He beamed as he related the joy he felt when he realized that he had finally raised enough money to purchase the building and courtyard we were now in. That purchase had finally given his children the permanence he had wanted to provide them for all these years; it had finally given them a home. 

We traveled a total of 8 1/2 hours on a bus that day to get this chance to visit the Happy Home, and it was worth every second.  

The Road to Khammam

It took us about 24 hours door to door to get to our hotel in Hyderabad and slightly more than 24 hours later we were checking out again to make our way to Khammam. At some point during this day, Sarah said to me, "Did they tell us about this, because I'm not sure I would have signed on." It turns out, some things are better left unsaid.

Sagar was supposed to arrive with the mini-bus and the group of Hyderabad teens by 9:30 am, so Sarah and I made our way down to the breakfast buffet at 8:30. That gave us time to get back to our room, fetch our bags, and be ready for Sagar when he arrived.

Breakfast was pretty quick. The buffet was bounteous, but there were only a handful of items we would consider: cereal, toast, hard boiled eggs, and peeled fresh fruit. It was still a good bargain for the small price we paid.  I ordered coffee which was offered with or without warm milk. The first time I ordered it I gladly accepted the warm milk. From then on, I took it black. The milk had a funny sweetness to it and often had developed a skin on top when it sat in the pot they served it from. They described the coffee as very strong, "you will want milk," but I thought it tasted an awful lot like instant coffee. Somehow, I had suspected that India would have fabulous coffee - not so much.

We grabbed our bags from our room and then checked out. We sat in the lobby while the rest of our group checked out and assembled. We were all assembled and ready for Sagar's arrival at 9:30, as instructed. He arrived at about 10. Once he arrived we had to load the luggage into the mini-bus and divide ourselves between the bus and a van. Sarah, Shannon and Alida bravely volunteered to ride in the very cramped van that was not equipped with air conditioning. The Indian members of our travel team had also drawn straws and divided up between the two vehicles.

Our luggage took up two full rows of the mini-bus, so there were not really enough seats for the passengers it needed  to carry. It seemed like the 6 India teens that would be traveling on the bus had been told to squeeze themselves into the back row that was intended for 4 passengers, and they did this cheerfully.  We were just about to take off, when an Indian businessman boarded the bus in search of a small suitcase he feared had been loaded onto our mini-bus by mistake. There were no rear doors to the bus that you could open to survey the luggage, so they practically had to unpack the bus to see if his bag was there. He was eventually satisfied that the bag wasn't on the bus and we were allowed to leave. It was close to 11.

It took us more than an hour to clear the boundaries of Hyderabad. I don't know precisely how long it took because in a little over 24 hours I had learned that it was important NOT to keep track of time. You could lose your mind very quickly if you expected to keep to a schedule. It was better to not even look at your watch. I kept my watch on CT time for our entire trip and kept track of what Peter would be doing at home. That was MUCH more predictable.

We also got a healthy exposure to Indian roadways and driving habits. Remember how I referenced Disney earlier? Well, traveling on Indian roads is scarier than any ride I've been on at Disney and I've been on them all. Most of our journey was spent on two-lane roadways where vehicles traveled at least 4 across. Drivers passed slow moving vehicles willy-nilly and frequently came face-to-face with each other in an unintended game of chicken. The only rule of the road that I could perceive was that you were supposed to beep as you came around a large vehicle like a truck. This seemed to be more about warning the truck that you were passing than about communicating with the car that was coming straight at you from the other direction.

 It didn't take long for us to realize that looking out the front window of the bus was a very, very bad idea. Carol, one of the adults in our group, was seated  right behind the passenger door of the mini-bus with a clear view of the front window, so she turned herself towards the back of the bus and worked hard to engage herself in conversation that would distract her from what was happening on the road in front of her. It was while she was turned talking to people behind her, that the bus got cut off and the driver had to slam on his brakes. Carol was catapulted into the well that held the entrance steps to the bus and lay there still and crumpled.

On the road to Khammam

The closest adults sprang to her aid, lifting her from the stairwell of the bus and into a more protected seat. One of the adults traveling with us, Mo, is a nurse, and she began surveying Carol's injuries. She had banged her head and was clearly stunned. She had what appeared to be a small cut on the back of her head and another cut and blooming bruise on one of her forearms. Mo and her daughter, Nicole, who will be going to school to become a nurse, cleaned up Carol's wounds with whatever they had and bandaged the cut on her arm. Mo asked Sagar if we could stop somewhere for some ice and he communicated with the bus driver to stop as soon as he saw a pharmacy. I gather he communicated something about his driving, too.

It was at least a half hour, maybe longer, before Sagar spotted a place to stop. He had communicated with the van, so they pulled over, too. Sagar went into the pharmacy and got some items to more thoroughly clean and dress the wounds and someone else headed into a convenience store in search of ice. Everyone assumed that Sagar had communicated with Alida about the accident when he had called the van to let them know we'd be making a stop. In fact, Alida had no idea what was going on and assumed someone had a bathroom emergency.

With the ice and medical supplies on board we took off again. Carol was actually feeling a lot better. The color was returning to her face and she was chatting and seemed relatively comfortable. We were all relieved. By this time it was getting pretty late - maybe 3 or so, and we still had a long way to go. Sagar said we would be stopping soon at a hotel (translation - rest stop) to get a quick snack before heading on. I had to admit, I was pretty hungry. The goldfish crackers weren't cutting it anymore. I also really needed to go to the bathroom.

When we got to the rest stop I headed straight for the ladies' room. The farthest stall was the only one available, so I took it. There was not a toilet in the stall, just a porcelain drain pan in the floor. This was curious to me. If you were going to go the trouble of installing plumbing and a porcelain fixture, why not make it a toilet? I assumed this was my only option, however, so when in India...  It was much later that I figured this riddle out, but I'll keep you in suspense.

When I got out of the bathroom, Sagar was busying ordering food from a waiter. In addition to the Indian fare, there was a Baskin Robbins and a Subway. Subway was pretty much out of the question for the Americans because we couldn't eat uncooked vegetables, but lots of people from our group immediately began eyeing the Baskin Robbins. Sagar had ordered Coke and chicken 65 for the group  and it seemed to take forever for it to arrive. When the food arrived people dug right into the chicken without first asking the important question - why do they call it chicken 65? It turns out they call it chicken 65 because it is made with 65 different spices, many of which will scorch the roof of your mouth off. It was official - we were buying ice cream.

On the road to Khammam

Carol was the first one to decide she really needed some ice cream and she kindly offered to buy ice cream for all of the Indian teens , too. I decided to pass, but gave Sarah some money to get herself an ice cream, so I only know about this next scene second-hand.

As it was described to me, there were four people working as servers, one scoop, and a cashier. Communication was reportedly a big issue. Again, I had vowed off of keeping track of time, so I can't attest to exactly how long it took for them all to get their ice cream but, take my word, it was a loooong time.  I'm not sure the ice cream treat completely erased their frustration with the purchasing process. Also, by the time Carol got back to the group with her ice cream, there was blood dripping down her arm and onto her clothes. The first thought was that it was coming from her arm, which had immediately seemed like the worst of her injuries. In fact, her arm was looking much better. The swelling and bruising was subsiding and the cut didn't seem so bad, after all. The bad news, however, was that the cut on her head was deeper than it had at first appeared. That was the source of the blood. It was now clear that she was going to need stitches, so as we took off, Alida put a call into our next host, John Mark. We had plans to visit a FOCI supported medical clinic while we were in Khammam. It looked like Carol, at least, would be visiting a little earlier than planned.

We finally arrived in Khammam at dinner time. Our bags were unloaded from the bus, but we went straight to the meal. Carol was anxious to be seen by a doctor, as you might imagine, and Mr. J. was on hand to take her, but his first proposal was that Carol eat dinner first.

Mr. J. was a bundle of energy. I was raised by a bundle of energy and, I have to say, I've never met anyone quite like him. He spoke at a million miles an hour and seemed to be literally percolating ideas and plans. After introductions, Carol, Mo and Nicole headed off with Mr. J. and the rest of us ate dinner. They arranged for the four of them to meet up with us at the Happy Home, a home for HIV/AIDS infected and affected children, that we would be visiting after dinner.


Our host in Khammam, John Mark, was the head of the Khammam branch of the Christian Service Unit.  He was a warm and immediately inspiring presence.  He was attentive, yet completely unruffled by our extremely late arrival; by the injury that needed attending to; and by the need to accommodate  all of us somewhere else when the retreat center became unavailable. He acted like everything was going completely as planned - no worries, no trouble.

We got our rooming instructions at the end of the meal and the bags were quickly brought to our room so that we could hop back into the bus and van for a quick visit to the Happy Home. And I think that's where I'll stop. The Happy Home deserves it's own short post.

Day One - A Vistit to the Astrid Rowe Memorial High School (ARMHS)

Sarah and I had trouble sleeping. I never respond well to sleep ultimatums, so knowing that we had just 6 hours to nap, shower, change  money and be dressed and ready to go was enough to keep me awake. We both managed to get a little sleep between 6 and 9:30 am, but then just decided to get up and get on with the day.

We headed down to the lobby just before noon to change some money and meet our group. By 12:15 pm everyone in our group was assembled and we boarded the bus for ARMHS. Our trip to the school took us through mostly poor neighborhoods, but in the distance we could see the outline of a more cosmopolitan city. As we approached the school, we passed by a large tent city. Sarah was stunned. "Do people live there?" she asked. "Yes," I answered. "Do the kids who go to the school we are visiting live there?" I didn't know the answer to that question, but I suspected they did.

Note: Although the school is referred to as a high school it is a high school in the British, not American, model. The school begins at pre-K and goes through 10th grade. Students wishing to continue their education past 10th grade must test into Intermediate School for 11th and 12th grade and then qualify again for University.
 

There was a loud din of children's voices as we got off the bus, but I didn't really take in why until someone else from the group pointed up to a series of balconies and said, "Oh my God, look at them all!" The ARMHS kids were gathered along every inch of the open stairwell and balconies trying to catch a glimpse of our arrival. As we headed off the bus, they shouted and waved to us. It was really something. We had been told that our Indian hosts were very excited about our visit but, somehow, I had not pictured this level of excitement.

We went straight from the bus to the home of Sagar, ARMHS principal, which adjoined the school. Sagar's wife, Pushpa, had prepared an amazing Indian feast for us. For some in our group who had no tolerance for spicy food this was the first exercise in learning to survive an Indian meal. In fact, we were missing one from our group because she was already not feeling well. Emirates featured curry prominently in its meal offerings and she had not been able to find much to eat during the 24 hours of travel. She had stayed back at the hotel where she could drink some bottled water and nibble on snacks she brought from home while she tried to re-gain her sea legs. I was actually looking forward to eating authentic Indian food and Pushpa's first meal didn't disappoint.

After lunch we went over to the school. We were asked to stop in the street just short of the school gates and we watched as some of the school children set off a fireworks display. Alida commented that this was her least favorite tradition and said she always watched in horror and dread. A teen from our group, Will, said, "Can you imagine this happening at an American school?" It was a good point. We were beginning to learn that there were different standards of safety and protection here and, who knows, maybe a lot fewer lawyers, too.

When the smoke from the fireworks cleared, they signaled us through the school gates and into the school yard which was decorated with streamers, banners, and beautiful welcoming chalk drawings called rangolis. As we entered a student came up to each one of us and placed a flower garland around our necks. We were treated to several welcoming performances, including 3 dances and a yoga demonstration. When the performances were completed they split us up into small groups and assigned us to a student leader. The leaders took us around to various classrooms where students were prepared with science, history and art projects and demonstrations.

The students were very eager to shake our hands and get their photo taken. They were proud to show off their knowledge which they recited in excellent English. They seemed particularly pleased when they were able to stump one of us with a puzzle or riddle they had prepared. I didn't let them down. They stumped me pretty much every time.

For some students the recitations in English were really quite remarkable in terms of their length, detail and the student's obvious comprehension of the subject matter. I was also impressed that no matter what kind of ruckus was erupting around them, the students who were reciting material remained laser-focused on the material and their listeners. Other students had a lesser command of the English material they were reciting. Alida found this out the hard way when she asked a question in the middle and the student got flustered and had to start over from the beginning. It was definitely best to save the questions for the end!

The last stop on the tour of classrooms was the school's brand new digital classroom, complete with smart board. It seemed wildly out of place in the primitive concrete and open air setting of this school, but I admired the effort to keep up with the times.

After our classroom visits were done we met with the teens from the school who would be joining us for the trip down to the rural village of Khammam, about 250 kilometers south of Hyderabad. Many of these teens lived at the school's hostel and several had not been out of Hyderabad. They were excited to be chosen for the trip and the American kids were looking forward to getting to know them.

We ended the visit to ARMHS by making visits to some of the homes of the students who attended the school. We stayed in the same small groups that we had traveled around to classrooms in and were accompanied by two teachers. Each group went to visit three homes from the slum area that surrounded the school.

The first home my group visited was the home of a truck driver and a seamstress who had four children that attended the school.  The home was concrete and comprised of two small rooms. The entry room was about 6 X 6 and the back room only slightly larger than that. Officially, there were 6 in the family living in that tiny space, but a peek in the back room revealed a number of other inhabitants, who we gathered were extended family. There was a small indoor cooking space in the second room, but no indoor sanitary facilities. The space was tidy and clean, especially given the dirt road right outside the door step.

The other families that we visited were living in just one room. In each case these rooms that comprised the entire home were about the size of my office at work, maybe 6 X 6. At each visit we were offered Thumbs Up, an Indian version of Pepsi, and some cookies or biscuits. Word of our visit quickly spread to the neighbors and they congregated in the doorway to gawk at us. You could tell this was something they'd be talking about for a long time to come. The same could be said for us.

We ended our first day with a shopping trip to a cultural center that featured a sort of flea market of merchants selling rugs, pashminas, bangles, traditional Indian clothes, and other wares. We walked up and down the rows and were accosted by vendors who saw us as easy prey. In my case, they were definitely right. Fortunately, Sagar and his son and daughter-in-law came with us and helped us with the required bargaining. By this time, we had had a full day and the shopping trip put me into full sensory overload. I was really happy when we were heading back to the mini-bus.

Getting back to our bus proved to be a difficult feat, however. First we had to make our way through the gauntlet of beggars that capitalized on this tourist location. Next we had to cross the busy Hyderabad street to get to our bus on the other side. Bear in mind, there were no traffic lights or traffic cops. Crosswalks are unheard of and drivers feel free to use the shoulder or opposite side of the road if it will get them where they're going more quickly. You are literally risking your life when you cross the road. Nonetheless, the 15 of us managed to get across safely with two very persistent beggars still in hot pursuit. The coins we had given them had just encouraged them. Even after we were on the bus and the bus began to move, one of them continued to knock on the windows of the bus.

The ride to and from the cultural center took us through a major retail area of Hyderabad. I recognized the names of many of the American and European retail establishments, but the rest of the surroundings were quite foreign. The roads were paved at the center, but generally had disintegrated into dirt and rubble by the time they reached the shiny store fronts. There were no sidewalks to speak of and crowds of people were interspersed in what to my American sensibilities seemed like very dangerous proximity to cars and motorbikes. None of the traffic, pedestrian or automotive traffic seemed to be following any rules. It was a free-for-all, and after our long, exhausting day, I had to stop looking.

 We got back to our hotel at about 8 pm and hadn't eaten dinner yet. Both of the hotel's two restaurants were packed and couldn't seat us immediately. A group of us put our name in at one of the restaurants and were told we'd be seated in 15 minutes. When 45 minutes went by, we looked for another option and settled on eating in the hotel's nightclub. It was a very bad choice. The music was pounding, the service was slow, and when our food finally arrived I couldn't tell if the chicken was thoroughly cooked. Sarah and I decided to throw in the towel and eat something back in our room. It had been a long, exciting, and exhausting day and we were more than ready for bed!  

Taking Off

It was immediately clear that this was not going to be a typical vacation trip. Even at check-in at JFK, the lines of people waiting to check their bags and get their boarding passes did not look like the lines of people you see when you're headed to, say, Disney World. These were people who looked like they called India home, or at least, homeland. Our clan of Disney-looking tourists immediately stood out in the midst of these travelers.

The first flight set the standard for contrast and contradiction that I imagined would characterize a lot of our trip. We flew Emirates to Dubai, one of the most opulent and exotic destinations in the world, yet our final destination would be much humbler. 

I'm guessing that very few of our fellow travelers, at least not many of those traveling with us in economy, were staying in Dubai. Most seemed to be destined for connecting flights to India. An inordinate number of our fellow travelers were families traveling with babies and young children. Sarah and I were surrounded on all sides by a family with a baby. I think all of us warily take note of the proximity of babies when we board a plane, but when you're embarking on an 11 hour flight, finding that you have 5 babies seated within three rows of you strikes real fear in your heart. I had been told that India was an assault to the senses and it appeared that the auditory assault would begin immediately. I am so glad Alida suggested bringing some Tylenol PM for the flight!

Emirates is a decidedly un-American airline, and I mean that in the most flattering way possible. There were pillows and blankets on every seat and they gave every passenger a little kit with socks to keep your feet warm, an eye-mask to help you sleep, and a toothbrush and toothpaste to freshen up from the long flight. Before take-off, the attendants greeted passengers with a warm wash cloth served from a silver tray, and during the flight they served three meals and unlimited beverages - at no extra cost! Emirates serves parts of the world where the class system is deeply engrained, yet this airline has built its business model on a philosophy that all their customers deserve exemplary service - interesting!

Perhaps the most popular amenity for the folks in our group were the seat-back TVs and telephones. Sarah entertained herself briefly by making seat-to-seat calls to the other kids in our group before trying to get some school work done. I settled into a Friends marathon before knocking myself out with the aforementioned Tylenol PM. Throughout the flight we were serenaded by crying babies. Sarah had no patience for this and could not understand how a parent could be stupid enough to bring a baby on such a long trip. Perhaps I was positively influenced by the medication I had taken, but I admired these parents. To me it was an extreme act of bravery to bring a baby on an 11 hour connecting flight.  Even if my family lived far away, I would never have attempted this. Pictures would have had to do. 

We had a brief lay-over in Dubai before we boarded our connecting flight to Hyderabad. There wasn't a tremendous sense of being in a foreign land. The gift shops featured items like hookahs and stuffed camels, but the rest of the airport was pretty generically cosmopolitan. Men in kaftans and turbans were really the only tip-off that we weren't in LA or Vegas.

Our second flight was just 3 hours, but I must point out that Emirates still served us hot towels, drinks and a meal. The teens traveling with us thought the second trip was interminable. By this time they were done with planes and just needed to run around. 

Finally, after leaving Greenfield Hill at about 6:30 pm on Sunday, February 12th, we arrived in Hyderabad at 3 am on Tuesday, February 14th. It took us about an hour to fill out all the necessary forms, get through customs, and claim our luggage. All of this went smoothly, there were just lots of people and very long lines. As it turns out, this was an appropriate introduction to India.

We put our luggage on carts and made our way outside to meet our host, Sagar, the principal of the Astrid Rowe Memorial High School, which is named after David Rowe's mother and supported by FOCI. The travelers were separated from the greeters by a big fence and people were lined up 3 or 4 deep along every inch of the fence. Walking out of the airport and being stared at by all those people must be a little like what it feels like to walk the red carpet - except that I was bedraggled and exhausted after 24 hours of travel and they really couldn't care less who I was. 

Our greeting party, Sagar, his daughter and his son-in-law,  were warm, friendly and efficient, even though they had gotten up in the middle of the night to come meet us. Sagar told Alida, who has been to Hyderabad 10 times, that a member of his church's congregation had a job re-fueling airplanes and had been assigned to re-fuel the plane we came in on. He immediately recognized Alida as she walked off the plane and had called Sagar on his cell to let him know we had arrived. This story was both a reflection of their excitement about our visit and an indication that if you were blonde and fair-skinned, you were really going to stand-out here. That was reinforced for us many times during our travels.

We packed our luggage onto a mini-bus that was waiting for us and made the 45 minute drive to the hotel in Hyderabad. It was still somewhat dark out, so we didn't get a real sense of our surroundings. We arrived at the Green Park Hotel which was a very nice hotel, catering predominantly to Indian businessmen and families. The lobby was quiet and empty because of the early morning hour, so we were checked in quickly and efficiently. We got up to our rooms at about 6 am. It was time for power naps, showers and clean clothes. Sagar was coming back for us at noon and our first day in India would begin in earnest!  

Preface

This blog documents the trip to India my daughter, Sarah, and I took in February 2012. We were traveling with Friends of Christ of India (FOCI) which was founded by David Rowe, one of the ministers of Greenfield Hill Congregational Church, the church we have attended for about 15 years. David's wife and co-pastor, Alida Ward, made her first trip to India on behalf of FOCI 10 years ago and for the past 7 or so years, she has been bringing a team of interested youth and adults along with her on these trips. Sarah and I have been talking about making this trip together for some time and this year we decided to take the leap - and that's what it was - a leap of faith, a leap into the unfamiliar, a leap into the uncomfortable, a leap into the amazing.

We traveled from February 12th through February 24th. There were 13 of us traveling together - 5 adults and 8 teens. Three of the teens had parents on the trip and the rest of them were embarking on this journey alone. For some of them, it was their first trip abroad; the longest amount of time they had been away from family; and/or their first experience in shared living quarters. There was no way they were coming back unchanged.

Our days were jam-packed and, despite my best intentions, I got little chance to document our activities and my impressions. I jotted down bullets in my journal each evening or couple of evenings, but they don't begin to convey the journey. I'm hoping that this blog will provide a more complete description of our experience.

A wise colleague advised me this week not to let too much time go by before I wrote up my impressions. "Don't worry about the writing," he advised, "just get it down." So that's what I'm going to try to do. If my words don't succeed in conveying it, you'll just have to believe me that the experience was eye-opening, inspirational, depressing, uplifting, stimulating, exhausting and life-changing.

Fasten your seat belt. We're headed  to India.