Trotro

Most of you are familiar with bus stops. Most of you are familiar with train stations. The same goes for underground transportation and airports. If you've ever been to countries like Thailand or India, you are well acquainted with tuk tuks or auto rickshaws. I personally thought I'd seen it all as far as modes of transportation. But then I came across the trotro. 

Trotros are THE way to get around in Ghana. There are also taxis, but for longer distances or larger groups, you always go with the tro. A trotro is a large van that can seat about 9-12 people (or more depending on how many the driver wants to squish into the rows of seats). They drive along basically every main road and pick up and drop off passengers along the way. The "first mate" of the trotro shouts out the destination of the tro out the window to people standing next to the road, and if that person wishes to go there, the trop stops and picks him or her up. The first mate also collects the fare, which can generally be negotiated but is crazy cheap by our standards.

Nice n' crammed in the back of a tro

Tros are certainly a bargain, but they can also be a bit uncomfortable. If you are in the middle squished between two sweaty strangers on a 6 hour drive, a tro ride can feel like an eternity. Gotta love having stranger sweat dripping down your arm. Sometimes you end up in the one seat that doesn't have a back (this happened to me. Not ideal.) and have to sit upright the whole time. But other times, you get the wonderful window seat and get to feel the cool breeze whip over your face. The window seats are certainly the most ideal for naps, unless you don't mind laying your head on some random person's shoulder (or if you are next to a friend who doesn't mind acting as a pillow).

Trotro stations are a sensory overload of seemingly disorganized chaos, but it actually is pretty efficient. At these stations, tros are lined up and the drivers shout out the destination of the tro. Once the tro is filled, it heads out. While you are waiting to depart, people with giant baskets on their heads approach the windows to try and sell passengers anything from ice cream to phone chargers to toothpaste. Seriously, ANYTHING you can imagine. Hard boiled eggs. Plantain chips. Fabrics. Hair brushes.

Ghana's Right Around the Corner!

My Ghana trip is creeping up on me. Today, it began to feel unfathomably soon. I received detailed information regarding my volunteer placement, and while much of it I already knew or assumed, seeing it in print seemed to make it all real. I will be living and working in a tiny village about two hours east of Accra living in a family's home with no Internet, no running water, no electricity and, best of all, a hole outside in which to take care of business.

Pooping in this will not be fun...

This initially caused me to go through a mini panic attack. I started realizing the enormous degree to which we use the Internet, electricity, running water and toilets EVERY day. I mean, it is actually concerning when you stop and think about it. I paid attention today to my use of technology and I realized that my face is almost always plastered to my phone screen. I began to feel a bit disgusted by it all and all of a sudden my attitude towards my trip shifted.

I now look forward to my trip and plan to embrace the lack of so many conveniences we here take for granted constantly. Today especially I felt how absurdly cushy my privileged life is. I was walking to my car and felt irritated about the fact I'd have to scrape the snow off of my car. What a stupid, First World problem! I HAVE a car to scrape snow off of! That is a privilege!




I'm sure this trip will be a grounding one to show me how those who have much less than me live. In my past experience, it seems that people who have the least live the most fulfilling, happy lives.

Let me give you all the inside scoop on what exactly my volunteer work will entail. Every day, I will arise at the butt crack of dawn, around 4:30 or 5. At that time, I will tend to the farm animals and begin planting crops or doing construction work. Around 9 AM, the overwhelming heat will prohibit me from staying outside, so at this time I will teach and play with the kids in the orphanage. Later in the evening as the temperature drops, I can return to outdoor work. On the weekends, it's play time and teach time with the kiddos.

Yes, I'll be living the real life version of Farmville most of the time. Jealous? I thought so.

Last but not least:

Hello friends,
I hope this message finds you well! I am reaching out to you all as I am planning a volunteer trip to Ghana. My goal is to spend a couple of weeks there helping plant crops and assist in other agricultural activities in order to provide a sustainable food source to children in an orphanage there.  During the evenings and weekends I would also provide childcare to the children. There are a lot of fees associated with this journey on which I wish to embark and I appreciate any donations you could provide. Of course, I understand if doing so is not possible- if that is the case, just send me well wishes and good luck! Also, for those who previously donated, well wishes are more than enough!

Please visit my fundraising page to donate any amount and your generosity will come a long way! You can also share my page to your family and friends and help me spread the word!

http://bit.ly/1NKIlHH

Thank you for your support!
Marisa

My New Respect for Teachers

After volunteering in a nursing home in Costa Rica, I had my fill of the elderly and cleaning their wounds. Therefore, I signed up to do childcare here in Bir, India. I expected to be changing diapers but it turns out they don't even wear them but rather just take care of their business in the grass. I expected a room full of needy, crying infants but it turns out that toddlers here are more independent than feminist business women. They rejected almost all of my attempts to play. I felt very slighted. Since the childcare project had more than enough volunteers with three people and the two Tibetan employees looking after only 8 kids, I switched to teaching English. If I had known what I was about to get into, I may not have done so.

The little boys in my class are a rambunctious bunch ranging in age from 6 to 12 and not even remotely in the same educational level. Maree and I can barely handle them all. The first day teaching them proved so trying that it almost deterred me from future volunteering altogether. I walked into the run down classroom and was greeted by a whirlwind of little boys screaming, fighting, and running amok. The first day, we spent the entire second part of the day trying to teach them about six words: happy, sad, upset, angry, surprised and tired. After seemingly countless exercises designed to beat this tiny number of words into their memories, I asked one of the boys, Tenzin, to read the word U-P-S-E-T and he enthusiastically shouted "HAPPY!" I wanted to slug him. Happy? Are you serious? In what universe is that even remotely close?

Needless to say, I was discouraged by the time 3 o' clock rolled around. Maree and I commiserated about how we felt we would never get through to them. Then, she came up with a brilliant idea- bribe them. Leave it to a seasoned teacher to come up with such a sneaky plan! The system is so simple I never thought it would work. We listed their names on the board and every time they went above and beyond and demonstrated exceptional behavior, they earned a star next to their name. The student with the most stars at the end of the day earned one Monster's Inc. sticker. Of course, they tried to cheat our system of corruption by going behind our backs and drawing their own star next to their name. Nice try, boys.

Yet after just one lesson, Norbu, Tenzin, Rinchan, Lacchu, Phurpa, Krishna and Ram transformed from uncontrollable gremlins to quiet cherubs. I really had no idea that one measly Monsters Inc sticker was such a powerful incentive. They also went mental for our lesson plan that involved reading them a book, teaching them some vocab from the story and then doing exercises revolving around the words. Now that we have an infallible lesson plan, I am confident that the remaining classes will go smoothly. It will take some getting used to being called "ma'am" all the time. I have definitely started to fall for the sweet little munchkins. The amount of work they do is certainly admirable- from the get go they are expected to learn Tibetan, Hindi and English.

One comical thing about these little Buddhist boys is that they have no problem beating the crap out of each other, but when it comes to the smallest insect they treat it with more compassion than Mother Theresa. At one point, a little lady bug landed on Norbu's hand and it momentarily looked like he was going to smash it and I almost cried out "no, don't kill it!" before remembering that Buddhist's won't kill anything. Instead, he cupped it with both hands, gingerly walked over to the window, and set it free.

As if a day of teaching crazy Tibetan boys English weren't enough, we go to converse with monks at another monastery in the evening. The first day, a little monk not older than 10 scampered through the door and sat next to me. It turned out he was a flirtatious little Don Juan, asking me to be his girlfriend and marry him. I told him that unless he forks over a solid gold ring with a diamond inlay, there was no chance. I wonder if anyone has clued him into the fact that since he is a monk, he is never getting married.

So anyway, that is my routine here. It is going to be hard to leave these little kiddos at the end of next week, I have to say they certainly earned a permanent residence in my heart.

Bir (it's Pronounced BEER)

Bir, the little Tibetan colony in Northern India, did not welcome me with open arms. Instead, it welcomed me with folded arms and a turned up nose in the form of pouring rain, thick mud, and bitter cold temperatures making me yearn for the Delhi heat. The first day we remained cooped up inside due to the inclement weather and did not get to see the town nor get a view of the seductive Himalayas. It was an especially depressing greeting after such a drawn out journey to get here. After the bus ride, we still had to take an hour trip to pick up a volunteer at the airport only to find out her flight was cancelled due to inclement weather. Therefore, we had to turn around and head back two hours to the home stay. No one was particularly chatty and good-humored that day.

However, the next day the sun made up for its extended absence from the sky by brilliantly shining in a shimmering azure sky. I woke up to a bright day casting light on the seemingly thousands of prayer flags rippling in the gentle breeze. I saw, on that second day, what people meant when they compared Bir to Heaven.

Bir and Delhi are polar opposites. Delhi bustles busily at all hours in a state of mass chaos whereas Bir follows a slower calmer schedule. Also, its people are almost entirely refugees from Tibet and thus the religion is almost completely Buddhist. As many of the volunteers here before me said, Bir is not India, it is Tibet. During our orientation, we learned all about the Tibetan situation. We learned that 129 monks, many of them under 25, committed self-immolation (setting themselves on fire) within the last fews years in an act of protest against the Chinese control of Tibet. They know that they could never challenge such a powerful country as China, and therefore are not seeking independence but rather autonomy. Until today, they could not even be recognized as Indian citizens even if they were born here. Now, at least, they can apply for passports if they are over 25.

What a heartbreaking story. Misplaced people forced out of their native land and not properly embraced by another country. At least here in Bir, they have the ability to conserve their impressive culture and to speak their native tongue.

Despite my not-so-warm welcome, I feel at peace here. Every day after volunteering, we do yoga on the roof of the home stay and it is the most relaxing hour of the day. During the night, we help teach the monks English. The days go by at a spitfire pace, and I'm loving every minute of it.

Castes, Kids, and Dengue

When I arrived and was waiting for the other volunteers at the airport, the volunteer coordinator pointed to a mosquito that had landed on my suitcase and said "you have to watch out for those." I told him that I knew all about Malaria but was almost willing to risk it because I felt so awful on the prevention meds, which is a great irony because it means that I am getting sick from preventing getting sick. Much to my dismay, he shook his head and said "no, not Malaria-dengue." Dengue fever! My arch nemesis from Costa Rica! The unpreventable, untreatable illness that makes your bones ache for days! Just another ailment to add to my list of what I could catch out here. Food poisoning or GI upset of some sort is a given. However, the mother-daughter volunteers from San Francisco (the mom is almost 70, WHAT? I had BETTER be doing stuff like that when I am 70) insist that a tablespoon of whiskey every night does the trick warding off GI disruptors.

I want all of you to stop reading this for a moment and, before you resume, go take a nice shower with water that is not so hot it singes your skin and not so cold it turns your lips purple. I want you to enjoy it so I can enjoy it vicariously through you and forget about the one I just experienced. I sound like such an American girl whining about something so mundane, but so be it. I know that about two posts ago I predicted that I would be unable to shower this whole trip, so i should consider it a treat that I got to at all. But this was the kind of shower that made me rather go without. Turning the heat knob one millimeter the wrong way made for unbearably hot or cold water, and the shower head emitted three measly streams of H2O. Yeah, I will opt out the next few days.

I am trying to observe the caste system with no judgement, but it is really hard to watch people get treated like dirt because of a societal hierarchy. The maids at my host family looked terrified when I spoke to them and introduced myself with a smile. No one acknowledges them at all. These people whose life roles were determined at birth go about their jobs as maids and cooks and nannies and simply accept it as their fate. They expect no contact from anyone else. It is a system that, to me, seems so backwards.

The stray dogs are also a pathetic sight. They lay docile in unbelievable numbers and hardly even move their heads as cars and people approach. Flies circle their heads and bugs line their patchy fur. It was heartbreaking to see a puppy in such a state. The begging children are also difficult to behold. I had been warned not to give any money to a single kid because doing so would cause a wasp-like swarm of more, but I did not realize to what extent these kids get up "in your grill" (as rappers say). We would be standing around in the open market and these kids would infiltrate our circle, tug on our clothes and poke us in an attempt to extract money. Such desperation is so hard to see.

People are also fascinated by our whiteness. When we stopped at a gas station en route to our home stay, three guys came up to us wanting their photos with us. People stop and say hello to us and wave all the time. Speaking of my new home stay, below is a picture of my room. There are 6 beds crammed along the wall and I believe 12 of us staying here now. There is a brit now living in Calgary, the couple from New Zealand, a nurse from Boston, an electrician from New Jersey, a young man from Canada, the mother-daughter from San Francisco, and a guy from Bangladesh who everyone thinks is Indian.

In India!

A nine-foot cattle prod couldn't wake me from this dream. I am in India, the apartment in which I am staying emanates the aroma of an Indian restaurant, the people are warm and welcoming, I woke up to the sound of chanting, and best of all, I survived the flight. I might add that I am a fantastic seat neighbor. Only once in 14 hours did I obnoxiously have to evict the two people beside me in order to use the bathroom.

The flight went well aside from some unwelcome turbulence. I watched a grand total of six movies: Rushmore, Adult Children of Divorce (a hilarious comedy that I had never heard of and was completely underrated), Philomena, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and The Book Thief. I had planned to write a bunch of blogs but my exhaustion, both mentally and physically, prevented me from doing so.

My flight arrived over an hour early, meaning I had to wait a significant amount of time to be picked up. I simply stood in the waiting area, absorbed the sights, and noted the thick air that smelled like a campfire. After the worker from the organization arrived, we had to wait another hour or so for two more volunteers to land. This instantly put me in that mindset of "oh dang, I actually have to TALK to this person an get to know him? UGH!".

We became fast friends. He is a vibrant Nepalese man in his early twenties who came here to study three years ago. We struck up a conversation that ranged from our different countries' religious beliefs to arranged marriages to the aps on our iPhones. He expressed to me that he had no idea how Americans do not give all credit to God, and told me that arranged marriages are still quite common. I asked him if he wants his own family and he looked shocked and asked if anyone doesn't.

I am currently one of three volunteers staying in one of the organization's employees apartments. The other two are a couple from New Zealand who just arrived from a volunteering stint in Bali. They have been married for 35 years and are now spending a year volunteering and traveling. How fantastic is that?

I found out that I am lucky enough to be here during the Indian festval of Holi tomorrow. From the way it has been described, it is like a giant game of paintball. I guess I will find out...