(Not) just another manic Monday

Note: I wrote this on Tuesday, but didn’t account for not having internet access for two days.  Welcome to real rural development…..

 

Out in "the field"!

It was a heavy sleep, but I had to wake up.  The driver had switched the engine off and was opening the truck to grab my backs.  I opened my eyes and saw a stone castle in front of me.  Its sign said “guest house 1.”  I had not expected to stay in such a noble building while visiting rural Orissa, India.

But there was no time for wonder.  Sleep could only be kept at bay long enough to come inside and throw on my pjs.  While drifting off, one of the many large ants scurrying around my room crawled onto my arm, so I got up and hanged the mosquito net.  I had also discovered that a disproportionate number of malaria deaths in India took place in Orissa, so it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

My first sensation upon waking was sound.  The lullaby of a gentle rain, in a quiet place.  I looked outside and realized that not only was I staying in a castle, but a castle in an enchanted forest.  It was beautiful.  Amanda, who was staying in the next room, was also up, and we were both hungry, so we went off to find the canteen.

Prior to traveling much in the developing world, I had never locked my bags while traveling.  But having heard story upon story about stolen goods, especially in the Dhaka airport, I keep one handy.  Amanda wasn’t using one, so our airline had locked It for her with a small but sturdy plastic band.  We couldn’t get it off without scissors, which we didn’t have handy.  So she was wearing the same clothes as the day before, probably hadn’t brushed her teeth (I didn’t ask), and was on the hunt for something sharp.  First she got a small knife from the canteen manager.  It didn’t do the trick.  So we went back and asked for something sharper—like scissors or another knife—or a nail clipper.  The manager was confused.  “You want to cut your nails, now?” Instead he handed her a knife with a foot-long blade.  Before breakfast was ready.  So we sat out on the bench in front of the canteen, sipping on good masala cha and just gripping a big knife.  Totally normal.  We were staring out at a massive solar system that on a sunny day could power the whole campus. Meanwhile a few cows wandered by, including one angrily braying as it walked along.  I was staring at it.  It turned to stare at me and started towards us.  “Stop looking at it!” Amanda ordered.  So I looked down at the ground while the cow stopped 3 feet in front of us, brayed into the canteen, then turned back and continued on its path.  Note to self: don’t stare at mad cows.

Breakfast was noodles.  With a choice of green chili sauce or ketchup.  The two guys sitting at the table next to us looked like lacrosse players.  Pretty blond boys.  Turns out they were volunteers working on a sports for development project.  I.e. teach kids to lift weights.  One thought that Bangladesh was a city. Neither had heard of BRAC.  Within a few minutes, a few other young, international-looking people came in.  Maybe because we were in the “mess”, or canteen, where you had to go barefoot, serve yourself, and wash your own dishes, it felt a lot like summer camp.  Perhaps a bigger surprise than the 100-acre forest where the organization that we’re visiting is headquartered.

We get a good day of work in, getting to know the organizational leadership, a deeper sense of their history and philosophy, and swapping ideas back and forth on a number of issues.  This stuff will be written up in my field notes, versus on my blog.  Here I’ll just say that they are really impressive and its inspiring to have the opportunity to learn with and from them.  It doesn’t hurt that there’s a steady supply of the piping hot masala cha in short metal cups to sip on, and lunch is a tasty array of vegetable curry, dal (lentils), and rice.  Then wash my dishes.  I’m impressed by the people sitting near me who can drink straight from the communal water pitcher without putting their mouth to it.  I opt for a glass. I eat a lot.

Nonetheless, I’m hungry when we walk out of the office.  Amanda suggests we go for a walk.  Since we’ve got 2+ hours to kill before dinner, I’m game.  She wants to go down the trail that seems to lead away from everything.  There are lights every 50 feet or so, and we get passed by a father and daughter on a bike, then a motorcycle, so it seems like a legit path.  But you never know in an enchanted forest.  Eventually we get to a really dark area where there’s a fork in the road, and decide to take it.  I mean, to turn around.  We walk back up to the main area, and now it’s my turn to suggest that we try to find the hostel where all the volunteers are staying.  I’m curious.  As we get up to the main entrance, I spy a guy in a room with A LOT of snacks.  “A store!” I exclaim.  We race over to see what the selection is.  Chocolate! Chips! Gum! Medicine! Soda!  It’s the jackpot.  Except we don’t have money.  Bangla and Orissa’s main language, Oriya, are pretty similar.  What that means is that I obnoxiously insist on speaking Bangla a lot just to see if words are the same. So far my assessment is that people seem to understand me pretty well, but I can’t really understand much of what they say.  Good basis for a one-way conversation.  So I ask if we can grab some kit kats now and pay him back tomorrow.  I think he says yes.  One of the volunteers is also in the shop, so we ask him if he’s heading to the hostels so that we can figure out where they are.  He’s got a flashlight, which is convenient since it’s pretty dark and the path isn’t paved.  “It also helps you avoid all the scorpions,” he says.  Turns out that our area is a hotbed for scorpions and snakes!  No more late night walks in the forest.  I try to trail behind Amanda on the way back to our guest house to avoid stepping on one myself.  Yep, that’s the kind of person I am.

Dinner is similar to lunch, except that we’ve got a choice of rice or roti (flat bread) and are surrounded by volunteers.   We get pulled into conversation with a Canadian physicist with a big comic strip tattooed on his arm.  I’m trying to find out what the “summer camp” social scene is like, but the kids aren’t offering any details.  Maybe I’m getting too old for an invitation.  The Italian guy claims he’s going to make a pizza some time soon.  That’s as wild as it gets.  I do learn that one can buy beer in the closest town, Brahmapur (Wikipedia says population of 300,000).  It’s about a 25 minute ride in an auto-rickshaw (300 rupees, or $5 roundtrip). Half liter of kingfisher for 650 rupees ($12). Sounds like the on-campus store could make a killing if he offered beer.

Something about the whole situation just tickles me.  I’m in the middle of nowhere, eating dinner of a big metal plate with folks from Canada, Italy, Argentina, the Netherlands, England, Ireland, the US and even Canada.  It’s more amusing than my nightly dose of One Tree Hill, and about as nonsensical.  This is too much stimulation without time to orient myself after leaving Dhaka.  I’m unprepared for this level of social stimulation!  Especially in a group diverse in maturity and knowledge about South Asia and development.  I take it as potential material for the sitcom I want to write about a non-profit organization in South Asia.  If these kids are any indication, interest in these issues is going more and more mainstream.

For all interns out there, my two cents: part of the experience is getting beyond the work.  Go shopping, ride public transport, find a way to get invited to someone’s home, and go see the sites.  It’s part of the job description (or at least it should be).  No one will miss you for a few days (actually since managing interns can take a lot of time, they might even be relieved by the break).  You will understand your office work more completely, so ultimately it pays off.  This is particularly true in places where you have little preexisting knowledge or experiences.  At the very least, end your internship a week before you fly and just use that to the fullest.  Your friends and family will also be happy for stories more interesting than, “This one time, at NGO camp….”