STEPPING UP AND GETTING SHIT DONE BY CAITLIN MORAHAN
Most people can’t see past the reasons why they shouldn’t go to India. The poverty, the people, the danger, the smell, the heat…
She can see in my face that I don’t know what to say. She smiles gently.
And for the most part it’s true. There are piles of rubbish lining the dirt-cuffed roads, cows roaming the streets, and heat so intense you can feel beads of sweat rolling down your back. Some places are so crowded you can feel the contents of the pocket of the person next to you, and the whole country smells vaguely of eggs. India can – and will – beat you down, but that makes it all more worth the while when you get out on top.
“Even though we have accepted modern means of living, our values and beliefs are unchanged. We can change our clothes, our food or our homes, but our culture is rooted deep within us, from birth to womanhood.”
For some 40K troops, comfort zones are miles behind us. We’ve been deposited in rural India on a crash course of social entrepreneurship, to build a social business that empowers locals through employment, educating children with the profits. Sounds simple enough. Get out there and get shit done. In the afternoon 40K will run Plus Pods, after-school education centres aiming to bridge the gap between public and private school education, to give the kids a leg up in the workforce. That’s some time away though; right now they’re concentrating on performing the Three Little Pigs, front to back, in English. Primary kids would scoff to see them tripping over the words, carefully reading their lines in halting English, but for me, it’s a beautiful thing to watch. Give me the rubbish and the smell and the cows. Regardless of what India uses to bowl you over, the people will pick you up, dust you off and serve you chai. I’d take anything thrown at me, because I’ve never learned so much about a culture than what Madhumalathi taught me. The tiny shop across the road from where we lived was the same as any village store, with the ubiquitous packets of tea, washing powder and razors hanging in strips from the ceiling. Biscuits in mismatched jars and bottles of skin-paling lotion sat in the cabinet below the counter. The first time I spoke to the shopkeeper, was to ask her if she sold chai. “No,” she said with a gentle head wobble and private smile. “Down the road.” I smiled politely at her for the next week, as I came and went from the city, feet collecting red dust as my bindi slid down my forehead from sweat. It wasn’t until the end of the first week that I got to know her name.
One of her daughters, Lakita, sits on a crate outside the shop in her blue and white school uniform. She can’t walk, but she is perfectly content, perched upon her pedestal, lifting her face to beam at every customer. She runs chubby brown hands through my hair and leans into my lap, tracing my kneecaps with clumsy fingers. “Her spinal cord, it does not work properly,” says her mother. “She won’t walk.” I have a better understanding now of what that means. Lakita wears two silver bracelets and slivers of bamboo through her pierced ears, but she won’t marry. It would fuel a feminist-inspired rant from any newbie to India. The injustice of social politics. Blatant ignorance on gender equality. The freedom of choice. But a few weeks in, I learnt it takes more than that to influence the cultural roots of over a billion people. The 40k workers as a group learn maybe more in four weeks than we have our whole lives. I learnt how to teach. I learnt how to use a squat toilet, and neatly at that. I learnt how to cross a road. I learnt how to make a child understand nouns. I learnt the vital essence of humanity that exists in every culture. Some days you feel like you aren’t changing anything at all. Some days deal you a shit deck and you finally understand what ‘burning frustration’ feels like. Sometimes they ask questions you don’t have the answer to. Sometimes they ask for things that you can’t give. But we are there for ourselves as much as we are for anyone else. To learn. To demonstrate solidarity. Reassess priorities. Explore a new career. Learn a language. Learn a new culture. Learn first, help after.
“Madhumalathi,” she says, grasping my fingers in her hand. “From where you are?”
Maybe you’ll hate it. Maybe you’ll never feel properly clean again and find dirt in your ears for months afterwards. Maybe you’ll change your career path, travel to more countries, meet new people and have amazing experiences.
She had a different way of putting things, but she spoke good English. “I studied at college,” she said after I asked. “I have a Bachelor of Computer Science. But after I graduated I married, have my children. I did not work a day.”
Either way, I recommend you give it a go. For more information about volunteering with 40K visit 40k.com.au.
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