One month ago today I was flying to Chennai, India for my volunteer vacation. I was nervous, excited and not quite sure what I was getting myself into. My time in India was challenging, inspiring, eye-opening and as cliche as it may sound, life-changing.
What they don't tell you about a volunteer vacation is the fact that it's hardwork. The hours are long, the environment is uncomfortable and the emotions are high. And honestly, I can't wait to do another one.
Looking back on my time in India the one thing I haven't written about much is the children. Partly because it is too new, too raw, too close to my heart. Sure, it is easy to share stories of my free-time; the sarees, the Indian Ocean, the food, the friends I made. But sharing stories of the amazing children - those stories are too real.
In the time I have been back, I can't help but think of the boys at the children's home, SEAMs. Most without parents, some with one parent who can't afford their care. These boys live in a place most of us wouldn't be comfortable in for an hour. They are always barefoot, they share clothes, have no toys, no common forms of entertainment that our children take for granted. And they don't complain, never once. Not even a moment. I never heard one boy express boredom. They are just living for, and in, every moment.
Every night we would walk to SEAMs for "our shift". I am ashamed to say it, but there were some nights I just didn't want to go. We had already worked all day, the walk to the children's home was hot, dirty and smelly. The home sits right next to a motorbike shop. All you hear is the motorbikes being driven up wooden inclines; it was deafening. Our legs and arms were buffets for the intense bugs. The boys only have a dirt lot to play in, so it was dusty, dirty and very depressing.
I remember one of my teammates saying that if we don't want to go for a few hours, imagine what it is like for these boys who live there. It was true. This entire trip was about leaving my comfort zone, getting off my American pedestal of assumed privilege and helping.
No matter what, each day when we walked through those doors I was immediately filled with love. The boys, most 8-13, would run up to us, giving us big hugs and toothy grins. They didn't speak our language; that is what we were there to help with. It didn't matter, we spoke to each other in a language of kindness, compassion and respect.
I think about these boys everyday. I think about them as I tell my daughter she doesn't need another toy from the toy store. I think about them as I remind myself last season's purse is still perfectly usable. I think about them as I sit in my air-conditioned office, looking out on a clean city, drinking clean water, bug free and with all the comforts I could ask for.
These children weren't asked to be born into poverty. Many of them have a long history of living on the street, naked, begging for money. I don't know what will happen to them. I fear the future isn't bright.
I think of Arun, who wanted nothing more than a crayon and coloring book; as he asked me on my final day at the home "You come back next year?".
"I will try."
What they don't tell you about a volunteer vacation is the fact that it's hardwork. The hours are long, the environment is uncomfortable and the emotions are high. And honestly, I can't wait to do another one. Looking back on my time in India the one thing I haven't written about much is the children. Partly because it is too new, too raw, too close to my heart. Sure, it is easy to share stories of my free-time; the sarees, the Indian Ocean, the food, the friends I made. But sharing stories of the amazing children - those stories are too real.
In the time I have been back, I can't help but think of the boys at the children's home, SEAMs. Most without parents, some with one parent who can't afford their care. These boys live in a place most of us wouldn't be comfortable in for an hour. They are always barefoot, they share clothes, have no toys, no common forms of entertainment that our children take for granted. And they don't complain, never once. Not even a moment. I never heard one boy express boredom. They are just living for, and in, every moment.
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| We bought the boys a soccer ball and they played non-stop |
I remember one of my teammates saying that if we don't want to go for a few hours, imagine what it is like for these boys who live there. It was true. This entire trip was about leaving my comfort zone, getting off my American pedestal of assumed privilege and helping.
 |
| Sharing a comb |
I think about these boys everyday. I think about them as I tell my daughter she doesn't need another toy from the toy store. I think about them as I remind myself last season's purse is still perfectly usable. I think about them as I sit in my air-conditioned office, looking out on a clean city, drinking clean water, bug free and with all the comforts I could ask for.
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| Arun |
I think of Arun, who wanted nothing more than a crayon and coloring book; as he asked me on my final day at the home "You come back next year?".
"I will try."
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| They put powder on their face to look more "fair", common in India |
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| My last day, grabbing some pics before I leave |
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