A, B, C... it's easy as 1, 2, 3

At the beginning of this year, when I was trying to make up my mind whether or not to come to India, I had conversations with many of you to hash out my thoughts regarding this trip. I had a lot of doubts and concerns as to the relevance of what I would be doing here, that being HIV/AIDS education. Obviously I decided to go, but my skepticism came with me even as I threw myself into the work that I have been doing this summer.

Fundamentally, I believe that people should be granted access to the information that they need in order to invest in the well-being of themselves, their families and their communities. When I say “invest” I don't mean it in the narrow monetary sense – I'm talking about holistic investment into the physical, emotional and spiritual dimensions that, together, make up a human being. (And I contend that spiritual health is important even though I have no faith to speak of.)

But the concept of investing in one's well-being was also the primary source of my doubts. As a white American with college-educated parents, I was born into a life of privilege that is completely unlike the lives of most human beings, in that most people are not American, not white, and poor. I don't particularly stand out among other young, white Americans but by international standards I'm one of the richest people in the world. The fact that I have time to attend college, yet alone to make music, is the result of my privilege. I have the luxury of worrying about things like HIV. I can do so, largely, because I've never had to worry, say, about where my next meal was going to come from. I've never had to worry about taking care of my parents or siblings. I am able to live my life without societal pressure to get married, have kids, and support a family.

I imagine that if I were living a different life, struggling just to keep my family alive, and some rich adventure-seeking kid with illusions of altruism came up to me and told me that I needed to protect myself against HIV, I might hit them, and they would probably deserve it.

In the months leading up to this summer, things only got worse when I came across a lecture by economist Emily Oster on Ted.com in which she speaks about AIDS in Africa. It's very interesting and if you have a few minutes to spare I highly recommend watching it (along with all the other Ted Talks)...



But I'm going to assume that most people don't feel like watching the video. So, in brief, she argues that that HIV education in Africa has done little to stop the spread of the disease and that economic growth, particularly infrastructure, has had a much greater impact than humanitarian groups holding seminars. She's probably right, for all I know, and her argument fell into line with the rest of my doubts. If I was going to trek to the other side of the world, it would probably be more advantageous to focus on infrastructure, not AIDS education. So I got a little list of other NGOs (ie., Habitat For Humanity) with whom I might want to work this summer. But the previously mentioned luxuries of school and music sucked up my time and before I knew it, I was going to India for better or for worse.

I don't mean to imply that I was bummed about coming to India because that is, most certainly, not the case. I was able to negotiate my thoughts and expectations with what I would be able to accomplish. My sister, Natalie, offered sage advice that I trusted, as she is seasoned in humanitarian work, first, in the Peace Corps and, now, running a group home for disabled Armenian orphans. She advised that while focusing on infrastructure would, very well, be a significant way to help, working with people on an individual level fills a niche that larger institutions are unable to address. I took solace in the fact that if I were able to make a difference in one person's life, it would be worth it for me. And on a much more shallow level I love to travel and I have always wanted to travel to India; it was the first country that I became aware of outside the US because, in toddlerhood, my parents were good friends with another couple, one of whom is from India, and they have children that are my age. We're still friends, still in contact, and I credit that relationship with the my early interest in India.

All of the forementioned points were going through my head as I packed my bags, got vaccinated, bought khaki pants and, eventually, made my way to Chennai via Hong Kong and Thailand. When I got here there wasn't any time to sit around and dwell on such things and I, very quickly, got in the groove with my teaching group - James, Kavya and our counterpart, Anbu, who has become a very good friend to all of us.

The vast majority of our teachings took place in secondary schools, what we call high school in America. We cover a combination of basic biology, the immune system, HIV biology, HIV progression, modes of transmission, prevention methods, and stigma, with the primary focus being on stigma, transmission, and prevention.



Over the last two months our entire team has taught somewhere in the vicinity of 4,000 people. With six teaching groups, that's an average of 666 (OMG!) students for each group. But success can't be measured with a number. Was the work sustainable? Did it make any difference? Is this really worth it?

These questions are complicated and I'll probably never know for sure. But I can tell you what I've seen... about 10% of the students could care less about what we're saying - fair enough. The vast majority, I would say 80% of them, enjoy the lesson and appear to be invested in the information. And the last 10% show a keen interest in what we have to present. They hang on every word, you can tell that they're processing the information, internalizing it. From our vantage point it seems safe to infer that the information will be sustained, to varying degrees, in their lives.

My group is really good at teaching, if I may toot my own horn. But being a good teacher only goes so far; a lot of the battle for the students attention is won by, simply, being American. Compared to Indian teachers, we are very animated and energetic - the students get a kick out of this and they relish the time when they are encouraged to be loud and interact. For that majority of students, the 80%, I have no idea if their interest in us will be enough to translate into true learning. I certainly hope so.

But in the end, I'll never know. AIDS education is extremely complicated in that the people that need it the most are people that probably won't listen, or won't be able to. Simply put, most of the kids that we teach probably aren't at risk of contracting HIV. Luckily, AIDS education isn't only about staying AIDS-free. A lot of it has to do with the stigmas that surround HIV, and India is chock-full of those. Unless a miracle-cure is found, HIV is here to stay and at the end of the day, even if the kids are not at risk for HIV, reducing stigma is an important component in the fight against HIV as the fight is not only about keeping people AIDS-free, it's about improving the lives of the unfortunates that do, and will, experience this disease.

But Emily Oster's argument still seems valid and it's still ringing in my ears. Maybe I'm too dense to make an accurate, big-picture assessment of the program, too clouded by personal feelings - after all, my experience has been nothing short of remarkable. So take my answers with a grain of salt, or a whole teaspoon...

Was it worth it? I think so... I hope so.

Here, There & Everywhere

Part 1: Kerala (care-uh-luh)

I was really bummed out a couple weeks ago... we took a long weekend trip to Kerala in the far south of India. It wasn't the trip that bummed me out, it was the fact that I didn't have a camera in one of the most beautiful places that I've even seen! I bought new batteries, the camera still didn't work, so I inferred that it was broken. A couple weeks later I tried some different batteries and, lo and behold, my camera does work. (The moral of the story: don't buy cheap batteries overseas.) So, regrettably, I was only able to take three pictures at the beginning of the weekend but I hijacked a couple pictures from other people so you can still get the gist of this magical weekend.

To start it off we took an overnight train ride in true Darjeeling Limited fashion...





We arrived the next morning and hopped aboard two houseboats for our first night out. We floated around some gorgeous wetlands as we played cards, ate food, swam, drank and danced the night away.

















After the boats, we bused to a resort that was the very definition of beachside luxury. For two days and nights we slept in little huts under a canopy of coconut trees. Cliffside hammocks overlooked the Indian Ocean and made me feel like a proverbial million bucks. It was ridiculous...

















The resort offered a wide array of “treatments” for rich health freak hippies – esoteric fourteen day regiments that included obscure messaging techniques, medicated milk baths, therapeutic vomiting, perspiration, ear washes, eye washes and herbal douches/enimas. One of the brochures featured a picture of a woman getting some herbal hoo-haw rhythmically dropped on her forehead from a jug. The general consensus concluded that she looks frighteningly similar to yours truly...




Part 2: Transportation

We've gotten around Chennai using a bus/rickshaw combination. The buses are a joy 85% of the time - they're very affordable and there's an endless supply of interesting sights, sounds and smells. I've chatted with a lot of interesting people and sometimes the bus is so full that I get to hang on the outside! But like most things in life, the mishaps make for more interesting stories. My struggle with the buses lies in that my legs are too big to sit in the seats like a normal person - I have to sit with my legs in the aisle unless I am able to snag one of the few seats that has ample legroom. If I can't get a seat then I have to stand, which wouldn't be an issue if the buses were six inches higher, allowing me to stand up without slouching and cocking my neck to one side. Such is life, I suppose!

The most eventful bus happening took place a few days ago when some officials boarded to check for passes. Udai (one of the US volunteers) and Yogi (one of the Indian counterparts ) misplaced their tickets and the man that issued the tickets refused, for whatever reason, to vouch for them. Udai and Yogi were taken away by the police and, thankfully, were able to dissuade the cops with a 500 rupee bribe just as Udai was being shoved into the police car headed for jail. But to comically and painfully top it off, Ronak (another US volunteer, and my roommate) hopped out of the moving bus to accompany our potentially incarcerated teammates. Jumping out of buses is normal fare in India but Ronak, unfortunately, failed to comply with the laws of physics and instead of running with the motion of the bus, he tried to walk back towards our friends and and got his big toenail ripped off during his spill!

Autos, aka rickshaws, are faster to get around but they're a lot more expensive. White skin assures inflated rates that can be difficult to bargain, but our normal four-people-to-an-auto routine makes it doable. Along with high rates, white skin is a magnet for autos in general - I can rarely walk for 200 feet without an auto driver stopping to see if I need a ride! Autos are a lot of fun, though... weaving in and out of traffic, playing tag with the other team members, going against traffic on one-way streets and narrowly escaping death at every turn. And horns! Chennai drivers make damn good use of their horns! They're used, virtually, all the time and are used to convey a plethora of messages. I've inferred fifteen such meanings although there are undoubtedly more that I haven't picked up on:
-I'm going really fast right now.
-Move over.
-I'm moving over.
-You can move over.
-I want to pass you.
-I'm going to pass you.
-You can pass me.
-See that little opening? I'm taking it!
-Fuck you!
-I am driving.
-I am honking.
-Sorry.
-I'm not sorry.
-I am acknowledging your presence.
-Don't even think about it.










Part 3: Birthday Party at Peace Trust

Peace Trust is another of our partner NGOs, an orphanage for children who have lost their parents to AIDS. Our team made the trek out to Peace Trust with gifts and cake to celebrate the birthday of one of the residents. Good times were had by all and the kids had a great time running around and taking pictures with my camera!

Gimme Shelter

First off, many apologies for the lack of updates. I'm blaming my full schedule coupled with unreliable internet.

My departure from India seems to be approaching at an alarming rate, only two weeks left! With this in mind, it seems that it's time to document the volunteer work that I've been doing. Up to this point I've refrained from doing so in an attempt to compile my thoughts and feelings into something that is definitive of all that I have experienced here... to boil the essence of it down into a couple blogs.

Shelter House is an orphanage for HIV infected orphans and is run by Solomon, a strong, gentle man with an easy smile and kind eyes. Before starting Shelter he simply wanted to spend time with sick children but he ran into impenetrable religious red tape. The partitions between Hindus, Christians and Muslims make interfaith care an impossibility - yet another example of the opiate for the masses turning to poison. Out of this desire, he started Shelter and with the staff has created an incredible home for some twenty children, nourishing hope where there was none. Solomon's passion for this work is obvious and he works another full-time job just to keep Shelter afloat...

The first thing that strikes you upon visiting this home is the sense of community that is shared by the residents. It's beautiful to see these children taking an active interest in each others wellbeing, helping each other is the smallest of ways, the bigger ones taking care of the smaller ones. Upon looking at their files I began to gain some insight as to why and how these children have been able to develop such a large capacity for cooperation. Their personal histories are, in a word, heartbreaking. Along with having HIV in a country with such stigma, many of these children have seen trauma and violence that is unimaginable. Tragically, I speculate that their interdependence has developed, at least partially, out of the brokenness that they have experienced. The irony of such beauty emerging out of the darkest of places is overwhelming, as is the complex array of emotions that comes with looking into the eyes of a child that has seen tragedy the likes of which I will, likely, never experience in my lifetime.

I've gone to Shelter almost every week since I've been here and is, perhaps, the highlight of my trip to India. The relationships that I've had the pleasure of building with these kids are most cherished. I speak very little Tamil and they speak as little English but the quality of our time is in no way diminished in that affection, love and fun are easily communicated without language.

A lot of things have happened with Shelter this summer. Just after we arrived they started having plumbing problems. Most of the houses in the area pay the government a bribe to pump waste water (excluding that from the toilets) in a “rain” canal. Their plumbing did not allow for this option so their water (again, excluding toilet water) was running off into neighboring vacant lots. As development began on the lots the pipes were stopped up, so the water sat and stagnated on the property. The kids went from being able to shower once or twice a day, which is of the utmost importance to an HIV+ individual, to only being able to shower every few days. The kids got rashes, mosquitoes were everywhere, the most basic tasks became challenges. See...

Naturally, this seemed like the most pressing problem that we could address this summer. We began looking into solutions for Shelter and after many meetings and phone calls we settled on building a “soap pit,” a concrete-lined cylinder dug into the ground; filled with charcoal, sand and rocks, it would filter the water before it seeping into the dirt. Not only was this cheaper than the normal route of dumping it into the canal, but it's much better for the environment too. Neha and Kavya's family helped us navigate the obstacle course of bureaucracy and the whole job got done surprisingly quickly!

In one respect, it was with grit teeth that we spent our money on the soap pit. This is because Shelter is renting their current property for, only, one more year. The landlord is less than noble and even though we didn't want to invest in what will, eventually, serve his benefit, the prospect of the kids living in such poor conditions for another year was completely unacceptable. The mixed feelings about the investment were overshadowed, however, when Solomon told us the big news. The same day that construction on the soap pit began Solomon finalized the purchase of a piece of land that Shelter owns! We were lucky to be the first visitors to the site of the future, permanent Shelter House where they won't have to deal with any hassles from landlords or anyone else...

Now begins the process of building up this site. There's a lot of work to be done and we're working on a way for people (ie. you!) to give donations for the new Shelter House, a donation that will be a sustained investment in the lives of these kids and the future residents of Shelter. When we get this up and running, I beg you to please consider giving a little something. Dollars go a long way in India; all of the work on the soap pit (digging, concrete, pipes, labor, etc) ran a little over 200 USD. Try finding a better way to spend a $200!

That's all for now.