Why
This week was rough. It seems that everything I write starts with a sentence that references the heat.
It is so hot.
So, I suppose, as with anything, the middle is the hardest. This week I've been having feelings of boredom, feelings that I'm not really providing a service that's truly needed, feelings of apathy in the classroom. This is summer break for most Indian kids and many of our students were just visiting family in Nimdi. Most schools start on July 1st, so we lost about a third of our students (and will lose more after this weekend).
My advanced section went from fifteen to five. That's particularly irritating because I made fifteen copies of dozens of vocabulary lists and stories---and now that will all go to waste.
On Wednesday morning, I woke up and went to our bathing room (which is really a tiny room measuring no more than 6 feet in height, 3 feet in width, and 3 feet in length). I collected my toiltetries and placed them on a stack consisting of my towel, a clean shirt, clean shorts, and clean underwear. I walked to the "bathing room". Once inside, I leaned down to put my toiletries on the floor and my 16.9oz Aveda Gel Cleanser (a beautiful green glass bottle) rolled off my stack of clothes and shattered on the stone floor.
(I have an obsession with products. I know it's ridiculous to carry a giant class bottle of gel cleanser while traveling through India---but I'm unnecessarily crazy about taking good care of my skin and hair.)
So I stared at the pile of shattered glass. And 14 fluid ounces of liquid soap.
Why?
Why?
Why?
Wait...
WHY?
I put down what was in my hands and I immediately resigned to the fact that I was going to have to clean up this mess. I I walked back to my room and got some garbage bags and started cleaning up the translucent green shards. Naturally (natural because Murphy's Law should be renamed Niral's Law), my doubled plastic bag tore and I had to get several new ones.
My host mother noticed me crouching in front of the bathing room and quickly shooed me away. She was worried I would hurt myself with the glass and wanted to make sure no one would slip on the soap. So she took a jadu (a small broom made of thin sticks) and swept the stone floor until most of the soap residue had disappeared. The only evidence that remained was a molehill of suds by the drain.
I went returned to the bathing room (which now smelled really pungent and sharp from the excessive soap spillage). I brushed my teeth. I washed my hair. And then I did something I haven't done in years. I washed my face with normal soap. NORMAL SOAP. I'm going to have terrible skin forever. When I go to the dermatologist in twenty years he's going to be like a botany expert studying tree-rings. He'll say, "Wow, you were doing really well until...hmm...let's see here...until you were about 22 or 23. Woah. What happened here? You would have perfect skin now if you didn't mess it all up by using normal soap."
After my bath I had some chai (which smelled a little funny to me). I went to my first section. Absolutely terrible---the kids were totally unmanageable and I had no energy to deal with them. Nishant and I returned home for our lunch and I was force fed okra, cucumbers, chach (whey with water and salt), and chopati. As soon as I ate, I could sense that something was wrong with my body.
I returned to school and sat through most of the intermediate section feeling a little light-headed. At 12:30pm I was feeling sick---no question. I laid down and tried to take a brief nap. But, I started to feeling a compounding nausea---which resulted in me running out to the field adjacent to our school and throwing up.
(I'll save you the suspense. I had some kind of food poisoning.)
As in most cases of food poisoning, the body's response is to expel all things in the digestive tract---as all of it could be the carrier for the pathogen/parasite. So, naturally (natural because biology is natural) I started to feel pressure in my bowels. Being about a kilometer away from home, I knew I only had one option.
Poop in a field.
POOP IN A FIELD. That's fine. Pooping in a field is completely fine. It's just like---really? Has it come to this?
So I found a tree. I dropped my shorts. And I pooped in a field. (Actually, I've written an extensive journal entry about this---but I'll spare this blog the details).
Feeling a little better---having thrown up AND pooped in a field, I went back to the school and asked Nishant if he could handle the advanced section alone. He said he'd be fine---so I walked back home (in 115 degree heat). I wanted to go to bed, but it was way too hot. So, I just read A Million Little Pieces by James Frey with about fifty of my little fly friends. Terrible.
I could tell that my body was trying to smoke whatever I had out of me. I had a headache---the kind of headache that you only get from having a high fever. So I took some Ibuprofen with water.
Within fifteen minutes I vomited the rest of what was in my stomach in a projectile manner. But just as before, I felt great.
Read. Refuse Food and Water. Read. Too hot to read. Read. Sleep. Too hot to sleep. Read. Refuse Food and Water. Refuse Food and Water.
Finally, I was feeling too dehydrated to NOT drink water---so in the smallest servings, I started drinking water. Word of my illness spread through the village quickly. Consequently, my entire afternoon was highlighted by visits from my students. Which is sweet in theory. But it's not so sweet when they decide to stay for hours and talk and laugh and go through my things.
I can deal with that crap when I'm healthy---but not when I can't keep food down. I'll throw up on you bitch.
Evening came, and it started to rain. OF COURSE IT'S RAINING. In villages in India, when it rains, power companies cut all energy to prevent short circuiting and electric fires. Great. No ceiling fan. No light. Hundreds of insects. I'm so happy. No really. I'm SO happy.
I decided that a little fresh air and a phone call would serve me well. I went on the rooftop and got in touch with Suzanne. It was raining lightly and the sky was completely gray with clouds. The water on my neck felt good. The breeze felt good. Talking on the phone felt good.
Suzanne and I talked and talked. And I started to feel a little nauseous but didn't think anything of it. And in the middle of Suzanne's story of her trip to Chicago (which I was laughing at) I started to projectile vomit water (because that's all I had in my stomach). I'm not an easily phased person so I just let Suzanne talk and just briefly mentioned that I was throwing up. Suzanne continued telling her story. I continued laughing. I continued throwing up.
From a neighboring rooftop, one of my students saw me laughing, gagging, throwing up, and laughing again. She thought that something was wrong with me---so she screamed for my host family. Within seconds, my entire host family was on the roof watching me crouch in a corner talking on the phone with a smile on my face, laughing, gagging, throwing up, and laughing more.
So, it's not a question if they think I'm crazy. (Well I am crazy.)
The rest of the week was filled with rest and not too much teaching. My stomach is still weak. But I'm getting better.
As far as why I got sick. The elderly women in the village KNOW that I'm sick because I haven't prayed to Bhud Bauji (Holy Ghost Spirit). Outside of our school, there is a small shrine with a stone in it---apparently legend says that this stone, when buried under hundreds of stones, always finds its way to the top. Obviously, I think this is ridiculous so I don't acknowledge it. So apparently, Bhud Bauji is angry with me and has sent a spirit to inhabit my body.
Obviously ridiculous to me. Obviously why I got sick to them.
I was offered different treatments like sooey (or an injection). An INJECTION?! What kind of village is this? What's the syringe made of? A hollow stick? Hate it. Also, my host mother offered to call the witch doctor and have him treat me. I said "No thanks. Maybe if I'm still sick tomorrow."
Why I think I got sick? I think when my host mother was cleaning the bathroom floor with the jadu---she got some soap water on my toothbrush. Even in America, I clean the head of my toothbrush before I use it---so nothing was different when I brushed my teeth that morning. But I think maybe a couple rubs with my thumb under running water didn't cut it this time. I think that the dirt off that floor is enough to get anyone sick.
Anyhow, what got me really thinking was my glass bottle and why it broke. This is what I wrote in my journal:
It is so hot.
So, I suppose, as with anything, the middle is the hardest. This week I've been having feelings of boredom, feelings that I'm not really providing a service that's truly needed, feelings of apathy in the classroom. This is summer break for most Indian kids and many of our students were just visiting family in Nimdi. Most schools start on July 1st, so we lost about a third of our students (and will lose more after this weekend).
My advanced section went from fifteen to five. That's particularly irritating because I made fifteen copies of dozens of vocabulary lists and stories---and now that will all go to waste.
On Wednesday morning, I woke up and went to our bathing room (which is really a tiny room measuring no more than 6 feet in height, 3 feet in width, and 3 feet in length). I collected my toiltetries and placed them on a stack consisting of my towel, a clean shirt, clean shorts, and clean underwear. I walked to the "bathing room". Once inside, I leaned down to put my toiletries on the floor and my 16.9oz Aveda Gel Cleanser (a beautiful green glass bottle) rolled off my stack of clothes and shattered on the stone floor.
(I have an obsession with products. I know it's ridiculous to carry a giant class bottle of gel cleanser while traveling through India---but I'm unnecessarily crazy about taking good care of my skin and hair.)
So I stared at the pile of shattered glass. And 14 fluid ounces of liquid soap.
Why?
Why?
Why?
Wait...
WHY?
I put down what was in my hands and I immediately resigned to the fact that I was going to have to clean up this mess. I I walked back to my room and got some garbage bags and started cleaning up the translucent green shards. Naturally (natural because Murphy's Law should be renamed Niral's Law), my doubled plastic bag tore and I had to get several new ones.
My host mother noticed me crouching in front of the bathing room and quickly shooed me away. She was worried I would hurt myself with the glass and wanted to make sure no one would slip on the soap. So she took a jadu (a small broom made of thin sticks) and swept the stone floor until most of the soap residue had disappeared. The only evidence that remained was a molehill of suds by the drain.
I went returned to the bathing room (which now smelled really pungent and sharp from the excessive soap spillage). I brushed my teeth. I washed my hair. And then I did something I haven't done in years. I washed my face with normal soap. NORMAL SOAP. I'm going to have terrible skin forever. When I go to the dermatologist in twenty years he's going to be like a botany expert studying tree-rings. He'll say, "Wow, you were doing really well until...hmm...let's see here...until you were about 22 or 23. Woah. What happened here? You would have perfect skin now if you didn't mess it all up by using normal soap."
After my bath I had some chai (which smelled a little funny to me). I went to my first section. Absolutely terrible---the kids were totally unmanageable and I had no energy to deal with them. Nishant and I returned home for our lunch and I was force fed okra, cucumbers, chach (whey with water and salt), and chopati. As soon as I ate, I could sense that something was wrong with my body.
I returned to school and sat through most of the intermediate section feeling a little light-headed. At 12:30pm I was feeling sick---no question. I laid down and tried to take a brief nap. But, I started to feeling a compounding nausea---which resulted in me running out to the field adjacent to our school and throwing up.
(I'll save you the suspense. I had some kind of food poisoning.)
As in most cases of food poisoning, the body's response is to expel all things in the digestive tract---as all of it could be the carrier for the pathogen/parasite. So, naturally (natural because biology is natural) I started to feel pressure in my bowels. Being about a kilometer away from home, I knew I only had one option.
Poop in a field.
POOP IN A FIELD. That's fine. Pooping in a field is completely fine. It's just like---really? Has it come to this?
So I found a tree. I dropped my shorts. And I pooped in a field. (Actually, I've written an extensive journal entry about this---but I'll spare this blog the details).
Feeling a little better---having thrown up AND pooped in a field, I went back to the school and asked Nishant if he could handle the advanced section alone. He said he'd be fine---so I walked back home (in 115 degree heat). I wanted to go to bed, but it was way too hot. So, I just read A Million Little Pieces by James Frey with about fifty of my little fly friends. Terrible.
I could tell that my body was trying to smoke whatever I had out of me. I had a headache---the kind of headache that you only get from having a high fever. So I took some Ibuprofen with water.
Within fifteen minutes I vomited the rest of what was in my stomach in a projectile manner. But just as before, I felt great.
Read. Refuse Food and Water. Read. Too hot to read. Read. Sleep. Too hot to sleep. Read. Refuse Food and Water. Refuse Food and Water.
Finally, I was feeling too dehydrated to NOT drink water---so in the smallest servings, I started drinking water. Word of my illness spread through the village quickly. Consequently, my entire afternoon was highlighted by visits from my students. Which is sweet in theory. But it's not so sweet when they decide to stay for hours and talk and laugh and go through my things.
I can deal with that crap when I'm healthy---but not when I can't keep food down. I'll throw up on you bitch.
Evening came, and it started to rain. OF COURSE IT'S RAINING. In villages in India, when it rains, power companies cut all energy to prevent short circuiting and electric fires. Great. No ceiling fan. No light. Hundreds of insects. I'm so happy. No really. I'm SO happy.
I decided that a little fresh air and a phone call would serve me well. I went on the rooftop and got in touch with Suzanne. It was raining lightly and the sky was completely gray with clouds. The water on my neck felt good. The breeze felt good. Talking on the phone felt good.
Suzanne and I talked and talked. And I started to feel a little nauseous but didn't think anything of it. And in the middle of Suzanne's story of her trip to Chicago (which I was laughing at) I started to projectile vomit water (because that's all I had in my stomach). I'm not an easily phased person so I just let Suzanne talk and just briefly mentioned that I was throwing up. Suzanne continued telling her story. I continued laughing. I continued throwing up.
From a neighboring rooftop, one of my students saw me laughing, gagging, throwing up, and laughing again. She thought that something was wrong with me---so she screamed for my host family. Within seconds, my entire host family was on the roof watching me crouch in a corner talking on the phone with a smile on my face, laughing, gagging, throwing up, and laughing more.
So, it's not a question if they think I'm crazy. (Well I am crazy.)
The rest of the week was filled with rest and not too much teaching. My stomach is still weak. But I'm getting better.
As far as why I got sick. The elderly women in the village KNOW that I'm sick because I haven't prayed to Bhud Bauji (Holy Ghost Spirit). Outside of our school, there is a small shrine with a stone in it---apparently legend says that this stone, when buried under hundreds of stones, always finds its way to the top. Obviously, I think this is ridiculous so I don't acknowledge it. So apparently, Bhud Bauji is angry with me and has sent a spirit to inhabit my body.
Obviously ridiculous to me. Obviously why I got sick to them.
I was offered different treatments like sooey (or an injection). An INJECTION?! What kind of village is this? What's the syringe made of? A hollow stick? Hate it. Also, my host mother offered to call the witch doctor and have him treat me. I said "No thanks. Maybe if I'm still sick tomorrow."
Why I think I got sick? I think when my host mother was cleaning the bathroom floor with the jadu---she got some soap water on my toothbrush. Even in America, I clean the head of my toothbrush before I use it---so nothing was different when I brushed my teeth that morning. But I think maybe a couple rubs with my thumb under running water didn't cut it this time. I think that the dirt off that floor is enough to get anyone sick.
Anyhow, what got me really thinking was my glass bottle and why it broke. This is what I wrote in my journal:
It's so true that people say "things happen for a reason" to make themselves feel better. My glass bottle shattered by chance because I dropped it by mistake. I HIGHLY doubt there was any subconscious workings involved. I go to thinking in the shower---soap is soap. Why do I pay so much for face wash? I mean preventative Kiehls makes sense to me. But face wash? I thought this event would make me realize that expensive face wash was not necessary for my
survival.
But then, I though more, and realized this is just our mental justification for bad things happening. If such-and-such never happened then we wouldn't be in [our current situation]. WELL OBVIOUSLY. I think it's best to stay away from the fate argument...
but...as I write this I'm torn---I want to believe that our lives are guided by events. Maybe the glass bottle DID break for a reason---to tear me from my material attachments. Or maybe, it didn't happen for any reason at all---
And MAYBE I needed an excuse to go/believe in a direction I'm naturally (natural because it's in-my-wiring) magnetized towards.
Fate or no fate? I think it's hard to say. But TRULY not believing in any kind shape form of fate is so empty. I know that I don't believe in every second of every day being predestined. But so many things are out of our hands (in this case literally...).I think maybe our lives are guided by events---it's our choice to do or take what we want with/from them. Maybe every situation is an opportunity to learn from or change yourself.
Why do we always need a reason? Why do we always have to ask why?
Why do we always have to ask why? I don't really even know why we ask the why. But I know the why rarely matters.
posted by Jay at 12:00 AM
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