I felt just awful today — stuffy head, weak and woozy. I stayed home from Assisi (look at me, calling in “sick” even in India). I thought it was my last evening session at SEAM, and I wanted to rest up to make sure I could make it there to say my goodbyes to all the kids. (It turns out that while today was officially my final day, I’ll be able to tag along tomorrow night, too, before heading to the airport).

So I spent the afternoon tossing and turning in bed, my bangle bracelets catching on the mosquito netting around me. I couldn’t fall asleep. And I couldn’t quiet my mind. I thought fresh air might do me good (*fresh* air being relative here, of course). So I went up to the rooftop of our guest house.

When I got there, I sat in the little plastic picnic chair, as I’ve done every morning. But instead of praying or meditating as I usually do in that chair, I just found myself bawling. I’m talking weeping — as if my last friend and my dog had just died. (Let’s pretend I don’t hate dogs for that analogy to work).

I can’t explain what came over me exactly. The rush of the entire experience flipping through my mind, like a slideshow. The feeling that I only just got here, only just scratched the surface and I already have to leave. The guilt of having missed out on Assisi and not seeing those kids one more time, and not meeting the regular crew of kids who returned to day care there today after the long holiday break. I don’t even know if it’s exactly all that. All I know is that I was absolutely overwhelmed with sadness.

I cried it all out, following advice my father gave me not long ago after I’d had a particularly rough day: “Cry it out. Clean it out.” (He’s a plumber, so he likes drainage, ya know?) So, I cleaned it all out, wiped my runny nose, dabbed my puffy eyes and pulled myself together to go to SEAM.

Stephen suggested I bring my laptop to show the kids all of the pictures I’ve taken here, especially the photos and videos of them. And so we huddled them together, cross-legged on the floor. I sat in (another) plastic picnic chair. (This time, no tears). I scrolled through all the colorful pictures I’ve taken — of packed streets and vibrant colors, of sweet little faces and gracious people. And it was a chance to reflect back myself, to see where I started and where I came — sitting right there in the hall I had nervously entered two weeks ago, feeling blindfolded and uncertain of what to expect.

And when I got to the pictures and videos of them, they stood on their knees to see — pointing and laughing, thrilled to see their own images reflected back at them. It was pretty cool.

The group then serenaded me and Lucy, another volunteer wrapping up this week, with….The Jesus Song! It was lovely, and I did my best to sing along. (I’ve got it all on video, so I’ll be sure to post it when I return so you can all get a listen). Two of the children presented us with Thank You cards. On the inside is a class portrait-type picture of the group, with all of their little signatures. I told them I’d hang it up on my wall to remember them.

Rebecca did a quick change into a white dress to perform a “candle dance” for us. Her sister, Mikla, stood solo to sing a beautiful little song. And one teen boy (whose name I can’t remember, but whose signature tough-guy laugh I’ve got down pat — and torture him by mimicking it to him every chance I get), pulled out a box of matches, lighting them and putting them out in his mouth. (That prompted Ginny, one of the volunteers to shout warnings to the younger ones, “Now don’t you go trying that!”)

One by one, the kids came up and shook mine and Lucy’s hands, offering us the memorized goodbye, “Thank you. Please come again.” And I told them that yes, I’d like that very much.

The kids huddle around to see my photos.

Transcribing from a religious workbook, Rebecca shows off her typing skills. I took over the keys to try, and had forgotten how hard pressing down on the keys of a typewriter is compared to a computer. Makes me even more impressed with how fast she types.

The boys bunch in (maybe too closely) for a photo at SEAM.

Rebecca does a quick change into a white dress to perform her candle dance for us. She was so nervous, but did a great job.

Mikla, Rebecca’s sister, sings us a song.

Check out our team blog, at http://indiateamjournal.blogspot.com

Yesterday, after a long and tiring day at Assisi, we spent the afternoon touring three churches in Chennai, including the Santhome Cathedral Basilica. A popular pilgrimmage site, St. Thomas was buried there. It was lovely to tour around in the warm sun, but I was feeling dizzy and woozy — maybe from the nonstop day at Assisi — and so I had to go slow.

After chugging some Sprite and eating a few tea biscuits, I felt good enough to continue onto Marina Beach — the second largest beach in the world. With it being the third and final day of Pongal, the beach would be a popular destination for people. Stephen suggested it would be a great place to “go see the crowds.”

Now, when he said this, I imagined it’d be like the colorful people-watching on the boardwalks of the Jersey Shore. But Stephen’s “crowds” actually turned out to be about 400,000 people, as estimated by the local newspaper. Throw in us 10 Westerners into the mix, and it got interesting.

We attracted curious stares and wild waves as soon as we stepped out of our van and onto the street. As we walk the long way down to the water, crowds of people surrounded us, shaking our hands as we wished them a Happy Pongal. Groups of folks followed us, asking to take our picture, and for us to take theirs. By the time we got down to the water, we were fully encircled by at least 100 people — maybe more. Finally three horse mounted policemen had to come to break up the crowd. It was so trippy — a lot of energy to take in, but a lot of fun to be a part of.

I ended up taking more video of the experience that photos. (And uploading video hasn’t worked for me). So here are a few that don’t really illustrate the Pongal Beach Madness, but are fun nonetheless.

This group of teenagers was one of dozens of clutches of people who stopped us along our walk.

A shot of one of the policemen breaking up the crowd. That little blonde head with the clip of flowers belongs to our dear Roma, an inspiration at 80 years old. She’s a retired nurse from Australia, and this is her 9th (and likely final) Global Volunteers trip. She says our India team (team #60!) is one of the best she’s experienced.

Eating sugarcane on Wednesday, (still) in celebration of Pongal. Lakshmannan and Isaac (left) taught me to pull at the bark with my side teeth, bite into the white, juicy flesh and then spit out the pulp onto the newspaper on the floor.

The sweet smile, captured on film. Augustine was a trip today, so much more animated than he was on Monday and Tuesday. He giggled a ton and actually let me pick him up and hold him without wriggling to the ground; he gestured for the hand-clapping game, and when I said “Vanakkam” to him (”Hello”), he repeated it, pressing his hands together, prayer-like, as is custom.

I’m feeling hesitant, feeling all sorts of things about leaving. This trip is wrapping up faster than I had imagined. While the other volunteers have at least one week left (some have another 3 to 4), I leave here late Saturday night for an early Sunday flight. As much as I’ve gotten out of this trip in such a short time, a part of me feels like I haven’t yet gotten all that I needed to get out of it. There’s so much more I want to soak in, and deeper work I’d love to do here. On the other hand, a hot shower and a grande Starbucks with soy milk would be nice.

Hi all!

Just a quick note to let you know how touched I am that so many of you are reading. I’ve gotten all your emails and comments, but with my internet time becoming more limited as a result of our schedule this week (and with the owner about to kick me out), it’s too hard to answer everyone in the way I’d like.

So just know I’m cherishing every little email and comment I get from you all, and get so excited when time allows to scurry here to Zoom Cafe to post my latest adventures. And THANK YOU for taking this great adventure with me.

Joann

I’m not gonna lie. It’s been a tough few days for me at Assissi.

With these children of such wide-ranging ages, it’s difficult to keep them all engaged and active. Roma and Anne, of course, are naturals. They instinctively know what the kids need, and how best to lay some boundaries and transition them onto the next activity. Me? I’m more than a little insecure about my knack for younger children. I’m totally winging it, going from Dr. Seuss to Simon Says to math equations in the span of 15 minutes. “Auntie!” one boy screams, motioning to toss a ball with him. “Auntie!” another screams, holding up a pack of flashcards. And all the while, the little ones crawl and coo all over you.

On the ride back the other day, I confided to Anne that I felt of no use to these children. And she made me see how I am — and how we all are, working together there as a team. If we weren’t there, they’d likely be sitting inside on the tile floor of Assissi these quiet few days of Pongal, probably bored with themselves and not getting much stimulation.

And a few days in, I can see what Anne means. It’s in the way they greet us so happily at the front gate, the way that Lakshmannan is just a tad sharper in his addition and subtraction, and in the way they remember the singalong songs or phrases or games we only just taught them the day before. The teachers here call it “seeing the light go on” in the kids. And they say that’s what’s kept them going in an often thankless profession for all these years. Seeing that light. It’s pretty cool to see, I’d agree.

And I see it the most with little Augustine, who I find myself most drawn to. Just over three years old, he came to the orphange about four months ago, given up by an unwed mother he still sees in church on Sundays. She never acknowledges him, though — which actually may be the best thing for him to move on.

Augustine is an adorable, gentle little boy. But he’s listless, detached and often unresponsive. Sister Rose tries in vein to get him to play with the other children. And there are times I’m speaking directly at him, waving my hand near his face and he barely flinches — staring off in the distance. But I keep trying with him, singing to him, reading to him, showing flashcards with alphabets. Yesterday, I attempted a hand-clapping game with him that I used to play when I was little. In his slow, hesitant way, he’s actually starting catching on, which was a joy to see.

This morning, Augustine gave me the best gift. He actually ran up to me at the gate, in that stiff-legged way that little kids do, not yet knowing how to bend their knees. He nuzzled in close to my leg and I bent down to give him a hug. He actually smiled, and it was so lovely to finally see what that sweet little face looks like with a smile. And then, he stuck out his hands — gesturing to play the hand-clapping game we had done the day before. He remembered!

He stayed lit up for a good part of the morning, and I actually heard his soft, little voice for the first time. He repeating the words written on the flashcards I raised and read to him. And when “ice cream” came up on one of the cards, he pretended to feed me. When “elephant” came up, he made his arm as an imaginary tusk. He even started jabbering away to me in Tamil. Is this the same Augustine I met just three days earlier?!

But then, before lunch, it was as if he shut down again. I have no idea why. He was staring again off into space, and no matter what I sang to him, or how many times I called his name, it was as if he didn’t hear me at all, lost in his thoughts of who knows what.

Little Augustine, sitting outside in the small play area.

David stands by his chalk drawing of a church and the symbols of Pongal — a pot boiling over with rice, and the sweet sugarcane the kids love to chew on at this season (it’s like eating Peeps on Easter). Isaac stand on the right.