On October
10th, 2008, I boarded a plane with 14 strangers for a two-week
adventure. But this was no Caribbean cruise we
were taking. Having been selected to be part of a documentary, I was one of
seven women who would take part in an experience of a lifetime - in India.
This team of women, with nothing in common with the exception of our willingness
of spirit and love of learning, would be followed by a camera crew as we were
challenged to come to grips with the contradictions of India, our views on
poverty and injustice, and what - if anything - we would personally do about
it.
After a 20-hour
plane ride from Dallas, we landed in Mumbai,
previously known as Bombay.
Affectionately referred to in India
as "Bollywood," this would be the most cosmopolitan city of our four-city tour.
As we drove out the gate of our luxury accommodations near the airport, we were
immediately confronted with debris, poverty, and some of the most inhumane
living conditions we had ever witnessed.
As I sat in
the air-conditioned bus, I looked out the window at men, so skinny you could
see their ribs, sat helplessly and hopelessly with their heads in their hands.
I watched out the window as a beautiful woman, dressed in her immaculate hot-pink
sari, emerged from a gray lean-to slum home; she gracefully walked around the
human waste spilled out on the ground. But I looked away as children walked the
crowded streets alone, some totally naked.
As extreme
as these conditions were, it was still not quite real to me as I peered through
my impenetrable window. Until we stopped and stepped out of the bus.
On the
ground there was no buffer; the experience - first witnessed as someone else's
misfortune - became personal. Life in India became real. Real fast.
As we enter
a brand-new year, I would like to share with you what I learned about the world
- and about myself - during the most enlightening two weeks of my life. And to
challenge you to step out of the bus with me, in 2009.
Life is your current
view of things. Change your view, and you change your life.
- Virginia Satir, New People Making
Forever
changed,
Ellen
Posted by Ellen on January 13, 2009 6:01 PM
| Category: On the Ground
Growing up,
compared to a lot of folks, I guess our family was considered poor. Unless I
sized us up against some other families in town; then, of course we were
probably thought of as rich. As a kid, it's hard to tell. As an adult ... it's
even harder.
I didn't always
have lunch money to eat at the downtown diner with my friends - but I had lunch
every day; I never went hungry.
I didn't live
in a 3 bedroom, 2 bath, brick home - but our small frame house, with one busy
bathroom, was always clean and tidy; and it was always warm on winter days.
I didn't get
a car of my own when I turned 16 - but I did get a set of car keys; Daddy and I
shared a 1966 used, red Ford Mustang, and I only remember having to walk to
school a time or two when I missed the bus.
I didn't have
a closet full of clothes - but in addition to my few store-bought things, I did
have some awesome hand-me-downs; outfits sent on to me by my older, much cooler, way-hip cousins. Diane von
Furstenberg had nothing on my Aunt Barbara - that woman could sew!
I didn't
have a college fund set aside with my name - but I did have a good work ethic
and a scholarship; I managed until my senior year.
But
regardless of where I sat yesterday or where I sit today on the bus in the U.S., I am filthy rich by India and other third world countries'
measure. I am now painfully and unforgettably aware.
As we drove
through Mumbai, I saw makeshift homes lining the sidewalk (in front of the
InterContinental Hotel, no less). "Structures" made of four poles or sticks
securing a tarp that served as an outside wall and roof. Looking through my bus
window, the scene was sad. But standing on the ground, face to face with
mothers begging for food to feed their babies, poverty moved from a sad scene
outside my window to a personal problem. Not just her problem, but now mine,
too.
As we drove
on the outskirts of Mumbai, I looked out my bus window and saw miles and miles
of slums with garbage and waste floating in their canals, and learned that this
slum, with alleys paved in broken and cracked concrete, was considered more
upscale. While standing on the ground with the smell of human waste hanging in
the air, I locked eyes with a smiling, impish child as she reached for me. At
that moment, poverty moved from a landscape of gray slums to a warm little
hand. Her challenges became my own.
Looking
through my bus window in Chennai, I saw villages of thatched-roof huts,
considered middle-class as these homes had concrete floors. Some homes even had
toothbrushes - their prize possession, hanging on a wall in a position of
prominence. On the ground following behind the working-class village women, as
they delicately lifted their saris, we walked single file along a flooded path
of water 10 inches deep - and poverty, with all the challenges she throws at these
entrepreneurs, moved from being just another working woman's problem to a
personal challenge for me.
The issue of poverty
is not a statistical issue. It is a human issue.
- James Wolfensohn, former World Bank President
If we'll
all just step off the bus and into the real world - either here at home or
abroad - we'll realize that, regardless of the size of our stock portfolio, our
job situation, or our living conditions, we're filthy rich. If we'll all just
step off the bus and connect to another human being's suffering, our
perspective will change. As will our willingness to do something about it.
Are you
feeling poor today? Step outside your bus. Wealth awaits you on the ground.
Richer for
the journey,
Ellen
Posted by Ellen on January 20, 2009 5:42 PM
| Category: On the Ground
