tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1055975789800298342024-03-05T06:29:12.120-03:00Julia and Josh's Adventures Abroad A Blog about Julia and Josh's Adventures Abroad
Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.comBlogger329125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-80065604017986436772014-01-13T08:22:00.001-03:002014-01-13T08:22:58.708-03:00Photo update<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Dressed up for our last night at the palace:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMAM8Hy3YIoIA1WAhaad-ZMjQaw_S2miD2whC54sE0kcFx2x5P3ejJerHZVhZr2J8WEs7fiYFp7P_Bk08Q6hqJr2vzTesVCuMSZIicaxM7Bs-_SJP-htcGqJoVp8G_-AeyjaDxDjUYYuY/s640/blogger-image-693955953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMAM8Hy3YIoIA1WAhaad-ZMjQaw_S2miD2whC54sE0kcFx2x5P3ejJerHZVhZr2J8WEs7fiYFp7P_Bk08Q6hqJr2vzTesVCuMSZIicaxM7Bs-_SJP-htcGqJoVp8G_-AeyjaDxDjUYYuY/s640/blogger-image-693955953.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Beautiful Jayshree<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMAM8Hy3YIoIA1WAhaad-ZMjQaw_S2miD2whC54sE0kcFx2x5P3ejJerHZVhZr2J8WEs7fiYFp7P_Bk08Q6hqJr2vzTesVCuMSZIicaxM7Bs-_SJP-htcGqJoVp8G_-AeyjaDxDjUYYuY/s640/blogger-image-693955953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiKFVpvYrH-N_6QIUJRaoSlDwbQqCA9ql-Dg2AbJNKgD0zsZk_2enf4BBrJdi4cO2e4Di0F6ozJASQYnfatWrEC9sYnlJG-rOxIUhR7g1wb6O-phtYE3FHX0voKPrEaK6JqXsJr0teIa8/s640/blogger-image-2122811237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiKFVpvYrH-N_6QIUJRaoSlDwbQqCA9ql-Dg2AbJNKgD0zsZk_2enf4BBrJdi4cO2e4Di0F6ozJASQYnfatWrEC9sYnlJG-rOxIUhR7g1wb6O-phtYE3FHX0voKPrEaK6JqXsJr0teIa8/s640/blogger-image-2122811237.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">One more temple:<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiKFVpvYrH-N_6QIUJRaoSlDwbQqCA9ql-Dg2AbJNKgD0zsZk_2enf4BBrJdi4cO2e4Di0F6ozJASQYnfatWrEC9sYnlJG-rOxIUhR7g1wb6O-phtYE3FHX0voKPrEaK6JqXsJr0teIa8/s640/blogger-image-2122811237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5gLg94-CpIUTFeAx-UoSAzh6xAqSvVcJx7j0WdhLyC3uhLZfgnmsWUM6LjVIYSehjpr3s9Dl1o1oFmYDZ-g9du3emrwjhITyQrGqBYvIFOubjZUiXR-sK782d7Zw0AwEbhJvMazn_BHM/s640/blogger-image-963542977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5gLg94-CpIUTFeAx-UoSAzh6xAqSvVcJx7j0WdhLyC3uhLZfgnmsWUM6LjVIYSehjpr3s9Dl1o1oFmYDZ-g9du3emrwjhITyQrGqBYvIFOubjZUiXR-sK782d7Zw0AwEbhJvMazn_BHM/s640/blogger-image-963542977.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Peaceful Pramiti and Jayshree:<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5gLg94-CpIUTFeAx-UoSAzh6xAqSvVcJx7j0WdhLyC3uhLZfgnmsWUM6LjVIYSehjpr3s9Dl1o1oFmYDZ-g9du3emrwjhITyQrGqBYvIFOubjZUiXR-sK782d7Zw0AwEbhJvMazn_BHM/s640/blogger-image-963542977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wl5GXxxsxEHiESzwbFY5bWzezeMkf0hrdQCRDIqrcOtlKjENibnHdSXRaAqsSkfaV8-vLARoiLyt2YdqFNBnCnAjb0-YP84dWDMuTbJIDpqv6vQKFFq-qOnRZTiO_H2RJ2KObj2EwLc/s640/blogger-image-1978566467.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wl5GXxxsxEHiESzwbFY5bWzezeMkf0hrdQCRDIqrcOtlKjENibnHdSXRaAqsSkfaV8-vLARoiLyt2YdqFNBnCnAjb0-YP84dWDMuTbJIDpqv6vQKFFq-qOnRZTiO_H2RJ2KObj2EwLc/s640/blogger-image-1978566467.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Left over from a prayer at the temple:<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wl5GXxxsxEHiESzwbFY5bWzezeMkf0hrdQCRDIqrcOtlKjENibnHdSXRaAqsSkfaV8-vLARoiLyt2YdqFNBnCnAjb0-YP84dWDMuTbJIDpqv6vQKFFq-qOnRZTiO_H2RJ2KObj2EwLc/s640/blogger-image-1978566467.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XAGE4_xmU_DqxyyERb8gWXyEY9Ly0WVLvS8s39tDFU1ZGsa4j5w7T0EFGnsudoGt89_oWIbVkdmJ9AnSKesaZx4ZNguZ8PfPXiMwqfYYdK8mPgLkCG1H4wfwRyWsxlcqSuF7-4DH-98/s640/blogger-image-2076652723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XAGE4_xmU_DqxyyERb8gWXyEY9Ly0WVLvS8s39tDFU1ZGsa4j5w7T0EFGnsudoGt89_oWIbVkdmJ9AnSKesaZx4ZNguZ8PfPXiMwqfYYdK8mPgLkCG1H4wfwRyWsxlcqSuF7-4DH-98/s640/blogger-image-2076652723.jpg"></a></div></div></div></div></div>Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-35785395813651336192014-01-13T04:23:00.001-03:002014-01-13T04:23:57.088-03:00Saying Goodbye<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Its our last day here and Ila just left for work. She hugged everyone goodbye and then got to
me. I saw tears in her eyes and felt her
silent sob as we hugged. We group hugged
and then Jayshree walked with her as she left for work. Its hard to explain how our relationship
formed with them. It happened slowly
over the course of the first week. At
first they were our translators and nothing more. With every interview we grew to trust each
other more, and eventually I realized we were really collaborators; partners in
this crazy three week journey where they shared with us village by village,
interview by interview, what they deal with here. They shared their clients, their hopes, their
dreams, and their amazing personalities.
Last night they shared their saris with us, and we danced in a circle
together. We stumbled over the Garba
dance moves, while they moved gracefully with smiles on their faces. <o:p></o:p></div>
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These two women became our friends. When I thought about what I expected to
happen in India, that was certainly not in the plan. It happened slowly through nicknames, the
inside jokes, the giggling over boys, the tears, the hand holding, and hand squeezing
when things got rough, the complex communication methods that combined hand
gestures, the gracious translating of Pramiti, and our attempts at simplifying
our English so it was understandable, and gifts exchanged. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And now we are all going to go home together, leaving them
here with just each other. It will be back to their normal lives, but I still
feel a little strange about our departure. We really came crashing into their
lives and shook things up. We have had
several conversations about making sure that we don’t actually leave their
lives just as suddenly. We have
exchanged emails, numbers, and we have a lot of ideas for how we can stay in
touch and continue to impact their work here. With our research. I am so grateful for the way they embraced
us, and welcomed us even into their own homes and their lives. I’m excited to continue to work to help their
NGO when we get back to the States, and worried that we won’t be able to do
enough. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have done a lot of conversing and thinking about Global
Health and our impact here. I have learned
so much from being here. There were so
many things that never occurred to me before. Like how harmful it may be to roll into a
community with sunglasses and cameras and laptops out. Like how harmful it can be to roll into a
community and ask what we can do to help them.
Things I never thought of before.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s possible that this will be my only experience with
research outside of the US, and Jayshree and Ila were responsible for most of
my positive experiences. I am so grateful
to Dr. Greaves for bringing us here, and grateful for the hospitality we received
at the Palace. But most of all I am
grateful for the people we were privileged to interact with. I am leaving with so much. I only hope I have left something
behind. It may take a long time to fully
process this experience, but luckily I have <s>four</s> six women to do it
with. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-65457668691290473232014-01-13T04:23:00.000-03:002014-01-13T04:23:28.009-03:00Day 14 - Halvad and Sightseeing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today we headed back to Halvad where we had visited the
private school with the florescent light destroyers. We were all excited for our appointment with
one of the moms we had met during our focus groups who had bravely come forward
during our focus group to tell her own story as an example of how domestic
violence is a problem even for wealthy educated families. She had agreed to be interviewed for our research
and her house was conveniently located near some sightseeing we wanted to do
later in the day. Our ride was uneventful except for a cow
standing in the middle of the highway as if trucks and cars weren’t zooming by
at 100 kilometers per hour. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our survivor welcomed us to her parent’s home. She was so happy to have us, and we were so
happy to see her. It was our first time
conducting an interview in English, and our first time being able to connect
verbally with one of our primary respondents. She took all of our contact
information, and we hers, and we promised to send her a copy of our report when
it’s done. She also got to connect with Jayshree. An educated financially independent woman
like this survivor could be an amazing asset to Jayshree and Ila’s NGO. We were excited to have helped them make the
connection. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sightseeing consisted of several Jala family hotspots. First we went to their old palace. It was built in the 1400s but was abandoned because
it was indefensible. Much of it fell
down after an earthquake, but what remains is more than enough to give an idea
of the grand splendor that the Jala family enjoyed a few centuries ago. The current palace is amazing, but the old
palace was something else. Surrounded by
a moat on one side and done in the Islamic style, the palace is decorated with
intricate wood and stone carvings. A
tall tower in the Islamic style stands in the middle of a sunken garden in the
middle of the palace, and one can imagine saris sweeping the ground as women
walked along the walkways taking in the sun and air. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were able to take questionably stable stairs up to the
roof where you could look over the moat.
The railing was made of carved concrete couches and chairs. I imagined them covered in cushions and
blankets, although now they are enjoyed only by cats and pigeons. We also checked out the women’s garden where
men were forbidden. There were living
quarters for the wives and concubines of the King and his children. Some women spent their whole lives confined
to the garden. If a man was caught
entering the garden the penalty was death.
Just like at the current palace, there was a procreation room where women
would meet with the King when he desired.
It was obvious that the garden had been beautiful, but it was a poignant
reminder of a woman’s place in India over the centuries, no matter how gilded
the cage. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next we headed to the Jala burial ground. Hindus believe in cremation, so the burial ground
consisted of tall monuments to the dead.
Dr. Greaves pointed out how people put gold leaf on the monuments when
they come to pay their respects. He also
pointed out the tall skinny monuments with an arm raised over some Hindi
writing. They were everywhere. Those, he told me, are the moments to the
wives who committed Sati, the ancient practice where a wife throws herself on
her husband’s funeral pyre. The Jalas
outlawed the practice a long time ago, but the raised arms were
everywhere. Some were a part of their
husband’s monument. Some were on the
side of it as if added as an afterthought.
Some wives even had their own monuments, and some men had more than one
Sati monument, meaning more than one wife that had committed Sati. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sun was setting so we snapped a few more photos before piling
back into the van. For dinner we headed
to our yoga teacher’s house where we helped his family make Puri (a fried flat
bread) and then sat on the floor of the kitchen as is customary while eating
dinner. We arrived back at the palace
late and exhausted. We hung out with
Jayshree and Ila for a little girl time and then it fell asleep immediately despite
the loud music and drumming nearby. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-2221709911846646982014-01-13T04:00:00.000-03:002014-01-13T04:00:21.640-03:00Day 13 - Ahmedebab & Ela Bhatt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Today was our much
anticipated trip to Ahmedabad to meet with the famous<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ela_Bhatt"> Ela Bhatt</a>.
Wikipedia her if you haven’t already. She is probably the most
amazing person that I will ever meet and have the privilege to talk to. She
started an NGO in India that unionized women who worked for themselves. The
previously undocumented workers could now call themselves self-employed and had
a union that provided them with benefits and loans. She worked with
Nelson Mandela, and is all about Gandhi (whom she respectfully and lovingly
refers to as Gandhi-gee). She is an inspirational woman who is
highly decorated with awards and honors. We were all looking forward
to it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The day started with a
bump in the road because Jayshree couldn’t make the trip with us, but we
decided to try and make the most of it. Our yoga guru Mehul was our
guide for the day, and showed us around a man-made lake surrounded by various
attractions. We walked around the whole thing and got to see a very
different side of Indian culture. Ahmedabad is a much larger and
more modern city that our little Dhrangadhra. Young couples
canoodled next to the lake, and teen agers roamed in packs wearing t-shirts and
shirts with signatures on them. Families took in the sunshine and
couples strolled. As usual people stopped and stared at us, but the
highlight was when a gaggle of giggling girls stopped us and asked us to sign
their shirts and arms. It was as usual very strange but we
obliged. They also wanted to take photographs with us on the cell
phones. We again thought this strange but of course obliged. It
was actually sort of nice since it made me feel better about how many photos I
have taken of Indian people since I got here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Ahmedabad was also
different in that there were more people begging for money, and whole families
who would try to surround us if we didn’t pay attention while taking a photo of
something. We also ate in a restaurant for the first time, and
somewhat enjoyed the terrifying thrill of traffic intersections where they do
not seem to be any patterns, rhyme, or reason to how one should cross. I
was sure we would die every time. At least they seemed to keep the
cows out of the way…most of the time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">It took us a long time
to find Ela Bhatt’s house. She lives in a sort of gated community,
and had a lovely front garden/porch area. We removed our shoes and
she greeted us at the front door. She is quite old but not frail or
fragile looking. She wore a white sari with sunflower yellow gingam
and color blocks on parts of it. She wore her gray hair in a knot at
the nape of her neck. As is customary in all Indian homes, she was
barefoot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">She welcomed us with tea
and sweet sesame crackers, and told us of her life. She was in
college when Gandhi freed India from the British. She is a lawyer by
training, but also was involved with government as well as her NGO. She
told us of how she at first wanted to work with the poor undocumented workers,
and how this evolved to working with just women, and eventually women’s
health. She casually dropped Hillary Clinton’s name while giving us
an example of how women have evolved in India. She told us of how
Hillary asked the women at a conference what they are afraid of, and how they
told her they weren’t afraid of men anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">She was wise and
thoughtful and probably changed all of our lives forever. I know
that sounds ridiculous, especially coming from a person who is known to
exaggerate. But this woman is seriously amazing. When
asked by Dr. Greaves what we could do to help the women of India, she thought
for a moment before bluntly responding that we really couldn’t. They
must help themselves. And then she shared the three necessary things
a girl needs to be empowered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">1)</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">A girl must know about her body. If
she knows about her body, she must not let anyone abuse it, or abuse it
herself. She should do with it as she wants before or during marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">2)</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">A girl should be educated about the democratic
system and her rights. She should also participate in that
democratic system.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">3)</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 7pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">A girl should know her skills and be
educated. A girl must be aware of and understand her place in the
world, but does not need to accept it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">And then she shared the
most amazing simile. She gracefully pointed her finger at her plain
white tea cup and explained, a girl must have a tea cup, or no matter how much
tea you pour it will go everywhere. She motioned her hand as if to
show the tea washing away, uncollected by the cup. For the umpteenth
time I wished we were recording her so I could listen to her over and over
again until I had memorized everything she said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">We were there for quite
some time. She shared stories and antidotes from her experiences of
working with women. When I asked for her advice for us and our
Gujarati translators and our work with women, she added that women need to
organize. She offered the example of the female half of the
generation in the Darfur Region who have grown up in refugee camps. She
told us of how they had to do sexual favors every time they wanted to leave the
camp until the organized and forced the system to change. She also
told us about a town where the men were drinking too much and beating their
wives. The woman organized and decided they would lock their front
doors at midnight. If the men tried to come home late after a night
of drinking, they were forced to sleep outside. Because all of the
women stuck to the plan, the men were forced to come home early. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I could go on and on,
but I think I have relayed how amazing it was. We thanked her as we
left her quiet house. The moment we stepped foot in the car, I
whipped out my computer and we wrote down everything we could remember about
what she had said. I feel so privileged to have met her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">We met up with a friend
of Pramiti’s for a quick coffee, but I ended up going on an earring binge at
the store next door. There were so many affordable beautiful
earrings!!!!! And they took credit cards! As Sara put it…it got a
little crazy town in there. As we drove out of Ahmedabad, the
adrenalin from my shopping frenzy left my body. It had been an
exhausting day. We stopped at a hotel to eat dinner and then headed
back to the palace to relieve the palace staff. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Although the palace is
beautiful and amazing and I love the staff, having a staff has gone from being
strange to frustrating. Everything we do impacts so many
people. On this night, no one could go home until we got back, which
was quite late. Also, the staff doesn’t eat until we finish. We
sometimes forget and stay at the table with our dishes in front of us still
talking about the research, or our lives. Finally one of us will
remember Jaydeep and Kaldeep sitting behind the serving table and we will
gather our plates and put them in the bin so they can clear dinner. Although
I know that the staff is well paid and that this is a great position for them,
it is something that I will not be able to get used to. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">We all were exhausted
but needed to talk about the day. After some time we all needed to
go to bed, and even my night owl roomie Pramiti went to bed with me! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-26139910689490562522014-01-11T06:54:00.004-03:002014-01-11T06:54:40.400-03:00Day 12 - Tailor Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today was tailor day, and we thought nothing could go
wrong. Tailor day was the day we were
supposed to go back to the tailor and pick up our finished garments. “Tailor Day! Tailor Day!” we chanted on the
way to our first interview of the day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our driver slowly navigated the narrow dirt roads, and even
did some crazy off roading in order to go under a bridge that a train would
soon cross, blocking our way. We went to
one woman’s house, and then our survivor came and brought us to her house. Her family gathered on rugs on the floor and
we sat on cots. Her story was sad as all
the others, but had its own interesting intricacies that highlighted issues we
hadn’t hear of yet. Its very complicated
to get away from violence here. This
survivor was lucky because her aunt was a paralegal. This helped her to leave her husband earlier
than she may have. Her divorce had been
going on for years. When asked what she
hopes for, she told us that she just wants to be divorced quickly so that she
can get married again. Unlike many of the other woman, she hadn’t lost faith in
the institution of marriage. She clearly
felt that she had been cheated not only out of a good marriage, but out of her
role as an Indian wife. We thanked her
profusely and left her house only to find that Bilal, our driver, was changing
a flat tire.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We added a little brevity to the day when we told our driver
Bilal what his shirt said in English . It
was two hands holding up a sign that read: will work for sex. When we found out that he didn’t know what it
meant, we couldn’t wait until our interpreters were willing to explain it. When we arrived back at the palace they told
him. His face broke into an embarrassed smile,
and he quickly headed home to change it before we headed out to the public
schools. <o:p></o:p><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHLuNIdfC1YXjywagPFC5d2Yt3lN16bsTDHlcthGgA2za11QPT0tSlFo026h87W-6S4lAfZFVq6KTCXfMeRtE6MG15cGIhpS3yZP8QHzyjjj4QlRfULIvATFN3Hft2u55X4bfxF1zXlFI/s1600/IMG_1133+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHLuNIdfC1YXjywagPFC5d2Yt3lN16bsTDHlcthGgA2za11QPT0tSlFo026h87W-6S4lAfZFVq6KTCXfMeRtE6MG15cGIhpS3yZP8QHzyjjj4QlRfULIvATFN3Hft2u55X4bfxF1zXlFI/s1600/IMG_1133+(2).JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Bilal's Shirt<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the afternoon we had two more schools to visit where Dr.
Greaves would present his research and then we would meet with women to ask
them about domestic violence. It was our
first time visiting a government, or public school. They were both very different from the
private school we visited. There were no
uniforms and the buildings was simple.
There were no books with photos of dancing and smashing fluorescents,
but there was a group of concerned parents who had come to listen to Dr.
Greaves’ findings. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first school was in Dhrangadhra and he told the parents
that he had found that many of their children were too small and didn’t weigh
enough. They didn’t have much of a
response, so Dr. Greaves left and we started an ill-fated focus group. It was too many women, and Jayshree had to
spend a long time explaining the concepts of domestic violence. We learned a lot about what not to do in a
focus group. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The second school was in a village, and we sat on the floor
while the principal took advantage of this rare gathering of parents. He spoke and he spoke, and he spoke some more.
Eventually Dr. Greaves presented the same findings, and then the principal
again delivered a long sling of public service announcements about the need to
educate girls, available scholarships, etc.
Jayshree eventually lost it and had to cover her face in her scarf to
hid her giggles. Eventually the men were
asked to leave, and we gathered the women in a circle on the floor. It may have gone a bit better than the last,
but it still ended on a negative note.
One woman at the end angry explained, “People keep coming and asking us
what we need, and then nothing ever changes.” There was a lot of discussion
later about responsible global health and the way we should be conducting
research. As usual we went into the
situation with very little understanding of what was going on and felt
frustrated by our lack of control. <o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhir5EoKJpM1P0QPJTm9uPJd1CovmCdk2DPmx_3t0J-jLPfHBIZoLNsfhWZsCHjjK5tvWsRtmEnOnS2xgojkUXVPTvbIb0VndAf-z74g6FG7DwINZsVKJTYaOmSitDWFa7jromPgo5C_l8/s1600/IMG_1130+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhir5EoKJpM1P0QPJTm9uPJd1CovmCdk2DPmx_3t0J-jLPfHBIZoLNsfhWZsCHjjK5tvWsRtmEnOnS2xgojkUXVPTvbIb0VndAf-z74g6FG7DwINZsVKJTYaOmSitDWFa7jromPgo5C_l8/s1600/IMG_1130+(2).JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
water and plate storage </div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnE2HKQbu4_3qSmk9j5S9d2hr_03mRMcgcAslwZD9_k1dk7ZM9lt6EKhD9hNZlJ-NDCsfUmRKk8VtChuylXSxDNqpvCO1dwymfe8mL5C8xUIFiGVL8sZkugGtpLxFER8wd61RaYIej48/s1600/IMG_3685.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnE2HKQbu4_3qSmk9j5S9d2hr_03mRMcgcAslwZD9_k1dk7ZM9lt6EKhD9hNZlJ-NDCsfUmRKk8VtChuylXSxDNqpvCO1dwymfe8mL5C8xUIFiGVL8sZkugGtpLxFER8wd61RaYIej48/s1600/IMG_3685.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Woman's leg at school</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrRODPPqyKjkCVVqGXyApXX0qfVseF00UCnZdxIJqWvZGLDqqxDJVJpq4mG_eM_XJtAV2V9wQngTxseYvvZ6tkguXdoTN0pV10oiNCBanOmP1Fybz9cTDi3riB-phSSIeKmOHKa2Idys/s1600/IMG_3709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyrRODPPqyKjkCVVqGXyApXX0qfVseF00UCnZdxIJqWvZGLDqqxDJVJpq4mG_eM_XJtAV2V9wQngTxseYvvZ6tkguXdoTN0pV10oiNCBanOmP1Fybz9cTDi3riB-phSSIeKmOHKa2Idys/s1600/IMG_3709.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
driving around</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Dhrangadrha</div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were a bit deflated by the time we headed to the
tailor. When we got there we checked out
my dress and did not like the way he had done the pleating. Way too 80’s.
There was much fuss over tyring to explain the cor1rect way to do
it. There is still hope! But we shall
have to wait until Sunday at 4 to find out what happens!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-4765388770520801632014-01-11T06:44:00.000-03:002014-01-11T06:45:55.081-03:00Day 11 - safe haven<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few days ago, we asked Jayshree and Illa for more
information about resources that already exist for women. They told us of a women’s shelter that has
room for 10 women to stay as long as they would like. They had never been there and didn’t have a
connection to it but they thought they knew where it was. We were like….ummm…we
need to go there! Today we got to do just that.
We piled into the van and eventually left the paved road. After we
stopped to ask for directions several times we found a temple that was attached
to the shelter. The chala (food to be eaten
after being blessed) was a sesame ball.
I waited until Dr. Greaves bit into his (W.W.G.E – what would Greaves
eat? Is a survival technique I almost always use here except when it comes to
dairy) and then chowed down. The black
hard ball was surprisingly tasty! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We put our shoes back on and headed to the shelter. All we knew about the place was that it was
owned by a woman who inherited the land from her father. We wandered through the gate, hoping we had
the right place. The car trip had been noisy, and it took me a moment to allow
my senses to drink in the peaceful quiet sounds of wind blowing through the
trees. As we walked towards the house we
were greeted by a woman with grey hair who brought us over to greet a very old
looking woman. Jayshree sat down next to
her and held her hands, and told us that she was 100 years old. Her face was amazing and looked like it had
seen 100 Indian years. She seemed to
start crying when she saw us, but from happiness. She wanted us to come in and have some lunch.
She stood up with a little help, but then marched her 100 year old body to the
house with no help at all. It was amazing.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay73dI8Fjt3BF0ufuh9LcyC_pXe9sV9HcO3ZXykygBI4P7t-qbUE2mgF2WrtarZxnmKWOvSM3tUuHYPLIFS59aNbz5t7NTT1xJxREQLgscts5hFMQ3oiZNmd5IUcpjRFdMokJDHnnZls/s1600/IMG_1156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgay73dI8Fjt3BF0ufuh9LcyC_pXe9sV9HcO3ZXykygBI4P7t-qbUE2mgF2WrtarZxnmKWOvSM3tUuHYPLIFS59aNbz5t7NTT1xJxREQLgscts5hFMQ3oiZNmd5IUcpjRFdMokJDHnnZls/s1600/IMG_1156.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">100 years old and counting</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When we got to the house we were greeted by
the owner. She had her hair cut short,
wore what would be considered men’s clothing in India. She was very different than any other Indian
woman I have met so far. Besides the
fact that she dresses differently, she also carried herself differently, and
enjoys the rare privilege of being a woman with property and no husband. We had arrived unannounced for fear that she
would turn down our visit. But she was
happy to show us around the house, and to tell us about its history. It seems that informal is working way better
than formal for us in India. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The house currently houses six women. Rooms hold two women each. The house was
lovey and decorated with posters about equality, Om symbols painted on the
walls and other lovely decorations. It
was lovely and safe feeling. We asked
the owner about why she had started the shelter. She told us that ever since she was nine she
had wanted to help people. She had
started by giving away clothes and other small things. When she inherited the property from her
father, she knew she wanted to make a place for women who had nowhere to
go. She houses women who are survivors
of domestic violence, old women who have no one to support them, and others who
for whatever reason have nowhere to live.
She told us that the women do
what work they can to support the house, and they also get donations from her family
and other people. They would like to
expand to take in orphans in the future. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xlQB2eFzouEfFvPlA1nwJVqCvEwK3bvV00U9mgz0WpzzIPSqh1MwX5jpFZ1ti_RbpyGUVJjXocAmJxmLZn0lqY6KjXt4DR9b-3bwrFABeqM_aZTJM77qBWMIoD5xT4DbsPytcmBXtMY/s1600/IMG_1165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-xlQB2eFzouEfFvPlA1nwJVqCvEwK3bvV00U9mgz0WpzzIPSqh1MwX5jpFZ1ti_RbpyGUVJjXocAmJxmLZn0lqY6KjXt4DR9b-3bwrFABeqM_aZTJM77qBWMIoD5xT4DbsPytcmBXtMY/s1600/IMG_1165.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Decorations in the House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg19Nes_WxJ_uQGoKJkja9e7XvGbJl-1CjDbHjnurdw3b4j03LxzKur-tV4onL9jn-sGjZ1M8myNm5HjeXAzUSx-XRm_uYFS-3aRTIUEPWmORJcR9Pjjb_CXLQ03o3aqOOV4ox9EJnd4gA/s1600/IMG_1179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg19Nes_WxJ_uQGoKJkja9e7XvGbJl-1CjDbHjnurdw3b4j03LxzKur-tV4onL9jn-sGjZ1M8myNm5HjeXAzUSx-XRm_uYFS-3aRTIUEPWmORJcR9Pjjb_CXLQ03o3aqOOV4ox9EJnd4gA/s1600/IMG_1179.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Front Gate of the House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBKGkhNHOa7oj9L2LsmzvTYyQRdkjg26lTXpdEQOW5J4stjRZ_IN3BrYoz7YA8RR3hS53k8oR6BGO-diE1XKpXRihqMjbGRR4GQhmnV3J37A0f0ZKHWLT5UAC0p0ZwVGGaQRJwkRqLpc/s1600/IMG_1182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiBKGkhNHOa7oj9L2LsmzvTYyQRdkjg26lTXpdEQOW5J4stjRZ_IN3BrYoz7YA8RR3hS53k8oR6BGO-diE1XKpXRihqMjbGRR4GQhmnV3J37A0f0ZKHWLT5UAC0p0ZwVGGaQRJwkRqLpc/s1600/IMG_1182.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The House from the front courtyard</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We walked out to the barn to see the cows, and then sat on cots and some benches to talk. There were two survivors there, and both agreed to be interviewed. We felt that the first one was too mentally ill to record. The second woman shared her story with us, why she sought help, and what resources she would like for the future. The owner went and swung on a swing behind us while she talked. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a strange place, and seemed to be out of a dream. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We left with spirits lifted. Next stop was a small village that specialized in special shawls and scarves. We went crazy in there. Everything was beautiful and very cheap by our standards. We spent a long time there waiting for the owner of the shop to add up everything we were buying. Even so, he got some of the addition wrong, and undercharged a few of us. I’m guessing he’s not used to adding up such large numbers, and that he made enough money to go on vacation for a while. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the way back to Dhrangadhra, Carlie had the brilliant idea to stop at a big hospital in Surindhranagar where a doctor at the hospital in Dhrangadhra refers patients who have experienced domestic violence and need more help than he can give. He most often deals with women whose hemoglobin has fallen to low because they are being starved by their families. This is a common problem here because women traditionally eat last, after the men. If there is no food left for them, they are out of luck – and hemoglobin eventually. But when their mental health or their medical problems are too complicated for him, he refers them to a psychiatrist or doctor at this hospital.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jayshree charmed her way all the way to the psychiatrist and got an impromptu meeting with him. I stayed outside with the car, but it proved to be a really effective meeting. They actually screen all women who come to the hospital for domestic violence and he told us that around 1 in 6 patients of his experiences it. The experience was a victory!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<div style="margin: 0px;">
We headed home to the palace feeling somewhat successful for once. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhufaeyxNl6_2nWP2hZp8oApeJ-Dw2RhwrH28QY0N1myGwcCAgu_a_GXEmE1TsnXhM119XlzRB19NnEL5NMDWyAEyS6EpI6s5ydXooVjMRrYYICtcNc_w29V4cN5onDm6Uvg4ZurFHOuJ8/s1600/IMG_1111+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhufaeyxNl6_2nWP2hZp8oApeJ-Dw2RhwrH28QY0N1myGwcCAgu_a_GXEmE1TsnXhM119XlzRB19NnEL5NMDWyAEyS6EpI6s5ydXooVjMRrYYICtcNc_w29V4cN5onDm6Uvg4ZurFHOuJ8/s1600/IMG_1111+(2).JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">scarf drying at a person's home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcLRcmQ6veh-AMC8LSzJPHFqX3Jx-QFdvLA-NrYaRwa1auploIm0MalLLg-togsoNRsDdhqq-611jEieDwDXipjqC2S43UCfmI-4GiLInNTU6zJ4Pwg1aSgshxwpq0co6dfqJuxt-x-ts/s1600/IMG_1118+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcLRcmQ6veh-AMC8LSzJPHFqX3Jx-QFdvLA-NrYaRwa1auploIm0MalLLg-togsoNRsDdhqq-611jEieDwDXipjqC2S43UCfmI-4GiLInNTU6zJ4Pwg1aSgshxwpq0co6dfqJuxt-x-ts/s1600/IMG_1118+(2).JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Entering A Village </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-noH47xDidweC3tgYyOY5T32A5iFcPs23X44CGt-zn58z0gmvsucpHzIjyAP6yEozqkqbRXh3tC38RpgEDazb_ahwr7wjYtJcwY_cWwp5OeTfZY_FFOqVhT4T0gXdCjwJC_fZn80RrU/s1600/IMG_3693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-noH47xDidweC3tgYyOY5T32A5iFcPs23X44CGt-zn58z0gmvsucpHzIjyAP6yEozqkqbRXh3tC38RpgEDazb_ahwr7wjYtJcwY_cWwp5OeTfZY_FFOqVhT4T0gXdCjwJC_fZn80RrU/s1600/IMG_3693.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mad Balance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-47006423824664941552014-01-10T02:01:00.001-03:002014-01-10T04:54:23.084-03:00Day 10 - Exodus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
It took about an hour to get the two vans packed up and
ready to go. We locked up the palace and
packed ourselves into the vans and headed out with our translators, and several
staff members including Baila (Jaybapa’s cousin/the man who is managing the
palace for Bapa in his absence), Jaydeep (the gangly awkward but lovable 17
year old who serves us food and taught us to fly kites), and Jaydeep’s silent
sidekick Kuldeep. We raced towards the dessert, leaving behind paved roads and
eventually leaving behind roads altogether. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the dessert the road is marked by white flags or a pile
of stones. Tire marks go in different
directions, and sometimes signs suggest a set to take towards your desired
destination. We road, racing the other van. One van falling behind, and then overtaking
the other again; trading who had to ride into cloud of penetrating dust. With the windows closed it was hot and stuffy
in the back of the van. The sun streamed
in through the windows making it hotter, and we had to keep our heads wrapped
it our scarves to keep out the dust; making it hotter. We had been talking about ice fishing
earlier, and Carlie pointed out that the dessert looked very similar to the
lake near her house. Little huts dotting
the landscape which would be filled by ice fishermen passing the time. Only here the little huts are homes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We arrived at our destination and spilled out of the car. Unwrapping ourselves and breathing in the dry
dessert air. Our first destination was
the dwelling of a family who spends six months of the year living in the
dessert harvesting salt. During the
rainy season the ground below the dessert floods with salty water. After the rain stops, the families move to
the dessert, set up a hut made of straw and wood, and set up their
operation. They create salt pans by
making a low wall of dirt in large squares.
They pump water from under the ground into the salt pans, and begin the
process of turning it into salt. Part of
this process is dragging heavy rakes through the pans to turn over what has
settled on the bottom. They showed us
the pump with the salty water, the pans, and the rake. Carlie tried on their rain boots, and soon
had a posse of young men devoted to her.
We drank milkless chai from saucers, soaked up some sun, and even took
some silly pictures. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Me and the salt pans:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xQVypPooI5pvLickIJ12LvaJFsISlO7V6jqAfuUkayDQKKATMtmb-Ba7qcYoPuRxO_X2_TAa0fLOn1L8S87HSAfCCfVTnI9tOmk3Wc8oawoiVUpyYJMF7RaY6csgZYlC5JX7gt2mbMI/s640/blogger-image--143964782.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xQVypPooI5pvLickIJ12LvaJFsISlO7V6jqAfuUkayDQKKATMtmb-Ba7qcYoPuRxO_X2_TAa0fLOn1L8S87HSAfCCfVTnI9tOmk3Wc8oawoiVUpyYJMF7RaY6csgZYlC5JX7gt2mbMI/s640/blogger-image--143964782.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Taking the salt- notice no protective foot wear:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMEBI1Cl4014ms6g-Pjq8qzRu5a0YMx8j_iXHkanpkyNBSKlNMggZAUQptqoKlu0MKf_S3sMzbFqixGDtoGPkVycXrUYiepfm_NGubEta5-y9xTMV5-CDYSWKEpiJB40iYKfrSjJ_wV_U/s640/blogger-image-1602870.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMEBI1Cl4014ms6g-Pjq8qzRu5a0YMx8j_iXHkanpkyNBSKlNMggZAUQptqoKlu0MKf_S3sMzbFqixGDtoGPkVycXrUYiepfm_NGubEta5-y9xTMV5-CDYSWKEpiJB40iYKfrSjJ_wV_U/s640/blogger-image-1602870.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Rain boots for walking through the pans:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw1ncpCL-DSbBwPtDV3m_Bcg-AH9aT2SEkVn-nV8SKZsEO3ZP0QsfPfzXKtzNcELADb4b7n3daKCNSa8zv6rC_Bki4O30JF1PomSboyK8pkwe0zEo9BsNjGwKwAXaRRBD0GHF4MEcBJAE/s640/blogger-image-1389872541.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw1ncpCL-DSbBwPtDV3m_Bcg-AH9aT2SEkVn-nV8SKZsEO3ZP0QsfPfzXKtzNcELADb4b7n3daKCNSa8zv6rC_Bki4O30JF1PomSboyK8pkwe0zEo9BsNjGwKwAXaRRBD0GHF4MEcBJAE/s640/blogger-image-1389872541.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The top of the house- also used for storage since it never rains:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8goB5MS2ZzJzGpMCcPOpSSbixrXfl-43MczRbMlfnwGGPsxPBF9w689drC6AnFokT0X6Wi8WQwlBs7Ar_96O8baJjQr3BOGr_mmxFEXZcX3Q7cWuoiWJhQAxDiMVc6HOw8SpXTkawGCk/s640/blogger-image--1664652223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8goB5MS2ZzJzGpMCcPOpSSbixrXfl-43MczRbMlfnwGGPsxPBF9w689drC6AnFokT0X6Wi8WQwlBs7Ar_96O8baJjQr3BOGr_mmxFEXZcX3Q7cWuoiWJhQAxDiMVc6HOw8SpXTkawGCk/s640/blogger-image--1664652223.jpg"></a></div></div></div><br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had watched a documentary about this place before we left. I didn’t need the documentary to tell me that
these families live a very difficult existence.
Their work is grueling and dangerous.
Working in the salt pans gives them skin diseases and blinds
people. They live in a little two room
hut, which like all other homes we’ve been in is kept very neat and tidy. From the documentary I also know that this
disenfranchised group is not getting the medical care promised by the government,
and works for very poor pay even though they produce most of India’s salt. This is the place that Gandi started his
revolution by organizing the salt workers to go on strike. Perhaps things improved for the salt workers,
but its seems that they may have been forgotten since then. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we headed back to the car, one woman took Sara’s hands in
hers. She spoke to us in Gujarati, but
her hands did enough talking. She lay
her calloused hands on Sara’s, and then motioned to cut off Sara’s hands and
switch them with her own. Sara exclaimed, “No! your hands are beautiful!” I
chimed in, “Cupscaros!” (how I phonetically spell the word I am probably mispronouncing
that means beautiful). Another frustrating and confusing encounter where we can’t
communicate at all with the people we have supposedly come here to help. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next we headed to a temple that lies over an oasis with
sweet water. This was a no pictures kind
of place and seemed very important to our Hindu staff. The chala (food given to
us to eat after we were blessed) was coconut.
I was very confused about what to do with the rind. I think that the chala
is considered holy, and I didn’t want to just throw it on the ground. Eventually Jayshree took it for me and put it
in her purse. I am always so confused
here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We sat around for a minute and then headed to the back of
the temple where our crew set up a picnic.
We sat in the cool shade of a tree and ate our packed lunch. There were tomato and cucumber sandwiches
paired with butter and jelly sandwiches.
There was also an interesting grain salad, oranges and apples. Cows, a dog and a persistent puppy kept
trying to get some water from our bucket or steal a bight of food. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We began the arduous journey back over the cracked earth,
our driver constantly turning around to make sure the other van didn’t fall too
far behind our dust cloud. I kept
thinking…just look forward!!!! It reminded me of Bolivia and speeding across the
salt flats. I kept telling myself nothing bad could happen to us, but didn’t
100% believe it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were exhausted when we got back. We brought our chai outside and lay on the
cots and finally became facebook friends with Jayshree. We talked late into the evening about our project
and how we can maximize the impact we make with our research. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br></div><div class="MsoNormal">Sword stand?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcYBmGR1sr3_GMrJ4Vu6pNzYJzGC5-AmoETrtmllujsLoq98qlA7a8ZxWEsOW5SQKExgNTlzDO9qxyNrsrvANWSotdFjuFpUkigX-yTa5Nr5yzPFdlV94f_KiM8Xq_C9avwEPs2vlNwc/s640/blogger-image--464393086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcYBmGR1sr3_GMrJ4Vu6pNzYJzGC5-AmoETrtmllujsLoq98qlA7a8ZxWEsOW5SQKExgNTlzDO9qxyNrsrvANWSotdFjuFpUkigX-yTa5Nr5yzPFdlV94f_KiM8Xq_C9avwEPs2vlNwc/s640/blogger-image--464393086.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Extreme tree protection is necessary in the desert:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttRwG2K6xzu20d1o36L8QbMcY267r04pF9e8mQwNTrbwRmfMP2OQ40zRFUQOtn3DqUpCyIdBcC8hngGKaZkl0Q1MkRNHfAOxOUXyR0ZXQjNDzZ35Mh32aLlNHda-TmSnqmnslAFNRUtw/s640/blogger-image-1208713420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjttRwG2K6xzu20d1o36L8QbMcY267r04pF9e8mQwNTrbwRmfMP2OQ40zRFUQOtn3DqUpCyIdBcC8hngGKaZkl0Q1MkRNHfAOxOUXyR0ZXQjNDzZ35Mh32aLlNHda-TmSnqmnslAFNRUtw/s640/blogger-image-1208713420.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Cows drinking the sweet water the flows naturally from the ground:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbI9VgixW7URR4mb5fyTLAAeqNzScfs92fCVR1UIzwbA1dLL5E7Wde-CYT2jPQHMzARUCkUo2grodSftExqh41mmNcfqpXwUu5FCa4bs9eTYoxzR1eY9NuxjrY2GBweg_jlxZkGr22vzM/s640/blogger-image--913010012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbI9VgixW7URR4mb5fyTLAAeqNzScfs92fCVR1UIzwbA1dLL5E7Wde-CYT2jPQHMzARUCkUo2grodSftExqh41mmNcfqpXwUu5FCa4bs9eTYoxzR1eY9NuxjrY2GBweg_jlxZkGr22vzM/s640/blogger-image--913010012.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-32532202048067224772014-01-07T10:58:00.003-03:002014-01-07T12:54:00.751-03:00Day 9 - Taking Care of Business<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ve reached the point in the trip where I can really feel
how fast it is going, and how little time we have left. The day started with
the snake charmer I already posted about. Then I spent the morning doing work
while some of the ladies interviewed two survivors. They were upper class and higher castes. The first one was being hidden by her family
to prevent the embarrassment of the community, so she was reluctant to even use
her name. Video and audio recording was
out of the question. It reinforced the
idea that intimate partner violence is a problem for women from all castes, all
classes, and all shapes and sizes. The
interviews were long and seemed emotionally draining for all involved. The second survivor joined us for lunch and
our translators seemed to find relief in some time spent with her in a lighter
setting. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt refreshed after a morning without doing research, and
even got to talk to Josh, Dan and Danya while they snuggled with George in
freezing cold Philadelphia. While I
loved talking to them, and missed them, I was not upset to be missing that
weather. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br></div><div class="MsoNormal">My attempt at a turban:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn6z4sQiqcnCVwGlpGxLrqQnxP479IAbBqKqmulJcMABzlydb_t6Y-9qrZqgobjhDzeNJdrgQswk6eszL7OtN5Ha49Dyge1SFNuxOjzq5-wspoM5ZXuvyOVpjAj8KoudFHgBupqHKs9Tg/s640/blogger-image--1608088493.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn6z4sQiqcnCVwGlpGxLrqQnxP479IAbBqKqmulJcMABzlydb_t6Y-9qrZqgobjhDzeNJdrgQswk6eszL7OtN5Ha49Dyge1SFNuxOjzq5-wspoM5ZXuvyOVpjAj8KoudFHgBupqHKs9Tg/s640/blogger-image--1608088493.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The bracelet work by shepards in the area:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzdg_eRQ8uTgKWm_BcA-Dx3lX1NaJNhisEdBNO32NVYFUmJzrEechD-ISnOdjwntBZAjUtmKIFfMEV2CLFKhAN74211jPinQ1ZA3w3Gdo3eJ6aqaN0hyphenhyphenAJV_4E25kFcLcaCUj_7FwHyA/s640/blogger-image-2068374960.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzdg_eRQ8uTgKWm_BcA-Dx3lX1NaJNhisEdBNO32NVYFUmJzrEechD-ISnOdjwntBZAjUtmKIFfMEV2CLFKhAN74211jPinQ1ZA3w3Gdo3eJ6aqaN0hyphenhyphenAJV_4E25kFcLcaCUj_7FwHyA/s640/blogger-image-2068374960.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Carlie's attempt at a turban:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicz4vuBpIzhSEsjAef4-z4fMT0JByAn-rCO401lOj48AdD1EUmkzWryGICIzCrNlsM0sKW2quI7AiTCyQaY5nF-GqehnP1W9ED9FPpbir8F1JiiCzM_K3SuTQklPPmS2FgjiTGWmMsg68/s640/blogger-image--47519335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicz4vuBpIzhSEsjAef4-z4fMT0JByAn-rCO401lOj48AdD1EUmkzWryGICIzCrNlsM0sKW2quI7AiTCyQaY5nF-GqehnP1W9ED9FPpbir8F1JiiCzM_K3SuTQklPPmS2FgjiTGWmMsg68/s640/blogger-image--47519335.jpg"></a></div><br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The afternoon was one of the most incredible experiences we
have had on this trip. All of us ladies
packed in the van, and we rode out to a village to interview the head of a
Punch and a prominent Social Worker. The
Punch is a local form of informal government in many of the villages that takes
care of problems without going through formal avenues like the court. As we arrived, we caused the usual stir as
children started following our van, trying to get a glimpse of the strange
looking foreigners. Women and children
followed us into the house of the Social worker, and everyone settled in the
entranceway as we settled on the “cots” that function as couches and beds. An elderly woman came in, and Sara offered
her a seat on the couch. She shook her
head and folded with the agility of an 18 year old into a crouch on the floor,
and settled in with the other women to enjoy the spectacle. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The man we interviewed was tall and stately. He wore a fantastic embroidered vest made of
white cloth and burgundy thread. His
black embroidered scarf stood out against it as it wrapped around his high
collar. He sat with his long skinny legs on the floor and talked for half an
hour with our translators. His hands
made wide gestures and his face was incredibly expressive. At times women
chimed in, but for the most part he sat and described the role of the
Punch. We found out later that he
claimed that issues of domestic violence are rare, dealt with fairly, and for a
low cost. This was in contrast to some
stories our translators had heard, but leading question after leading question
led to nothing helpful. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next we interviewed the Social Worker whose house we were
in. She had an incredible presence.
Children lined the roof of the shed at the front of the house that protected hay
as we started the interview. In a booming voice she quieted the crowd. Later she grabbed a stick and chased the kids
off the roof. They scattered as she turned her back on them and re-entered the
meeting. Her blue sari blouse stood out against her black and green sari. Her white straight teeth stood out against
her beautiful dark skin. Her eyes flashed
as she sized us all up quickly and unabashedly. She moved to the floor for her
interview, her deep voice rang out as her hands darted to tap on the ground,
pointed in the air and waved around. She filled the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Afterwards, Jayshree showed us her Social Work certificate
that she received after a training with an NGO.
Jayshree pointed to me and told the woman that I was also a social
worker. She looked me up and down three
times and then nodded, perhaps in approval.
Then, there was a commotion, and we were heading towards the door. It was goat milking time! The courtyard to the house was filled with
people, and as we made our way towards the door, the children and teen girls
got bold. Everyone wanted their picture
taken. Everyone wanted to touch our
hair. They were all impressed that I
could count to five in Gujarati, and began to talk quickly to me. I shook my head and held my hands up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were pulled outside to witness the goat milling. A man squatted behind a goat with a bucket,
filling it with frothy white liquid. The
Social Worker then grabbed another goat by the hind leg and swung it into
position. She squatted down and began to
work the liquid into her bucket. She
made it look so easy. Next thing I knew
I was obviously asking if I could try. I
squatted down, and looked up at her as she showed me the motion to make with my
hands. I swung my scarf out of the way,
and grabbed ahold. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br></div><div class="MsoNormal">Sarah being mobbed:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgEz_MWsFVNysGhBpaKANqviOAThwzLyB2tMZfS-q0Qp5hpvpArZW_66xyo6eeYdMyQc8qm4X1hiTFxCOducVf-5muDlaunh2u4rw7lF5quu6T4iSwEsBX3UCzuFMZTZ8NOvfMRpxTZ0/s640/blogger-image--1606413843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjgEz_MWsFVNysGhBpaKANqviOAThwzLyB2tMZfS-q0Qp5hpvpArZW_66xyo6eeYdMyQc8qm4X1hiTFxCOducVf-5muDlaunh2u4rw7lF5quu6T4iSwEsBX3UCzuFMZTZ8NOvfMRpxTZ0/s640/blogger-image--1606413843.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Social worker milking a goat:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJK9D_qoZfYtn2l7LlT_ERjzC2BxNAsZcTv6eCfUa_wSpoGBjYaLXmMTVHu2Oz93IEHibGy2uMLKolSRBtkYFL8yH6hGC51iilglCEOpU9TfAXE17GYNJIeyZol5KypKZM2YwPdl7onnE/s640/blogger-image--1448701117.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJK9D_qoZfYtn2l7LlT_ERjzC2BxNAsZcTv6eCfUa_wSpoGBjYaLXmMTVHu2Oz93IEHibGy2uMLKolSRBtkYFL8yH6hGC51iilglCEOpU9TfAXE17GYNJIeyZol5KypKZM2YwPdl7onnE/s640/blogger-image--1448701117.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Me milking a goat:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHPlB6id0vvEdfoQ9nUlkxfGyXKkKAACRdcOE98JOBsovTgXNi0JFZqruSuczuf-oeS-pVJbZTDD5FyVzwLWXN9PesewtC_s9zQfeuwYmwAJrJC2fxrXKfagwgu3038FSYVvbueuhiOY/s640/blogger-image-1247838622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHPlB6id0vvEdfoQ9nUlkxfGyXKkKAACRdcOE98JOBsovTgXNi0JFZqruSuczuf-oeS-pVJbZTDD5FyVzwLWXN9PesewtC_s9zQfeuwYmwAJrJC2fxrXKfagwgu3038FSYVvbueuhiOY/s640/blogger-image-1247838622.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Sarah spraying goats milk everywhere but the bucket:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtcdjriGMgKgTp0SSacaNxsiw7JR7uI7oBbzWivymAGoYPjRBXgjcX4EywuN2AdfEHUD_ghHBSSsBncUhMnTb5C8h-m45abkoa7PfCtx0w9HFQKJ5MJBLDspsmqOKi4CLnphOSva9abaw/s640/blogger-image--2068429098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtcdjriGMgKgTp0SSacaNxsiw7JR7uI7oBbzWivymAGoYPjRBXgjcX4EywuN2AdfEHUD_ghHBSSsBncUhMnTb5C8h-m45abkoa7PfCtx0w9HFQKJ5MJBLDspsmqOKi4CLnphOSva9abaw/s640/blogger-image--2068429098.jpg"></a></div><br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The utter were soft and rubbery feeling; wet and warm to the
touch. As I pulled downward and pressed
my thumb downward and into the <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">$$$</span> a thin stream of liquid came squirting. I had to be careful not to miss the
bucket. It was hard work! After a minute
I gave my goat up again. It tried to get
away, and the Social Worker grabbed it by the leg and anchored it into
place. She got back into the rhythm, and
I could see how measly my milk stream had been! With her strong hands, the milk
gushed into the bucket, created a thick froth on top. Sarah and Carlie got in on
the goat milking action as well, and by the time we left we had taken a picture
of at least every child in the village, and perhaps two of every goat. The village boys chased our car as we drove
into the sunset shouting “Abagio (perhaps spelled wrong but pronounced avjo – I
think)” meaning goodbye in Gujarati. It
was fun, and ridiculous, and at least it had made Jayshree smile after a touch
day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We stopped at the tailor on the way back, and discussed the
things we are having made. This was also
an amazing experience, and not the first time that I had thought about Memee on
this trip. I’m sure she experienced
something similar in Eygpt, but she would have loved how the tailor made a mini
version of the dress in green scrap to make sure he understood what I
wanted. She would have been impressed by
how he deftly cut some white material and held it up to my chest to make sure
that he had the right size v-neck. The v
is pretty scandalous by Indian standards, and he did not look too happy about
it, but he got it right. Memee also
would have been impressed by the price: 400 rupees. I’ve been told not to get
excited about my $10 handmade dress until I see it. I’m having a hard time with that. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br></div><div class="MsoNormal">Mini dress and Jayshree's hands:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPt0QRrSH9VtghhpXx4NE8XtJ6vRV1hzM8ylZjQutn9SmRUQw2HmTzts-tbv9Nd2u8GB8Z6bKUvrYyAei2N4QYvVzW2l8vOXaf7wdgRCUkzm3MzPdv0l9Oho2rRKONJ8ojOp8EmFLDTuw/s640/blogger-image--732763073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPt0QRrSH9VtghhpXx4NE8XtJ6vRV1hzM8ylZjQutn9SmRUQw2HmTzts-tbv9Nd2u8GB8Z6bKUvrYyAei2N4QYvVzW2l8vOXaf7wdgRCUkzm3MzPdv0l9Oho2rRKONJ8ojOp8EmFLDTuw/s640/blogger-image--732763073.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Being measured:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCANhY6LmBq6G6MuDkNWY2cYU33J-OoFF6KHwChUenjO3cTSodO6jMEIKvzU2boZ-GE-S7Knvd3LSGMAVVfHEcLAvKCyAUSUrioVSM365rfONFm_canABq7nu42b6Rhc9dsQDHSNEWGI/s640/blogger-image--2080860004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdCANhY6LmBq6G6MuDkNWY2cYU33J-OoFF6KHwChUenjO3cTSodO6jMEIKvzU2boZ-GE-S7Knvd3LSGMAVVfHEcLAvKCyAUSUrioVSM365rfONFm_canABq7nu42b6Rhc9dsQDHSNEWGI/s640/blogger-image--2080860004.jpg"></a></div><br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We made it back to the palace for dinner full of smiles and
stories for Dr. Greaves. He was mildly
impressed by our goat milking having come from a long line of dairy farmers
himself. Dinner was amazing as usual.
Afterwards I enjoyed the company of the lovely ladies with whom I share
this adventure. Indian Public Health
Summer Camp is halfway over and I am loving every moment of our late night
discourse. When else in my life will I
be living with a group of smart women for two + weeks where we have hour long
discussions about research and theory? Gaining access to the homes of community
members and survivors is incredible and invaluable. And with every day we grow closer and closer
to our translators, and become more and more motivated to do something
important with our research so that we can help them in their mission to help
their fellow Gujarati women. What began
as an overwhelming project has taken form and direction. We leave in eight days. There is much to be done. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-69820369302560277262014-01-05T07:42:00.000-03:002014-01-06T09:30:30.266-03:00Day 8 - I'm in India, I get it...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today I stopped pinching myself. I believe it.
I’m in India. And I was
grumpy. Anyone who has spent a night
with my family will probably get the reference that I kept thinking, “Don’t
talk-a-me, I’m in baaaaaad mood.” For those of you who don’t, that epitomizes
my little sis when she was grumpy as a child.
And I was grumpy as a child yesterday.
I couldn’t get on the internet, I was tired of the routine, mad at India
for its inconveniences, and feeling lost about our research here. Yoga had not
been helpful. We headed out in our
little van. Four people packed into the
back seat facing forwards, and three on the bench behind the driver and
passenger seat facing back. I was lucky
to be in the back seat facing forward, and hummed one of Jacob Rolf’s songs as
we drove around cows on the highway, and passed fields where people tended to
precious crops. “I hear my mother
crying….” Not sure why it had popped into my head, but it seemed the perfect
tune for my mood and the situation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All thoughts about my own personal feelings vanished when we
arrived at a school where Dr. Greaves had done research over the summer about
malnutrition. The children lined up and
gawked at us, giggling and laughing when we waved and said “Kem Cho!?” In
Gujariti this is like saying, “How are you?”
We were a big hit. They shouted
back, “Majama!!!” which means “good!” We
hung out in the principal’s office where Dr. Greaves told him about his
research. We were constantly being offered
water, Sprite or Chai. I drank Sprite
for the first time in who knows how long.
Its sweetness coated my teeth and I struggled to finish it quickly
enough so that I could put my thin plastic cup back on the tray that a man kept
bringing around. We looked at the
picture books that the principal handed us.
They were filled with beautiful photos of the students performing dance
and plays. We had to control our alarmed
giggles when we got to a page where a teacher was breaking florescent light
bulbs over a child’s head (which was covered by a towel), or holding the long
tube steady so that a student could punch it like a block of wood. The photo
captured the moment where the child’s fist connected with the bulb. Tiny shards blow outward from his fist as his
face scrunches up, hopefully not breathing in. I whispered, “That must be a
public health violation.” Dr. Greaves
whispered back, “Oh yes, those contain Mercury,” in his Australian twang. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were toted from classroom to classroom where children were
given the opportunity to show off their English. Dr. Greaves cooed at little kids and we waved
and repeated “Kem cho!” to every classroom to the delight of the little kids.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We finally trailed upstairs to a parent meeting where Dr.
Greaves presented his data to parents.
He also explained a little bit about what we were doing here now. Then we had a focus group with a group of
women who stayed behind. It was a disaster as far as groups go. There were no group norms, and it was a
rushed hectic affair. However, in the
grand scheme of things for women in India, it was revolutionary. Towards the end I asked if this was the first
time these women had all met in a group to discuss domestic violence. It was.
I asked how it felt. They all
said it felt great. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve really started to think about the mental health
implications of the research we are doing here.
The stress on our translators is obvious. The existing resources have limited
training. There is no concept of group
therapy or group support. If our
translators got the training center they wanted, there would be no resources
for training or implementing support groups there. Therapeutic interventions
aren’t even on anyone’s radar here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
According to our
translators, Indians culturally have a hard time being happy. There is always pressure to look towards the
next thing and to never be happy with what you have. I see this in the survivors we talk to. They never say, I just want to be happy. They don’t even want to be single. They would even be OK with living as a second
class citizen in their families because this is normal. [The Gujarati word for mental abuse is
torture. I am gathering a list of words
that don’t exist in Gujarati, like this one.
I hear them during interviews. It
will be like, “blahblahblahblahtortureblahblahblah.” Or, “blahblahblahblahdomesticviolenceblahblahblah.”
I’ve been documenting them all. How can
you create a DV intervention when your own language doesn’t even have words for
the concepts?] These strong Indian women can stand the torture because it’s
better than the shame of leaving their husband and what life will be like
afterwards. Its only when they are
abused so badly that they are hospitalized, or that their children become
threatened that some finally leave. We’ve heard from several women that there
wasn’t any sexual violence because their husbands beat them so badly that there
was nothing left to have sex with. Some never leave and end up losing their
lives. Our translators told us that a
week before we got here a woman was found dead in a field. All evidence points to her husband. Nothing is being done. From the little we
have gathered so far, women feel isolated, scared and powerless. It was amazing to watch some of them embrace
the group concept, and to share their story for the first time. There was even talk about setting something
similar up in the future. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Group therapy really revs my engine, but red flags went off
in my head about how dangerous that could be.
Starting a group about a dangerous topic with an untrained or no
facilitator is a terrible idea. I’ve
been thinking that perhaps, if nothing else, we can do something to impact the
knowledge gap for those who are leading the charge against DV. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our wheels are constantly turning about where this data can
be used and how. When we got back we had several long talks about it. I am loving this unique opportunity to sit
and brain storm with a smart group of women about academics, culture, research
and empowerment. I call it Public Health
Summer Camp. Sometimes I feel like I
never want it to end. Until I get too sleepy and then I dive into my bed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After our group session we headed back for lunch. In the afternoon, Carlie, the translators and
I went to interview a survivor in her parent’s village. I won’t share her story because it’s pretty
specific, and I don’t want to violate her consent, but it was horrific. Both she and her mother cried which is
supposedly unheard of in Indian culture.
The survivor’s emotions were still raw even though she has been home
with her family for 15 years. She was
beautiful and exhausted looking. She
just wanted peace after the most insane ordeal. She talked loudly, making big gestures. Her
mother looked up at me from the floor and stared into my eyes as she spoke to
me as if I could understand. I could
feel the agony and pleading in her voice for someone to understand and to help.
All I could do was record and nod. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br></div><div class="MsoNormal">Beautiful water station in someone's home:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKeDU8LxsoOfBDL3gDSGdX4KKGxmmDBd1YK5eQSuY0sjxVTWnF9e0k_QnSh07Pd3cb7datXvA_V1Jd1vi-esTqRTY8oy7nTME4f0D7P7ECM8ttkp89qJRwhRevIh3N_RMpQruY5D2A3vs/s640/blogger-image--1978505323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKeDU8LxsoOfBDL3gDSGdX4KKGxmmDBd1YK5eQSuY0sjxVTWnF9e0k_QnSh07Pd3cb7datXvA_V1Jd1vi-esTqRTY8oy7nTME4f0D7P7ECM8ttkp89qJRwhRevIh3N_RMpQruY5D2A3vs/s640/blogger-image--1978505323.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Every time I try to look more Indian I just look more like a colonizer:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHVWa0o8mtyoXT_mN7nX6JASZtx_maW8lbzioDopw_UbL4yuA0L311aS660OxPkGdMO21ZuLFjWeEiPFdxiO3nS3t3jTQgXucUg3GTrkPxHg2SAEFwa5TYSsLUcEHVSKGi4QVLDDgtMg/s640/blogger-image-465309882.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimHVWa0o8mtyoXT_mN7nX6JASZtx_maW8lbzioDopw_UbL4yuA0L311aS660OxPkGdMO21ZuLFjWeEiPFdxiO3nS3t3jTQgXucUg3GTrkPxHg2SAEFwa5TYSsLUcEHVSKGi4QVLDDgtMg/s640/blogger-image-465309882.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Wash me:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJc_7HW3ghQ8EAEzk0HiPRhJRvDeqVdGMTTsBPFovqxP11ZgYOF8E20Qw_HuqIhWsPhMwi9bI9pgzh91qPEI6smAhtm0ghuFSkFKtPaYvFBezDfkxD8X6jUqYY57xzGyclh7cSON75Ikw/s640/blogger-image-473168973.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJc_7HW3ghQ8EAEzk0HiPRhJRvDeqVdGMTTsBPFovqxP11ZgYOF8E20Qw_HuqIhWsPhMwi9bI9pgzh91qPEI6smAhtm0ghuFSkFKtPaYvFBezDfkxD8X6jUqYY57xzGyclh7cSON75Ikw/s640/blogger-image-473168973.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Our translators Jayshree and Illa on the right. Illa, aka the most bad ass social worker ever, on the left:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpeuWWJ8_DlLBmhQ-ddJc_X__TezSlKWgkeSft63lo2VY4Jp4ZXWVEpjcvTpgvshlGaswrcWVnkuxN2eCM2e1pKukLAfSRDWw25p-z7438hWUMXb4jbjHpyZY648qPi7zHPbMobopeAc/s640/blogger-image--922834781.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpeuWWJ8_DlLBmhQ-ddJc_X__TezSlKWgkeSft63lo2VY4Jp4ZXWVEpjcvTpgvshlGaswrcWVnkuxN2eCM2e1pKukLAfSRDWw25p-z7438hWUMXb4jbjHpyZY648qPi7zHPbMobopeAc/s640/blogger-image--922834781.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The patiyallas I wore today:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVybXrBxoPKW-xirLOJE1Vn8u87yNdOCYcin0eSqRPorI9jemHdVSfbruhRplj4vj6pYm8MIuKIko9J4fBvsZdX6P3Dpf0tE0t4KRN2o3Xrv0ZhsZSrkP1kLNNhl2I18bA8z7dB-MMLuk/s640/blogger-image-1323428040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVybXrBxoPKW-xirLOJE1Vn8u87yNdOCYcin0eSqRPorI9jemHdVSfbruhRplj4vj6pYm8MIuKIko9J4fBvsZdX6P3Dpf0tE0t4KRN2o3Xrv0ZhsZSrkP1kLNNhl2I18bA8z7dB-MMLuk/s640/blogger-image-1323428040.jpg"></a></div></div><br></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Dinner was amazing as usual and I ate too much. The
four of us were shaken after our last meeting and we took some time with
Jeyshrii to envelope her with our incoherent babbling about all that she is
doing. We circled around her and gave
her all we have at the moment: lots of hugs. Afterwards, we all sat in Carlie
and Sarah’s room and talked about life, and then sleep came easy. </span><script type="text/javascript">
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-73216462462436365952014-01-05T07:16:00.000-03:002014-01-06T01:45:56.492-03:00Day 7 - I'm not lucky I'm blessed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Market at night:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbx2KAW4YyuAzk6t6pzBuOOgWnledfXwCNmCJRfMNRqThy5wI5BwKoEuZH6MDIecmur1-eguJnQy_iII_RYrQWvrumvKCOigl9Teq3A1tUY6W6mAelz-5GcqHCp-NR9fmA0fFfitGU8U/s640/blogger-image--1560626431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbx2KAW4YyuAzk6t6pzBuOOgWnledfXwCNmCJRfMNRqThy5wI5BwKoEuZH6MDIecmur1-eguJnQy_iII_RYrQWvrumvKCOigl9Teq3A1tUY6W6mAelz-5GcqHCp-NR9fmA0fFfitGU8U/s640/blogger-image--1560626431.jpg"></a></div>There is nothing like starting your day with yoga, a good
breakfast, and a trip to the Jala Temple for a blessing. I left feeling only a little confused, with a
Tika on my forehead for protection, a palm full of golden raisins and nuts for
my mouth and a rose petal to keep in my purse.
I’d like to go back and experience it without focusing on documenting
the experience, but since I did here is what I took for your viewing pleasure:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We had another full day back in the villages. We got in interviews with a paralegal, a
survivor and a midwife. The houses
people live in are fascinating to me.
The animals live in a walled in front yard which is attached to an open
room which I would think of as a porch structurally, but which functions as a
living room/bedroom. Seeing as this is
the coldest time of the year and the weather is amazing (and it rarely rains)
it makes sense that the houses would be so open. I’m not sure what they do around 6 pm when
swarms of mosquitos come out to torture humans.
Other than that it makes sense. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We also played soccer with the guards, ate delicious food as
usual, and went to the market for fabric and other impulse purchases that cost
no more than a few dollars. I’m going to test how easy it is to have a Western
style dress made by a tailor. If it doesn’t work out, it will be no great loss. The fabric cost $3. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would write more but I am exhausted. No rest for the weary here and I traded my
siesta for soccer so I am extra sleepy.
Hope everyone is well at home. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8SaDWEs_scuOtLKKkUgYR1NqSJTKR02PQwEp9Z5oxh82oRuQ_lwy6wV7nuiilCw0VBr0QwbODOsmASttfANqjJWpv1cTvB-tahFjXi4uVNBdviYKuhantg2nSRF0Z-OJ5Rzg6ImB2juA/s640/blogger-image-1248140553.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8SaDWEs_scuOtLKKkUgYR1NqSJTKR02PQwEp9Z5oxh82oRuQ_lwy6wV7nuiilCw0VBr0QwbODOsmASttfANqjJWpv1cTvB-tahFjXi4uVNBdviYKuhantg2nSRF0Z-OJ5Rzg6ImB2juA/s640/blogger-image-1248140553.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYBam_SH2jW6V57JDPXcmRr2z1gBVjErTn7AL9kiWmyfwB3g5bGIYz5FUag1NlRl-h1JVOrPAGUmmz43JmwK36koYaJa07MvoCB56EvDp4zaOo9EEy37gsHEZEhIJ-NC4VN92utTZAq00/s640/blogger-image-1495772006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYBam_SH2jW6V57JDPXcmRr2z1gBVjErTn7AL9kiWmyfwB3g5bGIYz5FUag1NlRl-h1JVOrPAGUmmz43JmwK36koYaJa07MvoCB56EvDp4zaOo9EEy37gsHEZEhIJ-NC4VN92utTZAq00/s640/blogger-image-1495772006.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCVHAIOigLOfEyOV_bm6L3SnDDUpbyB8bu8l1_CXIGiVCbbTJWa1T2eMl68_uo13ZmGg-mMck4PBUKgazyzgbqNvuOK8i7fAUE__1BoCSJklebQD0F0VMZjrFjqsdPsM3k4VLvyg_lP4/s640/blogger-image--836007945.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRCVHAIOigLOfEyOV_bm6L3SnDDUpbyB8bu8l1_CXIGiVCbbTJWa1T2eMl68_uo13ZmGg-mMck4PBUKgazyzgbqNvuOK8i7fAUE__1BoCSJklebQD0F0VMZjrFjqsdPsM3k4VLvyg_lP4/s640/blogger-image--836007945.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0cDh4vNdpZDYBjZf1DbvBBIPJoV-pd8fooS6Pq930tJgkPjWPQGeGSY3ruDgz6lccJaC96RyTeBhuMVe6u4CSqyh6GjhxMjXYPnKi1yv0cg8Xs00LczNCW5IfRvd3_AvTKqlWHKqzYk/s640/blogger-image-407630010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0cDh4vNdpZDYBjZf1DbvBBIPJoV-pd8fooS6Pq930tJgkPjWPQGeGSY3ruDgz6lccJaC96RyTeBhuMVe6u4CSqyh6GjhxMjXYPnKi1yv0cg8Xs00LczNCW5IfRvd3_AvTKqlWHKqzYk/s640/blogger-image-407630010.jpg"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0cDh4vNdpZDYBjZf1DbvBBIPJoV-pd8fooS6Pq930tJgkPjWPQGeGSY3ruDgz6lccJaC96RyTeBhuMVe6u4CSqyh6GjhxMjXYPnKi1yv0cg8Xs00LczNCW5IfRvd3_AvTKqlWHKqzYk/s640/blogger-image-407630010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0NklxSZltXPWQjYE4ZMhxR1sAj8zxO_qmX7Y9QPTX3GFVyHKSACfLqkynFPPjFYDQYSu_rEJRpz2W9033x3UOMegT4ZWa5LgRG7_NoMU_j2VPBMJO4luXq4EAobcBHyVGvlKPJPZrMk/s640/blogger-image--158008402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0NklxSZltXPWQjYE4ZMhxR1sAj8zxO_qmX7Y9QPTX3GFVyHKSACfLqkynFPPjFYDQYSu_rEJRpz2W9033x3UOMegT4ZWa5LgRG7_NoMU_j2VPBMJO4luXq4EAobcBHyVGvlKPJPZrMk/s640/blogger-image--158008402.jpg"></a></div></div><br></div><br></div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-25680232581266153262014-01-05T02:46:00.001-03:002014-01-05T02:46:00.455-03:00In Which A Snake Charmer Does Some Magic Tricks<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcARbgNPe1im73ArFZDepjer_N4jzYTgLx5db3_yz0RwtGF0JSiw0SJZ24Jft4fKdhhAQDFtTmVvnU3hDkzZl8zrun7X8Ew828eejTrFLxWXoPDhtaXQnQxAJF896u0wKjChTZQCGKZL4/s640/blogger-image-621812364.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Rolling up the sleeves for some slight work:</div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcARbgNPe1im73ArFZDepjer_N4jzYTgLx5db3_yz0RwtGF0JSiw0SJZ24Jft4fKdhhAQDFtTmVvnU3hDkzZl8zrun7X8Ew828eejTrFLxWXoPDhtaXQnQxAJF896u0wKjChTZQCGKZL4/s640/blogger-image-621812364.jpg"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Slight of hand:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJw2DbnIAznMlZSJjU_v-KHI-fvtfAs8uVIkb7jrv8Z_Ix8RCh6h6azvjGXbwG-95xbnBAE5mz0mbBel5mQBWjqsNu45w2OHb9G7FRvktCZIhgMxpVMkFYgnjO5IpGmml7dH2LTPUsZp8/s640/blogger-image-2021223791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJw2DbnIAznMlZSJjU_v-KHI-fvtfAs8uVIkb7jrv8Z_Ix8RCh6h6azvjGXbwG-95xbnBAE5mz0mbBel5mQBWjqsNu45w2OHb9G7FRvktCZIhgMxpVMkFYgnjO5IpGmml7dH2LTPUsZp8/s640/blogger-image-2021223791.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Palace staff looks on:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJw2DbnIAznMlZSJjU_v-KHI-fvtfAs8uVIkb7jrv8Z_Ix8RCh6h6azvjGXbwG-95xbnBAE5mz0mbBel5mQBWjqsNu45w2OHb9G7FRvktCZIhgMxpVMkFYgnjO5IpGmml7dH2LTPUsZp8/s640/blogger-image-2021223791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTsnK8wnt4jCsANpRYp6ZliDih2n93MxVE4gUsu7H-aQSfbLk-ICstSxLVJQFcrES5VVtJm59yKaazBHZxNQbF_5HOc9ipzkSjgYAUn3NAxXJmwxI-Cv-yu389xaiz8LamOvagC3gQzEc/s640/blogger-image-701264804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTsnK8wnt4jCsANpRYp6ZliDih2n93MxVE4gUsu7H-aQSfbLk-ICstSxLVJQFcrES5VVtJm59yKaazBHZxNQbF_5HOc9ipzkSjgYAUn3NAxXJmwxI-Cv-yu389xaiz8LamOvagC3gQzEc/s640/blogger-image-701264804.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Dr. Greaves returns the fake snake:<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTsnK8wnt4jCsANpRYp6ZliDih2n93MxVE4gUsu7H-aQSfbLk-ICstSxLVJQFcrES5VVtJm59yKaazBHZxNQbF_5HOc9ipzkSjgYAUn3NAxXJmwxI-Cv-yu389xaiz8LamOvagC3gQzEc/s640/blogger-image-701264804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM990UTqMSf_lqlaZjOTrF_CnOpTIkJGrQJKsXOT-Eirn_b8TffmCBhBnksoRgeQ95cMUWgnJ8nWb1-qAk2ylYekp_X1raldOAe0LvvZ4qk7ZyBrYZGOJTxifG_n-0cuYYwDUFv74XZtE/s640/blogger-image--290598704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM990UTqMSf_lqlaZjOTrF_CnOpTIkJGrQJKsXOT-Eirn_b8TffmCBhBnksoRgeQ95cMUWgnJ8nWb1-qAk2ylYekp_X1raldOAe0LvvZ4qk7ZyBrYZGOJTxifG_n-0cuYYwDUFv74XZtE/s640/blogger-image--290598704.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Done for now. The snake, which is reincarnation of a god, was saved for later:<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM990UTqMSf_lqlaZjOTrF_CnOpTIkJGrQJKsXOT-Eirn_b8TffmCBhBnksoRgeQ95cMUWgnJ8nWb1-qAk2ylYekp_X1raldOAe0LvvZ4qk7ZyBrYZGOJTxifG_n-0cuYYwDUFv74XZtE/s640/blogger-image--290598704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSPAiEk3GRTk-99jbTwb8rIQ_mMRftAm5vVzqF9lMDKm8YRBvLxuTplNkpoVd0G0zxmSy24RJ59Xf1Ufh3YuM3rWopk8y0YJsShTQvCI8OT48L8w_mjgAPMFaCOJ5lzaS7bWVRxVVouM/s640/blogger-image-527845626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSPAiEk3GRTk-99jbTwb8rIQ_mMRftAm5vVzqF9lMDKm8YRBvLxuTplNkpoVd0G0zxmSy24RJ59Xf1Ufh3YuM3rWopk8y0YJsShTQvCI8OT48L8w_mjgAPMFaCOJ5lzaS7bWVRxVVouM/s640/blogger-image-527845626.jpg"></a></div></div></div></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">In my ever increasing cataloging if Indian customs, I learned that today's performance could never have occurred had a member of the royal family been present. Dr. Greaves said that the snake charmer is probably in the lowest caste that we will come into contact with here, and it would have been unthinkable for Jaybapa to receive him here. Lucky for us, we are not royalty and had our magic show delivered to us at home. </div>Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-2215752546102686472014-01-04T00:47:00.002-03:002014-01-04T23:59:20.155-03:00Day 6 - The Villages<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For the first time since our arrival, I finished dinner and
did not feel like I needed to crawl up to my bed immediately and crash. This was due to a long nap that I took after
lunch between three and five. One of my New Year’s Resolutions is to strive for
balance in my life. This is especially
hard when travelling. There is so much
internal pressure to not waste a moment.
There is even more pressure for that here since we have so much work to
do in relatively little time. When not
enjoying India or doing research, there is always my own work that I need to be
doing on my capstone project for my MPH.
A two hour nap seemed luxurious and something to feel guilty over, but I
clearly needed it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Of course we didn’t end up doing focus groups with the
midwives today, but we did some really interesting interviews. First we headed out to the villages for the
first time. By the villages I mean the
villages that surround Dhrangadhra which vary greatly in size, construction,
population and sanitation. We first went
to the house of a midwife who is really involved with an NGO and the government
in bringing health education to her village of migrant workers. She also helps deliver babies. However, in the past five years the number of
babies being delivered at home has gone from over 70% to only a handful per
year. This is probably because of some of the education she is giving
them. The migrant population is really
interesting. The caste is known as the Adivasi and works for half
the year as farmers and half the year mining and harvesting salt. They are very uneducated and very poor. They have a particular DV concern that other
castes don’t have. They have a widely
accepted practice that all of the men of the immediate family get to have sex
with a man’s wife. This means that a
woman must have sex not only with her husband but his brothers and father. When asked what resources she would most like
to have that she currently doesn’t, our midwife said she wanted to be able to
give education to the families so that they will stop this practice. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Another interesting thing we learned is how differently
domestic violence is handled here. Our
midwife told us that when they hear of a case of DV they meet with the women
and take a history to see how serious the issue is. In cases where the woman would like the
situation to change, the midwife and people she works with will reach out to
the husband and try to do some work with him to get him to stop the abuse. This seems to involve some education, or
“compromise” as Indians like to say. It
should be no surprise that no one we have talked to has had any DV
training. Their practice of reaching out
to the man would be looked upon as a dangerous practice by anyone trained in DV
in the US. It also doesn’t seem to be working very well. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Next we went to another village. I am unsure if it was the snake charming
village, or maybe it was the village next to the snake charming village, but
either way there is a real snake charming village. If interested, I can show you a documentary
that Jaybapa did on the snake charming caste.
We all heavily hinted that we would like to see a demonstration at some
point. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The village we went to, snake charming or not, was much less
developed than the one we had come from.
The buildings were made of mud, and animals were living in the house
with the people. Jeyshrii (our
translator) had the men of the family put the bench/bed over an area that
looked like it was used as a toilet so we wouldn’t have to put our feet in
it. We waited for the midwife, but she
had gone to wash clothes since we were late.
As we waited we played with a little baby with big cheeks and smiling
eyes. The women wore beautiful saris and
that they had over their heads. They
used the ends to cover their faces out of respect for the men that were
present. As usual, everyone was
fascinated with us. Heads were poking
over walls, staring and then running away when we waved. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Carlie had to pee and asked about a bathroom. Illa (our other interpreter) thought and then
said, well, there is no bathroom here.
People mostly just go in the street.
Saris make is easy to stay modest while squatting. Carlie was not wearing a sari though. Her lovely new tunic and Indian leggings
would not have kept her modest had she squatted in the street. To her horror she was taken to use someone’s
shower. She felt terrible but there was
no other way. Seeing as there was goat
poop and livestock in the living room where we were, I’m not sure our own
concept of hygienic barriers applied.
However, it still feels like an imposition to pee in someone’s shower.
Eventually we gave up and sped back to the palace for a late and much needed
lunch. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Following my two hour power nap we interviewed a doctor that
works for the government hospital and sees many women from the lower
socio-economic castes in the area. He
had to miss our previous appointment because he had to appear in court for a
rape case. We had a really informative
meeting with him. He also has received
no training on DV even though he works with women experiencing it all the time. We are starting to see a clearer picture
about how our research might inform future projects in the area. I continue to learn more and more every day,
but yes, I am still pinching myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-60675365015758741932014-01-03T23:59:00.000-03:002014-01-04T00:15:19.713-03:00Day 5 - New Years Eve<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Its 9:30 PM and of course the plumber just left. Dr. Greaves says that you either love India
or you hate it and I can see how Indian Standard Time could be a reason why
some would hate it. Another reason to
hate it would be that having a hot shower seems to be a herculean feat. Even so, I find myself loving it here. Of course there are things I don’t love about
India, but I, like Dr. Greaves, think India is amazing. Still, I spend the majority of my time here
being very confused and using vast amount of energy trying to understand,
absorb, and learn cultural norms. Things
are so very different here in so many ways.
I’ve begun to appreciate that our interpreters are not only necessary
for the language barrier, but in many other ways as well. I have noticed how different they are with
every person we meet with. They know
when and how to speak to different people based on cultural norms that I could
only hope to scratch the surface of in my short time here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
New Year’s Eve was really nice. The staff at the Palace made us a party, and
decorated the room with glitzy streamers and laid the table with floating
candles and decorations. Jeyshrii (our
translator) made us an ice cream cake, and even tied a metallic ribbon around
the knife that she presented to Dr. Greaves to cut it. After dinner we retired to the yoga room with
champagne. <br>
<span id="goog_1038724709"></span><span id="goog_1038724710"></span><br>
Our translators joined us
(but didn’t drink of course because they are Hindi). We danced a little Bangra,
giggled about boys, and listened to music.
At the end of our countdown for New Years, Jeyshrii shook a sprite and
sprayed it in the air with a gleeful girlish look of mischief. Us girls from
the US sipped on bubbly with pomegranates floating in it, swapped stories and
peer pressured each other to stay awake to midnight. It was difficult but the Bangra helped. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We obviously took the morning off from Yoga today. I took
the opportunity to face time with Josh and the Padres. I got an unusual pang of homesickness when I
saw the faces of my friends at home; tears rolling down my chilled cheeks in
the cool morning air. It was bizarre to
hear Josh explain to people at a party that I was at a palace in India instead
of home with him. Yup, still pinching
myself that I’m here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After our slow start we had a busy day. While Dr. Greaves went to an informative
meeting with the head of an NGO in Ahmedabad, we interviewed a health
official. He denied any prevalence of DV
and the need to do anything about it. It
was the strangest meeting. People were
in and out and at one point two men came in to hand out religious brochures of
some kind. He seemed unimpressed by our
group of women, and did not seem to feel a great urgency to help us out. We
also visited a midwife who worked and lived in a compound. As her husband reviewed the consent form and
consented to have her sign it as we sat on benches that bordered the room. She took a cloth carpet from a couch and
unfurled it onto the tiled floor.
Jeyshrii (our translator) and she sat down for what turned out to be a
pretty useless interview. She claimed to
have never seen a case of DV in her 24 years of being a midwife. Later, after
we thought we were in the clear, we learned we had a meeting with a
lawyer. I stayed at the Palace to work
on our Literature Review with Sarah, but the interview seemed to be informative
and interesting. He takes about 10 cases
a year. Unlike the US where the goal of
a DV case would be to put the perp in jail for assault, the goal in India is
“compromise.” This often means divorce
and cases which can take ten years to finish. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tomorrow we meet with 9 midwives for focus groups which we
are all really excited about. Enjoy this
picture of what we had for lunch today! I have no idea what anything is called,
and they do say a picture is worth a thousand words. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I hope everyone had a wonderful New Year’s Eve and enjoyed a
mostly hangover free day! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-65368834284971943042014-01-03T01:29:00.001-03:002014-01-03T01:29:21.263-03:00What We've Been Wearing<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40TH07TbROHczc-_ut4lD3nI4H0E1byHWLVP1B8hR8j6dWWLukvHlgOkkD5Ygjrn6qHLepTLMm-c5Q6ytNXtkFoUJGOGDLP-Id-u-HEZ1jgkCP170SMcP4CRUS36bxZcjQyLIdqjKV8M/s640/blogger-image--1155610354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40TH07TbROHczc-_ut4lD3nI4H0E1byHWLVP1B8hR8j6dWWLukvHlgOkkD5Ygjrn6qHLepTLMm-c5Q6ytNXtkFoUJGOGDLP-Id-u-HEZ1jgkCP170SMcP4CRUS36bxZcjQyLIdqjKV8M/s640/blogger-image--1155610354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEa96Z3oT95G7FSahgGivoRDnUZRdJqmxj1rikyZAAryXpu0CYgOsq5KMdFYsJGX2fd8cLKjAxZuIsvfctR66OMlZnHjztzykaAaVtpJVI9xgsruGhjZDc0IbK1KS62LcfIUWfDb0Igc/s640/blogger-image-230898011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEa96Z3oT95G7FSahgGivoRDnUZRdJqmxj1rikyZAAryXpu0CYgOsq5KMdFYsJGX2fd8cLKjAxZuIsvfctR66OMlZnHjztzykaAaVtpJVI9xgsruGhjZDc0IbK1KS62LcfIUWfDb0Igc/s640/blogger-image-230898011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ye-mpp_DZ6j876VAn7T94uIyoXUFMWfUlxSatiUYCSRYdoHpNmYtMFRbcpzX9ETt62t56FZD8CjLc8X-6TpmaIMazG5Ek_IB3r4jzylL0BoX_FhIDKwgekA0IGpfD4celfhIvo_JpBE/s640/blogger-image--413757647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ye-mpp_DZ6j876VAn7T94uIyoXUFMWfUlxSatiUYCSRYdoHpNmYtMFRbcpzX9ETt62t56FZD8CjLc8X-6TpmaIMazG5Ek_IB3r4jzylL0BoX_FhIDKwgekA0IGpfD4celfhIvo_JpBE/s640/blogger-image--413757647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDdfR0Z4lLtLaJdqKgtR7sBuUWG7IzBV8F7e0DgQtC1cEM1NAPyKbJ7I0dtEPOwos_8df-JSPaEV3DEolQd1TVk9XSPJ3yMU_iL3UHMLBtjypQECrsvMeGSpoVDeOjiH4JmVNv7gFWPs/s640/blogger-image-390215840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDdfR0Z4lLtLaJdqKgtR7sBuUWG7IzBV8F7e0DgQtC1cEM1NAPyKbJ7I0dtEPOwos_8df-JSPaEV3DEolQd1TVk9XSPJ3yMU_iL3UHMLBtjypQECrsvMeGSpoVDeOjiH4JmVNv7gFWPs/s640/blogger-image-390215840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GUJEazi35s9Fq4Rtc8TFGS6SHENsZWuCaDbp0gVRhVvu9t79e80XZzzRnCRtWiyJhM4lfZpMH0DQ9FBPxGQSe8gsSt8zs6-4apx9ySALaGC4cjhdXpM_5jnoAogiuSpWFl3Nh97VPR8/s640/blogger-image-1840330501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GUJEazi35s9Fq4Rtc8TFGS6SHENsZWuCaDbp0gVRhVvu9t79e80XZzzRnCRtWiyJhM4lfZpMH0DQ9FBPxGQSe8gsSt8zs6-4apx9ySALaGC4cjhdXpM_5jnoAogiuSpWFl3Nh97VPR8/s640/blogger-image-1840330501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJG-G-DSNTalieiANZ2uaAK2g79lgXeJPdzVnDSj7-lYDWUhApdLunp8OYyiLF6nT2bjzhaiqX-yTPtV54-ghbM1mb6KjvKpAesMI9gCuwppXus-nbnMHVsrJNnVJu3g79L63fHe-Eq0g/s640/blogger-image-241291218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJG-G-DSNTalieiANZ2uaAK2g79lgXeJPdzVnDSj7-lYDWUhApdLunp8OYyiLF6nT2bjzhaiqX-yTPtV54-ghbM1mb6KjvKpAesMI9gCuwppXus-nbnMHVsrJNnVJu3g79L63fHe-Eq0g/s640/blogger-image-241291218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Carlie rocking a ready made tunic and Indian tights:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EBpuMVDucZsmciXYjHYWTJpoR5i7-VKU8UWT7Wvpcz0diX1aVPeCqOaOZueOhoJFG0pWxQafT95M7hUeHywA1fqXDC3mrAQ3K1kEczh0Ml5FhmngvyJ79-GZO7R-JPm7nCvPM_0sS0A/s640/blogger-image-1026452223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8EBpuMVDucZsmciXYjHYWTJpoR5i7-VKU8UWT7Wvpcz0diX1aVPeCqOaOZueOhoJFG0pWxQafT95M7hUeHywA1fqXDC3mrAQ3K1kEczh0Ml5FhmngvyJ79-GZO7R-JPm7nCvPM_0sS0A/s640/blogger-image-1026452223.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Sarah in her ready made patiyallas and jcrew tunic:</div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJG-G-DSNTalieiANZ2uaAK2g79lgXeJPdzVnDSj7-lYDWUhApdLunp8OYyiLF6nT2bjzhaiqX-yTPtV54-ghbM1mb6KjvKpAesMI9gCuwppXus-nbnMHVsrJNnVJu3g79L63fHe-Eq0g/s640/blogger-image-241291218.jpg"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Me in hand sewn suit made by a</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">woman we interviewed:</div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GUJEazi35s9Fq4Rtc8TFGS6SHENsZWuCaDbp0gVRhVvu9t79e80XZzzRnCRtWiyJhM4lfZpMH0DQ9FBPxGQSe8gsSt8zs6-4apx9ySALaGC4cjhdXpM_5jnoAogiuSpWFl3Nh97VPR8/s640/blogger-image-1840330501.jpg"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Sara in a hand sewn tunic:</div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZDdfR0Z4lLtLaJdqKgtR7sBuUWG7IzBV8F7e0DgQtC1cEM1NAPyKbJ7I0dtEPOwos_8df-JSPaEV3DEolQd1TVk9XSPJ3yMU_iL3UHMLBtjypQECrsvMeGSpoVDeOjiH4JmVNv7gFWPs/s640/blogger-image-390215840.jpg"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Me rocking my jean jacket with Indian tights and a hand sewn tunic:</div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ye-mpp_DZ6j876VAn7T94uIyoXUFMWfUlxSatiUYCSRYdoHpNmYtMFRbcpzX9ETt62t56FZD8CjLc8X-6TpmaIMazG5Ek_IB3r4jzylL0BoX_FhIDKwgekA0IGpfD4celfhIvo_JpBE/s640/blogger-image--413757647.jpg"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Pramiti rocking some ready made fashion she picked up from her trip to India with her family a month ago:</div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEa96Z3oT95G7FSahgGivoRDnUZRdJqmxj1rikyZAAryXpu0CYgOsq5KMdFYsJGX2fd8cLKjAxZuIsvfctR66OMlZnHjztzykaAaVtpJVI9xgsruGhjZDc0IbK1KS62LcfIUWfDb0Igc/s640/blogger-image-230898011.jpg"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Sarah rocking Pramiti's tunic and jeans:<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtAPHQhG9OKSbi38hfQ15SuS5cLALb_LzAA1aa1WIjF2KwRICcPNeA6VIy0VSexYvEmQ5QhtlZupflrIyFLFqa0qxjGKlpAXaO9CRuoKwdOtTuB79_sX4p_Qz0abtORQmfIncLetT4Y0/s640/blogger-image--456741768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtAPHQhG9OKSbi38hfQ15SuS5cLALb_LzAA1aa1WIjF2KwRICcPNeA6VIy0VSexYvEmQ5QhtlZupflrIyFLFqa0qxjGKlpAXaO9CRuoKwdOtTuB79_sX4p_Qz0abtORQmfIncLetT4Y0/s640/blogger-image--456741768.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And of course when in India this is a must:<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3O8kfJg5NHxYOswpQP1PWKJo_TA9MEg7DaXEGXfQqxlTRtgXRRvoAYHG-Di3SCdIXnYFkgz_sN-ZsDdNW-LNXV5GIYirhuRwfVHaaRwSZwEcXrfdxq4ggc8jgoKZGupgXkMWc6cK-aHM/s640/blogger-image--1959383706.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3O8kfJg5NHxYOswpQP1PWKJo_TA9MEg7DaXEGXfQqxlTRtgXRRvoAYHG-Di3SCdIXnYFkgz_sN-ZsDdNW-LNXV5GIYirhuRwfVHaaRwSZwEcXrfdxq4ggc8jgoKZGupgXkMWc6cK-aHM/s640/blogger-image--1959383706.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We try to look good no matter what, even when flying kites, or pata:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpThANlFdF_0jxYI_uKjgcg4gvGLl3RLiyBjjsRdVkPTOPpLgJAZoBLVrZpzjVlXhHaqfhAIXPGcVbCVSqR4Dtmi4lelYBpObIJh3Pi2j1pyKM4kH7Pf4sqTuSLhcnXYlL5dbNUuja95A/s640/blogger-image-387699885.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpThANlFdF_0jxYI_uKjgcg4gvGLl3RLiyBjjsRdVkPTOPpLgJAZoBLVrZpzjVlXhHaqfhAIXPGcVbCVSqR4Dtmi4lelYBpObIJh3Pi2j1pyKM4kH7Pf4sqTuSLhcnXYlL5dbNUuja95A/s640/blogger-image-387699885.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">However, no matter what we do, Jaydeep (pictured with Carlie) is always giggling at us.</div></div></div></div>Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-17946692427085942142014-01-01T01:58:00.001-03:002014-01-01T01:58:58.455-03:00Photo Update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Here are a few photos of life at the Palace:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyP-xZ1rD86UxLbiERciUKdrWZ228pL4FNfzOIvUqOLbhLggIraXOrOvkMk1feMed-BjKPBhduU7QplxK2SFPycK0QHN0sqPb5fbbf00awLnQM4mkG2JwuIARJSbyNuOgK-DvNvaIQCH4/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyP-xZ1rD86UxLbiERciUKdrWZ228pL4FNfzOIvUqOLbhLggIraXOrOvkMk1feMed-BjKPBhduU7QplxK2SFPycK0QHN0sqPb5fbbf00awLnQM4mkG2JwuIARJSbyNuOgK-DvNvaIQCH4/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Courtyard with bas reliefs demonstrating Jhala power and Western Influence</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1i538I1232xtZZBu7bfN1YYqu5q9imFqI6fBZy8yMvuLsRd7qJxOuv4gpOPIaAUgD7XEoqa1HZLgh7h1iARn2l0DlMZTNHv7lEYR8ymb3p0WYXE5JEz3Vln38Vi2MQd8nimvcZzPuMfk/s1600/photo+4+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1i538I1232xtZZBu7bfN1YYqu5q9imFqI6fBZy8yMvuLsRd7qJxOuv4gpOPIaAUgD7XEoqa1HZLgh7h1iARn2l0DlMZTNHv7lEYR8ymb3p0WYXE5JEz3Vln38Vi2MQd8nimvcZzPuMfk/s1600/photo+4+(1).JPG" /></a></div>
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Sarah in front of the Kings quarters in the rose garden</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqGUW435jx04HoQiz5p1HYT2fYPsyF-7TAAlM7qtOWX8FsKGZxzjRpbz8Gf0cGqosw153JEyL2woFVZ74Xpll46KL6dIzfMsDmF82SQkB5b1b0ReplKujw45XDYheKt1TB0GzOmhLSfyc/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqGUW435jx04HoQiz5p1HYT2fYPsyF-7TAAlM7qtOWX8FsKGZxzjRpbz8Gf0cGqosw153JEyL2woFVZ74Xpll46KL6dIzfMsDmF82SQkB5b1b0ReplKujw45XDYheKt1TB0GzOmhLSfyc/s1600/photo+5.JPG" /></a></div>
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Typical breakfast at the Palace: eggs, toast, Indian flat bread, cereal, banana and chai</div>
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These beautiful bowls of flowers give a room fragrance and look great too! Flowers are collected from the garden every other day or so. </div>
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One of the open hallways we use to navigate around the palace - nets keep most of the birds out</div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-19959230070948126582013-12-31T11:31:00.000-03:002014-01-01T01:47:49.120-03:00Day 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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As usual, day three began with yoga. Mahal (otherwise known as yogi) taught us the
next five moves in sun salutation and added in some breathing exercises. I felt
peaceful in the blue light. I didn’t
like the dusty dirty carpet that we dipped our faces during sun salutation. However,
one must accept being very dusty at all times here. Feet are always dusty, my leggings are
saturated with dust and our hair tints the shower water brown as we jump around
in the cold water trying to get clean as quickly as possible. After breakfast we interviewed Ila, the only
domestic violence case manager in Dhrangadra.
She connects women to lawyers, paralegals and other services. She also gives them counseling. She is obviously strong and is also an
imposing figure. If I were an abuser, I
would think twice about messing with her.
It was so cool to meet someone who has a similar job to one that I have
had in the states. I’ve never been a
domestic violence counselor or case manager, but I’ve done the training and
have known many. I also spent several
years as a case manager but I could tell I had nothing on Ila. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then we had free time and we spent time after lunch in the rose
garden chatting, writing and relaxing.
It was so nice to have a break from everything. This is winter break after all. Carly and I were beckoned by two of the young
men that work in the palace. We came
over and saw that they were flying kites.
They were not the same as the kind we used growing up. They had small homemade looking kites that
were similar to the ones from The Kite Runner.
They pull and loosen the neon pink string and make the kite dip and
dance in the sky. Within 60 seconds of
handing the kite over to me, it was obviously stuck in a tree. Carly did much better and kept it up. The girls who work at the palace stood at the
windows and giggled. I wasn’t sure if
they were laughing at our skill set or admiring the skills of the boys. It was adorable. In the afternoon we interviewed a survivor. She
was amazing and beautiful and expressive and I loved being there to hear her
story. Although I didn’t understand much
of what she was saying during the interview, I could read her body language and
feel her pain. She showed us her scars
and where she now has a gold tooth to replace the one he knocked out. She only cried at the end when we asked what
she wanted for her future. She broke
down as she explained that she just wants to be independent. She doesn’t want to depend on anyone or for
anyone to pity her. She seemed so embarrassed
by her tears. It’s not something Indian
women do, she explained. <o:p></o:p></div>
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A marriage without some form of intimate partner violence is
pretty unheard of here. Even if there
isn’t sexual or physical violence there is almost always financial or emotional
control. When we hear about it, all the
abused Indian women fuse and become one mass of overwhelming oppression in my
head. Being in these interviews puts an
individual beautiful woman’s face on the issue.
And its not just Indian women.
Women everywhere are still experiencing this. I was talking with Sarah about this. She is hearing stories like this for the
first time. She echoed my own thoughts
about how sad and maddening it is to realize that women have been living like this
all over the world, including in our own country, for our whole lives. And we never knew about it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-67561646569170392932013-12-31T11:19:00.000-03:002013-12-31T11:19:59.324-03:00Palace Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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There is hot water
but only for about the first 60 seconds of the shower. The food is amazing. For breakfast we have chai tea, hard boiled
eggs, some type of spiced omelet or scrambled egg situation. There is also
always cereal and milk and toast. Lunch and dinner usually consist of some type
of rice (my favorite so far was the basmati rice with pomegranate seeds) two
types of cooked vegetables, a soup type situation, and usually two different
types of carbs. One flat-bread that is
used to eat the food with and one flat-bread that is crunchy like a cracker. There
is also something sweet like this cinnamon brownie with nuts on top or milk
with fruit in it. Bananas are served
with breakfast and apples with dinner.
We also had guava and mandarins the other day. We also have chai tea as
often as possible and tea time usually comes with snacks like butter sandwiches
or cookies.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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The only person that lives full time at the palace is
Jaybapa mom (Jaybapa is the Temple professor who works with my professor Dr.
Greaves). She was the queen of this
palace at one time. Now her oldest son
is kind but he doesn’t like to live here.
He lives in a bigger city (Mumbai I think) and only comes here
sometimes. There are royal quarters for
Jaybapa’s family but there are also guest quarters where we are staying. The palace has a staff of people that cook
and clean and keep the grounds. The Jala
family also has always kept stone workers on staff as well who do all the stone
work for the palace. At night the staff goes home and guards. Jaybapa’s cousin manages the staff and
teaches me Gujarati. He also was a
national track star in the 400 and 100 meter events. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We have two interpreters that arrange for all of our
interviews. They speak Gujarati and Hindi
and some English. Pramiti (my friend
from Temple who is also here) speaks Hindi, so she often translates from Hindi
to English for us. It reminds me of when
I was learning Spanish. She is exhausted
at the end. I am exhausted at the end of
an interview in Gujarati and I don’t even understand any of it. Maybe it’s because I am concentrated so much
on the body language and trying to understand what they are conveying without
understanding a word. This research study is extremely limited by selection
bias since the women being brought to us are all women who have sought help
with our interpreters. Our two
interviews with survivors were drastically different and very interesting. One was friends with Jeyshrii and was loud and
emotional. The other didn’t trust us and
was terrified and introverted. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I feel confused here all the time. The culture is so different, and I am always
worried about offending people. For
example, today I asked about the elephant and had to be corrected several times
that it wasn’t an elephant. It was in
fact Ganeshji, the son of a goddess who had his head cut off by her husband and
was reincarnated when she replaced it with an elephants head. “Not elephant” the translator said after I
made the mistake the second time. Then
we got to hear from Pramiti about how Ganeshji’s mom called upon Kalima, the goddess
that devours men and wears a necklace of cut off heads. Kalima went and devoured the husband’s whole
army. Pretty gruesome stuff. <o:p></o:p></div>
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It seems strange that there are these powerful female goddesses
even though we are told over and over again that the son is everything and the
daughter is nothing in India. We’ve been
talking a lot about not judging the place of women here. As our yogi says, we are only witness. However, it is difficult to see and hear how
women are treated. We must remember that
we are in a rural area and women live very different lives in the cities where
it is more of a given that they will be educated. But they are so beautiful here. They wear vibrant clothes with fantastic
patterns. They are adorned with gold jewelry,
have strong beautiful faces, and great smiles.
The girls and women that work at the palace are so cute. They become braver every day and even say
good morning to us now and ask us to take their picture with ipads or cameras. They seem to float around in their saris with
long scarves enveloping them, brushing walkways and shelling Lima beans. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We are also getting to know the palace. It is a living breathing creature with its
own eco-system. Cats chase and eat the
birds in the roof. Bats fly around the
entrance room eating mosquitoes, and bees lay dead on the stones in droves. Dogs lie flat in the road in the sun, and
peacocks flirt with one another and run away as we draw near. It is never quiet. Even with the siren from the nearby chemical
plant and horns from vehicles are silent, the birds erupt in noise as they fly
in and around the palace. The quietest
time is at dusk when the settle in to roost for the night. Even then the call for prayer rises; twisting
and turning through the dry air. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Pramiti and I were just saying that we still can’t believe
we are here. I wonder if I will believe
it before we leave. </div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-11235606449040617862013-12-30T05:24:00.002-03:002013-12-30T05:24:27.346-03:00India Day 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I woke up to the six am call to prayer feeling
refreshed. At seven am we met with our
yoga guru for our first session. Our
guru is on a one man mission to correct the bastardization of yoga that has
occurred in and outside of India. He teaches what he calls traditional
yoga. We went to a room on the third
floor of the palace. It had windows on
three sides and was filled with a bluish light from the colored windows. We left our shoes outside and walked across
the dusty floor to the room in the back which contained two wooden carved four
post beds, books, and some very dusty blankets.
Set up on these, our guru led his disciples in stretching, breathing and
meditation. I felt focused and clear headed which is an unusual pair of
sensations in my life at this time.
Supposedly, after our three weeks here, we will be able to practice what
we have learned on our own. At the end
we took all of the positive energy we had created and shared it with one
another in the form of hugs. As cheesy
as it sounds, it was actually really nice. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1rvCT5o6Ei8b0bkpea2v_b6AH5kxNLTzglgYy6fMTnSHNpai11OSKChBpG4L02Kdb6mtV_q80iaimaCaB1mGzJ62h4Pr7ZsUSB9yi-oTP7Ka8XqNb8z7mqf1XlwuvXhJyHLkVxICM1SU/s1600/IMG_1720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1rvCT5o6Ei8b0bkpea2v_b6AH5kxNLTzglgYy6fMTnSHNpai11OSKChBpG4L02Kdb6mtV_q80iaimaCaB1mGzJ62h4Pr7ZsUSB9yi-oTP7Ka8XqNb8z7mqf1XlwuvXhJyHLkVxICM1SU/s320/IMG_1720.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Yoga Guru<o:p></o:p></div>
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The rest of the day consisted of eating amazing Indian food,
drinking sweet chai and talking about the project. After such strange weather in the States, it
felt amazing to walk around the palace grounds in the dry mild heat in leggings
and a tunic. We met with our interpreters in the garden to discuss the project
and what they are already doing here. One of the interpreters then spent over
an hour explaining the roles and histories of different goddesses to us. There are many goddesses. Some have a distinct purpose, but many can be
called upon for various needs. Our
host’s family even has their own goddess which they call upon in time of
need. It is in the shape of two
elephants. Goddesses are prayed to for
help with improving or maintaining beautiful, improving fertility (especially
for a son), and to provide strength.
There is some irony in the fact that all of the gods we discussed were
women, and that many are used to help provide a family with a male child. Our favorite was the goddess Kali who devours
men. She wears a necklace or belt of the
heads of the men she has slain. As my
professor eloquently stated, she kicks ass. It’s easy to see why she is the
hero of our interpreters, who worth with survivors of domestic violence on a
regular basis. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We also interviewed our first survivor, who also turned out
to be our tailor for the trip. Although
we have a protocol, we had no idea what to expect and what would happen when
she arrived. We learned a lot from this
first interview. One of the most
interesting things for me is learning how different our cultures are in some
ways, and how alike they are in others. In
India, the role of women differs based on what cast or part of the country you
are from. Some women have more power and
equality. However, overall there are
things that are very difficult for us to accept. It can be a difficult mental exercise not to
judge things like marrying women as young as 11 or 12. I asking: who am I to say that this is wrong?
Believing it is another thing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJO_PUPx-D8vc-a2pTQcOo_7c1Adju40hnhffQC6IMN1LycoxbTCpnP7frcWJ-fgVi1wE0hO-GNaGEvyyCXPA0v05TZAGxkoTez7ydWlgWqm9-GfudkOUmooMrJRnxqkWHzbLwaWTsTc/s1600/IMG_0649.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJO_PUPx-D8vc-a2pTQcOo_7c1Adju40hnhffQC6IMN1LycoxbTCpnP7frcWJ-fgVi1wE0hO-GNaGEvyyCXPA0v05TZAGxkoTez7ydWlgWqm9-GfudkOUmooMrJRnxqkWHzbLwaWTsTc/s320/IMG_0649.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The lions in front of the women's quarters at the palace</div>
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The woman we interviewed today was
by contrast starved and beaten by her husband for 19 years. You could see the
fear in her eyes as she refused to be video or audio recorded. She did acquiesce
to an interview. She had so much in
common with women I’ve met in the States.
When asked what she wants for her future she shared that all she wants
is to be able to work and live independently.
It reminded me of clients at Chances explaining that all they want is to
live a “normal life.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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After our interview was over, we chose from beautiful
fabrics that she will turn into “suits” for us.
Here is a photo of me wearing an Indian tunic my friend got me in India
to wear on this trip:<o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSH7ENZY5zMKtCW07Xpwa395EBra8Q0hKfjbMOXMuNGa2F-Vzq9JeAcu_Z-QOrWmjtIGZ4tAg5Ri70tT468snultC8iN1lOz0KIgfb1wNbuOSYrl5qzw2j7nWtxshrEk85e0SdYvwmfXk/s1600/IMG_0118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSH7ENZY5zMKtCW07Xpwa395EBra8Q0hKfjbMOXMuNGa2F-Vzq9JeAcu_Z-QOrWmjtIGZ4tAg5Ri70tT468snultC8iN1lOz0KIgfb1wNbuOSYrl5qzw2j7nWtxshrEk85e0SdYvwmfXk/s1600/IMG_0118.JPG" /></a><br />
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Its cliché, but I can’t believe this is only our second day
here. It already feels like we’ve been
here for much longer. It was obvious
over dinner that the day had taken an emotional toll on all of us. The conversation was silly and I could feel
my mind wandering, having lost the focus and calm from the morning. I am excited for what tomorrow will
bring. This project is truly an amazing
opportunity that I still can’t believe I am a part of. And the work we do here is just the beginning. I anticipate many future weekends being spent
putting this data together with my team.
For now I will do a bit of reading and pass the f*&% out.</div>
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The lovely lotus fountain:</div>
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Sarah in front of the women's quarters</div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-4433287610072828332013-12-28T14:10:00.001-03:002013-12-28T14:10:31.510-03:00India Day 1 - Palace Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The past forty eight hours may have been the weirdest most random in my life, but this present minute seems to have topped it all. I am sitting on a sort of cot made from four wooden posts with wooden frames that hold plastic strips that are laced into a surface a person could perhaps sleep on, or in my case sit precariously on the edge of and look around as the first rays of light hit one of the palace’s arabesque towers making it’s rusted and discolored stone stand out against the pale blue sky and terracotta roof tiles. The pink courtyard below, where I sit on a marble platform is just one small part of this sprawling palace. Birds fly around me, coo and sing out to one another. Wes Anderson could only dream of this place. Or maybe he already has. It is surreal.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So was the day spent in the consulate, waiting and trying to find the right balance of aggressive begging and gentle pleading that would convince the employees that I was worthy of special attention. Or even worthy of them doing their job. It was only when I embraced Carlie on the platform of the A train, met up with the other girls at the airport, and settled in at the bar of an Irish airport bar for our supper that it started to sink in. This trip was really happening.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The trip to India is long and exhausting. We stumbled out of the airport into the dark morning, lit by a small crescent moon, into the arms of our waiting professor who stood shoulder to shoulder with the small throbbing crowd of family and taxi <span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">drivers awaiting the arrivals. The sun rose behind us as our van drove past the sign announcing our arrival in </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dhrangadhra"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">Dhrangadhra</span></a></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">. We passed through the town and through the gates of the palace just as the tops of the towers were lit by sunrise. Birds flew everywhere, and we entered the wing that housed our quarters to the dim light of the new day and some bright uncovered light bulbs hanging from the ceilings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Dr. Greaves wasn’t exaggerating when he said that the palace had seen better days. It was built in the late 1800’s. Wonderful, slightly crumbling bas reliefs depict Hindu imagery mixed with Western symbols of British power show the nature of the times. Jay Bapa, the brother to the current King of </span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dhrangadhra"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none;">Dhrangadhra</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> (and Temple Professor of Anthropology who helped organize the trip – Bapa just means brother in</span> Guajarati and is a nickname) and his family have survived centuries of invading hoards by compromising their religious symbols as well as their own autonomy. Jay Bapa’s ancestors are depicted with Western Angel wings as blind justice next to the monkey god and other Hindu symbols. Large war drums flank the entrance way to the grand hall where they held court – a symbol of the military success that brought his family to power. Peacocks roam the dry grounds and hustle between crumbling pavilions and the well-kept garden in front of the King’s quarters. Parrots flit and fly among the tree tops with other birds. The sandstone and concrete walls are a wonderful mix of Indian and Western Architecture. Neo gothic archways, beautiful lattice work, and arabesque towers are topped with a Greek looking statue and a flag pole. The newer pool in the back has two beautiful new lotus shaped fountains.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Dr. Greaves brought us into town where unpaved streets are lined with small shops, carts, and trash filled gutters. The streets were filled with rickshaws carting beautifully dressed people from place to place, mopeds weaving in and out of traffic, cows slowly waddling, and people walking in every direction with a bundle on their head, or pushing a cart ahead of them.</div>
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Adults stared curiously, and bold children waved and some even said hello. We wandered around looking for a bank to exchange money with our friend who speaks Hindi stopping to ask for directions every so often. </div>
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Pig Crossing</div>
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We ran into a yoga and music instructor that Dr. Greaves knew, and he handed us off so we could go to his house to arrange for future yoga sessions. Four of us squeezed into the back of a rickshaw, and one of us hopped on the back of his moped as we left the main streets for the quieter sun soaked residential alleys. Our journey was interrupted when we had to get out of the cart to make way for a cow, but eventually we made it. We met his mother, young wife and children and sipped Chai upstairs as he shared his philosophy with us. He was on day thirty of a ninety day fast. He is only eating dinner very limited juices and vegetables during the day. He played us the modified Indian guitar for a few minutes. It made a beautiful almost mournful sound.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We took a rickshaw back to the palace. After a wonderful lunch I finally hit a wall and succumbed to the primal need to be horizontal for the first time in two days and passed out on the hard dusty bed. We’ve spent the evening hammering out the details of our research.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We get to work tomorrow. I’m so excited to be with this brilliant group of people and to participate in this project. More to come!</div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-68139226267479191912013-12-09T01:27:00.000-03:002013-12-09T01:28:28.862-03:00Julia is getting ready to go abroad again!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
What better method of procrastination than....oh I know...a blog post! This semester I got to write a few less academic posts (oh yea, I'm in grad school now) and it made me yearn for the days of writing whatever my heart desired. And now I have an excuse to return to Julia's abroad blog! For abroad I go. This time though, I will be headed to far away lands very unlike the places seen in this blog. In 18 days I head to<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dhrangadhra">Dhrangadhra</a> in Gujarat state in India! </span></span><script type="text/javascript">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">After borderline harassment by us for the better part of a semester, a Public Health professor is taking me and four lucky ladies to India to do a project on domestic violence in this small town of around 100,000. We will be doing exploratory qualitative research, as well as visiting retired cows, temples, and perhaps practicing some yoga. So instead of writing about stress reduction for women with substance abuse disorder, I think I shall write down some of my expectations for the trip. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">For starters, I am hoping to see a whole lot of mustaches like this:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">This is actually a photo of an ancestor of a Temple professor. We will be staying in his family's home (palace) which according to the internet will look like this:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">NO this is not a joke. Somehow this is real life right now. Not to mention how excited I am to have the opportunity to do research in a field and on a topic I really care about. When I think about how amazing the opportunity is I get too excited and it immobilizes me so I try really hard not to think about it too much. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">Ok - so - real expectations in no particular order:</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">1) massive amounts of bonding time with close friends from MPH program of course</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">2) to feel the jolt and surreal feeling of being thrust into a culture so unlike my own that I feel disoriented, but in a good way</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">3) many sad emotions at the poverty and violent stories we will be listening to and recording</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">4) wonder at the beauty of the place and its people</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">5) the joy of purchasing power in a land filled with beautiful jewelry and fabrics</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">6) to get experience collecting qualitative data, and to be a part of an amazing research team</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">7) form a relationship with a really awesome professor</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">8) to eat a lot of amazing food and drink a lot of amazing tea</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">9) to have a lot of tummy aches</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222;">10) to feel the rush and excitement of travel, the oddity of looking different from everyone everywhere, and the awesome humbling nature being a stranger in a strange land. </span></span></span></div>
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I leave you with a few photos from the generous internet that have helped me to get a small feel for where we are headed:</div>
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The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dhrangadhra" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: left;">Dhrangadhra</a> Arms</div>
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<a href="http://www.temple.edu/studyabroad/Programs/summer/india/images/gujarat_palace_garden_flora_cheung_crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="http://www.temple.edu/studyabroad/Programs/summer/india/images/gujarat_palace_garden_flora_cheung_crop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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A Temple</div>
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Salt Mining - Looks like this might be a major industry </div>
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In preparation for my trip I will try to pre-acculturate myself with documentaries and research. I have been told by friends that the culture shock will be world rocking and I'd like to be ready. Can't wait to post my own photos. Until then, see you in India!</div>
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Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-26106027773048687592011-08-17T12:15:00.000-03:002011-08-17T12:16:24.166-03:00An Uli RecipeUli's recipe for:
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<br />Berenjenas Al escaveche
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<br />Cut up 2 kilos of eggplant and cut them length wise
<br />Put down a layer of eggplant in a deep baking dish and cover the eggplant in kosher salt
<br />Put down another layer of eggplant and cover it in salt and continue until you have layered all of the eggplant with salt.
<br />Let this sit overnight in the kitchen and marvel as you come home late at night at how much water has been sucked out of the eggplant.
<br />In the morning, while drinking mate, wash off the eggplant and then cook it in two liters of water and 250 ml of white vinegar in batches. Don’t overcook the eggplant.
<br />Make a spice mixture of oregano, red pepper flakes, and aji which from what I can tell is ground up dried red pepper. Also add a dash or two of garlic sauce and then add enough oil to fry up a pound of potatoes. Mix this all up.
<br />Get yourself a big ass jar.
<br />Layer the bottom of the jar with cooked eggplant and cover this with the spice mixture.
<br />Keep layering eggplant with spice mixture until you get bored and then dump in all of the eggplant and then all of the spice mixture. If there isn’t enough to fully cover the eggplant dump in more oil and then screw the lid onto the jar and roll it around so that the mixture fully coats all of the eggplant.
<br />Let it sit in the fridge for one or two days, and then enjoy with your favorite asado!
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-32953385695998692262011-08-17T11:14:00.004-03:002011-08-17T12:30:02.037-03:00Sushi Club and La CatedralGrey days continue here but we are not letting them get us down. Yesterday, for Uli's day off, we made fresh pasta (Uli made the dough and everything) and spent a wonderful afternoon making it and eating it with our old friend Coy. As always she was full of sunshine and banished the cold and the grey out of Uli's apartment.
<br />Josh and I spent the afternoon taking a long walk from Alto Palermo shopping mall back to Uli’s apartment, and played cards and hung out with Uli and Gus while Uli made muffins and we drank mate.
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<br /></a><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-rz3sDJY_A_0aGdq8khPsO4Zdq0ztCq0NM3iY9c_SnD4_ut22pLYuEi_T9AGeefY4NVdDvP936LwIdN1oM45QYj5k9czRgH4JUo5-G3LBFOllGCBPvwRQ0PJYuDW9V03kS2JFjm6vkM/s1600/IMG_0489.JPG"></a>Making Pasta with Coy</p>
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<br />For dinner we drove to La Canitas where we met up with Steph for a fancy dinner to thank Uli and Gus for being such good hosts. They chose to eat at a restaurant called Sushi Club. I was reminded when I looked at the menu that somewhere along the line somebody got confused and decided to put Philadelphia cream cheese in almost all of the sushi rolls that exist here in BA. After we scouted out the menu we found enough options without cream cheese to make us all happy and full and we celebrated everything there is to celebrate with a bottle of Champagne at the end.
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<br /></p><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEMf10f79uBEXw0rf71AguVT_X1xtufWwTBe6J5img4ftg9c9-iQOYBz_E_9I7btJbT9XOAxgJSAWv_HVcghNnBDqqqPSVuumqQ9VLYkuSLASmmRuk9mMZhk5eGG62k9KAMab_gRZYH0/s1600/IMG_0536.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641832350300772402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEMf10f79uBEXw0rf71AguVT_X1xtufWwTBe6J5img4ftg9c9-iQOYBz_E_9I7btJbT9XOAxgJSAWv_HVcghNnBDqqqPSVuumqQ9VLYkuSLASmmRuk9mMZhk5eGG62k9KAMab_gRZYH0/s400/IMG_0536.JPG" /></a> Being Swanky at Sushi Club </div>
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<br /><div align="left">It was only 1 am at that point so we clearly could not go to bed. Instead we went to La Catedral, a trendy Milonga that Fani promised we would like. She hit the nail on the head with this place. For those who don’t know a Milonga is a place where you can go to dance tango. They are informal places where you can meet new people, dance, or watch the tango and drink and mourn the fact that you don’t know how to do all those sexy moves. And sit and drink and mourn our lack of skills we did.
<br />The space is wonderful. It’s almost like a big barn filled with posters of Che and Carlos Gardel and there is a statue of a giant heart hanging from the ceiling over the bar. No two glasses are alike and the wine is a good price.
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<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHQKMDGws2XqrqpcC3juJOUBEenqOFRw159Wr-9svuZzKZEBS71eTwCM_481Lv6BVZDvtxXViYTOKGgqy9_k2SUSZlM02E52csKlCof1aT8FeWQ6T4Vjxw2jtJ8Zx6bBOwCIt6fk28ZI/s1600/IMG_0544.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641832345642783826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHQKMDGws2XqrqpcC3juJOUBEenqOFRw159Wr-9svuZzKZEBS71eTwCM_481Lv6BVZDvtxXViYTOKGgqy9_k2SUSZlM02E52csKlCof1aT8FeWQ6T4Vjxw2jtJ8Zx6bBOwCIt6fk28ZI/s400/IMG_0544.JPG" /></a>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFH4dj0EjF-NqOWZ9NuU5QJxeObzFpNAz8fxcko4DcXr8lvxseP9PAUfjVolCDHLzkHiMANP-UiVGhxRes9ULeJVsQnWuvHE2LYt1ZPr2FzvNDHmyXWhzVGwiKfqTVKHQyLd_WFilDrdU/s1600/IMG_0573.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641832317892133314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFH4dj0EjF-NqOWZ9NuU5QJxeObzFpNAz8fxcko4DcXr8lvxseP9PAUfjVolCDHLzkHiMANP-UiVGhxRes9ULeJVsQnWuvHE2LYt1ZPr2FzvNDHmyXWhzVGwiKfqTVKHQyLd_WFilDrdU/s400/IMG_0573.JPG" /></a><p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFH4dj0EjF-NqOWZ9NuU5QJxeObzFpNAz8fxcko4DcXr8lvxseP9PAUfjVolCDHLzkHiMANP-UiVGhxRes9ULeJVsQnWuvHE2LYt1ZPr2FzvNDHmyXWhzVGwiKfqTVKHQyLd_WFilDrdU/s1600/IMG_0573.JPG"></a>Getting fancy with my new camera while this guy channels Marlon Brando
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<br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSnE7zCsrxZtltf8HDG00EBsw0lLqubkGXuMy1i_kAQ0zlfPHtBUD0u8WbqoU9pJMR8YKJnRu-CdAxFeTwP-yYvXhDILHvKn4nvkP60tULzHfBIHpPWYptrHiYPp8JSjB-zYmxpXiM9cE/s1600/IMG_0638.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641832314089965234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSnE7zCsrxZtltf8HDG00EBsw0lLqubkGXuMy1i_kAQ0zlfPHtBUD0u8WbqoU9pJMR8YKJnRu-CdAxFeTwP-yYvXhDILHvKn4nvkP60tULzHfBIHpPWYptrHiYPp8JSjB-zYmxpXiM9cE/s400/IMG_0638.JPG" /></a> The Tango Continues</div>
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<br />When we arrived the tango stopped and a band stood in the center of the dance floor and waited for silence. When they felt they had commanded enough respect they played a few songs for us and I enjoyed them immensely. After that we managed to find a table and sat back to enjoy the tango. Tango here is not like when you see a show. There it is all Brava, flashing costumes and all for show. In a Milonga you see the real tango, and the real passion. Here tango is a slow, purposeful and swirling dance, and in this space the music is almost an afterthought. It is a far away rhythm that pulses in the wrist of a man as he controls the woman leaning on him with a touch of pressure on her arm, or back. Here the man still holds all of the power in the room and the woman all of the beauty. At times it is almost embarrassing to watch a couple for two long because you almost feel like you are invading something very private, like a peeping Tom.
<br />At around 3:30 am Uli suggested more wine and I suggested bed so we dropped Fani off at home and then slept as if I had been dancing the tango all night myself.</div>Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-39196886511765965722011-08-14T18:43:00.002-03:002011-08-15T23:19:29.770-03:00The Great Return to San TelmoThese past two days we have been blessed with beautiful weather. Yesterday we met up with Stephanie at an organic market which was full of Argentine Hippies. I ate an organic Choripan, and the only difference I could tell was the dry bread. After, we had some tea at Fanie's and then went to Frisbee. It was great to see the smiles light up on people's faces when they realized that this wasn't another random gringo couple coming to play pick up, but two faces that they recognized very well. A lot of people were at a tournament in Uruguay but we got some quality time with a few of my favorite Frisbee players. I even played for a few points but tried very hard to avoid being sore today. I needed my arms to be ready to reach into my wallet because today we spent the afternoon at the San Telmo Market!!!! It was great to be there with money and while I didn't go crazy it was nice to be able to love something and then take it home with me.
<br /><div>Nick met up with us there and we made our way up and down Defensa. I was happy that many of my favorite acts were still there including the puppet show with the drunk puppet dancing tango, and the couple that looks as if it caught in a very strong gust of wind. Also, my Colombian vendor friend remembered me and even reminded me that I had supposedly promised to bring him a Frisbee from the US. Oops. </div>
<br /><div>We made our way to La Plaza de Mayo which was bathed in a setting sun's light and made our way back to Uli's neighborhood where we bought meat for our first big asado since we've been back! Lots of friends came for the asado and the company was as good as the meat. There was music, dancing, eating, more dancing, drinking, more eating, and more eating. And even a brindis (a toast) to Josh and me for bringing everyone together and for the wedding. The asado only ended on the early side (12:30 ish) because everyone except for us had work the next day. I myself was exhausted and very full and grateful to go to sleep!</div>
<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-91004851116978884332011-08-11T17:00:00.002-03:002011-08-12T01:50:06.440-03:00Back in BA<div align="center">And we're back! Its Julia and Josh! From the blog of course. It’s been almost a year since our last post and I have the greatest fortune to be blogging once again from South America! We made our return today and it was slightly epic. We left Newark at 1:30 pm yesterday and three flights later we landed in still dark Buenos Aires. The flights were mostly eventless except for when a woman behind us stopped breathing in the middle of the night. Somehow the crew and her son got her breathing again and everyone went back to sleep but for a few minutes there I thought that I was sitting next to a dead person.
<br />And while all of our flights departed and arrived on time, we had the misfortune of ending up in a taxi with a driver who did not believe the address he had been given could possibly be right. After driving around Buenos Aires for an hour, some conferencing with a co-worker and our instance that this address does exist we ended up at Ulises' apartment just in time to wake him. Manzi, of course, greeted us with some barking and some pee and I didn't know who to say hi to first!! Manzi has a haircut now and looks adorable. She sort of has this mullet thing going. Its amazing.
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<br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639826270039150930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYw2emp9JEILnEEGpjqYOEB3DxtxUzD9mSaGOVua6EVjrnfMKnkVJ9fxTZ4Jcaj36v__eQ8-VP46CGCE5d-5krRZNzfGiuQ4guGUWoUOlLVPTUchuRzXbtgoqlzwsTgdT_0NevOJVDPIo/s400/IMG_0241.JPG" />
<br /><p align="center">She's still one sassy bitch
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<br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2lXbKhWXZa3YD4Mf5dqJBVaph-LK2CbsWvF-LF1sGPMS6_ohQF0gtGOJHkw5zRnbzTtMEbeAG99ljfc8nx993RqyHkW-f-6kngtxBX62YfwsMDs2jgZMOgaqt3gJTPXos2f8kerMWXk/s1600/IMG_0208.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639824965465032082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2lXbKhWXZa3YD4Mf5dqJBVaph-LK2CbsWvF-LF1sGPMS6_ohQF0gtGOJHkw5zRnbzTtMEbeAG99ljfc8nx993RqyHkW-f-6kngtxBX62YfwsMDs2jgZMOgaqt3gJTPXos2f8kerMWXk/s400/IMG_0208.JPG" /></a>
<br />Josh in the taxi on the way into Buenos Aires in the first light of the day
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<br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiha633Qj2cDQtR3pLr8y_Z7_-q8h4Q7t25s17SZFVUIEFLMTluePPBVC396puMxj_GvYHSUVUud2iN6V93f55ugPzUmhx-dqvIH7hMcyZXC3XNMmk7jVqWhpRde3Wa1kvDWK7XyRV3RAs/s1600/IMG_0210.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639824968018941218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiha633Qj2cDQtR3pLr8y_Z7_-q8h4Q7t25s17SZFVUIEFLMTluePPBVC396puMxj_GvYHSUVUud2iN6V93f55ugPzUmhx-dqvIH7hMcyZXC3XNMmk7jVqWhpRde3Wa1kvDWK7XyRV3RAs/s400/IMG_0210.JPG" /></a> Uli, Josh and Manzi in Uli and Gus' kitchen</div>
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<br /><div align="left">It really is amazing to be back here. At first I felt as though nothing had changed. Political graffiti urged passerbies to vote for Christina in the upcoming election. People honked at the toll booths if they waited longer than a minute, demanding their free toll (it’s actually a rule that they have to let people by without paying if they have to wait longer than a minute in line at the toll). Street sweepers swept dirty water in the early dawn light, and people waited in long lines for buses and whatever else people wait in line for here. But throughout the day I have noticed many changes. One of the most exciting is the addition of bike lanes throughout the city and a transmilenio type bus line that has its own lane (like a trolley but a bus). Another is Nick's long hair and that he has a girlfriend now (already love her and talked to her for a lengthy time about food), and of course Uli's amazing apartment that looks over a soccer field and has an amazing porch with a parilla to boot! Everyone has moved on and grown up since Cochabamba, and the people that I have seen so far seem to be doing very well.
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<br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgicq-VaY0SzH4-27yl4fdBldMLoQZZ50OP2qgW38PdzRMtmaiCLpjopmyhZv6iIMJd5fVKhuUGG8-Kpo0InloBVTCmqX5gXApoN7uWMY031xAmvfp5JOYPlZqzqCeCtSZjrHxlSGbJCZ8/s1600/IMG_0231.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639824972274638930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgicq-VaY0SzH4-27yl4fdBldMLoQZZ50OP2qgW38PdzRMtmaiCLpjopmyhZv6iIMJd5fVKhuUGG8-Kpo0InloBVTCmqX5gXApoN7uWMY031xAmvfp5JOYPlZqzqCeCtSZjrHxlSGbJCZ8/s400/IMG_0231.JPG" /></a>Josh and Uli on the train platform on our way to Palermo
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<br />Taking the bus to Costanera with Nick, his girlfriend Flor and a visiting friend and walking to El Rey for a Bondiola felt as natural as breathing. Sitting in the sun on a bench overlooking Puerto Madero with Josh afterwards felt just like the many times we had done that same thing when we lived in San Telmo. But Uli reminded me many times today that I am a tourist and that I can't forget to watch my bag! We had an amazing dinner at La Brigada with a large group of old friends and again it felt as if we had never left. Then there were two great differences. One: we took a taxi home (instead of a bus) and two: I remembered that in eleven days I wouldn’t be able to see these people again until maybe our wedding. I had a sad moment where I thought about how much I love these people and wish I could see them every day and then I decided that there is no point in being sad. I obviously just need to enjoy this trip to the maximo. Josh also made me make a speech announcing our engagement to everyone. We made a big cheers and I warned everyone that they better start saving their plata because I really want them all to be there.
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<br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7SSzKbDpDLsYmMjVqIhSqw1CBL_-5QVZpgNWhZuZ2xN141oQ59SAoHVk7mLDee4q3jGuOupsFNVx0wygJRQVDpq4ZGvZ0vRtQ5vXmZkuaqYluUrb2Pz0hmymZtfAa96MGYJ_qqBcgFm4/s1600/IMG_0248.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639824977148272994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7SSzKbDpDLsYmMjVqIhSqw1CBL_-5QVZpgNWhZuZ2xN141oQ59SAoHVk7mLDee4q3jGuOupsFNVx0wygJRQVDpq4ZGvZ0vRtQ5vXmZkuaqYluUrb2Pz0hmymZtfAa96MGYJ_qqBcgFm4/s400/IMG_0248.JPG" /></a>Serious chow down at La Brigada</div>
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<br /><div align="left">Already this trip is bitter sweet but more than anything it feels really good to be back. Being in San Telmo tonight was amazing since I have felt San Telmo pulling at me since I’ve been here. Calling me home. I can’t wait to see what this city holds for us tomorrow. Our adventures as half tourists will surely not dissappoint! </div></div></div>
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<br />Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-105597578980029834.post-23379317548635323722010-09-03T19:21:00.001-03:002010-09-03T19:22:54.449-03:00New BlogCheck out my new blog!!! Its all about life in Philly at <a href="http://phillyinsideout.blogspot.com/">http://phillyinsideout.blogspot.com/</a><br />Hope to see you there!!!Juliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05616749566413260365noreply@blogger.com0