Make up your mind with the sand in your shoes

I don’t know where I’m going.
A sapling knows nothing but dirt on the ground, I suppose.
The dirt and sand under my feet these days keeps changing, sifting in my shoes.

In the village, a circle of girls look up at me with their arms outstretched, waiting for my lead.
I hesitate only long enough to feel the weight of their expectation before modeling the rest of the Macarena, shaking a little more than needed to encourage their tidal wave of giggles.

In a little nook off a side street, with no giggling girls, an old tailor is quietly, intently mending my order.
He asks of my home village without looking up from his work.
I paint him a picture without looking up from mine.
I must look occupied in my writing,
not standing aimlessly, not purchasing or eating or taking pictures- just sitting, just writing.
Maybe I’m in a movie.  Maybe I’m cliché.
The people on the street steal second glances at me, sitting so casually, as if I belonged.

But, in the furnace room of a village house in the Himalayas, I do belong.
The mother sitting near me,
sharing her tea and plain white bread before everyone else awakes,
is not my own.
Yet my bare feet find a familiar spot and the cat instinctively curls up under my bent legs.
She flits about the room, humming as she washes dishes, makes chai, stokes the fire-
she is all moms, with that tune.

And with it still ringing in my head, I know where I am.
The dirt in my shoes has softened my calloused heels along the way.

-Hannah Beachy

We made our way through the narrow ally, the dirt path covered in snow in some places and the wind biting through our thin layers. We arrived at our home stay in Alchi around 5:00, welcomed with steaming cups of butter salt tea. Our house was rustic: the cows lived under the kitchen, the bathroom was just outside the house, a small hole dug in the dirt, and we had no running water or heat. However, our host mom welcomed us with warm and open arms. We filed into the tiny kitchen, the only place in the house that was kept warm by the stove, and sat along the perimeter. I could feel the distance between us as we tried to communicate without any knowledge of each others’ culture or language.

Many times throughout this trip I have been amazed at the power of music, whether to communicate feelings that cannot be expressed in spoken word or to provide the only possible communication when spoken language is not shared between people. Even though we knew no Ladakhi and our host family knew no English, we were able to laugh, dance, play and interact with one another on a deeper level than spoken language could have allowed. A few nights, we sang for our host family as we prepared dinner. I was amazed, once again, at the power of music across cultures. Music is a wonderful medium to communicate and on a few occasions our host mom would attempt to sing along with us, though she didn’t know the words or tune. These instances, when all barriers of communication were dropped and something deep within us connected, I learned more about my host mom than any length of conversation could have allowed.

There were sinners making music and I’ve dreamt of that sound. – Iron & Wine

Though these differences exist, sometimes making it difficult to connect with others, I am reminded to look at them not as something negative but as something to be celebrated. Sometimes their music is the most pleasing to the ear. Sometimes it’s what echoes in our dreams.

-Esther Shank

Before boarding the airplane that was taking us from Delhi to Leh, we received specific instructions to not speak a word on the plane. We were going to be landing at 12,000 ft above sea level, and we had to conserve energy to prevent altitude sickness. I don’t think anyone could have spoken much anyway, because what we saw out the window was close to magical. The mountain ranges were covered in snow, and it was unbelievable that we were going to be landing in Leh.

The first day in Leh we spent laying in bed trying to adjust our bodies to the altitude and oxygen level change. That first day was such a boring day, because all we got up to do was eat. The second day we woke up to snow falling from the Ladakhi skies, and our first trip to the wool store had to happen. I don’t think any of us were ready for this type of weather or were expecting this type of weather in India! After stocking up on wool, we drove to see several Buddhist monasteries on the mountain that had beautiful views. None of us could feel our toes by the end of the day. I think I remember the temperature being like 18 degrees at one point. We were freezing!

The next day we woke up bright and early to prepare for our visit to the Tibetan oracle. At breakfast that day Kim informed us that this was going to be an experience that could shock us all and that we could walk out of it at any time, and I kept thinking to myself ‘this is so interesting, when am I ever going to get to see an oracle again.’ I was really excited to see this woman heal Tsetop, one of our leaders. The actual visit to the oracle was not what any of us were expecting. She began by chanting some songs and words, and then she told Tsetop not to test her because she knew there was nothing wrong with him. Then she proceeded to answer questions about people’s fortune, and that was surprising because I had no idea she was a fortune teller as well. I think that it was very interesting how much faith Tibetans have in this oracle, and it was definitely an experience I will never forget.

Following the events of that morning, we traveled two and a half hours through the mountains to a village called Alchi. Everyone was shivering, but everyone was excited about our home-stays in the village. We split into three groups and headed towards our homes. Our Tibetan host family was so welcoming, and they definitely made us feel at home. We knocked on their kitchen door, and they greeted us with the Tibetan hello, “juley!” We sat around the stove area where there was loads of warmth, and we all soon decided that we were not moving for the rest of the evening. Then our host mom and daughter made us a delicious Tibetan home-cooked meal and served us lots of chai. It was really nice to sit around in a circle and have a conversation with the family we were going to be living with for the next four days. I really enjoyed the time we had to get to know our families, work in the fields, and get to interact with them. They really enjoyed having us and even gave us their address to keep in touch with them in the future. The best part of the home-stay experience, by far, was knowing that after a full day of excursions we could come home to a family and a home-cooked meal.

-Carina Contreras

Most of India is warm and most of the rest is hot. Sometimes I think, “Oh boy, I’d like to fly a kite and have a picnic” or other times I’m like, “Man oh man, it sure is nice to have this pool here”. But then we woke up one day and flew to this place called Ladakh and all of a sudden I’m thinking, “How long can my feet stay numb before I bother someone about possible frost bite?”

Ladakh is in about the farthest northern part of India you could imagine. There are no roads that lead here; the only way is by plane. It is in the middle of the Himalayan Mountains. It’s absolutely cold. And it wouldn’t be so bad, if, say, there was any central heating, but there is not, just these scary individual heaters that look ready to explode. So, basically, going inside is no respite from the cold. But in a way, it’s awesome.

Bon Iver is a great artist (if you haven’t listened to him, now is the time folks) and his song “Re: Stacks” sounds perfect when you’re stuck to your bus seat, steaming up the windows with your breath, and squinting at the snowy tips of the mountains. It was this stark beauty, like seeing a black crow land in the silent snow, but instead it was a lonely Tibetan woman making her way slowly over a gigantic valley. It made me shake my head once more in disbelief at how diverse India is. We spent time dodging street dogs in crowded cities, sweated the minute we woke up on the coast, got sand in our teeth in the desert, and now we’re dots on the immeasurable Himalayan landscape, shivering in our wool sweaters. Most of India is warm and most of the rest is hot, but of course (of course!) there’s the part that’s crazy cold and still just as amazing as all of the rest of it.

-Steve Henry

On Monday, April 4^th we began the last leg of our trip with a morning flight to north India in the land of the Himalayas. The sky view of the Himalayas as we flew into Ladakh was absolutely breathtaking and I found myself, even after nearly 3 months of being here, blown away by the fact that I am in INDIA. In reflecting on the past months, this trip has been an adventure full of variety in every way imaginable. Our arrival in Ladakh added to that variety as a blast of cold wintery air kissed our cheeks, causing them to blush, while the close up view of majestic, snow-capped Himalayan mountains took our breath away; a far cry from the dry heat and flat desert land of Rajasthan but still beautiful in a way that can’t compare to our other experiences. It just goes to show how creative, great, and beautiful the God we serve is.

Our first day in Ladakh (Monday) was spent laying in bed resting so we could adjust to the altitude (we flew in at 12,000 ft). Our second morning here we woke up to a cloudy, snowy morning. It caused nostalgic feelings of Christmas, but those ended as soon as I left my warm bed to turn on the propane heater in our room. Central heating doesn’t exist here, and at night we turn off the heaters and sleep with hot water bottles and tons of blankets, so essentially the temperature inside your room is similar to the outside temperature when you wake up. However, the beauty of the mountains and the snow makes it all worth it and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else! Our first task Tuesday morning, before doing any sight-seeing, was to buy wool hats, mittens, and gloves (which I have proceeded to practically live in for the past week). Our sight-seeing that day was mostly visiting Buddhist monasteries and being in awe of the view of the Himalayas we had from the monasteries (and also wondering how in the world the monks survive here year round—their answer, we train ourselves to not feel the cold-that’s some strong mental control).

On Wednesday we went to the small village of Alchi where we had our home stays through Sunday morning. We stayed with Ladakhi families (which are of Tibetan background); my family consisted of my host mom and dad and two host sisters ages 13 and 10. Being spoiled with central heating in the states, I had trouble sleeping in an unheated room and our first night there, even though I had almost 5 pounds of blankets on me, I slept in all my clothes including my wool hat, gloves, and socks. We woke up on Thursday morning to another cold, snowy day. It was beautiful looking out the windows and seeing the great Himalayas and a light falling snow from the kitchen while we drank warm chai. It felt so homey-and braiding my host sisters’ hair before school along with the warm smile of our host mom only added to the beauty and warmth of the atmosphere. On both Thursday and Friday we spent our days sightseeing with our cross-cultural group, and it was so fun to be able to walk home, to an actual home, and spend time with my host sisters after our day of “school” as well as share supper together as a family.

On Saturday we spent the entire day with our host families, helping them in the fields. For my group that meant clearing rocks and mini boulders out of the field to make a pasture wall in the morning and digging irrigation ditches in the afternoon, after lunch. It sounds like hard work, and it was, but doing it together, with our family, made it fun and I am so grateful I was able to help out as a way to give back for all their caring hospitality. As we were working together, be it lifting rocks or shoveling dirt, I kept thinking of the verse…

We will work with each other, we will work side by side
We will work with each other, we will work side by side
And we’ll guard each man’s dignity and save each man’s pride
And they’ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love
Yes they’ll know we are Christians by our love

Being in India, this land of many religions, where Christianity is a minority and idols are everywhere, my faith has been stretched and challenged in many ways. I have often found myself wondering how I am to relate to the people of many different faiths, who worship many different gods, around me. I have wrestled with the question what makes Christianity the Truth and everything else idol worship. I have even wondered at times if maybe each religion, which has its differences but also many similar underlying themes, could possibly be referring to the same God with different cultural twists. Let’s be honest, Christianity is very westernized in some ways. I do not have the complete answers to these questions, but I personally still believe in Jesus and his love and saving grace. However, I find it hard to judge others who are not Christian-like my Buddhist host family. And in referencing the verse of “They’ll Know We Are Christians”, I am reminded that it’s not up to us to judge, it’s up to us to love. No matter what we believe, we are all (from the Christian view) created in God’s image, and that alone is enough to unite us as “one in the Spirit” and “one in the Lord”. In being one in this way, it’s important that we love one another, respect one another, and see each other as equals. Being a Christian does not put me above those who believe something else; being of light skin color does not put me above those who are darker. I believe we are all made in the image of God, because of that we are all one in His spirit, and we must let the love of these two previous statements shine through in our interactions with whoever we meet. Experiencing this kind of love with my host family really allowed me to bond with them in a deep, special way and a tearful goodbye was experienced this morning as we parted ways after living together for four days. I find joy, though, in knowing that we are one in the Spirit, both created in the image of the same God, a bond no distance can separate.

-Tessa Gerberich

India is a land of vast diversity. So far during our time in India we have experienced a plethora of different religions, customs, rituals, ways of life, cultures, etc. A prime example of this has been the clear contrast of our recent village study in the Himalayan Mountains to the rest of our stays in larger cities such as Delhi, Kolkata, and Udaipur. We split into three different groups of about eight people in each and set off for three separate villages. We spent one day and one night in our villages and then came together to describe our different experiences to the whole group. Each group had generally similar experiences with their respective villages. One group experienced the local village culture by helping carry manure, in bags, on their heads down steep mountain paths. Another group had the privilege of visiting with and talking to the village mid-wife. The third group introduced the Macarena to some of the children; they ended up having so much fun with it they didn’t want to stop.

Hospitality was a common theme throughout all the village stays. Everyone in the villages was so kind and accepting of us staying with them for a night. Each group had someone who could interpret the language so that we all had a chance to share in a conversation with the villagers. Staying in the villages has definitely been a highlight to the trip so far. It was a great experience getting out of the cities and into a beautiful rural Himalayan culture. Sharing with the locals and experiencing their culture has made me really appreciate India in its diversity.

-Matt Swartzentruber

When was the last time you were surprised? Maybe it was a pleasant surprise like a letter from a long lost friend. Or maybe your found your carpet soiled by your house-trained (or so you thought) dog and the surprise wasn’t pleasant at all.

Here in India we’ve had our fair share of pleasant and unpleasant surprises. For instance, back in Kerala at the Sarang Center, we were treated to a nice, formal meal served by bowtie-wearing hotel management students – pleasant surprise. A few minutes into the meal, the song from the late 90s that everyone loves to forget, “Barbie Girl,” began playing…LOUDLY – unpleasant surprise. That might seem like a silly example, but it illustrates fairly well the kind of odd juxtapositions we witness every day. For everything that seems “normal” to me at first, there is always something surprising right beside it that takes me right back out of my comfort zone.

However, since things like this are happening constantly, it’s come to be something we expect to happen. A few of us made up a game called “surprising or not?” Whenever something crazy happens, we ask the question, and more often than not find ourselves answering the question with “not surprising.” The fact that wild situations occur so often has encouraged us to take on the attitude that we can’t let ourselves get too comfortable. With this mind-set, we’re pretty much ready for anything to happen – at any time. People being awkwardly close to you, driving the wrong way down a highway, men wearing sparkly pink sweater vests, none of it really fazes us anymore. Expecting ridiculous things to happen hasn’t taken the fun out of anything, just kept us from going insane.

For this trip, flexibility is crucial, and I hope by practicing flexibility this semester in a country where it is completely necessary, I can develop a skill that will be useful throughout life.

-Ryan Eshleman

After finishing our village study with SIDH, the group is now in Mussoorie. We toured Woodstock school and had a couple days to relax. It has been great to have mornings free to wander up mountain roads and explore. This is a conversation I had earlier today.

I was sitting on a mountain park bench in Landour listening to music and writing in a notebook. I sensed a figure to my left. It was a fifth grade girl, leaning, with her arms stretched out toward me offering a bag of munchies. Looking up, I met her eyes. “Would you like some?” “Yeah, thanks,” I reply. As soon as my fingers could feel the salty residue on the inside of the bag, a dozen other girls scrambled over. As I Lifted my eyes from the bag of snacks, I saw six other arms offering me everything from chocolate to sour straw candy. Where are you from? Are you a writer? What do you want to be? Are you a Christian? The high pitched conglomeration of sound stewed together in my head. I turned to one of the girls and asked, “What did you say?” I talked with the girls for about 20 min. They told me about their cousins, aunts and uncles who live in America, Canada and Europe. A couple of them told me they wanted to be pop stars when they grew up. To show me their stuff, they began singing Justin Bieber songs to me and I clapped for them when they finished. They were quite good. Afterwards, the other girls talked to me about things like their blood types. I told them that I was impressed they knew their parents blood types, too. When they needed to go, I waved goodbye and they told me not to forget them. I told them I wouldn’t and one of the girls handed me a goodbye candy bar. I enjoyed it all the way down the mountain.

It has been fun,

-Stewart Nafziger

Seeing the cities of India it is easy to believe that India is the second most populous country in the world with well over 1 billion residents. Ironically estimates place the rural population of India well in the majority with around 70% of the population living in towns, and villages of less than 1,000 people. A couple of days ago we met up with a group called SIDH that is working to improve education in some of these small villages in the Mussorie region of the Himalayas.

We divided ourselves up into 3 groups, each of which went to a different village. The village (Matella) I went to is located on the side of one of the mountains in the Himalayan ranges of India and consisted of 9 joint families (multiple relatives) totaling less than 100 people. The village is almost completely self-supported by farming. They don’t sell any of the crops that they grow; everything goes towards feeding the village. Each family is responsible for a portion of the 1 square kilometer of fields surrounding the village, but when it comes time for harvesting or other labor intensive activities the rest of the village pitches in too. Having grown up surrounded by fields of corn and wheat in northwest Ohio, seeing farming like this doesn’t even seem to compare. A field can be anywhere from fifty to a couple hundred yards long and varies in width from 10 to 30 yards wide. To get from field to field the villagers take something comparable to eroding goat paths that go almost straight up in some places and zigzag back and forth in others.

While there we helped them out with some of their farm work. Up by the school house there was a pile of cow manure that had been mixed with straw and left to sit long enough it was at least beginning to compost. One man and around seven women loaded up bags with around 25-30 lbs of manure, had us put them on our heads (you got chewed out if you tried to carry it any other way), and led us zigzagging somewhere from 200 to 300 feet down the side of the mountain to a field. When we would start walking faster on the way down or even up, the only one of the women who spoke English (a twelfth grader who normally went to school fifteen minutes up the hill by her reckoning) would tell us to walk slower and then continue asking us questions. One person in our group made the comment that here they work at a slow, casual speed all day and at home we work really hard, then take a break, then work really hard again, and take another break. In a community like Matella, the everyday tasks like farming and cooking are carried out without hurry or abandon. At this slower speed things get done just as well, the only difference is that you find time for communication and inevitably community along the way.

-Evan McCarthy

This past Thursday was a one day glimpse of the highlights of Amritsar, a city in the Indian state of Punjab. We first walked around Jallianwala Bagh, the site of the Amritsar massacre and memorial for the 319 lives of non-violent Indian protesters who were murdered by British soldiers in 1919. The Indians had been peacefully rallying against unjust treatment by British troops, giving testimonies about the abuses they had suffered, when 50 soldiers were ordered to fire on the crowd. As I stood staring at the bullet holes in the surrounding brick walls I took time to mourn the injustice and grieve the lives that were lost, praying that God would use that place as a reminder that lives are infinitely more precious that the struggle for power.

Next we visited the famous Sri Harminder Sahib (aka the Golden Temple), a place of worship for Sikhs.  Before entering the huge compound we removed our shoes, washed our feet, and covered our heads. Thousands of people come to worship at the Golden Temple each day so we waited 30 minutes just to get a glimpse of the inside of the temple. Of course, it was an Indian style line which meant that you crammed as many people into the space as physically possible (and then a few more yet), and in order to keep your spot in line you have to constantly be pushing against the people in front of you. After glancing around the temple and making friends with an old man with a scraggly beard (which involved shaking hands and smiling and nodding as he kept talking in a language we couldn’t understand) we headed to the dining hall for lunch. Every Sikh temple serves two free meals everyday for anyone in the world- they will turn no one away. We got a behind-the-scenes tour of the kitchen where they cook the dal and curry in enormous pots and ‘manufacture’ chapattis by the hundreds. The many cooks, dishwashers, and servers are all local people who take an occasional day off to volunteer at the temple kitchen. When it came time to eat we sat on the floor in rows in a huge room filled with people. Our food was served to us from huge sloshing buckets and baskets piled high with chapatti. To receive the chapatti we reached out our open hands in the style of a beggar- a symbol that no matter what caste, creed, sex, or religion, we are all equal in God’s eyes.

We finished the day at the Wagah Border, the boundary line between India and Pakistan where the border security forces from both countries perform a special sunset ceremony. We sat on concrete stadium steps in an arena that seat 6,000 people, though they manage to fit in 8,000-10,000 each night for the ceremony as it is a highly attended event. From our seats we could see the Indian and Pakistani iron gates separating the two countries and beyond that a similar looking stadium on the Pakistan side.  The ceremony consisted of a very random flow of events including shouting chants as a crowd, trying to out-scream the Pakistan side, and watching the border security force guards, dressed in elaborate uniforms, as they marched, kicked, high-stepped, shouted, and blew their bugles. The gates of the border were opened and closed a few times throughout and the culmination of the event was the lowering of both countries flags. It was entertaining to watch but I couldn’t help feeling like I was in the cheering section of a high school sports game trying to build team spirit and shame the other team. For our dinner grace that evening we sang a verse of “Blessed Be the Tie that Binds” – a beautiful reminder that in God’s kingdom there are no borders or nationalities, but instead a single body of brothers and sisters each created in the image of God.

-Sarah Schoenhals