After school I change out of my sari and go to work in the fields. I have recently been weeding waist-high wild trees that grew in the winter on the plot where they will eventually plant peanuts. There has still been no rain, so they have yet to plant anything. I doubt I will be here when/if they plant this season. The trees are so deeply-rooted and thick that I ended up slicing my fingers open one by one just from tugging.
I have spent the past few afternoons and evenings on a motorcycle going around to different family farms and homes in the village and surrounding area. Not only do I love riding the motorcycle, the wind blowing in my hair as the sun sets in the desert, but seeing the different homes and farms has been interesting as well. My family owns a small piece of land about 5 kilometers out that we visited last night. Many of the homes I stop at are those of children that I teach. I should note that they walk 3 or 4 kilometers to and from school everyday, many without shoes. (That is one of the things I am donating before I leave, among pencils, pens and books, to the school) Their land is mostly barren and brown with nothing growing, their homes small and open-air, some looking simply like an organized pile of bricks. Our land is next to one of those homes. Green, plush vegetable patches and waist-high cow food, our land is full of hearty brush and crops. Not two feet over, separated by only a barbed wire fence, is the neighbors' land, brown and empty. How is that possible? I couldn't understand how two pieces of land right next to each other could be so opposite. If there is water for us, why isn't there water for them? The answer: we have an electric pump; they have a diesel pump. With the rise in diesel prices recently they can't afford to water their land, as one liter of diesel is 40 rupees and only about 30 minutes of watering. So, my family lets them use the cow food we grow and some of the vegetables, when they are ripe.
I have to say, this is the most interesting internship I have ever had, with enough excitement and differences in work to keep me content. From teaching, farming, touring the village and our land, being with the family and learning to cook, I have done more in the past few weeks here than I could have ever imagined.
Lisa, I am amazed by every step of your journey! Whenever I think it's hot here (and it has been in the 90's a lot), I remember you! Your description of your family's fertile plot is such a powerful image of the meaning of water in a country so rich in tradition and yet so poor. Is there any way we could send donations of school supplies for your students? I'll ask your Mom the next time we see her. Maybe when you get home, you'll know the best way to arrange that. In the meantime, know that we love you and pray for your safety and well-being every day! Will you teach me how to cook some Indian food and do the henna drawings when you get back?
ReplyDeleteLove, Kathy (and Jean-Jean, who's still asleep!)