25.4.11
Email List
Several blog followers have asked why they don't get emails when we post new entries. I have no idea how to automate emails to followers, but I can make an email list and send a message manually. If you would like to sign up for the email list, send me a message at jessica47@gmail.com.
24.4.11
Update on Rose Charities
I just got an email from Jan at Rose Charities, the amazing woman who coordinated our volunteer experience in Cambodia for us. She and her husband Bill are intimately involved with a Rose project in Vietnam. A few friends and family members have been asking our opinion about places to donate money, and this would be a good one. Here's the email:
--
April is the kindest month
Rose Charities Vietnam's projects had fallen upon hard times. The dwindling support from the Canadian community in Ho Chi Minh City was keenly felt, and with the desperate needs of Haiti and Japan fund raising became increasingly challenging. However, our fortunes have changed.
Early this month we received a very welcome and wonderful surprise ... the CanCham (Canadian Chamber) in Saigon voted to donate $15,000 to our projects in Hue. Because Rose Vietnam is run entirely by volunteers 100% of our donations go to our projects.
These funds will support the construction of a small medical clinic on donated land in a village where medical attention is non existent ($6,000); a vocational training school ($2,500); scholarships for poor students who would not be able to attend school without financial help ($2,500); and on-going support for the Rose Vietnam school for blind adults ($2,000). The remaining $2000 will build a house for one of our blind students.
Rose VN has committed to building ten homes for our poorest students, to date we have built 4. These houses typically accommodate 25+ family members! Rose VN is very grateful for the support we have received from PEB Steel for this project.
And there is more ... Jack Davis, a high school student in Bellingham, WA has pledged to raise $2000 for house #6, and the Canadian Women of Ho Chi Minh City have donated $2000 for our 7th house. These wonderful women have also contributed time and materials to our skills development programme at Be Tho orphanage. Oliver Bonas, a very generous supporter of Be Tho through Rose VN, purchased three professional standard sewing machines for the older girls who had expressed a desire to learn how to sew as a means of supporting themselves when they leave the orphanage. The Canadian ladies quickly stepped in to offer weekly instruction, guidance and fabric. The results are impressive and will help to ensure the long term sustainability of this programme at Be Tho.
All this generosity has encouraged us to believe that our projects are on safe, if not solid, ground and that we will indeed complete the housing project this year (only three left to build).
For more information about Rose Vietnam – or to donate to the building of a house, or to any of our projects, please see http://www.rosecharities.info/
--
Jan Johnston
Rose Charities
jan@rosecharities.com
Rose Charities
20.4.11
India: Part Two
Our trip to India has already been redeemed by our fortunate connection with Pooja and her school. First and foremost, I fell IN LOVE with Pooja. This was not developed over time or built up to but rather just was, immediately and already fully developed, like love at first sight. I can't explain why it was or what made it so, it's just the way it is when you meet a kindred spirit. I dearly love Pooja and she has made me feel strong like I haven't for a long time. Thank you Pooja, I love you!
On the weekend we took a break from painting and Jessi, Pooja, Manish and I took a fun trip to Rishakesh.
It is a sacred city where the Ganges River flows through, and it is said to be the dwelling place of God, where souls may enter heaven. It is also the yoga capital of the world. We planned to go there to see the sun set over the river. It is said that when the sun goes behind the land, for those few moments the lady river holds her breath, and this is the most sacred moment of the day. It was absolutely beautiful, I must admit. The sun was a lovely golden and the whole city lit up gold in its rays.
We had to take a ferry across the river because cars are not allowed on the other side. We walked through a golden sun-lit corridor with chanting music as a soundtrack. As the music grew louder we arrived at the gathering of yellow cloaked monks and worshiping Hindus as well as foreigners and local tourists. The chanting was loud and beautiful and projected out over the river from loud speakers towards a huge meditating statue in the middle of the river of Shiva, one of the three gods worshiped here by Hindus. We sat until the sun went down. We set two burning offerings floating down the river, one for the prosperity of our families and the other for safe and happy travels. We dipped our feet in the Ganges, as per ritual.
Upon leaving we gave more offerings to the temple and the monk gave us a red dot, or third eye, between our eyes and wrapped a red, orange and yellow rope around our wrist. A very different type of monk and experience than the dot and wrist rope we received from a man on the streets of Mumbai, who cursed us after our protests of having no money turned out true.
While still in Dehradun at Pooja's house, with the boys up at the school, we had a saree party, Tamuz, Pooja, Jessi and I. OMG girliness to the max. Jessi and I were excited beyond belief about this saree dress-up party, which is what we thought was going on, but what we discovered next blew our minds.
This was for real! We were trying them on in preparation for what we would be wearing at the kids play performance. WHAT!!! How lucky are we?? This play was apparently going to be a big deal. Later I realize what an understatement this is. Pooja had at least 20 sarees to choose from and we played dress up until we all agreed that each of us found our match. We went to the market to buy fabric to have the bustier tops made for us, specifically to our form.
In the mean time back at the school we finish painting the rooms, fall in love with the children, hang out with Sandeep (our favorite little entertainer and sweetest 12 year old on the planet), grow close to Alex and Tamuz, love our India mom, and eat yummy food.
We became quite a little family in those mere two weeks.
We would sit around the campfire after dinner laughing, philosophizing, brooding, and just generally being friends. For two co-dependent anti-social friends who have a highly evolved inter-language, this is really amazing. In the morning after breakfast we would collaborate at the school and paint together all day. We would enjoy music and swap stories and creative ideas.
In the tiny accumulation of houses called a village we got to know the faces of many of the regulars who hung out on the street. We would greet each other with a head bow or the praying gesture and a "Namaste". It was sweet and I grew to have fond feelings for many of these men but as many times as I did this walk back and forth I still couldn't get used to the spectacle I seemed to create every time.
Our farewell day was fast approaching and it was hard to think of the impermanence of this little Eden we have created. We still can't believe the range of extremes of our experiences but the pattern of bad to good to better did not stop at our last day and the rate at which it was changing was exponential at this point.
In the morning we woke up and the four of us snuck into Pooja's office to paint her a small sentimental token from all of us on the wall (we had permission to paint on her wall, I promise).
When we finished we had the yummiest breakfast yet of potato barrata (sp?-a type of potato pancakes) and sweet ripe papaya with freshly made curd. All night and morning there was a crew who was setting up the stage and sound system. It looked amazing already and I had no idea it was going to be such an elaborate ordeal. They had fabric back drops lining the entire seating area and stage to make it feel like a big pink palace. They bowed in the wind, making you feel like you were in a pink bouncy castle.
To understate dramatically, the place had a vibe and everyone in the vicinity could feel it. Everyone was going to be there. This was THE event. We could see people from all directions migrating in the direction of the play in their fine attire with the whole family. Since the morning the village had been empty because everyone was down watching the happenings at the stage.
We picked up our tops for the saris from the tailor and I spent all morning fixing Jessi's by hand. Turns out that my bottom of the line hand sewing skills for alterations are more apt than the village tailor's. Luckily Tamuz and my tops were perfect the first time. We all showered, or rather poured water from a bucket that was heated on the stove over ourselves in between scrubbing and shampooing. A bucket bath so to speak. After everyone got squeaky clean we girls had a hair and make up party and one by one got wrapped in our saris. Pooja put bindis on our foreheads and besides our oil paint/turpentine stains on our hands and arms we looked fit for the queen.
A few shop owners were still in the village who came out to ooh and aaah, dually embarrassing shy sari-ed me when I had to do the walk to the house for a few forgotten items. It must have been a shocking sight seeing the three of us western women all dolled up in traditional Indian attire. I couldn't read the faces of onlookers. Either they were pleased or thought we were ridiculous, which is pretty much how I felt, ping ponging back and forth between the two. If I felt stared at previously when walking through the village, that was now magnified times ten in a saree. But when it takes that long to get ready, by all means stare, please (these were very different people than those staring on the train). I did however, find myself trying to plan my trips to and from the house around Alex who suddenly became a staring force field by the sheer fact that he is a man.
To talk about the play: it was a thing that I could never do justice to with words.
The entertainment of the play was ripe. There was a live goat, who due to his need to have his own monologue in the middle of the scene had to be pulled off the stage with heels pressed forward, sliding along the stage in resistance. There was a kid whose roll was to be a bunny and hop around snow white to show her unity with nature, full body costume, furry and all. There were traditional dances performed by 7 year old couples, and there was an evil queen whose performance is up for best actress award in the Danielle and Jessi assigned Grammys.
All of the kids were in the age range of 6 - 13, mostly on the younger side. The costumes were full and elaborate. The kids had their game faces on, aka dazed with stage fright and confusion, and were naturally adorable and perfect.
I give my props to the woman who not only thought to start a school against the odds in a rural mountain town, two terrifyingly windy hours away from her home, but built it up from 2 to 60 students, maintains it, runs it, and dreams up ideas about annual plays and makes it happen on a spectacular level, all in less than a year. Pooja you dream and then you lead and it makes the world better in a radius around you that is bigger than anyone else I know can reach. And to you Manish, I know you are the kind of person who stands behind your wife's dreams with hands and mind ready to make it all happen.
After everything was done and people were leaving, music was put over the loud speakers and suddenly an impromptu dance party started on the stage starting with Pooja's daughter, Chikori and Alex. Soon we were all up there dancing in our saris like a real Bollywood movie. Within a few minutes, as the last guests to leave realized what was happening, they turned around and our dance party became a dance performance. Everyone was taking pictures and watching like we were the wildest thing they have ever seen. Our enthusiasm carried over for a while until our shyness kicked in and we exited the stage.
Pooja came running up to Jessi and I and said, "Quick get your things, your ride is waiting for you to take you home". This was it, the time to go. Back to reality and on with the show. It's what we signed up for but now in this moment we wanted to change everything and stay in this fairy land utopia forever.
But alas, it was time to move on whether we liked it or not. With many meaningful hugs and good byes to our little family, we got in the car and waved good bye as we drove away. The last thing we saw was Sandeep, our beloved and favorite little brother at heart, waving to us with tears in his eyes. I am not sure Jessi or I will ever get over having to leave this little one behind. His future on the rocks and dreams unlikely to be born, or even conceived. The unfairness of life giving us a slap in the face and a pierce in our hearts.
Our hearts were heavy with the moment and full from the experience. Once we arrived in Dehradun our driver, a friend of Pooja and Manish, asked if he could buy us some ice cream. By this time we had become better acquainted with both men who drove down with us. We declined the offer of ice cream, because we did not feel deserving of doting from these sweet men whom we met but hours earlier, but he asked again, this time adding a please on the end, as if it was us doing him the favor. Of course we will take some ice cream. So we ate our ice cream and a few minutes later were dropped off at Pooja's house with Chikori. The grace of Indian hospitality is sweet and endless. It continues to amaze me. The meaning of thank you gets lost in a place like this because you literally can't say it enough and every time you try, it is feeble and weak sounding. But just because I can't stop myself from feeling it I must say it again: Thank you everyone for everything, you have made my memories beautiful and our trip amazing.
Our hearts couldn't be more different as we board our train to leave than when we boarded our train to arrive. When I was back in my college calculus class we learned how it is often the way values change in relation to each other that are interesting, not the smallness or greatness of a value. In this way too has our trip to India been.
On the weekend we took a break from painting and Jessi, Pooja, Manish and I took a fun trip to Rishakesh.
It is a sacred city where the Ganges River flows through, and it is said to be the dwelling place of God, where souls may enter heaven. It is also the yoga capital of the world. We planned to go there to see the sun set over the river. It is said that when the sun goes behind the land, for those few moments the lady river holds her breath, and this is the most sacred moment of the day. It was absolutely beautiful, I must admit. The sun was a lovely golden and the whole city lit up gold in its rays.
We had to take a ferry across the river because cars are not allowed on the other side. We walked through a golden sun-lit corridor with chanting music as a soundtrack. As the music grew louder we arrived at the gathering of yellow cloaked monks and worshiping Hindus as well as foreigners and local tourists. The chanting was loud and beautiful and projected out over the river from loud speakers towards a huge meditating statue in the middle of the river of Shiva, one of the three gods worshiped here by Hindus. We sat until the sun went down. We set two burning offerings floating down the river, one for the prosperity of our families and the other for safe and happy travels. We dipped our feet in the Ganges, as per ritual.
Upon leaving we gave more offerings to the temple and the monk gave us a red dot, or third eye, between our eyes and wrapped a red, orange and yellow rope around our wrist. A very different type of monk and experience than the dot and wrist rope we received from a man on the streets of Mumbai, who cursed us after our protests of having no money turned out true.
While still in Dehradun at Pooja's house, with the boys up at the school, we had a saree party, Tamuz, Pooja, Jessi and I. OMG girliness to the max. Jessi and I were excited beyond belief about this saree dress-up party, which is what we thought was going on, but what we discovered next blew our minds.
This was for real! We were trying them on in preparation for what we would be wearing at the kids play performance. WHAT!!! How lucky are we?? This play was apparently going to be a big deal. Later I realize what an understatement this is. Pooja had at least 20 sarees to choose from and we played dress up until we all agreed that each of us found our match. We went to the market to buy fabric to have the bustier tops made for us, specifically to our form.
In the mean time back at the school we finish painting the rooms, fall in love with the children, hang out with Sandeep (our favorite little entertainer and sweetest 12 year old on the planet), grow close to Alex and Tamuz, love our India mom, and eat yummy food.
We became quite a little family in those mere two weeks.
We would sit around the campfire after dinner laughing, philosophizing, brooding, and just generally being friends. For two co-dependent anti-social friends who have a highly evolved inter-language, this is really amazing. In the morning after breakfast we would collaborate at the school and paint together all day. We would enjoy music and swap stories and creative ideas.
In the tiny accumulation of houses called a village we got to know the faces of many of the regulars who hung out on the street. We would greet each other with a head bow or the praying gesture and a "Namaste". It was sweet and I grew to have fond feelings for many of these men but as many times as I did this walk back and forth I still couldn't get used to the spectacle I seemed to create every time.
Our farewell day was fast approaching and it was hard to think of the impermanence of this little Eden we have created. We still can't believe the range of extremes of our experiences but the pattern of bad to good to better did not stop at our last day and the rate at which it was changing was exponential at this point.
In the morning we woke up and the four of us snuck into Pooja's office to paint her a small sentimental token from all of us on the wall (we had permission to paint on her wall, I promise).
When we finished we had the yummiest breakfast yet of potato barrata (sp?-a type of potato pancakes) and sweet ripe papaya with freshly made curd. All night and morning there was a crew who was setting up the stage and sound system. It looked amazing already and I had no idea it was going to be such an elaborate ordeal. They had fabric back drops lining the entire seating area and stage to make it feel like a big pink palace. They bowed in the wind, making you feel like you were in a pink bouncy castle.
To understate dramatically, the place had a vibe and everyone in the vicinity could feel it. Everyone was going to be there. This was THE event. We could see people from all directions migrating in the direction of the play in their fine attire with the whole family. Since the morning the village had been empty because everyone was down watching the happenings at the stage.
We picked up our tops for the saris from the tailor and I spent all morning fixing Jessi's by hand. Turns out that my bottom of the line hand sewing skills for alterations are more apt than the village tailor's. Luckily Tamuz and my tops were perfect the first time. We all showered, or rather poured water from a bucket that was heated on the stove over ourselves in between scrubbing and shampooing. A bucket bath so to speak. After everyone got squeaky clean we girls had a hair and make up party and one by one got wrapped in our saris. Pooja put bindis on our foreheads and besides our oil paint/turpentine stains on our hands and arms we looked fit for the queen.
A few shop owners were still in the village who came out to ooh and aaah, dually embarrassing shy sari-ed me when I had to do the walk to the house for a few forgotten items. It must have been a shocking sight seeing the three of us western women all dolled up in traditional Indian attire. I couldn't read the faces of onlookers. Either they were pleased or thought we were ridiculous, which is pretty much how I felt, ping ponging back and forth between the two. If I felt stared at previously when walking through the village, that was now magnified times ten in a saree. But when it takes that long to get ready, by all means stare, please (these were very different people than those staring on the train). I did however, find myself trying to plan my trips to and from the house around Alex who suddenly became a staring force field by the sheer fact that he is a man.
To talk about the play: it was a thing that I could never do justice to with words.
The entertainment of the play was ripe. There was a live goat, who due to his need to have his own monologue in the middle of the scene had to be pulled off the stage with heels pressed forward, sliding along the stage in resistance. There was a kid whose roll was to be a bunny and hop around snow white to show her unity with nature, full body costume, furry and all. There were traditional dances performed by 7 year old couples, and there was an evil queen whose performance is up for best actress award in the Danielle and Jessi assigned Grammys.
All of the kids were in the age range of 6 - 13, mostly on the younger side. The costumes were full and elaborate. The kids had their game faces on, aka dazed with stage fright and confusion, and were naturally adorable and perfect.
I give my props to the woman who not only thought to start a school against the odds in a rural mountain town, two terrifyingly windy hours away from her home, but built it up from 2 to 60 students, maintains it, runs it, and dreams up ideas about annual plays and makes it happen on a spectacular level, all in less than a year. Pooja you dream and then you lead and it makes the world better in a radius around you that is bigger than anyone else I know can reach. And to you Manish, I know you are the kind of person who stands behind your wife's dreams with hands and mind ready to make it all happen.
After everything was done and people were leaving, music was put over the loud speakers and suddenly an impromptu dance party started on the stage starting with Pooja's daughter, Chikori and Alex. Soon we were all up there dancing in our saris like a real Bollywood movie. Within a few minutes, as the last guests to leave realized what was happening, they turned around and our dance party became a dance performance. Everyone was taking pictures and watching like we were the wildest thing they have ever seen. Our enthusiasm carried over for a while until our shyness kicked in and we exited the stage.
Pooja came running up to Jessi and I and said, "Quick get your things, your ride is waiting for you to take you home". This was it, the time to go. Back to reality and on with the show. It's what we signed up for but now in this moment we wanted to change everything and stay in this fairy land utopia forever.
But alas, it was time to move on whether we liked it or not. With many meaningful hugs and good byes to our little family, we got in the car and waved good bye as we drove away. The last thing we saw was Sandeep, our beloved and favorite little brother at heart, waving to us with tears in his eyes. I am not sure Jessi or I will ever get over having to leave this little one behind. His future on the rocks and dreams unlikely to be born, or even conceived. The unfairness of life giving us a slap in the face and a pierce in our hearts.
Our hearts were heavy with the moment and full from the experience. Once we arrived in Dehradun our driver, a friend of Pooja and Manish, asked if he could buy us some ice cream. By this time we had become better acquainted with both men who drove down with us. We declined the offer of ice cream, because we did not feel deserving of doting from these sweet men whom we met but hours earlier, but he asked again, this time adding a please on the end, as if it was us doing him the favor. Of course we will take some ice cream. So we ate our ice cream and a few minutes later were dropped off at Pooja's house with Chikori. The grace of Indian hospitality is sweet and endless. It continues to amaze me. The meaning of thank you gets lost in a place like this because you literally can't say it enough and every time you try, it is feeble and weak sounding. But just because I can't stop myself from feeling it I must say it again: Thank you everyone for everything, you have made my memories beautiful and our trip amazing.
Our hearts couldn't be more different as we board our train to leave than when we boarded our train to arrive. When I was back in my college calculus class we learned how it is often the way values change in relation to each other that are interesting, not the smallness or greatness of a value. In this way too has our trip to India been.
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