this is how we survive

Just having a really good time.

mostly.

I was talking with a girl I met yesterday and she lived in India three years ago, and now is back for the first time. She said (in effect), "The whole time I was gone I missed it horribly, and kept trying to figure out a way to get back. But I also realized, that while I was here I wasn't ever completely happy. I don't think you can be. There's the noise and the pollution, and you have to be on your guard so much. And you often really want a toilet. And there are so many things you can't eat and you get hassled so much that you want to scream. But then there are the women and the children you work with and you love them so much. And the other volunteers - everyone. But then you have to separate your head and your heart. Often you have to cut out your heart completely, otherwise it is just too assaulted and I don't think you can live, I think you would explode. So you walk around each day in your head. And you love it and you hate it."

And now she's back - working at Kalighat again - and one of the women patients remembered her from three years ago and started crying and held her and wouldn't let her go. It almost made me start to cry, but then I've cut my heart out so I can't.

And after work we all went out for beers - France, Spain, Ireland, Canada, and me (I love it!) only there was no alcohol at the bar that night (shitty bar if you ask me) so instead we just sat and talked and voiced all our frustrations, which are growing. Frustrations about the work and the organization and all it could be but refuses. And one volunteer who was last here 12 years ago (!) said that everything is identical to how it was then. No change. (I think "but this is how we've always done it" is the death of so many organizations) and the other girl said that three years ago she sat around with volunteers all having the exact same conversation.

I have so many thoughts. What shall I do with them?

But it was nice to talk. And as frustrated as everyone is, we all love Kalighat: Aroti walked yesterday. This was really exciting for me because she is the sickest woman I've seen - a breathing skeleton with the skin just hanging from the bones. And there are the women with maggots eating holes in the sides of their faces. Huge ulcers and abbesses hanging from the bodies. But Aroti walked.

I've been giving her a massage almost daily for two weeks. Bare hands. And her skin is falling off her back in sores. And not until yesterday did someone tell me that she has a horribly contagious skin disease and I shouldn't touch her without gloves. I asked what it was, and the volunteer looked at me in horror-struck seriousness and whispered, "Herpes." Perhaps it was a misunderstanding of the language barrier, and I'm certainly no doctor, but pretty sure that isn't herpes making the skin fall off her back. If it is. I know a lot of people in a lot of trouble! But the truth is, whatever she has, it seems worse not to touch her. I mean I know I should be careful, but I just keep thinking if I was her - I would want to be touched.

So you see why I've had to cut my heart out.

Last night in our courtyard, we were sitting around in happy silence - satisfied by yet another amazing meal from Nico (I don't know how he takes so little and makes it taste so good!). And for some reason we started laughing. And for some reason I looked over at Anita and she had a huge pool of drool dripping from her mouth. So we laughed even harder and I said, "wait, wait, here's my impression of Anita" and I took a sip of water and let it drip from my mouth. To which she promptly emptied an entire bottle of water over my head. And for the next hour stan, nico, steffi, esther, anita and I ran around screaming with buckets of water and dumping them on each other's heads. Until we were drenched, and dying with laughter, and shouted at by another volunteer exasperated by our water waste and lack of ecological consciousness.

It was the world's best water fight. Ever.

And that is how we survive.