A Village Life

A Village Life

One of the big reasons I wanted to spend a year abroad as a YAV was to have the “full immersion experience” in which I was invited to participate in a culture completely different then my own. During my time in India I have been like an observer, trying to examine the culture as an anthropologist would, with curiosity, but being careful not to judge any differences I observe. What I have found to be more of a challenge is participating in the culture. While I try to involve myself in as many foreign activities as I can; marriages, social events, holiday celebrations, farewells…I still feel like I am an outsider looking in more then an actual participant. This has proved to be a bit difficult and the longer I have been here the more I find myself just wanting to blend into the crowd, but in this culture “blending in” is nearly impossible. Everyone is curios to see the foreigner and I can’t go anywhere without some pointing fingers, astounded gazes, or random shout outs in English (my favorites are “how are you I am fine”, one sentence, and “I love you”, from complete strangers). Recently, I have been paying more attention to the looks I get and have decided there are three major categories of looks. The first look and most common is the “Oh Wow! Look it is a Madam! (white woman)” complete with raised eyebrows look; the second look I have encountered is the “What the Hec is that Madama doing in India?” puzzled look, could be mistaken for anger; and the third and my ultimate favorite is the “Holy God, I think I have just seen an Alien!” eyes as wide as the sky look. On the one hand, it is kind of flattering being the center of attention everywhere you go, eyes all on you, but on the other hand it can feel pretty lonesome sometimes when you know you are an outsider and probably always will be. Today I finally admitted to myself that I am pretty much frightened to go anywhere by myself, and anyone who knows me knows this is a hard thing for me to admit. I like to feel free to go anywhere I want without feeling scared. I like to feel like an individual who can do things on my own. But here, I feel like every time I step out my door, there are those looks that remind me, I am a long way from home. Of course, the language barrier doesn’t help, not to mention it is rare here that I see any woman, foreigner or not, travel alone. But despite all the looks and subtle reminders, I do feel comfort coming back to my small village town after I have been away.
These past couple of months, I have attempted to resolve some of my fear by going on house visits around my village. At around 4:30 or 5:00 in the evening, when the sun is no longer unbearable, I walk around my little community waving, saying hi with my very limited Malayalam vocabulary, and visit with people on the streets and in their houses. Several times I have gone with Kochamma, an elderly woman who has lived in the area for a long time. This has proved to be very helpful, as she knows many of the people in the community and can help translate. We have ventured to a couple of communities just behind the college that are very poor areas. However, these areas are my favorite to visit; they are the places I feel like I begin my transformation from observer to participant, outsider to insider. When I step into these little villages I immediately feel welcomed by strangers both young and old, who fearlessly run up to me or invite me inside for tea and although not much of anything is said there is a genuine conversation of smiles and gestures and I am immediately filled with joy. Their fearlessness in welcoming a stranger helps me overcome my insecurities and I realize how much of my own fear is not only a hindrance to myself but also to others who I believe can instinctively pick up on that fear. In these small villages I no longer feel like a foreigner but a good friend or family member as together we enjoy one another’s company, laugh, and even at times embrace. It is after these visits that I walk home feeling full of life, my spirit rejuvenated and ready to soar. Some of the best memories I will take back with me are from these house visits; they are the reason I came to India. One evening in particular Kochamma and I went to several homes visiting with families and praying with them. One woman, a friend of Kochamma, had no mobility in her legs and was bed ridden, but her spirit reminded me a lot like mine. I could tell she was a woman with a lot of stories and experiences, a woman with wisdom from a life well learned. We talked for a long time then she and Kochamma began to sing one of the only Malayalam songs I have become familiar with and I was able to participate in the boundary breaking melodies of music. We then closed in prayer, holding hands and offering our hearts to God. After the prayer, we ventured down a hill to another small village. There was a soccer field in the center of the homes where a group of middle-aged men were playing. I felt nervous at first, as I always do when I feel like I am crossing over or entering into someone else’s domain. I felt like I was intruding. I think I get this idea from the unwritten law in the U.S. which states, “Each person has their own personal space, do not enter unless first asking permission.” (Here there is no such thing as personal space, which has its own pro’s and con’s). However, when I crossed that invisible boundary, I got a much different reaction then the usual “stop, pause, and gaze” response, I have become so familiar with in Kerala. Instead, before I knew it, I had six or seven children around me, four of which were my students from the LP school, pulling me into their houses, asking me endless questions in their limited English, their families welcoming me with open doors and cups of tea. I felt there was an unspoken mutual appreciation. They appreciated me for spending time with their children at the LP school, and I appreciated them for bringing me into their home. I walked with one woman and her children back behind their house to where a large patty field was covered in water. There we stood in silence and I felt a little friend of mine creep up, the feeling of peace. When it started to get dark, Kochamma and I walked back to the church where there was an evening service for Ash Wednesday. There I prayed letting the Malayalam words wash over me like a gentle wave, and I felt my heart expanding; growing bigger and bigger, taking in the love all around me. I thanked God for the village life where I felt a sense of belonging, a home away from home, with friends and family. As I walked back that night I felt the boundaries I had created falling and my spirit lifting. A feeling of bliss filled my being as I acknowledged the truth, God’s truth, that I am free.