Two days ago, I was sitting at the train station, watching monkeys fight and frolic in the rafters and lope along the empty railway tracks where our train should have been two hours before. Earlier that day we walked out of our community for the last time until June, and we began the long journey that will take us to Thailand, various parts of the U.S. and back to India again over the next three months. On this last day, something exciting happened. We’ve helped a handful of neighbors open bank accounts over the past few months, which has often been a challenge since most of them are unable to read or write and since the bank staff often have little patience to help them. But this last week several events culminated in the staff of a local non-profit being authorized by that same bank to come into our slum and help people fill out forms and open new bank accounts on the spot! It was wonderful to see people coming en masse to the small bamboo and plastic house of the shopkeeper who had agreed to host the event in our community, and to see neighbors becoming experts, explaining the required documents to each other, and spreading the word to more and more people. It was also exciting to see the NGO staff treating our neighbors with respect. People were suspicious of these outsiders at first—especially because in the past people have sometimes entered the slum posing as bank representatives, collected people’s money, and run!—but because we were able to give them a personal introduction, people decided to give them a fair chance. And unlike many of the other well-meaning but disconnected social workers who venture into the community, these guys are starting to earn the respect of our neighbors by treating them as equals, telling people to call them by the colloquial bhai, or “brother”, rather than “big sir”. All of this was still in progress by the time we left, but if all goes well, then these bank accounts will enable people to save money in a secure place and make them eligible to apply for much-needed widow’s pensions, government scholarships for their children to attend school, and other financial assistance.
However, while some neighbors were opening bank accounts in one alley, others were beginning to build new homes on the far side of the sewage canal because the government informed them yesterday that a public works project is going to start on the land where they currently live, meaning that their shanties will be destroyed. Both of these things reminded me that a lot could change for better and for worse while we’re away. Such is the tenuous life of the poor.
It felt strange to say goodbye to the neighbors and friends that we’ve gotten used to seeing every day (some of them multiple times per day): a mixture of sadness and anticipation and plain old relief. The truth is that I’m tired. I’m tired of seeing so much suffering and pain, tired of struggling so much against unjust systems that have no heart and no mind; of being drawn into the chaos of other people’s lives, often able to offer no real solutions or help other than to be along for the ride with them. I’m looking forward to some silence and some open space and some rest.
the cow who goes door to door begging for food in the mornings
But of course I know it won’t be long before I’m feeling restless and subconsciously beginning to wish for the adorable kids next door to walk into my room and do cute things like show me their lost tooth or the dance they learned from a new Bollywood movie. I’ll miss all the noise and activity, and I’ll probably feel bored with all the peace and quiet and loneliness of car windows and insulated walls and big, grassy lawns. I’ll wander down quiet streets and wonder, where are all the pedestrians?—and not just the people, but the vegetable sellers, the herds of goats, and the Brahmin cows?
But that time is not yet. For now I’m enjoying the relief of some time away from all of the noise and activity to be refreshed and to reflect on all that’s happened and all that is ahead. To relax in the knowledge that it is God who brings justice and transformation, and not me. To remind myself that God is still at work in my absence, just as He was before my arrival.
