When preparing in the states for my trip abroad, there was only one part of the journey that really made me nervous: the border crossing from Rwanda into Tanzania. I knew from reading in my WomenCraft employee manual that the border closed after 6pm, so I needed to plan my flight arrival accordingly. I also knew I would have to cross the border with over $1,000 USD in cash: brand new $100 bills. Since Ngara has yet to implement a convenient system for money and wire transfers internationally, and has no local ATMs, I was left with no other option. This, coupled with the fact that I didn't know what my driver would look like or where he would meet me at the airport, created some minor anxiety but...I did what I could before my departure to ensure a smooth transition.
October 19th, I arrived at the Kigali airport in Rwanda. I passed through customs without a hitch and my bags were some of the first to arrive on the luggage carousel. It was 9:30am local time, and although I had been traveling all night long (since 11:00 pm local time in Bangalore, which was 8:30pm local time in Kigali), I was alert and excited to start my new adventure. I walked through the doors to the arrival area, and was delighted to see a small, timid man holding a sign that read "Welcome/Karibu, Nichole Letherer" with the WomenCraft logo boldly displayed at the top.
"Edson!" I exclaimed. "Hi!"
"No, no....not Edson. William. Edson not here".
Edson, WomenCraft's Logistics Manager, was supposed to pick me up at the airport, but apparently there had been a communication error. I didn't care...I was just happy that someone from the organization, someone remotely familiar, was there to greet me.
William then flipped over my welcome sign and pointed to a hand written message for me to read. Edson would be arriving soon. He was shipping a package for WomenCraft to the U.S., and we were to wait here until he had finished and could retrieve us.
About 10 minutes later, Edson walked through the door. We exchanged pleasantries, and he explained to me that the shipping of the WomenCraft package was not yet complete, and that we would have to return to the shipping office to finish the task. No big deal. William, Edson and I grabbed my bags, and we walked up the hill from the airport to the shipping area.
To expedite the process, William had volunteered to assist Edson with the packing of the shipment, but Edson had kindly refused. No, no. Best someone stay with the muzungu. We don't need her wandering off or getting lost now. It won't take too long anyways.
So one hour passes and turns into two. Our comfortable, sunny post-up spot on a bench outside the shipping office suddenly takes a turn for the worst. The winds pick up, so much so that my scarf and hat get ripped off me and go flying through the air. The wind and rain is bad, but the dust pounding our faces is worse. The sky turns black and people run for shelter. William and I grab my bags in a hurry and run for the nearest shelter: an old UNHCR tent from the days of the Rwandan genocide. Exhausted, hungry and parched, I lay down on the dusty floor, cushion my head with my Timbuktu bag, and fade into sleep.
Next thing I know, I feel a poke in my side. I open my eyes, and to my surprise find the "poker" to be a Rwandan police officer. Twenty of his friends are with him, and they are all hovering over me, staring at me. A little startled, I turn over to make sure my co-pilot is still by my side. "No problem" says William. My recent travels in India have brought me to the quick conclusion that all I am to them is entertainment...a rare bird. A white girl in funny clothes with weird bags, oddly napping on the floor of their training grounds. I sit up, say "hi" and start to respond to the typical developing world questions "where from? name?", get a few laughs and a warm welcome. Now I'm awake, and now I feel like I'm truly in Rwanda.
On our fourth or so hour of waiting, I start to ask questions:
"William, have you heard from Edson? I mean, has he called you?"
"No"
"Ok....well do you think we might end up staying here for the night in Kigali then?"
"No. We go back Tanzania"
I try to make my questions short and concise, since we are working with limited English. I'd heard many stories about everything taking longer than usual in Africa, but I can see that even William is getting impatient and anxious.
After five or six hours, around three o'clock, Edson finally arrives through the gates. We wait another thirty minutes to an hour for paperwork. Around 4pm - six and a half hours after my arrival into Kigali - we finally leave the airport grounds.
All three of us are famished, so after the obligatory stop at another shipping office to pay for the shipment to be sent, we stop at a local restaurant for some grub. Edson tells them we'll take anything, and to just give us whatever they have ready. After all, we're late. Our plates arrive, and my dinner consists of a well rounded balanced meal of pasta, potatoes, white rice, and cabbage. That'll do pig, that'll do.
We eat as quickly as we can and jump back into the jeep. After a small collision (yes, that really happened. But...it wasn't our fault and don't worry, we came out unscathed), we pick up a girl who has been visiting her sister in town, and all of us head for the border.
It takes approx. three hours to reach the border of Rwanda/Tanzania from Kigali, and we arrive well after the border should be closed. However, there seem to be a few Rwandans still working in the office. Edson talks to a few folks, we get our paperwork and passports stamped for exit, and the gates are unlocked for us and we are allowed to pass. Easy peasy. However when we reach the border to enter Tanzania, things are quite different. The border office is dark; closed and locked up tight. There is no one working in sight. What to do, what to do?
"Well...we might just have to sleep here for the night", says Edson.
Um...excuse me what? Sleeping at the border my first night in a conflict region in Africa was not on my agenda. I start to play out a million and one nightmares in my head. The men in uniform wandering around the grounds with guns are not helping.
Then, Edson makes a phone call. 2. 3. 4. He knows some people and thinks he has some strings he can pull. Come, come Nichole. Bring your passport, and $100 USD. We're going to try to get you your visa. And if we can't, we're at least going to find someone to take your money and tell us we can pass through the gates...and then we'll come back tomorrow to officially get your visa paperwork.
oh great. Crossing the border without my visa sounds like an AWESOME plan. (not).
After driving around some back roads, wandering through some sketchy village scenes to visit border officials at home and almost high centering the jeep, we get someone on the phone who agrees to come down to the office. I am one lucky American.
Even though I am beyond exhausted and anxious, I put a smile on my face and do my best to charm the living crap out of the official.
What is the purpose of my visit in Tanzania? Well, volunteering and vacation of course. Have you ever been to the states before Mr. Officer? Oh, well we welcome you with open arms! Oh yes, this is indeed my first visit to Africa and thank you...I too agree that visiting Tanzania first was the best choice.
After showering Mr. Officer with compliments and over-enthusiastic thank yous, I was given my multiple entry tourist visa, as well as a reminder of how lucky I am to come from a country that so many - including my Border Patrol Officer - would literally die for to live in.
The last hour of our drive we wind through a bumpy "shortcut" back road in the middle of the jungle, swerving around villagers at the last minute as they come into view with our headlights (why so many people are out wandering around after dark, I cannot figure). As we pull up at WomenCraft, my new home and workplace, I am greeted by many happy faces who had considered us a lost cause for the night. I am so tired and it is so dark that I don't even try to take in and process my surroundings. I stumble inside my new home, relieved that we have actually made it to our final destination. I meet my new co-workers/housemates but am very brief with them before I head to bed. I'm way too tired to function on any level. I know that even though I am just meeting my roommates for the first time, they don't mind me being short with them. They understand how draining the travel to Ngara can be. And after all, the adventure has just begun...
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Saturday, October 27, 2012
"Live and Let Live" Driving Rules - India
I know, I know...I'm in Tanzania now. My blog posts should include photos of lions in the savanna, local festivals and descriptions about the culture and customs I'm experiencing in Africa. But...I wasn't done with India! And my blog, my rules. So people, you're just gonna have to deal...
Before I could let India go, I had to write about transportation. If you've ever been to India, you know why. I've done my fair share of traveling globally, but I've never quite experienced chaos like this before. This title of this blog post was not something I made up. There are literally signs posted up around cities and in the countryside that remind people to "live and let live" while driving in India...which is exactly what it feels like as a passenger and spectator. Here's how I would interpret "live and let live": do whatever you flip you please! and...try not to injure yourself or someone else while doing it.
My friend Jess lent me her book "Holy Cow" before I left the states. Holy Cow is the story of one woman's experiences in India, and if you want to know anything about this country, just read the first 20 pages. You will then know much of what I experienced during my trip. And...Sarah MacDonald is a genius writer. Her hilarity has me laughing out loud on a regular basis. I strongly encourage you to read this book.
Sarah really paints the perfect picture of the transportation scene in India, so half out of laziness and half out of pure desire to share her words with you, here's the scene:
"we move to the deck to watch the roaring rough sea of traffic wildlife. All around us a furious knot of men and metal constantly unravels and re-forms, ebbing and flowing and going nowhere fast. Blokes - and a friend or two - perch atop tall, rusty bicycles. Entire families share motorcycles; toddlers stand between dads' knees or clutch his back, and wives sit sidesaddle while snuggling babies. Auto-rickshaws zip around like tin toys. Ambassador cars - half Rolls-Royce and half Soviet tank - cruise with class. Huge tinsel-decorated trucks rumble and groan, filthy lime-green buses fly around like kamikaze cans squeezing out a chunky sauce of arms and legs. Shoes dangle from back bumpers and black demonic faces poke out red tongues from windshields; these are for good luck. But it's probably the holy mantra written on the backs of vehicles that keeps things moving. It's not BABY ON BOARD, or JESUS SAVES, or TRIPLE M DOES DELHI. Instead, hand-painted in swirling childish capital letters is: HORN PLEASE.
Everyone seems to drive with one finger on the horn and another shoved high up the nostril. The highway soundtrack is a chaotic symphony of deep blasts, staccato honks, high-pitched beeps, musical notes and a weird duck drone. It's as if Delhi is blind and driving by sound - except it seems many are deaf. Women are curled up on the pavement sound asleep, and a man is stretched out on the median strip, dead to the danger. On the backs of bikes, on the laps of the motorcycle mums, babies are floppy with dreams.
(There is a) strict species pecking order: pedestrians are on the bottom and run out of the way of everything, bicycles make way for cycle-rickshaws, which give way to auto-rickshaws, which stop for cars, which are subservient to trucks. Buses stop for one thing and one thing only. Not customers - they jump on while the buses are still moving. The only thing that can stop a bus is the king of the road, the lord of the jungle and the top dog.
The holy cow."
One thing Sarah fails to mention are the crazy hand signals. While people are swerving in and out of lanes and around obstacles, they are motioning and directing traffic via hand signals out the window. The "wave"...making a ripple with your hand, means slow down. A "come here" motion with your hand means you're free to pass, and a palm to your face means the same thing it means everywhere in the world: STOP!
The ironic thing about the traffic scene in India? I actually felt MORE safe as a passenger there than in the states. Drivers are in high stress situations every minute they're on the road, and are constantly on guard. I felt like we could have an accident at any moment, and the driver would be prepared to react correctly at all times. I may, however, have felt differently if I had actually experienced a collision....
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
WomenCraft: We Need Your Help
Habari Everyone!
As many of you already know, I am safe and sound in Tanzania. I flew into Kigali, Rwanda last Friday at 9:30am....so I have been here for 6 days so far. It is beautiful here. The view from my veranda looks out on the hillside and rivers in Rwanda and Burundi, and on a clear day you can actually see the volcanoes in the Congo and Uganda. It's breathtaking. There are birds and lizards everywhere. Yes mosquitoes too, but they're not as bad as I had imagined. Our yard yields bananas, pineapple, mangoes, pomegranate, avocados...and really can grow anything else you might need (we are starting to work on a garden project to make WomenCraft more self sufficient food-wise...I'll keep you posted). In these remote, quiet hills of Tanzania, it seems impossible that horrific violence shook this area less than 20 years ago. The house I live in was built and lived in by the United Nations during the genocide and the open-air farmers market in the center of town in Ngara is sheltered by UN Rwandan refugee tents. You can feel the history here.
One thing I need everyone to do is to take a deep breath, and calm down. People hear the word "Africa", and so many images from movies, photos and the news flood into their imaginations. Africa (so far from my experience) is absolutely as beautiful as you have imagined it, and nowhere near as scary. In Ngara, women are not wandering around topless and hordes of men are not rolling through town in tanks with guns. People are just living-in a very different way than we do in the states, but still...they're just living day to day. If the internet is ever fast enough, I'll try to upload some more photos.
My first impressions of Kigali, Rwanda was that it was very,very clean (much cleaner than almost anywhere I went to in India), and very business oriented. People were busy working and contributing to their city, and Rwanda is doing all it can to encourage tourism and growth after the genocide. In fact, my plane from Nairobi to Kigali was almost entirely filled with white folk. Apparently, Kigali is a big draw for Westerners.
I have so so so much I want to share, and I will. I still have stories from India I am intending on writing. But first off, I need to focus on the reason I'm here: WomenCraft. And I need your help. These women need your help. The poverty here is astonishing and the problems and obstacles overwhelming, but Shannon (my co-worker) and I are determined to make an impact over the next year and move things forward. We can't do it alone.
I could write out everything you need to know about WomenCraft here, but that would be silly. We have resources! Here is our website and brand new Facebook page we created yesterday. Please "like" us, and help spread the word:
www.womencraft.org
www.facebook.com/womencraft.org
My first request: Host a WomenCraft product party! When I arrived in Kigali, they were shipping our products (handwoven baskets, etc. so far...I go out into the field today for the first time to try to get some soap makers to sign a contract with us. Wish me luck!) to Chicago so that they could be distributed for product parties around the United States. We learned this morning that our product has arrived in Brussels, and should be in Chicago Friday.
Here's where you come in...
The holidays are slowly (or rapidly!) creeping upon us, and every one's going to be buying crap. Loads and load of stuff that they don't need, just because they feel obligated to buy something for cousin Jenny or grandpa Ernest. I know because I've had to do it in the past. But....there is another option. Help people. Buy things with purpose that will REALLY make a difference. I am here on the ground, in Ngara, Tanzania, and I can tell you what a difference these sales make. Just one example: There are women here who are so malnourished, they cannot provide enough breast milk to feed their babies, and their babies die. With money WomenCraft gathers, they buy milking goats and give them to these families. This non-profit is LITERALLY saving lives. And you can be a part of that.
Hosting a product party is NO cost to you. You just have to facilitate the event - have a space (maybe your home? church? school?), invite people, and sell products. Products will be shipped to and from you free of charge.
If you feel you can help, please let us know. My work email address is not yet activated, so please either write my personal email address or email my rockin' co-worker, the Sales & Marketing Manager here at WomenCraft - Shannon Sibayan - at sales@womencraft.org. Just mention your connection to me through the email and I will help facilitate the project.
Thank you SO much in advance for your help. Asante sana from the bottom of my heart. I have no shame in asking for your help and applying the pressure because I know what good a small bit of effort from you can do here. A little goes A LONG way.
The internet is rocky here, but I will try to write more very, very soon.
As many of you already know, I am safe and sound in Tanzania. I flew into Kigali, Rwanda last Friday at 9:30am....so I have been here for 6 days so far. It is beautiful here. The view from my veranda looks out on the hillside and rivers in Rwanda and Burundi, and on a clear day you can actually see the volcanoes in the Congo and Uganda. It's breathtaking. There are birds and lizards everywhere. Yes mosquitoes too, but they're not as bad as I had imagined. Our yard yields bananas, pineapple, mangoes, pomegranate, avocados...and really can grow anything else you might need (we are starting to work on a garden project to make WomenCraft more self sufficient food-wise...I'll keep you posted). In these remote, quiet hills of Tanzania, it seems impossible that horrific violence shook this area less than 20 years ago. The house I live in was built and lived in by the United Nations during the genocide and the open-air farmers market in the center of town in Ngara is sheltered by UN Rwandan refugee tents. You can feel the history here.
One thing I need everyone to do is to take a deep breath, and calm down. People hear the word "Africa", and so many images from movies, photos and the news flood into their imaginations. Africa (so far from my experience) is absolutely as beautiful as you have imagined it, and nowhere near as scary. In Ngara, women are not wandering around topless and hordes of men are not rolling through town in tanks with guns. People are just living-in a very different way than we do in the states, but still...they're just living day to day. If the internet is ever fast enough, I'll try to upload some more photos.
My first impressions of Kigali, Rwanda was that it was very,very clean (much cleaner than almost anywhere I went to in India), and very business oriented. People were busy working and contributing to their city, and Rwanda is doing all it can to encourage tourism and growth after the genocide. In fact, my plane from Nairobi to Kigali was almost entirely filled with white folk. Apparently, Kigali is a big draw for Westerners.
I have so so so much I want to share, and I will. I still have stories from India I am intending on writing. But first off, I need to focus on the reason I'm here: WomenCraft. And I need your help. These women need your help. The poverty here is astonishing and the problems and obstacles overwhelming, but Shannon (my co-worker) and I are determined to make an impact over the next year and move things forward. We can't do it alone.
I could write out everything you need to know about WomenCraft here, but that would be silly. We have resources! Here is our website and brand new Facebook page we created yesterday. Please "like" us, and help spread the word:
www.womencraft.org
www.facebook.com/womencraft.org
My first request: Host a WomenCraft product party! When I arrived in Kigali, they were shipping our products (handwoven baskets, etc. so far...I go out into the field today for the first time to try to get some soap makers to sign a contract with us. Wish me luck!) to Chicago so that they could be distributed for product parties around the United States. We learned this morning that our product has arrived in Brussels, and should be in Chicago Friday.
Here's where you come in...
The holidays are slowly (or rapidly!) creeping upon us, and every one's going to be buying crap. Loads and load of stuff that they don't need, just because they feel obligated to buy something for cousin Jenny or grandpa Ernest. I know because I've had to do it in the past. But....there is another option. Help people. Buy things with purpose that will REALLY make a difference. I am here on the ground, in Ngara, Tanzania, and I can tell you what a difference these sales make. Just one example: There are women here who are so malnourished, they cannot provide enough breast milk to feed their babies, and their babies die. With money WomenCraft gathers, they buy milking goats and give them to these families. This non-profit is LITERALLY saving lives. And you can be a part of that.
Hosting a product party is NO cost to you. You just have to facilitate the event - have a space (maybe your home? church? school?), invite people, and sell products. Products will be shipped to and from you free of charge.
If you feel you can help, please let us know. My work email address is not yet activated, so please either write my personal email address or email my rockin' co-worker, the Sales & Marketing Manager here at WomenCraft - Shannon Sibayan - at sales@womencraft.org. Just mention your connection to me through the email and I will help facilitate the project.
Thank you SO much in advance for your help. Asante sana from the bottom of my heart. I have no shame in asking for your help and applying the pressure because I know what good a small bit of effort from you can do here. A little goes A LONG way.
The internet is rocky here, but I will try to write more very, very soon.
Monday, October 15, 2012
The Many Faces of India
One thing rings true for me more than anything else over and over again when I travel: no matter what country you're from,what god you worship, or what your political affiliation, at the end of the day we're all human. More similar than different in every way.
The people of India have been warm, welcoming and gracious hosts. They are also fabulous to photograph. Most people here do not own cameras, so when you take a photo of them and show them, they laugh at the sight of themselves. Even more than that, almost every photo shot is candid. People aren't trying to pose a certain way or make themselves look good for the camera. They don't know how. They just are who they are, and that is something really special to capture.
Enjoy these beautiful faces....
The people of India have been warm, welcoming and gracious hosts. They are also fabulous to photograph. Most people here do not own cameras, so when you take a photo of them and show them, they laugh at the sight of themselves. Even more than that, almost every photo shot is candid. People aren't trying to pose a certain way or make themselves look good for the camera. They don't know how. They just are who they are, and that is something really special to capture.
Enjoy these beautiful faces....
Children in a back alley marketplace in Mysore
A young boy in the jungle in Wayanad
Working women (carrying sand for cement) in Kannur
Crab selling negotiations on the beach in Kannur
Our cook taking a well deserved break in Kannur
Street Vendor in Cochi
School boys in Cochi. They asked me to take this photo and send it to them. I still need to do so.
The daily catch - Cochi
A bloody mess in back alley marketplace in Jewtown, Cochi
Builders on a rooftop in Cochi
A lady selling mangoes in Kanyakumari
A shy ferry passenger waiting in line with us - Kanyakumari
A comforted boy in Kanyakumari
Women visiting a temple in Kanyakumari
Pretty girl in backwater village near Kottayum
Grandfatherly love - backwater village near Kottayum
Preschool girls singing to us in a backwater village near Kottayum
Doing laundry (how everyone does it here)- on a rock in the river, with a smile. Backwater village near Kottayum
Grandma biding her time- backwater village near Kottayum
Egg vendor in the marketplace - Munnar
Happy boy in the market - Munnar
Banana vendor taking a smoke break - Munnar
Motherly love- Munnar
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Extra Extra! Read all about it! Gandhi turns 143...or....144?
When Jarrod & I were planning our trip to India, we didn't do any planning. Well...that's not entirely true. We had some vague idea of where we wanted to go and what we wanted to see, definitely what we wanted to get out of the experience. But we only had one date and focus on the calendar for sure: to spend October 2nd in Kanyakumari for Gandhi's birthday.
Kanyakumari has a temple at the southernmost tip of the town - the southernmost tip of India - where Gandhi's ashes were laid. Every year on October 2nd, on Gandhi's birthday, a ray of sunlight comes through the roof of the temple and shines on his gravestone. It is a very special and important day for the people of India - how important we did not know until the day arrived.
We had decided a week before that we wanted to be as traditional as possible when visiting the temple on this special day, so the morning of Oct. 2nd we asked the cleaning lady in our hotel to help me fit my saree and Jarrod's lungi. She showed us the traditional southern way to wear our clothing. We both felt a little silly all dressed up and weren't sure how folks were going to react to us, but we decided to give it a shot and head out that way anyways.
Everyone stares at you when you're white in India, but the stares were double on this day, and the reactions quadrupled. We had many smiles and handshakes - people thanking us for "showing respect to India". Some people laughed. Lets be honest - we looked out of place; but overwhelmingly people were shocked and appreciative. For example, one family having a reunion on the beach - maybe about 20 people - asked us to pose in their professional photographs with them. We obliged. We had to start saying no to requests so that we could actually visit the monument.
The temple was packed to the max. People were pushing and shoving to get a passing glimpse of Gandhi's resting place and place their hands under the ray of sunlight. I've never been sweatier in my life. As we nudged and waded our way to the monument, we took as many pictures as we could and soaked up the scene. And before we were leaving, we decided to take one last picture together...in front of the monument. A guard, even though he wasn't sure how to work the camera, was kind enough to humour our request. The crowd of people parted, and for a moment it seemed as if everyone decided to be patient - stop the pushing, hush the noise - let the foreigners soak this all in. Time maybe stopped for a moment to honor this incredible man who made India what it is today.
The next morning, we decided to do one last walk around Kanyakumari before we would head out for our next stop, Trivandrum (which ended up being Kovalum....a story for another day). We soaked in the bathing ghats (which are supposed to be holy), and both managed to get injured - me more than Jarrod. I almost passed out in the middle of the ocean from the sight of my own blood. As we hobbled back into town, I waited outside as Jarrod stopped into a side shop to grab us a water. A local man came up to me there and said "excuse me madame....you....in the newspaper". Injured, exhausted, and a little peeved, thinking he was trying to sell me a newspaper as you are continually bombarded and hassled with vendors here, I said "I'm sorry, what?" And he said "I'll show you". He ran into the store next door, and came back to me with a newspaper in hand, and sure enough, there was our picture.
Our hotel receptionist translated the Tamil for us. He said that the caption read something like "foreigners visit Gandhi's temple on his birthday, dressed in traditional wear. In doing so, they show the utmost respect to India". Our cab driver that day told us that foreigners never get in the paper, and that this was the paper for Tamil Nadu - the entire state. On and off that day as we wandered around town, people recognized us and showed us our picture in the paper.
We were at the southernmost tip of India -where 3 seas meet (the Bay of Bengal, the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean), where we had witnessed sunrise, sunset and moonrise all in the same day. This place was magical. Kanyakumari had given us so much and it seems no matter how unintentionally, we somehow were able to pay a small bit of thanks back.
Kanyakumari has a temple at the southernmost tip of the town - the southernmost tip of India - where Gandhi's ashes were laid. Every year on October 2nd, on Gandhi's birthday, a ray of sunlight comes through the roof of the temple and shines on his gravestone. It is a very special and important day for the people of India - how important we did not know until the day arrived.
We had decided a week before that we wanted to be as traditional as possible when visiting the temple on this special day, so the morning of Oct. 2nd we asked the cleaning lady in our hotel to help me fit my saree and Jarrod's lungi. She showed us the traditional southern way to wear our clothing. We both felt a little silly all dressed up and weren't sure how folks were going to react to us, but we decided to give it a shot and head out that way anyways.
Everyone stares at you when you're white in India, but the stares were double on this day, and the reactions quadrupled. We had many smiles and handshakes - people thanking us for "showing respect to India". Some people laughed. Lets be honest - we looked out of place; but overwhelmingly people were shocked and appreciative. For example, one family having a reunion on the beach - maybe about 20 people - asked us to pose in their professional photographs with them. We obliged. We had to start saying no to requests so that we could actually visit the monument.
The temple was packed to the max. People were pushing and shoving to get a passing glimpse of Gandhi's resting place and place their hands under the ray of sunlight. I've never been sweatier in my life. As we nudged and waded our way to the monument, we took as many pictures as we could and soaked up the scene. And before we were leaving, we decided to take one last picture together...in front of the monument. A guard, even though he wasn't sure how to work the camera, was kind enough to humour our request. The crowd of people parted, and for a moment it seemed as if everyone decided to be patient - stop the pushing, hush the noise - let the foreigners soak this all in. Time maybe stopped for a moment to honor this incredible man who made India what it is today.
The next morning, we decided to do one last walk around Kanyakumari before we would head out for our next stop, Trivandrum (which ended up being Kovalum....a story for another day). We soaked in the bathing ghats (which are supposed to be holy), and both managed to get injured - me more than Jarrod. I almost passed out in the middle of the ocean from the sight of my own blood. As we hobbled back into town, I waited outside as Jarrod stopped into a side shop to grab us a water. A local man came up to me there and said "excuse me madame....you....in the newspaper". Injured, exhausted, and a little peeved, thinking he was trying to sell me a newspaper as you are continually bombarded and hassled with vendors here, I said "I'm sorry, what?" And he said "I'll show you". He ran into the store next door, and came back to me with a newspaper in hand, and sure enough, there was our picture.
Our hotel receptionist translated the Tamil for us. He said that the caption read something like "foreigners visit Gandhi's temple on his birthday, dressed in traditional wear. In doing so, they show the utmost respect to India". Our cab driver that day told us that foreigners never get in the paper, and that this was the paper for Tamil Nadu - the entire state. On and off that day as we wandered around town, people recognized us and showed us our picture in the paper.
We were at the southernmost tip of India -where 3 seas meet (the Bay of Bengal, the Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean), where we had witnessed sunrise, sunset and moonrise all in the same day. This place was magical. Kanyakumari had given us so much and it seems no matter how unintentionally, we somehow were able to pay a small bit of thanks back.
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