A few years ago, I found myself embarking on a journey that changed my life, and the entire way I view life itself. I was on a journey to Hyderabad – India. This was not a vacation. I was going to spend two weeks at an orphanage and leper colony in a country stricken by levels of poverty so extreme that even the homeless in America live better than those in India. The living conditions that I experienced firsthand deeply touched me. In India, more than 100 million children 15 years old and younger are homeless, and nearly half of children three years old and younger are malnourished. Despite the selfless efforts of Manna International (the organization I was gifted to travel with) and other organizations, life in India is still unhealthy, unsanitary, and for the most part uninhabitable for most of its citizens. Poverty and disease are still prevalent, approximately 35% of the population earns less than $1USD per day, and it seems as if situations are only getting worse. I am quite sure that these are all facts most of you have heard from those graphic infomercials that nobody likes to watch, and would rather change the channel instead of seeing the truth.
Now before I continue, you may want to question yourself on what exactly I mean when I say that I went on a “Journey”. To answer this question I’ve included a quote from fashion designer Louis Vuitton, “A journey is not a trip, it's not a vacation, it's a process. A discovery. It's a process of self-discovery. A journey brings us face to face with ourselves. A journey shows us not only the world, but how we fit in it. Does the person create the journey? Or does the journey create the person? The journey is life itself.”
After the 28 hour excruciating journey from big capitalist America, to poverty stricken India, I arrived with my group at Rajiv Gandhi International Airport, a tiny airport about the size of a baseball stadium with only one runway. The ladders popped out of the side of the tiny plane that was still rocking back and forth from the winds and we all made our way outside, leaving our cabin of comfort. I looked around, this was it - this was India. Our guide Mumtaz met us shortly after and walked us to the bus that would take us to Miriam Children’s Home. This experience was something that no TV infomercial could show. Driving through the crowds of people in the street, you could see how horrific the poverty level was in Hyderabad. Mumtaz told us that some families cut of the limbs of their children so they can beg to the wealthy travelers. We passed by the crippled and infirmed huddled in rundown doorways with cracked paint and muddy roads, and by sightless children selling beautiful studded pens for 1 rupee each (approximately .02 cents), and past toddlers eating rice with their hands from bowls surrounded by flies. It seemed that this was all just a horrible act that they had decided to put on for us for some sort of sympathy, but the truth was that it wasn’t. This was everyday life in India for these children. Coming to that realization sent a shudder down my spine.
After an hour bus ride, we arrived at the orphanage and were surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of kids pulling on our clothing, asking our names, and where we came from. One orphan thought that the braces one of my friends had at the time was jewelry and wanted to try them on. We were shown to our rooms, a tiny hut with a grass roof known as the guest house that just happened to be next to a chicken coop, and then we unpacked our belongings, and went to work. The first thing I remember doing was handing out the books, crayons, and eating utensils we had packed the day before to the anxious orphans waiting in line. All of these items seem trivial to us as Americans, things we take for granted, but due to the harsh living conditions of India, they really have nothing, just a few worldly possessions that they cling on to - items that we would consider garbage. Before I knew it, it was time for dinner; we ate spicy chicken and rice that night, and the next 13 nights that followed, the chickens came from the coop next to where we were staying, however I did not figure that out until the next morning when I witnessed one being decapitated shortly after waking up.
Breakfast time, more spicy rice! The children that we ate with seemed to be staring at me strangely, more than the others I was with; I noticed this the night before however didn’t think much of it. After breakfast, the orphanage leader approached me and told me it was because of the hand I ate with. In the poorer parts of India it is not polite or accustom to eat with your left hand because that is the hand they use to clean themselves with, due to lack of a plumbing system and toilet paper. I just happened to be the only left-handed person at the table.
During my stay at the orphanage and leprosy colony, I was really transformed into a different person, one that appreciates the smaller things in life. I lived with nothing for two weeks straight to help those in need, and those who where shunned by society for a disease that dates back centuries. Referring back to the quote, I honestly believe that it is the journey that creates the person. It is the experiences, journeys, and paths one chooses that molds them into who they are as a human, and the things I was able to experience and see, I would never give up for anything. This journey made me who I am now.
