Andhra Pradesh

This past Tuesday and Wednesday, all 23 of us volunteers traveled nine hours by bus to Andhra Pradesh - the state directly north of Tamil Nadu. This is our second of three overnighter trips to leprosy colonies in which have never received any medical treatment before.

The drive was supposedly supposed to take a mere four hours. However, after being in India for even a few days, you'll learn to multiply any amount of time someone has promised a task will take by about thirty, and that's the real amount of time it'll take.

It all started when we crossed the border to Andhra Pradesh. To be able to drive in Andhra Pradesh, it is required by law to have a special permit - and even then, you can't drive your own vehicle, you have to rent one. If you get caught, you're arrested and sent to jail, and anyone else in the car is forbidden from ever re-entering the state. None of us knew either of these minor details upon departure, so when we crossed the border, we had to find two drivers and rental busses. An hour later, we drove off in a nifty hot-pink "Party Bus" (complete with Bolleywood movies and obnoxious flashing lights that produced migraines in all of us) and an eighties van (alternately equipped with air-conditioning (!) and curtains). Over the next four hours, we made stops about every ten minutes, and each time our drivers would curiously disappear. At one point, while driving through a narrow road, our driver honked at a man who was standing in the way. The man then yelled some derogatory remark at the driver about his (our driver's) grandma. How on earth this random man knew anything about our driver's grandmother, I have no clue. Our driver immediately hopped out of the van, socked the guy in the face, jumped back in the van, and we then continued on our way. TII, baby (TII, "This is India", is a common acronym used among us volunteers).

Finally, at 3:00 p.m. (4 1/2 hours later than as planned), we arrived to our first colony, Jyothi, which is situated amongst a thick, beautiful tropical forest. There, we did diabetes screening, hypertension testing, washing, bandaging, distributing medications, and photo documentation to record the patients' progression. In five hours, we had seen all 95 patients. It was amazing, to say the least.

That night, in our hotel, this was the view from our door:

(just in case you were wondering, the guy's drunk. He was banging on one of the volunteer's doors, trying to get in. About ten minutes later, my roommate and I slowly opened our door to see if he had left yet and saw that he'd collapsed outside their door. Like I said, TII, people.)

The second colony we went to, Tirupati, was right in the middle of a slum. When we got there, all 130 leprosy-affected were jam-packed into their small cement community center. It was crowded even without all twenty-three volunteers, our doctor, the medical table, and all the medications and chairs. Somehow, it all worked, and six hours later, we were driving away, completely exhausted but very content.

(This picture shows about half the room, after we'd worked on about 1/3 of the patients. Yeah. It does no justice to show the amount of crowdage in that room.)

After being here for a couple months, I've been able to add about 12-15 Tamil words to my repertoire, so when I go into the colonies here in Tamil Nadu, I at least feel a tinsy bit adequate at my communication skills. However, because Andhra Pradesh speaks Telegu (rather than Tamil, spoken here in Tamil Nadu), I couldn't say one thing. Not even "hello". I hated that. I hated not being able to ask them about their families, their life before they got leprosy, their pains, their achievements, not even their names. I just sat and tried to communicate to them through smile and touch, which actually conveys quite a bit.

It's funny, though - despite being unable to adequately communicate, within every colony I've been to this summer, I feel myself drawn toward one or two certain patients. I don't know why, I just know it happens. Despite the fact that we've never even seen each other before (heavens, I can't even say "hello" to them). And yet, after just looking at them, it's like a magnet is pulling me towards them. Maybe it all means we were friends in the previous life, or perhaps they just needed an extra smile and hug that day. Or who knows; I could be making it all up, subconsciously picking out the cutest old man in the group. But I don't think it's that. I haven't figured it out yet, but there's a reason for this feeling- there must be.

This "pull" doesn't happen just to me, just in remote leprosy colonies, just in India. I believe it happens to everyone, everywhere, and it's reason most definitely depends on the person and situation. However, regardless of the actual reason, I think the most important thing is that we acknowledge and act upon this feeling, this "pull", when it does happen. Whether it's starting up a conversation with the bagger that bags your groceries at Albertson's today, who's having a crummy day and your kindness makes their entire week; whether it's a leprosy-affected wife of a drunken and abusive husband, who yearns for someone to show her an ounce of affection for once in her life. The reason isn't important; it's whether or not we act on it that matters.