Volontariato \ Esperienze di volontari \ Max Kuling
From: Max Kuling [mailto:maxavier@hotmail.com]
Sent: Tuesday, January 21, 2003 11:39 AM
Subject: An affection for Sister Ines
3:20pm Tuesday January 21, 2003
9:20 13 day 5 month 1995 Ethiopian Calendar
At the dinner table, I watch Sister Ines's strong wrinkled hands tear the
dinner bread into pieces and drop them in her watered down vino. Large
round spectacles covering her smiling brown eyes, I see those same hands
caress the curly hair of little children at the bosom of their distressed
mothers. Always in pencil grey habit and veil, she waddles her heavy body
to her tiny ill-equipped medical clinic; the local and often only medical
help for the poor in this area. There is something so innately generous
about her nature. In moments when all seems helpless and out of control,
she is able to keep this gracious spirit about her. She is my "mama de
toutto".
I knew volunteer work would be a part of this trip and Ethiopia was an idea
that was planted during some very brief volunteer work with the Sisters of
Charity in Calcutta. It is nearly four weeks for me here in the small City
of Zway, with a catholic mission run by the Italian based Salesian Sisters.
Warned about the current famine, I was nervous about being confronted by my
ignorance. I feared I would be living in a desert, sleeping on a mat under
a dirt floor submerged in a world of hunger and suffering. There is of
suffering, but also much, much more. But first let me explain my
experiences in Southern India.
South India - Always only one tap. PHOTOS TO COME
During the 2200km train ride from Delhi to Chennai (it's former colonial
name Madras), or from north to south, even subtle changes inside the cabin
could be found. Food became spicier, fruit more available, and the chai tea
turned into coffee. The unforgettable day and night low droned voice
offering "Chai, Chai!" licensed only by chai vendors eventually changed
into "Coffee, Coffee!".
In time with the train's rhythm, I spent many hours sitting with one knee
outside the exit door watching India's interior pass by, letting my mind
wander as it may. There is something magical that happens just following
sunset. With the sudden absence of the bright sun sweeps a gentle blanket
over the landscape. Everything appears softer somehow. Looking out an open
exit door moving at full speed is just one of the benefits of travelling by
train in India.
Off with my backpack in this city of six million people, my first impression
was wealth. Chairs and big screen TV's with commercials and the ever
charming "Aum" echoing throughout the large colonial train station. The air
was warm and tropical, people were thinner and darker, women with turmeric
(yellow) faces, coconut trees and banana leaf plates, charming chalk designs
at door ways, elaborate third eyes on mens foreheads, cluttered Kaliman
temples ...... indeed, I was exploring a new country.
I immediately made my way to Adyar to learn more about Theosophy at its
beautiful international headquarters. Founded in the late 1800's in New
York by a group of intellectuals and mystics, Theosophy, as its name
suggest, is the study of theology and philosophy and is humbly spread
throughout the world. Its manicured and expansive campus out stretches
onto the Indian ocean and appears to be a garden of Eden in the middle of a
polluted, congested Chennai suburb. There is a spiritual, reflective, and
tolerant element to the environment that is precisely one of the tenets of
Theosophy. On the grounds one can find a Catholic Church, a Mosque,
Buddhist and Hindu temples, a Meditation Hall, and a library. Not entirely
perfect but probably the closest I've yet come to satisfying both heart and
mind. Besides, I've yet to found a way of thinking or faith that doesn't
have its moments of.....uh.... hokey-pokeyness.
For three and a half weeks I was a philosophy student and became embroiled
in philosophical and religious study and debate with intellectuals from
England, Cuba, Italy, Brazil and of course, my Indian hosts alike. I lived
in small community not to far away in a humble little apartment with a
shared squat toilet with scoop and bucket for washing, always only one tap
(cold). Power was fairly reliable and water was sure to work in the
mornings (sometimes : ) ). I braved Indian traffic rode my rented bike
each day. I simply kept driving forward, yielded for cows and accepted my
fate. I enjoyed my routine and made some good friendships. It was sad to
move on.
Ethiopia - Black people everywhere.
Mama Africa! Twinkling stars......the Ethiopian night sky is miraculously clear
at night and during the full moon casts shadows unlike I've ever seen. The
birds range from as big as people or as small as my thumb nail, feathered
with bright yellow and blue colours. I wake to the sounds of large spotted
pigeons outside my window. They coo just like back home but also roll there
rrrrr's in such a sweet tone. The flowers are also a sight! Trees with
black bark trunks sheathed fully with bright purple flowers. All sorts of
colourful and fragrant flora find there place in the wet spots of this area.
Sheesh, I've even heard a hippo.
Imagine black people everywhere! I love the sounds they make when they
dance, hands resting on hips, jerking their shoulders and head in all
directions. Like a snake...Ksss! Ksss! or heavy, heavy breathing...... all to the
rhythm of the drums and clapping hands. I'm amazed at the beauty of their
wide coffee eyes. Often, I'm caught locked in a curious gaze with someone,
both of us examining our foreign faces. The local Oromo women, sometimes
called one-elevens, beautify themselves with scars or "ones" carved into
their cheek bones and occasionally with tattoos to their necks and faces.
Many Ethiopian women also tattoo their upper gums black. Men don't seem to
have any facial regalia but they look pretty cool when they wear their
"Nutella", a thin white cotton shawl with a detailed border. I was given
one for Xmas and I felt like Obi-Wan Kanobi walking in the semi desert with
the Joshua Trees and cactuses with my wide white scarf wrapped around my
head and body.
I live in a convent with four Sisters and two other volunteers. I really
enjoy doing homey things again like washing dishes and setting the table.
It is pretty cozy here compared to the cockroach infested places I'm used to
staying in. Clean, clean sheets and towels, my own room with shower and hot
water. Over my bed hangs a small bronze Jesus and on the wall an enlarged
photo of the Virgin Mary. I eat three good Italian / Ethiopian meals
everyday. I even enjoy standing before our chairs to pray before and after
we eat.
I walk with sticky clothes and sticky hands from MOOK, a warm cereal
porridge that is close to "Cream of Wheat". This little feeding program
(i.e. wood fires and a few pots) has gone from providing some 200 mothers
and their children with milk and biscuits to feeding over 16,000 people last
week, and the numbers grow weekly. I'm hands on from crowd control and
check-in to dishwasher and bowl collector. All my efforts are geared to
improve the process to meet an ever increasing demand that show up at our
door daily. It's long days, and I'm exhausted both emotionally and
physically, however, I'm very satisfied with what we have accomplished here
over the past few weeks.
I'm mindful of service and try to keep a cool head when things get out of
control. It's so gratifying to see the kids sitting on the floor with
their snotty noses and dusty feet slurping and licking clean their bowls of
fafa. Fafa is the same as mook and the words sound so cute when kids use
it. Most frustrating is when they push and shove each other to get ahead in
the line or try to cheat to eat more than their share. This is when things
go crazy. Perhaps order is found in chaos, but not in hunger.
The Salesian Sisters based out of Italy have been in Zway since 1989 and
have organized themselves quickly and successfully. There's a kindergarten,
a literacy program, feeding program and a technical school where high school
graduates learn sewing and computers. Next to the feeding program is the
small clinic headed up by the beloved Sr. Ines. The Mission is a safe haven
enclosed by a three meter high block wall. Outside these walls it's pretty
rough and I'm always a bit on edge. As a foreigner I attract a lot of
attention. Perhaps living in the security of this mission has made me lose
a bit of my courage.
The famine is real; I've witnessed some intense poverty. You never know
what's going to come through the door asking for help. My heart goes out to
two situations I often see. The first is the babies with a glazed look in
their eyes, flies dug in like leeches in their eyelids, mouth, snotty nose,
scabs, and any other sweet spot they can find. The babies don't fight the
flies anymore and they just sit on their faces motionless. I wish they
would blink and brush those flies away but it seems like they've given up
fighting them. I also feel for the young children, maybe six years old,
with a new born strapped on her back and her two other younger siblings in
hand. They care for them with the gentle hand of a parent, guiding them
through the check in and feeding them before they eat themselves. It is
these children I wish I could take back to Canada and let them laugh and run
and be children without bearing the responsibility of three hungry siblings.
So for another month I'll be Singing with the Sista's, my eye in the night
sky, pillow to purring pigeons, flowing da fafa, Crossing with the Father,
Obi-Wan, one eleven caught cold with those coffee eyes.....
Courage from Ethiopia,
Max Kuling
"In the moon thou sendest thy love letters to me", said the night to the
sun. "I leave my answers in tears upon the grass"
Rabindranath Tagore
From: Max Kuling [mailto:maxavier@hotmail.com]
Sent: Thursday, March 06, 2003 10:21 PM
Subject: A tear and a smile
March 6, 2003
"...With evening's coming the flower folds her petals
and sleeps, embracing her longing.
At morning's approach she opens her lips to meet
the sun's kiss.
The life of a flower is longing and fulfillment.
A tear and a smile..."
Kahlil Gibran
Hello,
Home. Out of the Vancouver airport, my cheeks burning from the cold, I took
a deep breath of winter air. I felt the same butterflies as when I began
this trip. My foreign eyes feasting on the familiar. The northern light on
the leafless trees, the smell of rain and cedar, endless purple arches of
blackberry bushes and snow capped mountains competing with the sky. I came
home from Ethiopia only two weeks ago to the surprise and big hugs of
family. I'm still coming home! I've reunited with father's side of the
family and I'm anxious to take the ferry to be with my mom, sisters, and
nieces again. Eventually, I'll make my way to Calgary for further cheer and
reunions. But let me finish my trip in Ethiopia.
It is not the suffering, but the reaches of joy that brought tears to my
eyes. This is best expressed at a typical Ethiopian Orthodox wedding. Men
and women singing together with heartfelt joy, their melodies rising and
descending steadily. On verse, the arms sway back and forth with palms held
open in front of the waist. On chorus, all join in with hands clapping to a
boisterous, energetic rhythm, like a country stomp, the base of the drums
resonating in my chest. The drummers' arms in the air, dancing on the
diagonal, turning in time, their giant bull skin drums strapped to their
bodies. Everybody sings, sways and claps together. The just-married bride
and groom appear at the threshold of the church wearing large oval crowns
like the King and the Queen from a pack of antique playing cards. We all
escort the married couple into their car and watch as the family members,
dancers and singers circle around the car. The energy of the stomp along
with the singing, dancing and smiling faces carries a spirit of unequivocal
joy and freedom. Even amidst the worst situations there can be happiness in
life. What a wonderful gift!
It was difficult to leave the Mission and start my journey for home. An
hour before it was time to go, I grabbed a ticket and waited patiently for a
bowl of Fafa (porridge) teasing the moms in line. Hot bowl in hand sitting
on the floor surrounded by children, my last moments were savoured. I'm so
proud of what we accomplish with wood fires, five big metal pots and an old
wheelbarrow. Each day we would receive up to 3,500 people through our
regular doorway into the small covered eating area with wooden benches.
When I left we were averaging around 20,000 bowls per week! The numbers
sounds good, but it was the individual attention that carried the greatest
satisfaction. This might be seeing that someone gets warm clothing, holding
someone's hand and taking them to the medical clinic, or patching up a small
wound. Precious are the moments when I really felt I reached and helped
someone, and in these times, all the fighting, desperation and helplessness
faded away.
Surprised by the emotions from my friends at the Mission and from myself, it
was time to move on to Addis Ababa. My beloved Sister Ines brought me to
the bus stop with hugs, well wishes, and promises of prayers for my family
and I. It's well known fact amongst the volunteers that we gain much more
than we offer. Without exception, I am truly grateful for all the
challenges and discoveries made in my short stay here. It was time to go
home, the final part of this trip.
For one year I was living out of a backpack and washing clothes on shower
floors. Braving it out on pedal bikes, horse buggies, broken down buses
and "coffin" boats. Sleeping on jungle floors, temple beds and train
station tables. Meditating in monasteries, pagodas and a some Ganges yogas.
Marching on sandy beaches and amongst the river leeches, on bamboo
bridges, through monsoons and mountain ridges.
Democratic Peoples Republic, Constitutional Monarchies, Kingdoms,
Sultanates, Federal Sovereign States, Orwellian City States. Courage and
mental preparedness was required every time I stepped across a border into a
new land.
Sit down, squat, concrete slab, wooden plank, handle flush, pour flush,
clockwise flush, overhead pull flush, hole in ground (no flush), hang-on
while you flush (bus/train/boat). Courage and mental preparedness was
required every time I stepped into a new washroom.
These little travel notes were a way to give thought to my experiences and
make room for new ones. It also was an anchor to home. A heart felt thank
you for letting me share with you over the last year and for your
encouragement and support along the way.
Courage from home,
max.
"....I would that my life remain a tear and a smile.
A tear to purify my heart and give me understanding
of life's secrets and hidden things, and
A smile to be a sign of my joy in existence..."
Kahlil Gibran