This NGO of mine

The human body is an amazing thing. I remember, years ago, I worked as a home carer and met Gertrud who was the most positive person I have ever come to meet. Not the sickly false positivity, she wasn’t all smiles and she certainly knew how the world actually worked. Nonetheless she didn’t let things get her down if she could help it and aging was one of those things. She decided to look upon every new disease with curiousity, seeing how her body reacted and how the rest of her immune system would compensate.

Remarkable.

I follow her advice as often as I can which is why I now agree more than ever. Having spent the last 48 hours in bed with frequent rushes to the toilet I now thank my stomach for acting the way it did. My mother taught me that the stomach is the best placce to catch a bacteria, as it in itself is an amazing flushing system. I understand now that the throwing up, followed by more throwing up when there didn’t seem to be anything left to throw up in combination with a knackering fever all was deviced to get it out whatever it was.

Now, less than three days later, I feel fine but quite weak of course.

The rest of the short break in Pondicherry was just as lovely as the first part. After finishing off at the internet café me and S went to the beauty parlour next door for my very first ayurvedic slathering sorry I meant massage. It certainly wasn’t the last! The following day we went to the beach. As it was filled with westerners we seized the opportynity to swim in swimwear… what a liberation! I laughed so much in the high waves of the Bay of Bengal I nearly drowned when the next time came along. But at least I understand what this surfing business is about not.

I have to admit that I spent the first couple of days feeling a bit better than the tourists that floods the streets of Pondicherry. I’m most certainly not a tourist, but a volunteer spending most of my time in the dry and rural countryside, away from all comforts imaginable. Not like these comfortable travellers. Or so I thought, until I spoke to an Indian guy at the trendy bar on Saturday night. ”Backpacking or NGO?” he asked me before anything else. Oh. We’re that common.

I’m not the only one who ”deserves” a cheesy pizza followed by a Mojito in fashionable Pondicherry, it seems. Next trip is longer and to Bangalore, and I’ll know better than to jump to any such conclusions again.

I thought it was about time I told you some more about Kudumbam, or at least about the agricultural bit:

This part of Tamil Nadu is one of the poorest, and most of the farmers don’t own much more than a couple of acres of dryland. They lack a lot of resources and only a low number of these can afford to bore wells. The rest can only grow rain fed crops. The monsoon season lasts from October through to January, although this year it didn’t arrive until November. Rainfed crops mean that only one harvest a year is possible, whereas in other parts of India as many as three or four are possible. Migration to the cities and abroad is widespread- people sell off their land to big agricultural businesses and can never return.

It is understandable, then, that people want to make as much of their land as is possible. The Green Revolution with remarkable seeds, fertilizers and pesticides really did do wonders for the yields in the area. Farmers willing to experiment received subsidised merchandries and soon the gush of modernisation had reached almost all.

Time went by. Eventually market prices for these merchandries rose, and alongisde this subsidies decreased. Farmers all over India, not just in Tamil Nadu, could certainly feel the pinch and the suicides we all hear about are most definetely linked to this evil cycle of debt. On top of this pests have grown resilient to pesticides and bigger quantities of the now very expensive pesticide is necessary.

Already in a poor state, it is understandable that a farmer is sceptical about turning to a method of farmers which means even smaller yields in the beginning, like organic does. In the UK we talk about a conversion period which for a farmer is very tough, but here it really would be devastating to any farmer.

This is where Kudumbam enters the stage. Through various methods such as self help groups and micro financing they help the poorest of poor and many of these come to Kolunji Farm to learn how to farm with Low External Input. Anyone can get a bunch of trees for the nursery- a good source of income when the rain is absent. The seed bank ensures a safer future and in longer term contributes to the food security in this part of the country.

It is not easy, and it is not complete. Most farmers have only converted part of their land but in total they make up 1500 and counting. The rule book to farm organically and get the LEISA- certificaton is somewhat smaller than the Soil Association equivalent, but it really is a good start! Kudumbam scrutinize all these 1500 farmers, as they hold a group certification and if any of them fails a test they all loose their license.

Kudumbam, alongside other NGO’s, are trying to make a difference from below and upwards. By helping the less priviledged in society- women, widows, Dalits, disabled and landless- the show that tolerance and respect is the best way forward. Tolerance and respect for one another is crucial to eventually learn how to apply this onto the land, which in itself is a living creature too.

Beaucoup Francais

A month is perhaps not that long, but the reappearance of baguette, cheese and caffe latte have certainly made the visit here to Pondicherry worthwhile.

About a 5 hour bus ride away from Trichy it’s quite a trip for only three days, but we just couldn’t wait. Pondicherry os absolutely stunning, with it’s colonial style houses and chileld out resaturants (Indians like to rush as much as possible and bring you the bill whilst you’re still eating, but here they understand certain western needs. I have a lot to say about the massive groups of Europeans I see flooding the little boutiques (really? a trip to India?) but it’s certainly nice to not cause as muc hattentio nas we’re used to.

These little breaks are absolutely necessary and are giving us new energy every time. Not that Kolunji is knackering. Quite the opposite it’s very calm and quiet. Sleepy at times.

I have done lots of shopping. A laod this big would make me feel guilty at home but I have probably spent about fifty squid… oh and all organic and fairtrade. I am on the border of Auroville after all.

Peace and Love

Sara

Romance is over

One fifth of my time in India has now passed, and boy has it been an awe- inspiring adventure to say the very least. Some things has been what I expected, most things has not. Which in itself was pretty much what I expected.

The time is now 9.45 and today started with a major disappointment: last nights’ thunderstorm and heavy rain has led to today’s Farmers Field School being cancelled. This is of course not unusual at this time of the year, as I’ve previously mentioned, but I was looking forward to this class so incredibly much. We were finally going to get our hands dirty and plant some paddy!

Things have come to a standstill in general over the last week, meaning that I now feel more down than I’d like to admit. I’ve been flown here from the other side of the world and all I do is waiting, waiting. Then I talk sense to myself and I know that the waiting time in itself is part of the journey. I’m getting there!

Our mentor P has just come back from Sweden (her first visit, and even I with my hardly existing Tamil could hear that she was describing a smörgåsbord to matron). We met her yesterday, and the two weeks she has been gone suddenly seemed like a day or two. She left us with her assistant A during her absence, who has been very helpful but it’s also been obvious that something personal has been plaguing her. Last week she disappeared- hence the standstill I mentioned. Everything we want to do, everyting we’re supposed to do for Future Earth and our own work requires input from at least one in English knowledgeable Indian person. We have now found out that A’s sudden disapperance is linked to the arrangements of her marriage being finalised. Once things are set it’s apparently custom that the bride to be stops working.

So that’s it. No good byes, and an obviously upset A. My decision to face cultural differences with the most open of minds- I was willing to accept arranged marriages as something that’s not necessarily bad- have had me landing flat on my face.

Just like the scorpion in the cone of light from my torch served as a reminder to always wear shoes and carry a light in the dark, a less than pleasant encounter last Sunday served as a reminder that there are people with bad intentions everywhere- even in India. A road, a man and a bike was the props. Me, Jana and Fiona the cast. The timing 3pm on a Sunday. The man was clearly not quite right as he was about my size and I stand as tall as the other’s shoulders. We are all absolutely fine but worried about the girls at the children’s home. I guess it’s now apparent why we have two nightguards here- something that seemed obscure here in the most peaceful land I’ve ever visited. The romance is definetely over.

My inner journey is running alongside all the impressions and events of our everyday lives. England and Sweden are practially the same country from here, so I am certainly not going to make a big deal out of where I’m living from now on. Moving to either is not a big step, so I’m not going to let this ”choice” dominate my life as much as it has done over the last year or so.

Now, I must return to the excel document our project at the moment is all about. How could I let this happen?!

Wet wet wet

I am sorry if you have reached this blog in search of information of a band that is no more. This is merely thoughts and reflections belonging to a Swede with roots and heart in London, currently situated in Tamil Nadu.

The monsoon has finally arrived to this dry land. I was and am very happy, although the less pleasant effects has surfaced. The bugs, the scorpions and the snakes being the first. The mud bath my feet undertake every day. And worst of all the constant smell of damp in my clothes. This is a small price that I am more than willing to pay, if it means a small patch of hope for the dry land farmers of this poor state.

I wrote this last Friday, 6 November.

Today we went to the village Puliyur, to hand out our questionnaires regarding organic yields for the past year (all part of our project, meaning that yet again a large part of my working life evolves around Excel documents!). It was a nice visit, apart from when the bed they carried out and insisted we sit on (a version of the plastic chair, see earlier post) collapsed under our weight. It may sound funny, but it was devastating!

As often happens a man approached and asked where we were from. My standard reply has become ”Sweden, do you know it?” (to which the answer, surprisingly seeming as I’m in India, tends to be ”yes”). Anyways this man explained that he knew perfectly well where Sweden is, as he lived in London for 7 years. The others explained that as have I, and the answer to the question where was of course, on my behalf, Tooting. Not that I don’t like Brixton, it’s just that I knew that this Tamil would know Tooting. I turned out to be very correct, and on top of it all he worked in the very restaurant I described in my post ”Ode to Tooting” in July. The world felt about the size of a stamp then.

Now I digress, I do have something less trivial to tell as well, I promise!

After chatting to the ladies, all members of various Self Help Groups (SHG’s), and taking photos of their babies (this is always appreciated and a good chance to capture the mothers, too) we set off to another part of the village. The ladies told us to beware, that there would be boys and young men hanging out on the street corners as unemployment here is high. They tried to persuade our translator to go without us, but this was of course out of the picture.

To reach the other part of the village we had to walk down a long path, through som wasteland in use by no one apart from some goats. In this part of the village we were also welcomed, but instead of someone’s house our venue was the terrace outside the church (which was unlocked for us to peek inside). We talked to mainly men, and I think it may have been in my head but they seemed very apprehensive at times. We did however meet a kind lady allowed us to use her restroom and soon we were on our way again.

The difference, as I think you may have guessed, is that the second part of the village was that of the Dalits. The attitude shown by the first group of ladies shows what an underlying issue that of the castless is. It is not that anyone actively thinks ”I don’t like Dalits because they happen to be children of parents with no cast, and the cast system is a perfectly legit way of structuring society”. No, most rural Indians would, when asked, agree to the equal rights of all and explain that the cast system is illegal in India. The only reason, they’d say, that they prefer the Dalits to stay in their part of the village is becasue they harass women walking alone, they are lazy and criminal etc.

There are an estimated 170 million (170 crore) Dalits in India, a number that seems to be closely linked to the amount of starving people in this nation. For me it is hard to see how they can be so unfortunate just because they were born ”without a caste”, but then again people have the misfortune to be born in the ”wrong” part of society in our lands, too.

I have begun to wonder about this cyclic way of thinking again, the one I can refer to with school lessons in religion in mind. Dogs are beaten and I remember that dogs are the worst thing you can be reborn as. If this is how you think, there is no such thing as innocence. A baby can seem innocent enough, but if it’s one of a castless it has done wrong in a previous life. But then again, no one would actively agree to this way of thinking, as little as anyone would say ”I agree to the constant surpression of women and of racial violence”- it is deeply rooted in society but not to be pinpointed in anyone’s mind. It would be easier to deal with if it was surfaced.

There is hope in that the NGO Kudumbam, amongst many others, works with precisely these kind of issues. There is a lot of love in this world and I think we can just about make it go around.

In Sweden only machines

It’s not even 11am yet and today has already been an adventure. For our morning exercise me and Jana set off on two bikes, taking us further than we’ve managed to go on foot so far.

We’re quite the sight, Jana taller than most and with mismatching clothes on our rusty stallions swisching by Indians who don’t even have the time to be surprised. The ones that see us, wave and smile as usual.

Back to the farm, uppuma for breakfast (a kind of porridge made from rice flour) followed by the first fresh papayas straight from the farm. They grow fruit trees here, to show and encourage nearby farmers to do the same. Trees bind water, as we know by now.

Then laundry. This time rather than rinsing it in the bathroom like we have done, I took it downstairs to the outdoor tap where I’ve seen the girls from the children’s home do it. Lahta soon came to help, she likes to show us how to do even the most basic things (last night how to cook curry over open fire). Boy are my clothes clean now.

Bikes aren’t necessary! The concrete floor, the tap and a bright blue soap is all it takes for me to understand why Indian girls can eat so much and weigh so little.

I feel childish even though Lahta is yougner than me. I feel the need to explain. I say ”in Sweden, only machines”. She understands. I am telling her that although it’s how we do our laundry, I want to learn her way. She shows and then supervises (no no one more time in water!) my floppy attempts to whip the bedsheet clean and then move on to rinse it one time too few.

How can I explain, that I can downsize and upload photos on the Internet with my eyes shut, but not how to wash my own clothes?

She knows parts of my world too. When the Macbook we have with us got stuck the other day she swept pass us all and pressed ctrl alt del, thinking it would sort it (hence my text to you by the way Noel, thanks!).

I have come to realise that this is why we are here. Lahta strives to be like me, in a manner of speaking. Rural Indians also wants the fancy electronics, the aid in labour, and a guarantee of a certain standard like we do. I want to show that this is fully achievable, without making the silly mistakes we have made. Without being greedy. I want to show that even though we have much to share and teach, we can also learn from them. And I’m not just talking about laundry here, although it’s a good start.

As I walked away, just as wet as the towel and underwear I held in my left hand, I carried a piece of the bright blue soap in my right hand. A gift from someone who has barely anything to give.

Plastic Chairs and Honorary Towels

I wrote this last night. Wohow back in real time- scroll below for some posts I’ve written since my arrival to Kolunji! I have uploaded a few more photos to Flickr too.

Ylva wrote in the projektisyd blog about the mythical plastic chair. The one that appears from nowhere when you’re out on village visits, the one you’re supposed to sit on whilst everyone else sit on the ground. And so I do. I’d love to break the norm and sit on the ground, but I wouldn’t want to offend he who brought a chair. Nor reject the banana I am served next to my food whilst the children have none. They have been informed that us Swedes, we love our fruit.

Then there is the formalities. After a speech, after a programme, formal gratitudes are given. I mainly understand nothing apart from a name here and there and the word Nandri (thanks). Then suddenly my name is spoken (which is tricky to work out
as every other word in tamil appears to have the syllables sa and ra next to each other somewhere) and I go to the stage where the Panchayat president or similar put a towel around my shoulders. I had heard about these towels. They are practical, I suppose.

I am beginning to truly love the raducal organisation that now is my family, my Kudumbam. Kolunji Farm felt big, dirty and unfamiliar for about four nervous days (as you can read below), but today I felt better than ever about coming to India. Today Mr Mani (his name is longer but he has shortened it for us) translated whilst two key members of staff gave us what I suppose is lessons in organic agriculture. I now know minituously well how to prepare biological pesticides and fertilizers (growth promoters)- how much cow dung is needed, whether to stir clockwise or anti clockwise, how long it is to stand and then finally how much water it is added to. I know in theory how to build three different composts and also what a vermi compost (wormery) and an enriched compost is. I know how to make egg fertilizer (50 lemons, 10 eggs with shell on). To make pesticides a rule of thumb is that what your cattle doesn’t like pests will avoid too, such as neem or papaya leaves.

All this told by Mr Rengaraj aided by Mr Mani and Mr Krishna (also with a longer name really). It worked surprisingly well and it was never annoying even when misunderstandings occurred or when they didn’t understand when we understood (”the eggs must be completely covered with lemon liquid, no eggs over. See? No eggs not in lemon liquid, must be completely covered” and then a picture was drawn… get it? The eggs must be submerged in the lemon juice…). The Indian English certainly is a challenge but one I am coping with.

Then Mr Sakhtivel, with the same translators, told us about Kolunjis organic certification. I have still not quite understood how it works, apart from
the fact that Kolunji aids 1500 farmers to obtain a group certification from someone who has an office in Cochin, Kerala. I think it’s governmental. But the
name this certification has is LEISA Safefoods. I have also understood that there are 29 rules an organic farmer must follow, and if one farmer is randomly
checked and doesn’t comply, the whole group loses it’s certification and can’t apply for another one for 3 years. In other words, Kolunji scrutinise every
single farmer, making the whole system thoroughly checked. I had underestimated this and didn’t think much of Indian certification before today.

But more important than what we learned today was that we got to sit down with staff and discuss our perspective. This, to me, appears to be one of the reasons
we are here. To show that what an organisation such as Kudumbam is doing is so incredibly interesting that I just have to come all the way from Sweden to check.

And I really do.

When the frogs sing

I wrote this on 28 October.

I guess I am about as confused about India as I was about England 13 days after my arrival all those years ago. I think, however, that India would require a bit longer time to get used to! Everything a bit strange that I see I accept as social
or cultural norm, but it’s not like every strange person I met in England are typically British. I must remember this.

I talked some to M before leaving Sweden about the cyclic way of seeing life in this part of the world and I think I can see it in practice already. There is a certain ”this is what I’m destined to do in my life” way of acceptance amongst the less
priviledged (with exceptions of course). This also explains the carelessness in pretty much everything from traffic to electrical works- ”if I’m meant to die today I will do it one way or another anyway”. This said, I am still seeing a great care for each other’s lives. So far.

So the rain arrived today. The forecast says it will rain tomorrow and then it will be sunny again, however the singing frogs beg to differ. According to Latha who is in charge of the children’s home downstairs this means it will rain for at least four
days now. I hope she and they are right, on behalf of the Dry Land farmers of the Pudukottai District.

Everyday Life

I wrote this on 29 October.

I promised Sanna that I wouldn’t forget to write about everyday things such as what I eat and where I sleep. It’s easy to forget as this quickly becomes habit, leaving nothing but thoughts and analysis in mind and fingertips.

As the Puriyar-gang left Kolunji Farm yesterday leaving me, Jana and Fiona to start our project I suppose that some sort of normality has settled.

We wake up at about 6.30-7 am. We don’t have to, but have chosen to get up and go for a brisk walk before breakfast. We areall scared of the up and coming carbohydrate belly we’ve heard of and seize the opportunity to exercise before the sun makes the world unbearably hot.

Sometimes I then do some yoga exercises, mainly to stimulate digestion. You will soon understand why this is necessary.

The children and all staff take meals in a simple hall in the midst of the farm. It’s high ceiling is of a some sort of pleated wicker and the whole building like a giant hut with open sides. The floor is earth and the walls concrete or clay. We sit on marble benches along the sides and matron dishes up through a opening in the partation to the kitchen. We eat with our right hand fingers, with the left hand on our laps. The kitchen is very simple, with an open fire.

All food served is thoroughly cooked, which is good for our scanod-bellies and so far my stomach has been coping (touch wood!). This morning we were served chappatti with a potato stew (sambar). This varies though, yesterday it was rice with a lentil based sambar, the morning before idly (ball like bread made from rice flour) with coconut sattini (chutney). This is not very different from the lunch (although lunck often means pappadoms) which is served at 1 pm and dinner at 8 pm. Around 4 pm we are served chai, which in this part of India means strong tea with milk and sugar, not the cardamom-ey mixture we are used to. This is very much the food that the indians eat, I have yet so see anything served up raw (like vegetables).

We take smaller portions and eat fruit in between and after meals. This sets us apart from the rest of the crew, but something we need to accept as malnutrition
and constipation doesn’t give us a good foundation for our projects.

Matron, who’s name I can’t pronounce but is something short like Oda or so, speaks no English whatsoever so reads our faces intensely while we eat.
This works remarkably well but sometimes it does end up wrong, like for example when Jana complained about the energy guzzling fans at the top
of the ceiling which merely whisks the hot air around up there. Only seeing Jana’s gesture this meant that the fans soon were switched on.

She has a good sense of humour and a glimpse in her eye. She always overpronounces what she serves (iddelleeeee for idly) and when we repeat she laughs heartily. I sometimes try out a new Tamil phrase on her and she likes this a lot.

In between meals we work. It’s all pretty new still so we’re not quite into this but yesterday we had our planning meeting. We will early next week start
visiting villages and with the aid of translators speak to organic farmers out there. Kudumbam wants to establish roughly how much orhanic produce is available,
and the long term plan is to buy this from the farmers and sell it onto wholesalers. Organic farmers currently don’t get a higher price for their produce which
is something Kudumbam is looking to change. Once we’ve conveyed this we will start at the other end and talk to possible consumers in Trichy.

We have a lot to read and write, too, and everyday I have something to wash (towels, tunics, underwear etc). Laundry happens in a bucket and I then spread this
out on the roof terrace to dry. Roof terrace may well sound luxurious but it’s way too hot daytime.

The heat is of course a contributing factor in everything we do. This is meant to be the coolest time of the year but this year the rainfall is absent and
so is the cool. We did acually have some rain last night and the air feels a bit more bearable, but the monsoon is still absent. Monsoon season is October through
to January but although Andra Pradesh is flooded Tamil Nadu remains dry. I should add that although hot and sweaty I am coping better than I ever thought- I have not even had a headache yet.

I have bought some Indian outfits but don’t think I’ll ever look or feel good in a saree. Possibly a half saree which is a skirt, a short top and a shawl. No shoulders, ankles or belly buttons are to be shown here, leaving very little skin left to actually expose if you think of it. I may come back to Europe with a tanned face, feet and hands!

We go to bed around 10. At this time it’s been dark for a few hours already. I am still sleeping with earplugs as the sounds here are way too unfamiliar yet.

Soon we’ll master the art of getting to places by bus and we’ll be slighlty less isolated out here. We have neighbours too; the room next to ours is occupied by
two other Swedish girls here on different journeys. One of them is leading me and Fiona to Trichy this weekend, where I am hoping to get the mobile internet modem
installed on my computer, it’s not worked so far.

Hopefully I’l lsoon be able to write more about the organisation. Oh and tomorrow a man is coming to tell us everything of the current organic certification standard
in this country. I love geeky stuff like that!

Lots of Love,

Sara

Hello Sunshine

I wrote this on October 26

Today is my first really moody day since I got to India. We arrived Kolunji yesterday and whilst it’s absolutely remarkable it wasn’t quite what I had expected. Whilst CIRHEP was very basic in terms of accomodation it was rather westernised in its’
Indian style, I realise this now. However after this evening the whole Kolunji Farm and Kudumbam thing feels great.

Poppy, our mentor in lack of a better word, came to pick us up at CIRHEP. Two bumpy busrides, totalling about three hours, and some serious dealing in Tamil with busdrivers (we were all carrying our bodyweight in luggage) we arrived Trichy. Remember the header I’ve already mentioned in previous post? Trichy looks exactly like it. We stayed in ”the doctor’s suburb” where Kudumbam’s office and a home for some girls is located- the girls will become part of our life here so I’ll write more about them sometime.

The girls have previously stayed at one of the two Children’s Homes that Kudumbam runs. The kids involved are not necessarily
orphans but have parents that can’t take care of them for other reasons. One, for example, is a widow which is a very difficultsituation for a woman in India.

Anyways, I digress. The girls were lovely hosts and very girly in their Indian ways. All dolled up in my new Indian outfit
(a chudi in Tamil; loose trousers, a tunic and a scarf), with jasmine garland in my braid (thanks to Chechammal) and kumkum and bindi in forehead we began our journey to the farm.

The room me, Jana and Fiona are sharing is situated above the childrens’ home. The bathroom is actually really nice but the
room itself really needed some airing. It has most likely been uninhabited since last winter but as it is the micro flora and fauna has had it’s ways with the corners and mattressess. Plain spoken, there was little termite nests and other exciting exotics
to be found (we hope it’s gecko traces, not vermin!) here and there and everywhere.

There are two other girls staying in the room next door, A and S. S is from Dalarna just like me. Phew, I was afraid I’d loosemy dialect.

Tonight we were shipped off to a nearby village, Valiampatti, where the folks from the Trichy office were giving a talk on GMO and pesticides. As we’re used to by now our white faces and wrinkly clothes caused much needed attention,perhaps some people even listened!

By talk I mean loud music, loud talking and feedback through the speakers. And a powercut, no surprises. Gotta love India.

Truly love Kudumbam.

I will write more as soon as I can. I’m glad I uploaded some pictures as Internet really is a luxury I don’t have any more.

Hugs

Quickly quick

No Internet yet. Have arrived Kolunji Farm, it’s awesome and more Indian than previous accomodatrion. Bites on skin and termite nests in the room. All is well and my stomach is just the best. I will treat it very well for the rest of my life if it carries on being this nice to me. I have not even suffered a headache since I came to India.

Hopefully Internet will be installed on laptop before the end of the week. If so it’s still very slow, but at least Internet.

Scroll to the bottom of blog to see my Tweets, I text my Twitter every now and again when I’m away from tinterweb.

Nandri,

Sara