Volunteering with Umbrella Foundation

Some pics

Lightbulbs

We needed a light.

It was 9pm on a Wednesday night and the light in our (newly leased NY apartment) bedroom was out. The romance of reading by headlamp had passed – even though our air mattress resembled the comfort of most hostels we stayed at during our travels. We wanted to tuck into the sole pieces of furniture in our new apartment – an air mattress and two pillows - and read.

Ironically, changing a lightbulb in our new apartment is not easy. We were fortunate to find a beautiful brownstone walkthrough with ten foot tall ceilings and amazing natural light…during the daytime. Having retrieved a ladder from the landlord and laboriously unscrewing a complicated light fixture, we agreed I would go buy the lightbulbs. It was 9pm in New York – everything should be opened. Two blocks later, and the grocery store and Duane Reade were closed. Enter: our local bodega.

I walk into a male dominated bodega and hear the sounds of rapidly spoken Spanish – the kind of Spanish that leaves an English speaker marveling at how quickly a tongue can pronounce so many syllables. “Como puedo ayudarle mi AMOR….?” Boomed from the round, bald man behind the counter. (How can I help you my LOOOOOVE?” ) I smiled at him. “Lightbulbs”, I said.

Having understood his initial question, he was eager to hear where I had learned Spanish. I smiled again and told him in Nicaragua. He beamed back. He was from the Dominican but I somehow felt I had passed an important test. He pointed to the lightbulbs right before my eyes and we continued on a discussion about energy efficiency. He did not have any energy efficient lightbulbs in stock, but I should come back tomorrow where he also owns the $.99 store next door. He then introduced me to his son behind the counter and the combination of the personalities alone made me quite excited that our local bodega can fit so much personality. I soon shared that I am new to the neighborhood, 112th and Manhattan to be exact. His face lights up and he beckoned me a little closer as if about to share a deep secret with an intimate friend.
“You know that abandoned church on 111th and Manhattan – right across the street from you?”
“Yes”, I reply with a little trepidation.
“Well that’s my property, I am going to turn it into a sports bar. Soon. You just wait. A sportsbar right there!”
With teasing skepticism I reply, “Great. But are you going to serve Guinness?”
The look that followed was priceless. His eyes darkened and the first signs of seriousness crossed his face. In a Bollywood meets Latin America type of way, he soon looked like I had offended his deepest sensibilities. “Guiness?” He shook his head, dismayed that I did not already know. “Of course, Guinness. That is my favorite.”
As he finished speaking, he grabbed my hand and escorted me to the beer aisle of the bodega. He extracted a bottle of Guinness from the fridge and, as if we had been friends forever, suggested we split it. Right there. In the aisle. I politely declined and he smiled as if that was also the right answer. So instead he slipped a cold Guinness into my purse. I asked in Spanish, “A little gift from the neighborhood?” He assured me it was and that I would be welcome in Ricki’s shop anytime.

I left the bodega with light steps, returning to Paul with a story and a Guinness…but no lightbulbs. I love our new neighborhood!

Our arrival in NYC

New York City. There is no town like it.

It may be dear, but after Delhi, it is certainly not old or dirty! It feels good to be back in my dear New York City!

It has been a while since we wrote, so as a brief overview:
July 24th: Arrive back in the U.S.A. Laundry. Lots of laundry. Eat fresh New Jersey corn and a big, raw salad.
July 25-27th: Apartment hunt. Paul finds THE ONE. A newly renovated brownstone with beautiful details and just enough space – translate: HUGE for NYC standards. In the apartment, Paul would have a 15 minute walk to his office cutting his commuting time by an 1 hour and 45 minutes! He falls head over heels in love. Paul finds out what we need to do to get the apt while I interview for some jobs.
July 28th – August 2nd: Visit Kate and Shawn in Massachussets. Marvel at Kate’s beautiful belly. Drive to Maine for Jeff Tillinghast (Bowdoin) and Sarah Hurley’s wedding. Jubilate with friends. Vow to move to Maine one day.
August 3rd: Say farewell to beautiful Maine…for now… make Vacationland a part of our 5 year moving plan. Pick up three lobsters on our way South. Call our new neighbor and dear friend Eric Kane and let him know we will need a large pot around 7PM to cook three huge Maine lobsters; one for the each of us.
Evening: Blow up our air mattress. Boil the lobsters. Pop a bottle of Chardonnay. Hope that the last meal in our apartment is anywhere near as good as our first.

Our official move-in day is this Sunday, August 9th. First, we are off to another wedding, this time of our friends’ Travis Buchanan (Bowdoin) and Julie Leff (NYC) . Should be a great Bowdoin crowd to celebrate with on the beach! On Sunday morning, the inevitable wonderment of how we collected so much stuff at the ages of 27 and 28 respectively will settle in. Paul will encourage me to downsize. I will lament that I cannot possible give up my Halloween costume from sophomore year in high school – I may need the parts again for this year. Nevertheless, we are eager to settle and establish our lives again in NYC. Move in day will be a long one as we begin the day post-wedding in southern New Jersey, load the moving truck together in Princeton, NJ and then unloading in NYC. Luckily, we will have the help of two good friends on the NY end. More to come post-move…

A hard bite to swallow

“How on earth did I get this cold?” Paul asks frustrated and bewildered.

I smile back, “Really?”

I remind him of two nights past.

It was our last day at Sugarloaf. We knew something was planned for us earlier in the day when the boys asked us how to spell our names - Paul and Devi. We returned to the house in the afternoon to silence. No playing on the roof. No rough housing in the rooms. Everyone was crafting – some were trying to cover their work with their little elbows, others blatantly asking, “Do you like this? It is for you!!”

We spent the late afternoon christening the rooftop in full glory. Kites were flown, four square tournaments were played and I even played a competitive round of Bullseye Pebbles! Of course, I also saw how easy it would have been to cheat at this game. Bullseye is not just an exercise in hand-eye coordination (which I like to deem luck) but also in counting (which I have a bit more training than the boys at.) Inevitably, all of the little ones would come up to me and confirm their score with me. Finger touched to their nose (the Asian way of pointing to oneself) they would declare,

“120+90 is…….210. I have 110! I have 110!!”

“No, Monesh, it is 210. 120+90 is 210.”

“Huh?! 210! I have 210!?!?” ...Pause.....“I HAVE 210!!!!! I HAVE 210!!!!”

Each one would miscount by approximately 100 points to then be overwhelmed with shock and delight when they realized they were further along than they thought. (Conveniently, they would never forget or miscount my own score, which was often easier to tabulate. Recall: zero)

In the evening, after dal baht and some more rough-housing, the boys started to congregate in a circle. The water tap to the house had broken the night before and you could smell that many of the boys had not yet had a decent wash since then, but they were still ever eager to play and cuddle. As they whispered and some began to sit, I was expecting another of their Michael Jackson dance routines, which had won SugarLoaf first place in an orphanage wide talent competition the previous month (prior to MJ’s passing). We sat with the boys in a circle until the eldest of the group requested that we take a seat on the bench. I was completely ignorant of the Nepali ritual that would consume the next hour. ..

Paul and I sat next to each other, along with Caelie, another departing volunteer. One by one, each boy approached us and put a dab (or a huge blob – depending on the boy) of a sticky rice mixture brightly colored with red dye on our forehead. They took this very seriously, sometimes looking at us in the eye, other times humbly looking down. Others would giggle at their attempts to hold the large rice bowl with their left hand (being sure not to contaminate the rice with their left hand) while trying to put the rice on us with their right hand. The exchange allowed for a special moment with each boy, being able to look at them closely and wonder what they will make of themselves.

Once the rice was placed on our forehead, they ceremoniously exchanged the rice bowl for an apple bowl. With their clean right hand soiled by red dye, they innocently picked up a piece of apple and hand-fed us.

18 little boys.

18 pieces of grimy little apple.

Fed into our mouths.

With an unwashed left hand.

At first, the swallowing did not come easy. Paul and I looked at each other and giggled. 18 boys to feed us, 36 eyes on us. There was nothing to do but grin and bear it.

We walked home with huge smiles, warm hearts, unease in our belly and a mess of red rice all over our face. Even the monks at the monastery could not stifle a giggle when they saw us. The boys had done a number on us – in more ways than one.
Two days later, Paul wondered where he got his cold and I started my first round of Cipro! An experience we shall never forget…

Bulls-eye with the Umbrella Foundation

"Sister! Sister!"

"I am so happy. I have 65 points and you have zero. I am so happy!"

We have committed 4 days to the Umbrella Foundation, a local NGO that runs orphanages. 4 days and it took about 1 minute for the children to win my heart.

The house we were assigned is home to 18 children, 16 of which were recently "rescued" from a corrupt orphanage. Ages 6-8, the boys slept on the floor and were asked to beg for money during the day, or collect vegetable scraps from the market for the night's meal.

Via e-mail, we were told our project would be to paint a roof. Thoughts of tarring roofs in the hot afternoon sun in Appalachia came to mind. I envisioned 4 days of hard labor to make up for 6 weeks of self-focused travel. Oh, how I was wrong! We have a dream job!

Our task is to make a recreational space for the kids. Equipped with red, yellow and blue paints, Paul and I are creating a magical rooftop kingdom with games such as four-square, twister and bullseye (with Pebbles.) We are having a blast! On Day 1, we chalked our ideas on the roof to see how the kids took to them and they were a hit! More than that, they were creaming us at our own games!

"Sister, sister, you try this pebble. Easier for you. You have zero."

"Sister, sister, it's your turn. Stand here."

(I assumed the name "sister" as I think some people find it strange calling me Debbie - pronounced Devi - oh holy master of the universe.)

Little hands found mine as we waited in line for our turn at Four-Square. Heads rested against my hip during the rare nanoseconds that the boys were not consumed by a remarkable level of energy. When rain threatened, we sought shelter inside. It did not take long for Paul to become a human jungle gym. Soon, all of the pint sized boys wanted Superman rides from the fun, tall American who can speak Nepali.

After a long day's work today (Day 2), our magical kingdom is about 50% complete. The majority of games are painted and now it is time to get creative with the details. We hope the rains hold off a bit longer!