Leaving Chahalka

I have to admit. When I first came into this village a week ago, I wondered what in the love of God I had had gotten myself into. I really thought that it would take every bit of gumption that I had to stick it our. Funny what you can get used to. I have become quite fond of this village and it's people. Except for most of the men. They deserve an especially warm place in hell. Except for the nice guy who bought us all cotton candy and Chrissy's little brick layer. Oh, and Rockmudeen (phonetic spelling) the camel driver with the dead camel. He was sweet.

Now, instead of the piles of garbage everywhere, My eyes are drawn to the women in their green and blue and orange and pink saris, posture perfect (from years of carrying everything on their heads), against a bacdrop of beautiful blue sky and acres of yellow mustard. The colors dazzle the eyes. Instead of the dirty faced, snotty nosed children who are constantly demanding our glove, our cameras, our water.... everything they see.... I notice their brilliant smiles.

I have learned a lot about human nature here. We did not need to bring t shirts and soccer balls to make these people happy. All you need is a set of hands to show them clapping games or paper to make them origami. The gifts that we did bring only caused a riot when they were taken from the duffel bag. We had to hurry to the bus to avoid being mobbed. It was not a pleasant situation at all. There were not enough gifts for everyone and I am sure that when the village elders pass them out that they will not reach the correct hands. They will go to those that already 'have'.

Before the riot the community gathered us together and the women of our group were assembled with the women of the village while the men met outside with the males of the village. You cannot mix the two. We were presented with wonderful scarves to hide our hair and faces and the men were presented with turbans. Gifts from people I would have thought had nothing to give. I feel truly appreciated.