Volunteer Testimonials
DEVIN

Community Development - 8 weeks

I have lived as part of a tribal village in the mountains of southern India for the better part of the past month. I came to the village to help build a house for a very poor family and found a way of life that I didn't think really exists. This has been an eye opening and at times difficult experience.

I leave Kochi (a fairly sizeable and well known city in southern India) on October 4 and travel seven hours by bus up into the mountains to get to Kozhimala. I first come to a shack made of sticks. next to the shack is a concrete hut. my knock on the aluminum door is answered by Shashi, his wife Manchu, and their two-year old son Sunjay. It's late and I woke them but as I duck my head through the entrance way I notice the biggest smiles imaginable. For the next 20 minutes, we sit and have tea. Manchu holds and rocks the baby and stares at me with wide eyes. She's never seen a white person before. We don't speak much. they don't speak much English - and neither does anyone in the village. I sit looking around the concrete structure that's smaller than my apartment in New York - about 500 square feet. We're in Shashi's brother's house. The shack next door is Shashi's. Because of the monsoon rains of the summer, the two families (six people) have lived in this 500 square foot concrete house for months. with my arrival the brother and his family stay with other family until the rain subsides and it is safe to move into the shack.

As I drink my tea and try to get a grip on my surroundings, I notice how much doesn't exist. Concrete walls separate the kitchen, master room, and bedroom but there are no doors. There is no electricity or anything that requires it. There is no running water. A clock hangs on the wall but doesn't tick. There are no windows - only spaces of missing concrete to let in some light and air. There's no bathroom. There's no furniture. There are no beds or mattresses. they sit, eat, and sleep on the dirt floor. after tea, I open up my backpack, grab my sheet, and try to fall asleep without thinking to much.

First on my agenda for the new house - build a freakin bathroom! While dealing with the local mason. I learn that there are two types of toilets in india. one - a "western" toilet. and the other - an indian "toilet." a western toilet is what we all know and what i have come to miss and love. An indian toilet is a hole in the ground. next to the hole…a bucket of water. thanks to some great advice from my mother (thank you so much, mom), I brought tp. after the indian toilet's construction, the family and all the village workers laugh out loud, point, and bring as much attention to me as possible anytime i head for the restroom with a roll of paper in hand. My restroom activity has become a source of tremendous enjoyment for the entire village.

Our construction team consists of nine local labors. I see first hand just how hard these people work. and because the house we're building is next to the house we live in, I get to see the woman work as well. The people of the kozhimala tribe are the hardest working and toughest people I have ever met. the men move hundreds of 50-100 pound pieces of granite approximately 50 yards, up hill, and on there heads. They do this for two straight days. they shovel, lift, and move everything manually. The women gather water from the well and walk 10 minutes up hill with the water jugs on there heads. Shashi's mother, a 50 year old woman who may weight 80 pounds, chops wood like a lumber jack. Each meal takes about two hours to prepare and 30 minutes to clean up afterwards. That's nearly eight hours just for meals. everything is done by hand.

Without TV or radio or any other form of typical entertainment, these people have only each other. I spend every night sitting on the dirt floor watching the family interact. Shashi's brother and his family, Shashi's mother and aunt, and other villagers often join us for dinner. I can't understand anything they say so i listen and watch closely. I listen to their tone. I watch how older members of the tribe interact with younger members. I watch how the two husbands interact with their arranged marriage wives. To list all my observations would make this email even longer than the last. but i want you all to know that these are wonderful and caring people who enjoy their lives. They enjoy the journey. because, for them, there is no "and then..." there are no promotions that come tomorrow. There are no vacations that come next summer. There are no stepping stones to something perceived to be bigger and better. For the villagers of the Kozhimala tribe, there is only today. What they do today let's them eat, sleep, and enjoy one another.

One night it is my turn to do some entertaining. After dinner the families ask me to sing. They've heard of American music but have never actually listened to it. I don't have my laptop with me so I'll have to improvise. What should i sing? Mona and Derek loaded my laptop with lots of great music before i left New York. Jack Johnson, U2, The Beatles... but i can't remember more than a few words to any song. the one song i do remember the words to…Ac/Dc…she shook me all night long. "she was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I'd every seen." As i sit on the floor singing a song about a promiscuous one night stand, four generations of Indians smile and clap. they don't understand a word.

These people have taken me into their tribe and by doing so, have taken me into their family. They have cared for me by not letting me carry heavy stones on my head. They have watched out for me by stopping the bus from leaving without me when i am lost and late. they have prepared all my meals separately because I can't handle the spicy south indian dishes. They have held my hand and lead me through the slippery and dark mountain side at night. The entire village knows my name – they call me "Devin-sir."

I left Kozhimala the other day. The entire village came out to say goodbye. I shook hands with the men and waved to the woman. Manchu, Shashi's wife, cried. then Shashi gave me a hug and told me that i helped to change the lives of him and his family. Indian men often hold each other's hands, but i've never seen them hug. This was rather emotional and something i'll never forget. Then i got on the bus.

After about 10 minutes, i passed another bus filled mostly with village children on their way to school. the streets are so narrow big buses must pass each other at a snails pace. One of the kids on the bus noticed me and stuck his hand out the window to slap mine (i taught them the high-five). Before i knew it, the entire bus was hanging out the window giving me high-fives. what a send off!