Weekend!

My relationship with John, the other volunteer, is quickly becoming a one sided pissing contest. It’s one sided because I really don’t care to compete with him, and he‘s constantly trying to one up me. He’s just angry that I was asked to write a grant proposal, and not him. He’s the one who has been here for one month, gone on tens of field visits, and thinks he knows everything. But I was asked to write a proposal. Ha! In all honesty, it’s highly probable that I was asked because it is for an American organization, and I am an American person who has earned a college degree. John has one more year before finishing his bachelor‘s; in India that means something. Those two reasons are most likely the entire reason I was asked, nothing more.

I don’t even understand why he’s getting his panties in a bunch! In a few short days he is going to have to sit down with an English speaking staff member and translate an entire annual report. That’s huge! My Canadian friend needs to simply get the eff over it. Unless he’s hoping to go home with great stories about securing additional grant funding, and translating an entire annual report, there is no point competing for accomplishments. Yes, I want go home feeling like my time spent here was for something. But as long as things get done, we all win. Right?

My relationship with him isn’t all bad. He extended an invite to me to go on a field visit to see some service participants. I jumped at the chance but was a little worried about the transport. Rajiv, John and I would have to ride on motorcycle. When I seemed to hesitate, John asked if I was scared to ride (see pissing contest above). I told him I wasn’t scared of the motorcycle. I was scared of the motorcycle, no helmet and Indian traffic rules. It was the combination of the three that made the endeavor seem a little dodgy.

But I said yes. How could I not? We rode out three on the bike with no helmets, roaring down the decrepit rural roads, getting edged into the dirt by the passing tractors and overloaded trucks. We went to three villages and were served chai at every single stop. If things became too scary, I just closed my eyes. I learned that trick when riding the matatus in Kenya. In the end I was invited to spend a week milking cows at one home, I held a baby at another home, scared the living daylights out of a baby somewhere else, and I’ll gladly do the same thing tomorrow.