Eclectic Soul

Epilogue

2011-05-21T07:08:00.000-07:00

Flying above the green, brown, blue terrain and white marshmallow clouds inspires me to write. I find it to be one of the most serene settings – no talking, no music, and no noise, except for the air rushing by outside and the occasional incoherent murmurings from the cockpit. I am on another plane, within the US this time, and I’m finally writing the conclusion to my India 2011 trip. I’ve been home for about a month now and have had some time to reflect on my time in Mumbai.

I didn’t get a picture of Chevy Rickshaw. We saw it practically every day for the first 2 weeks, but it eluded us the final 2 weeks. I had my camera ready just in case one of us – Lisa, Hussain (our driver), or I – caught a glimpse of it as we passed the energetic street. That street contained Lisa’s cows on the corner, “bath time” where we usually saw men showering near a water pipe, “water time” with young women carrying water pots and bowls precariously atop their heads while crossing the busy street, and “Chevy Rickshaw” - the rickshaw with the bright red top and Chevrolet symbol in the back window. We left India a week before 2 of our co-workers who had to stay behind at the last minute. I gave them a detailed overview of Chevy Rickshaw and even instructed them to take a picture if they saw it. It feels like it was just a legend now that I will tell my children. Maybe they will travel to India one day in search of Chevy Rickshaw like the Spaniards looking for the Fountain of Youth.

Besides looking for Chevy Rickshaw, we spent our last day in Mumbai looking for as many OMs as possible, as well as “Elizabeth” and Lisa’s last name. I knew finding my name would be highly unlikely, but my eyes perked up whenever we passed a church or other Christian area. In India, as in many other countries, names have meaning and tell you a lot about the person before even meeting them. For example, if you see the name Shiva or Ganesh, then you can assume that the bearer is Hindu. If you see the name Akil, Hussain, Ahmed, then you can assume that they are Muslim. If the name is Mary, Xavier, or Elizabeth, then they are likely to be Christian. These are all assumptions because families can choose whatever they’d like to name their children. However, most stick with tradition. A Hindu friend told me he would like to name his daughter Elizabeth, but his family would be very upset if he chose a Christian name for his child. The names, especially last names, can also tell you where the family is from. For example, Shah and Patel are popular names in Gujarat. Singh, as in Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, is a common last names for Sikhs. Khan is a common Muslim last name, and is the moniker for a couple of Bollywood’s biggest stars. I like the fact that everyone recognizes that names are important in India and that your name tells your story. It is a truth that many Americans tend to ignore.

Many things changed since my last trip to Mumbai in 2008. I attended Sushama’s baby shower, and now her “baby” is a 3-year old girl. My friends, Anita and Yagnesh, now have a toddler son too. I wasn’t able to see either of the children due to the limited amount of free time outside of work, but I heard a lot about them. Other people that I met before have moved on to do other things, but we’ve been able to keep in touch via social networking. Once again, my Indian friends and co-workers were gracious hosts and made my time in India easier and more fulfilling. From zipping across Vashi to the tailor on the back of Sarika’s motorcycle to the meals ordered from Sunny’s just before the 1am delivery cutoff by Wilfred, from Rupali wrapping my sari around my jeans and t-shirt to Chinmayee adorning my hand with mehinde, I was blessed to be surrounded by many people who were always willing to make my time in Mumbai the best possible under sometimes difficult circumstances.

Mehinde (henna) - I chose a more Arabian looking design this time.

OM

Gudi Padwa

2011-04-17T17:56:00.000-07:00

Gotham City

2011-04-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

"Only vampires and Batman come out at this time of the night..." One of my co-workers in Mumbai told me that a couple of months ago, and I thought it was such a funny, but sad sentiment. It also gave me an idea for something to do for our team there to show some appreciation and have a little fun. We had a Batman-themed break one night with snacks and other goodies.

I believe working in an office at night goes against the laws of nature. There is very little natural light shining into the building for the few hours of daylight left. I felt like I spent my nights in a casino with no concept of reality.

I heard this story recently, and it confirmed my view on humans' lack of productivity at night due to it being against our nature.
"Humans are not nocturnal."

Everybody Loves the Sunshine...

2011-04-11T23:53:00.000-07:00

My stomach woke me up again early Saturday morning around 4:45am. I took more anti-diarrheal medicine and went back to sleep. A phone call woke me up a few hours later. Lisa called to tell me that we'd missed our 8am flight. We planned to go to Admedabad (or Amdavad) to visit her family for the weekend, but we both overslept. Ahmedabad is in Gujarat state just north of Maharashtra state. She made a few calls and learned that we could leave on a later flight. We made plans to meet up later, and then we both went back to sleep. By the time I woke up, I felt much better. I had regained my appetite and was ready to eat as much as I wanted in Ahmedabad. At the airport, I almost missed the flight again trying to buy a couple of things from the airport bookstore. We had a special escort to the bus to make sure we made it on the plane. I have never missed a flight, so I couldn't believe I was about to miss 2 in one day.

Lisa's cousin greeted us as we walked out of the airport in Ahmedabad. That evening we went to a Punjabi restaurant for dinner, then went out for sweet treats - iced golas and kulfi. Iced golas are shaved ice with fruit juice on a stick, basically a snow cone on a stick in a cup. I didn't eat the kulfi, a frozen dairy product, because I'm lactose intolerant and I didn't want to take a risk with my already irritated stomach. We parked the car and walked from the iced gola stand to Law Garden, an area with open stalls for shopping and entertainment for families. The street was littered with children taking a camel ride, horse rides, and a goat-pulled cart. At first glance, I thought that goat was a baby camel because it was so big.

Everyday on our ride to work, our driver, Hussain, plays music for us. We've become enthralled with this catchy song called "Amplifier" by DJ Adee (he says his name at least 30 times). It is in Gujarati, so I don't understand most of the words. Lisa told me that the song is about trying to get a girl to sit in his car, and it's really silly. All I know is that he does these really simple rhymes, putting together bakery, pani puri, saree, chokary (I don't know what that is, but he says it a lot), Adee, Gujarati. We told the family about this song during dinner, and the Punjabi version came on a few minutes later. We thought the timing was hilarious.

We didn't spend much time there, but the little time that we did spend in Gujarat seemed to always be focused on what we were eating next. In addition to iced golas, I ate vada pav, chivanu, and other snacks/junk food for the first time. It's funny that I ate vada pav there because it is most well known for being a Mumbai treat. It is essentially a samosa between 2 pieces of bread with lots of spices and butter. It looked like the guy melted half a block of butter (the old-fashioned kind that your grandmama uses) on the burner just to make a couple of sandwiches. Then the spices are added to the butter, and the bread is flatttened into it like you would make a grilled cheese sandwich. It wasn't healthy at all. It was good though.

I have a knack for accepting the different experiences that I encounter abroad. I have no problem eating local foods, listening to the music, wearing the dress, adapting to the cultural differences, etc. However, the differences in the bathrooms just throws me for a loop. That's a pretty important thing that you just can't avoid. In Ahmedabad, I had to ask for instructions on how to flush the toilet and how to shower. Instead of pushing a button or lever to flush, I had to turn a faucet next to the toilet that sent a rush of water into the bowl. I was grateful that it wasn't the Indian-style loo that I've carefully avoided this time around. For the shower, I had to turn on the water, flip the switch for the mini hot water heater, then turn the knob for the water to come pouring out of the showerhead that sprayed the entire bathroom with water. The water sprayed from the showerhead, but it also poured into a bucket that was underneath the faucet closest to the floor. I didn't realize until I was done that the water coming from the lower faucet was hotter, and I probably should've just used the bucket to wash off instead of trying to "take a shower". Thankfully, it was only one night.

Overall, I enjoyed my time in Gujurat. The pace was a bit slower, and the streets were slightly cleaner than Mumbai. It was also hotter at 40 degrees Celsius (104 F), but it was dry heat since we were no longer on the coast.

DJ Adee

2011-04-08T10:19:00.000-07:00

A year ago around this time, I was in another city on another continent that was also given its common name by the Portuguese. My travels seem to coincide with special events whether intentional or unintentional. Everyone celebrated Holi my first weekend in Mumbai, and the Maharashtra new year – Gudi Padwa – was celebrated this past Monday. Many of the ladies in the office celebrated by wearing sarees, and of course I wanted to participate. Just like my last trip, I purchased my saree the day before and didn’t have time to get the blouse “stitched”. The “ready-made” blouses at the shop didn’t match my saree. In my haste I forgot to look elsewhere for a blouse and also a petticoat. I wore a t-shirt and jeans to the office and waited until one of the ladies could wrap my saree. She was shocked when I told her I didn’t have a blouse or petticoat, but she fixed me up so well that no one knew unless we told them. I just tucked the cloth into the waist of my jeans, and my black t-shirt went well with it too. I looked in the mirror and felt like one of the Masai. I proudly represented 3 countries that evening – saree from India, necklace from Nigeria, and t-shirt purchased in America (but probably made in China). I took pictures with some of the beautifully adorned ladies. Only a couple of the guys dressed up. Many people in the office commented on how well I wore the saree and asked if I was comfortable. I was pretty comfortable, but I had to make sure that the hem was always down when I stood so as not to reveal my rolled up jeans underneath.

Later in the week, Sarika took me to her tailor to get my blouse and saree stitched properly. I also took dress materials for 2 outfits to be sewn from scratch, and 3 kurtas to be altered. My total cost was Rs 800 – less than $20. I knew it would be cheap, but I wasn’t expecting that figure at all. I should probably start bringing all my clothes that need to be altered with me at that rate. I also went to the “parlour” to have my eyebrows threaded for Rs 30. Anita told me that I could actually find it even cheaper in some areas. There is a salon at our hotel with prices more in line with US salons, but I refuse to pay so much while I’m here when I don’t have to. I’m still frugal even in another country. Some of my co-workers have a hard time bargaining and going with Indian recommended rates for tipping. Waiters clamor to serve them at the hotel restaurants because they leave extremely large tips. “When in Rome…”

I made it over 2 weeks without any problems, but this week my body was attacked by “Delhi belly”. I’m still trying to pinpoint the culprit. I eat many meals with Lisa, my co-worker, and we think it might be from some sandwiches from a bakery where we ate a couple of days for lunch, since that’s the only new stuff we’ve introduced this week. Or, maybe it’s a side effect of the daily malaria pills. All I know is that my stomach is unhappy and keeps waking me up when I should be in deep sleep.
This week was a more normal work schedule, so I had some time to read before bed, especially since I’m not able to sleep. I picked up a book from the small library in the office when I first arrived, called “My Forbidden Face”, but I only started reading it a couple of days ago. I also bought “A Thousand Splendid Suns” written by the author of a very popular book I read during my last stay in Mumbai. (Trivia: What was the name of the book that I couldn’t stop reading until it was over?) Both books are set in Afghanistan around the same time period with young, female central characters, so I keep getting confused going between the 2 books. There's something about being in India that makes me interested in reading about Afghanistan. :-)

Cricket Fever

2011-04-02T11:21:00.000-07:00

India won the 2011 Cricket World Cup!

Crowd in the office watching the end of the quarter finals - India vs. Australia

Crowd in the office watching the semifinals - India vs. Pakistan

Crowd on the street in Bandra watching the end of the finals - India vs. Sri Lanka All those people were crowded around that tiny tv.

Somebody's watching me...

2011-04-02T03:15:00.000-07:00

My experience in India is very different this time around. Last week, I worked nearly 100 hours and had very little time to do anything but sleep and grab food on the way back to work. Things are finally starting to calm down a bit. Also, my work schedule has changed so that I work most hours on the same day, instead of going to work during the afternoon of one day and leaving in the early morning of another day. I'm splitting my time between the Indian day shift and US day shift now, so I'm usually asleep by the time my friends and family get off work around 5pm. But I wake up hours before them to start working again.

I've taken a lot of fascinating pictures from the car rides to and from work, but I'm ready to get out and see the city in daylight now. I share a car with my co-worker for transport to work. She and I have found little things to make the long rides more tolerable. There's a certain point where she always looks for 3 cows that hang out together on a corner. Those cows played Holi a couple of weeks ago, because they still have colors on their horns and backs. Along that same road, I always look for my "Chevy Rickshaw" and she tries to help me get a picture of it. This elusive rickshaw stands out from all others because it has a bright red top and a Chevrolet symbol on the back window. I have to take a picture in it before I leave. Also, when we leave the office in the dark, we usually see trucks full of "flying chickens". The trucks have chicken cages on the back, and every time they hit a bump, you see the chickens bounce into the air. The same trucks are always empty when we see them during the daytime, and we know they've gone on to "Chicken Heaven". That sight makes my co-worker not want to eat the chicken sandwich we sometimes take for lunch, but it doesn't stop me. We also pass a busy truck stop at night that takes over the highway. I don't know what their capacity is, but trucks fill the inside of this station, and those that can't fit inside then park in the 2-3 lanes outside the truck stop along the highway. Just imagine passing a Flying J or Love's truck stop on I-20, and all the trucks are parked on the highway all night forcing the cars to only use 1 lane. The traffic is even worse when the trucks start to move again in the early morning to start their deliveries. They all seem to try to leave at the same time, forcing themselves on the road carrying heavy loads with workers sitting on top or inside the trucks in precarious positions.

Since I've been here, people have asked me if I am Nigerian, Ugandan, South African, and Ghanaian. Someone also called me Bob Marley (who happens to be very popular here) because of my hair. They are all surprised when I tell them I am American. They look at me in disbelief. I met another black woman at the hotel within my first couple of days in town. I was excited to see her and to actually have a conversation, especially after my experience the last time I was in India. She's a flight attendant from NY who usually stays at my hotel when they land here. We exchanged contact info. I also met a Swedish photographer at breakfast one morning over beet juice. We both sampled the hotel's fresh beet juice and agreed that we'd rather eat the beets than drink that concoction ever again. He was only in Mumbai for a day as part of a 12-day global photo shoot. He was heading to Dubai next. Check out his work. www.jacobfellander.com

The office is located near several malls. We walked over to the food court on the first day to pick up lunch, and I mentioned that there wasn't as much staring as my previous trip. No sooner had I said that, we walked in to the mall and all eyes turned in my direction. We went upstairs to the food court, and even the cooks stepped out of the kitchen to get a better view. The restaurant that we chose had a small window between the kitchen and the area with the counter and register. All I could see was a bunch of heads trying to look through that tiny window as I ordered. We had to wait a few minutes for them to get back to work and make the food, so everyone sitting in the food court turned towards us and watched us like we were animals on display at the zoo. It has been like that every day since. It doesn't happen as much at the hotel and the office. However, when we changed shifts and started working earlier in the Indian day, a new group of people had to get accustomed to seeing me in the office every day before they stopped staring as much. The people who ogle me out in public spaces seem to have no shame. They are not subtle stares either. They look at me as though I have three heads, 5 arms, and I breathe fire. I've started staring back at them. Most people turn their heads when they see me looking at them the way they look at me, but some just don't seem to get it. I saw a man and his children out yesterday. The children didn't pay much attention to me, but he looked at me for about 5 minutes straight, practically ignoring what they were doing. I went up the escalator, and his eyes were still fixed on me. I turned around and looked at him while I rode up. He adverted his eyes briefly. I stepped off, looked back down, and his neck was still craned to see me. Seriously? I need to start charging people a fee.

Truck stop during the day

"I see you!"

Empty chicken truck :-(

See the baby sleeping on the front?

Game Time...

2011-03-30T02:25:00.000-07:00

I received "Alerts" before I even arrived in Mumbai about the possible threats to security during the Cricket World Cup taking place from mid March to April . Cricket is to India as football (not soccer) is to America. On a drive to the office around 2pm last Thursday, our driver had the radio tuned to the India vs. Australia match. Later that night, I saw many people looking at their phones constantly. Someone leaned over and told me they were checking out the score for the match. A little later, probably around 10pm (yes, it lasts as long as some work shifts), I heard a loud noise coming from the hallway as I sat at my desk. A few minutes later, I heard cheers. It sounded like a mob had assembled. I walked out into the reception area, and couldn't see past the crowd. Everyone stood there looking up at a tv that was affixed to the wall as the final moments of the game were played out. I went back to my desk. I heard several more shouts and finally a huge applause and screams, and knew that India must have won the game. After winning that match, India's next opponent would be Pakistan.

On my drive to work this morning, I asked my driver about the big match, and he said there would be no traffic this afternoon because of it. I walked into the canteen at work and saw that they were setting up a screen and rearranging the tables and chairs. It took me a second to realize that they were doing that for the match. India playing Pakistan is a really big deal, not just because of the athleticism involved, but also because of the historical and political meaning. I'm sure I'll be able to keep up with the game just based on the cheers and groans I hear coming from the canteen. It started at 2:30pm and will probably end after I leave the office at 10:30pm. The semifinals will take place in Mumbai on April 2. I don't think I would enjoy the game or being in the crowd, but I guess I would like to go just to say that I did it.

ICC Cricket World Cup 2011 http://www.cricketworld.com/cricket-world-cup-2011/

Time Has Come Today...

2011-03-25T01:56:00.000-07:00

I haven't had much time for blogging since I've been here, although I've had many things that I wanted to share. I am in Mumbai for a payroll system implementation for my client, and we're going live today, finally. I think I spent more nights in hotel beds in 2010 than I did in my own bed because of this project. My experience in India is a little different this time around because I'm working much longer hours on an inconsistent schedule and sleeping when I can. Sleep is priceless and is only rivaled by food, which is a major thing if you know how I feel about food. I work all night and sleep during the day. India Standard Time (IST) is 10.5 hours ahead of Central Standard Time (CST). Please keep that in mind when calling me. Thank you.

Time Zone Converter http://www.timezoneconverter.com/cgi-bin/tzc.tzc

Rhapsody in Blue

2011-03-25T01:21:00.000-07:00

I always always hear "Rhapsody in Blue" in my head when I fly above the clouds and see the breathtaking natural hues that appear to be untouched by humans (except for the planes spreading exhaust fumes and whatever other pollution).

All of my previous 2011 blog titles have had a musical theme because I either have a song already playing in my head or something about the words/pictures brings a song to me. I'm not sure if I'll keep that pattern going, but we'll see what happens.

Trivia: Name all the song titles and artists from my previous posts without googling or searching online first.

I'm leaving on a jet plane...

2011-03-22T01:59:00.000-07:00

I left home around midday for the airport after zipping up my last bag that morning. I took my first malaria pill the night before I left, because I thought it would be easier to remember to take them after work each morning once I arrived in Mumbai. I waited at the airport for a couple of hours eating and reading before boarding the plane. I didn't realize until I was sitting comfortably on the plane in my window seat looking back at the wing that I'd forgotten my adaptors to plug my electronics. I guess that's what happens when you procrastinate. I watched "The King's Speech" on the flight to Newark and was very pleased. As the plane started to descend, I looked across the river to my favorite city basking in the beautiful sunset. I saw the tip of the Empire State Building and knew immediately that it would be green as soon as the sun went down for St. Patrick's Day. I went to a shop at Newark airport once we landed to find adaptors, and I saw a pack that seemed to cover the entire earth and was pretty expensive at $45. I decided to just wait until Mumbai to buy them.

The nearly 16-hour flight to Mumbai was pretty smooth. I watched "Black Swan", which probably raised a few eyebrows around me, as well as a few episodes of "The Tudors". I slept for about 5 hours in the relatively comfortable, self-contained, flat bed seats. They are made in a way that the person in front or behind you never intrudes on your space. I wish I could fly in those seats all the time. Once we landed and went through customs, it seemed to take an hour for my bags to come out. I walked out of the airport that night and saw a dramatic difference from my last trip. There were still lots of people waiting outside, but they were now on a sidewalk instead of a dirt road. I saw the hotel driver almost immediately. The ride to the hotel brought back many memories of rickshaws, loud noise, good and bad smells, and traffic.

I was very pleased with the hotel and my room. After showering, I ordered room service and began unpacking. I stayed up for several hours and finally went to sleep around 2am IST. I was awakened around 7am by a phone call. I got out of bed, ate breakfast, walked around the hotel, and went back to my room. I decided to take a short nap, but I ended up sleeping until about 6pm when another call awakened me. I met my co-workers for dinner at a restaurant in the hotel. I was so hungry, because I'd slept all day and hadn't eaten lunch. We made plans to go out the next day to tour the city and forego the Holi festivities at the hotel.

Kids playing Holi

I'm so excited...

2011-03-07T20:05:00.000-08:00

I'm counting down to India.

Follow what you are genuinely passionate about and let that guide you to your destination. Diane Sawyer
Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope. Maya Angelou

I'm ready...

2011-02-20T20:22:00.000-08:00

I received a call last week about my visa. It turns out that I went through the application process again unnecessarily. My last business visa was valid for 10 years, but I didn't realize it. They sent my passport back to me, but kept the application fee.

I also went to the travel clinic to get my shots. Apparently, I didn't get the 3rd dose of Twinrix (HepA/HepB), which was due 6 months after the first dose in 2008. I didn't have to get anything else, because I'm still covered for Typhoid, Polio, and all the required US adult immunizations. I declined to get the vaccines for rabies and Japanese encephalitis. I picked up my prescription for the malaria pills too. I'm supposed to start taking them 2 days before I leave, then everyday while I'm there, and 7 days after I return. The vaccine nurse gave me a long lecture on disease prevention, wearing protective clothing, eating properly, avoiding animals, drinking clean water, etc. I told him I'd traveled to India previously, as well as Nigeria, so I was familiar with the precautions and the CDC website. He still went through all of those details while I sat there looking at the clock wondering how late I would be for work.

My flight, hotel, and local travel reservations have been made. I'll be staying in a hotel near the airport with some other co-workers. I traveled alone the last time, so I had the freedom to move about without checking in with others or going with the crowd. This experience will be different, but I'm thinking it won't be too bad. One of them is pretty cool and we have similar interests. The others are older, but seem to be open to trying new things. We've already started looking at weekend excursions too.

Things are falling into place, and I'm excited about being in India again.

Step by Step...

2011-02-12T17:00:00.000-08:00

About a year ago, I was cajoled into running a 5k with a group of friends. Other than childhood, I have never been interested in pursuing any kind of activities that cause physical exertion. It was my first running experience, and it wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I told myself that I would start running regularly after accomplishing that feat, and I did run off and on throughout 2010. I turned 30 a few weeks ago and ran EP 5k a couple of days later to mark the milestone. It was part of the Houston marathon/half-marathon events. I didn't really prepare for the race because I hate running outside in the cold, but I still beat my time from my first 5k the year before. I was so elated when I crossed the finish line, because it was my first big achievement as a 30-year old. I was in so much pain after the race due to me being out of shape, but I was also proud. It was a very emotional experience for me to know how far I had come and to see my future (the marathoners). No one is more surprised than I am when I say that I want to run a marathon now. Why do I want to do it? Because I know I can. The most important lesson I have (re)learned as a runner is that my body is subject to my mind. If I think I can run 3 miles without stopping, then my body runs 3 miles without stopping. If I don't think I can run 2 miles, then I don't run 2 miles. My body will do whatever my mind tells it it will do.

How does running relate to traveling internationally? It's all about your mindset. Don't go into a race or a trip thinking about how much you're going to hate the experience. Be open and embrace each step of the journey knowing that each step forward gets you closer to your destination. It doesn't matter how fast you go, and it doesn't matter what other people are doing around you either. Go at your own pace and enjoy the scenery. You will look back at the journey and have a greater appreciation for the destination.

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step." - Lao-tzu

I'm going, going, back, back...

2011-01-21T15:03:00.000-08:00

I learned this week that I'm going back to Mumbai after almost exactly 3 years since my last visit. I'm going through the visa process and will probably need new vaccinations for this trip, but I'm not sure yet.

Look out for more details on my voyage to India.

They don't show this on TV...

2010-06-21T15:50:00.000-07:00

The Sunday before I left for Africa was Easter. I had dinner with my Nigerian friend and her family after church. I would meet her sister later in the week, and we were all going to stay at their father’s house in Lagos. Everyone asked me if I was ready for Nigeria and told me to expect it to be like nothing I’d ever seen before. I told them I was ready for the experience. Then, I asked an admittedly very ignorant question – “I’ll be able to take showers inside, won’t I?” They all laughed at me and told me to just wait and see.

After my friends picked me up from the airport in Lagos, we went to their father’s house. First, we drove through the city, then across the bridge to the island. The area around the house had beautiful tree-lined streets that were kept relatively clean by mostly female street sweepers in orange jumpsuits. The home was in a gated community where hawkers waited outside the gates selling phone cards, gum, candy, etc. to residents and guests as they entered and exited. The house was behind another private gate with a guard who stayed in the guardhouse. The gate and guard seemed to be common for every house we visited throughout my stay. The house was big enough to comfortably accommodate all the guests (nearly 10 of us) without any fights over the bathrooms.

a house in Lagos

My room was located downstairs with a small attached bathroom. The first thing I wanted to do when I arrived at the house from the airport was wash all the travel dust off. Before stepping into the bathroom, I was warned not to drink the water from the tap and to brush my teeth only with filtered water. I filled an empty water bottle with water from the filter in the kitchen and poured it into a glass each day for brushing my teeth. The tap water reminded me of visiting my grandparents’ house in the country in northern Louisiana where they used well water. The water from the well left a red tint in the sink drains and had a distinct almost rust-like smell similar to Lagos’ water, but it was potable (at least that’s what they told us), unlike the Lagos water. I showered at least twice a day, because I always felt really dirty after being outside in the hot, humid weather (think Houston + Tallahassee in August, times 5), and I wanted to wash the dust out of my hair. There were a couple of days where the generator stopped working properly so my room was steamy when I stepped out of the shower. On those days, I sweated while brushing my teeth or picking out clothes for the day, and I ended up back in the shower a few minutes later to try to cool down again. We went to the mall to avoid the heat until the generator could be fixed.

Each morning I awoke to the sound of humming, and I went to sleep to that same sound. I’d heard that familiar sound in Houston back in the fall of 2008. It was the loud hum of the generator at the house next door. Apparently, the generator was located on the side of the house closest to my window. It seemed that all of the houses had a minimum of 2 generators also known as “Big Gen” and “Little Gen”. They were like extended members of the family, because their names were used so much on a daily basis - “Little Gen is not working, so we’re using Big Gen during the day.” “Big Gen needs to be serviced.” “Turn off the air conditioners because Little Gen is on now.” The reason that generators are so popular, in fact, necessary, is because “NEPA takes lights.” NEPA is the power company, but they don’t maintain a regular current to the homes and businesses. The people always have to be prepared for NEPA ("Never Enough Power Always") to stop working and for the generators to kick in and allow them to continue their daily lives. Running generators all day everyday is pretty expensive because of the cost of fuel and maintenance. (Side Note - If you can't fathom how a generator works and why they are constantly being repaired, imagine the wear and tear of running your car all the time in 90 degree plus weather.) The small generator was used to power the lights, fans, and small appliances during the day, while the big generator was used at night to power the energy guzzling A/C units in every room. The attendant in the guardhouse was also responsible for turning on the generators as soon as NEPA stopped working. In the middle of the night, he would hear an alarm alerting him that NEPA’s current was fading, and then he knew to turn on “Big Gen”.

The gate guard was not the only worker in the house. The house employed drivers that seemed to be on call as needed. There was also the cook/house help. In homes with children, the house help might also be the nanny. The cook/house help in our home made many great meals and tried to fill us up each day before we headed out to face the world. Much of the meals consisted of meat and carbohydrates like yam (boiled or pounded), semovita (semo), garry (looked like grits), rice, and pasta. He also made moin moin (spicy bean paste) that I actually liked even though I have never liked beans. One day we actually had moin moin twice because it was served at someone else’s home for lunch and at our home for dinner. Maybe I’m biased, but I think the best moin moin I tasted was when I tried it for the first time on Easter. Fresh vegetables and fruit were pretty rare and relatively expensive, which is also a common phenomenon in low-income neighborhoods in the US. We had cabbage salad with dinner a couple of nights though.

chicken with pasta

(top left to right) meat, fried rice, moin moin, jollof rice

It is not uncommon for families with modest incomes to have generators, house help, and other "luxuries" in Nigeria. However, there is also a large population that does not live like that. I did not observe the stark poverty that I saw in India while in Nigeria. Lagos was like a mix of India and Louisana (and not the mirage of Louisiana we see during Mardi Gras) as far as the the way things appeared to me on the streets. I saw poor people, yes, but I did not see people sleeping on the sidewalks at night and squatting on the side of the street to relieve themselves. I also didn't see many beggars. Maybe they were there, and I just wasn't exposed to them. My friends told me that there used to be a lot of beggars on the streets, but now they all seem to be selling something instead. They sold magazines, CDs, DVDs, jewelry, candy, gum, phone cards, drinks, chips, books, maps, etc. and we bought it all during stagnant traffic. You literally could avoid the supermarket by shopping from your car.

selling CDs on the street

We also exchanged money on the streets. The money exchange experience was hilarious to me. Before we left the house one day, I told my friends I needed to exchange USD for naira. They said we would do it on our way shopping because they needed to exchange their BP, and I assumed we were going to stop at a bank. The car started to slow down on the side of the road where there were no buildings just men lounging around, and I asked why we were stopping. Two or three men walked over to the car and asked what we needed. My friends asked the rate for dollars and pounds, told them it was too low and started to ease off the brakes like we were driving away. The guys went up a little on their exchange rate and we handed over our money for naira. As we drove away, I was astounded at what had just transpired. I was still mesmerized by the experience even when we did it a couple more times during my stay.

currency exchange

One of the things I found most interesting while in Lagos was the emphasis on religion. On the initial ride from the airport, we passed many overcrowded poverty-stricken areas with small lean-tos and tin roofs. Every other tin-roofed stall had a handpainted sign or banner indicating it was a church. There was also a great number of large "mushroom" (Pentecostal) churches, Catholic churches, and some Islamic mosques. We visited the compound of a Charismatic Catholic minister's home one day and I kept asking my friends if it was a church. They had images of "Jesus", crosses, virgins, disciples, stations of the cross, popes, etc. everywhere you turned - on the compound wall, inside every room, on the cars, everywhere. I was expecting to see a Jesus soap pump when I went to the bathroom. I am a Christian, but that was beyond weird to me.

the wall around the compound

Another thing that I noticed was how dramatically different it was to attend Catholic mass. The only experience I had with Catholicism before Lagos was attending mass with my cousin in Houston twice, which was different from what I was used to, but it wasn't bad. The Houston church had an African priest (Ironic, don't you think?) with a good choir that sang lively music and people stood up and clapped during the songs. The Lagos church was quiet most of the time and I still did not understand all the rituals. The heat inside was stifling with fans whirring above our heads but no central air; the windows and doors remained open and we felt a breeze every now and then. The choir sang softly in a loft above the congregation at the rear. While they sang, the congregation looked forward and kept still. I was grateful when we stood up or kneeled to pray because I could feel my sweat-soaked skin sticking to the wooden pew as I sat. The most fascinating thing to me about this church was the image on the tiled-wall above the baptism. I wish I could have taken a picture, but we left before the service ended. It was a scene showing men, women, and children with bronze (brown) skin and woolly hair in colorful traditional clothing looking skyward as a white man with long, stringy blonde hair and blue eyes ascended into Heaven. This church in Africa was probably the most "non-African" church I have ever attended. To top it off, I attended a church in Dallas the Sunday after I arrived back in the US, and it looked, sounded, and felt more African than what I experienced in Africa. I was dumbfounded.

church in Dallas

Oh, the Places You’ll Go

2010-06-21T15:45:00.000-07:00

What can you do in 40 hours? The first thing that comes to mind is probably the 40 hours or more most people spend at work each work. However, I spent 40 hours – nearly 2 full days – in transit to and from Lagos, Nigeria. My journey started in Houston, TX and took me to London, England, then Cairo, Egypt before finally landing in Lagos, Nigeria. The return trip followed the same route, except I bypassed London for a stop in New York before touching down in Houston again.

One of the questions I’ve heard many times since returning home is, “Does being in Africa make you appreciate home more?” or some variation. That question slightly irritates me because it says something about the inquirer’s perspective of the world outside the US borders. It implies that living in the US is better than living somewhere else, when really it’s just different. Not better or worse.

"A child who has never left home says, my mother is the best cook." - Ugandan proverb

I love and appreciate where I am from and the people who nurture and support me at home, but I also realize that there is so much more in the world to learn and appreciate too. My voyage to Africa showed me that family is more than just blood ties. It is about people coming together to celebrate life and love while also supporting each other when it seems love is lost and life is gone.

My hope is that people who read about my travel experiences will be reminded that there is a whole world outside of your house just waiting to be explored and revered, not dominated, conquered, colonized, crusaded, or made to look like you. That outside world could be 5 miles or 5,000 miles from where you live, but it is just waiting on you to venture out and see it just as it is, in all its beauty. I believe that by visiting new places and opening our eyes to the people around us, we become more human. We stop seeing “aliens” and “those people”, and we start seeing “them” as our brothers and sisters – part of our extended family. "They" becomes "we" and "us", and "you" becomes "me". When they hurt, we all hurt. We are not islands. We are like leaves on branches that aggregate to form trees, and we – the entire human race – are a great forest. If the leaves on the American trees are diseased, then it impacts the Brazilian trees and the Cambodian trees, etc.

Those who know me personally know that I am a bibliophile. I read a wide range of books from fiction to nonfiction, but people are usually shocked when I tell them my favorite is a book by Dr. Seuss – “Oh, the Places You’ll Go”. I believe it is a book for children as well as adults because its message is universal. That message is: The world has a lot to explore and learn and you can do anything if you take the limits off of yourself. There will be challenges, but you can face them and overcome. I try to introduce people, especially children, to traveling in their minds first by reading, and hopefully, that will lead to them traveling physically.

My wish is that other people will read about my experiences and be inspired to take a road trip, get a passport, eat new foods, learn a new language, and see the world. Go places!

My friend, Patricka, travels extensively around the world. Vote for her to have her own travel show on the Oprah Winfrey Network (OWN). Vote here.

Out of Africa...

2010-05-15T17:11:00.000-07:00

April 18, 2010

Sunday morning, I made sure that everything was packed and ready to go. I carefully wrapped and folded all my souvenirs the night before and had just enough room to take all my treasures home. I showered, dressed, and cleaned my room before walking out to breakfast. I took a few final pictures with The Supremes. The airport and the church were both located in Ikeja, but we took separate cars. Renny and the girls were taken to church in one car, while the other driver took Onome and I to the airport. Onome would meet with them after making sure I was settled at the airport. I took my final pictures of Lagos as we zoomed along the highway with relatively little traffic. I thought I might be able to buy a couple of CDs from hawkers along the way, but there was not enough traffic for them to safely sell on the road - meaning the traffic was not stopped where they could dash in between cars without being struck.

crossing the bay in Lagos

We arrived at the airport and went to the EgyptAir counter to check in. There was a table where the Nigerian guards opened my bags to check for weapons I guess. They spoke in Yoruba to Onome. Apparently, this table wasn't setup for safety. They wanted a "settlement". I gave them 1000naira and gave them a dirty look. I was pissed that this was my last impression of Nigeria. I do not reward bad behavior, whether it is from a child, a store clerk, a waiter, whatever. The whole time I was in Nigeria I hated when we were stopped at checkpoints and artificial barriers erected by police or "area boys" to collect settlements or "shake body". Now, I was an unwilling participant in the corruption, and it went against my principles. The EgyptAir worker who checked my passport before ticketing asked if I was okay and Onome said that I was just tired. I suppose I need to hide my facial expressions better. Or, maybe the culture of corruption should be ended. Just a thought.

Anyway, after my bags were checked and I had my ticket in hand, I hugged Onome goodbye and he was off to the church. I went to the giftshop and bought a CD (Asa - see below) that would have cost 150 naira on the street, but was 600 in the store. I proceeded to the gate after being stopped 5 more times to check my passport between the initial screening and the gate. I boarded the plane and sat in the aisle seat. I prefer to sit by the window, but I was unable to select my seat for the EgyptAir flights. I watched over my neighbors' shoulders as the last glimpse of Lagos faded away into lush green vegetation and the blue/gray Atlantic coast of Africa.

Lagos Airport

Before the plane landed in Cairo, I decided I would stay in a hotel for the night. I would not be sleeping in the airport anymore if I could help it. My flight landed around 8pm and my flight to JFK would depart at 9:15 the next morning. I bought another entrance visa and went through customs. I didn't have to claim my baggage because it had been checked through to New York. My carry-on bag held toiletries and a change of clothes, so I was set. Since I had not made a hotel reservation prior to landing, I knew my best bet was to find a Marriott hotel. I am a Rewards member and I also knew that I could expect a clean comfortable bed for the night. (This is why branding is important.) A travel agent tried to sell me on a reservation for another property, but I didn't want to take a chance. I went to another travel desk and asked for a taxi to the Marriott. It was located downtown approximately 30 miles away, but it could take up to an hour to get there in Cairo traffic. I didn't mind though. We crossed the bridge over the Nile and the driver slowed down.

I did not expect the hotel to be on the banks of the river, but it was. It was beautiful to behold the architecture of this old building in the golden glow of the light at night. I walked into the ornately decorated lobby with tiled floors and gold trim and told the clerk I wanted a room for the night. He told me the room rate for the night was around $200, which seemed a little low to me considering the location and amenities, as well as it doubling as a casino. I told him I wanted to use my Marriott Rewards, and he told me that they usually required a reservation be made at least 48 hours prior to redemption, but I could go to the business center to try to book it online. I made the reservation online, walked back to the desk with my confirmation number, and the clerk told me I would receive a room upgrade due to my status. I walked into the room, and finally, I exhaled. (That line came straight from a movie.) The hotel tried to cater to every palate with restaurants ranging from Italian, sushi, coffee/bakery, steak, etc., but I settled on "Eyptian Palace", the only restaurant that seemed to serve actual Egyptian fare. It was a huge open air restaurant located in the courtyard. The host asked if I wanted smoking or non-smoking. It seemed as though the whole place was smoking, and one small corner of 10 tables was for non-smoking patrons. That small area was closest to the stage where a man, a woman, and a DJ sang Arabic love songs. I enjoyed my dinner of assorted breads, hummus, chicken tikka, and a traditional drink made of flowers (I dont remember the name) that tasted like cranberry juice but sweeter.

When I returned to the room, I called my mother to let her know I was in Cairo and that I was not impacted by the delays caused by the volcanic ash covering Europe. She started telling me about everything that was happening at home like it was a casual phone call. I politely interrupted and said the call was too expensive for all that and we would talk when I arrived in NY and could use my cell phone again. After the call, I bathed, took a few pictures from the balcony, and called it a night. I didn't sleep well that night though due to "Naija-rhea".

courtyard and restaurant at hotel

on the hotel balcony overlooking River Nile

I requested a wake-up call at 6am, but I was awakened by the sun almost an hour earlier than I planned, because I slept with the curtains open. I dressed, packed my things, and ate a quick breakfast in the Executive Lounge upstairs, before heading downstairs for my taxi to the airport. There was relatively little traffic that morning, and the sun bathed the city in thick, warm light. I could understand why the Greeks named the city Heliopolis - City of the Sun. I boarded the plane after going through a long check-in line and said goodbye to Africa. I started reading "Purple Hibiscus", a book I bought in Lagos by a Nigerian author, before the doors closed and continued reading until I finished a couple of hours later. It was a beautifully written story about a girl finding her voice. It reminded me of The Color Purple in many ways (not just the name). "This is It" played in the background as I listened on the headphones while reading. I only looked up at the screen when I heard my favorite MJ song. (Trivia: What is my favorite Michael Jackson song? Hint: It features a choir.) I slept some, ate a little of the imitation, overcooked food to stave my hunger, and slept some more.

I finally caught up on my writing from the previous days and wrote the words below during the actual moments they were happening.
The sun has shone since we left Egypt (we are flying backwards in time). I can see the light peaking under my neighbors' shades. We are 20 minutes away from landing at JFK. I have to take a taxi to LGA to finally go to Houston. Flying using airline points is not for the faint of heart. It has been extremely long and tiring, but I'm glad I had the opportunity to stop over in Cairo en route to and from Lagos. I'm also glad that my return trip did not take me through ash-covered Europe.

Now, I just want to sleep in my own bed for a few days, but I have to be at work on Wednesday. I'm going to force myself to stay awake until I arrive home at 9:30pm. God give me strength.

This video actually shows 2 songs by Asa (Ah-shah). Fire on the Mountain is my favorite song on the CD. Tell me what you think.

Monsoon Wedding

2010-05-14T20:26:00.000-07:00

April 17, 2010

I woke up bright and early Saturday morning to accompany Auntie Bose to the market to purchase material and ready-made outfits to take home with me. She told me not to talk, just to point at what I wanted and she would negotiate the price. There were hawkers on the street selling foodstuff and toys while small shops held their doors open to display the goods inside. We did not stop at those shops because she said they were more expensive. Instead, we continued to walk until we came to a cramped alleyway barely large enough for 2 people to walk abreast comfortably. The small stalls only accommodated the seller and the patrons had to stand outside and point to what they wanted. The heat and stench were stifling even in the early morning hours. We stopped at a few stalls that sold beautifully dyed materials and clothing. She said that they still knew that I was a stranger and wouldn't go as low as she wanted. We didn't have time to keep trying to find lower prices, so we settled. We hurriedly bought what I wanted and started back to the house to get ready for the wedding.

The lady from the salon came to the house to tie the gele' this time. After dressing, the driver took Renny, the girls, and I to the church. Onome was already there because he was standing in the place of the father of the bride. There was another wedding also held at the church, and the attendants were just sitting down outside for the reception. When we walked to the entrance for our wedding, Mimi, Onome's oldest sister, was standing outside visibly upset. We learned that the heavy rain from the night before had pooled on the reception tent and caused it to collapse. They didn't know if it could be recovered before the reception.

After the Catholic mass, everyone walked to the front with an offering for the couple and was sprinkled with "holy water" before greeting the new bride and groom. Everyone was beautifully arrayed in their orange and brown geles and other regalia. We danced out of the church and stood on the church steps snapping pictures. We proceeded to the reception where everything with the tents had been rectified before the guests arrived. Upon arrival, two men in suits tried to prevent guests from entering even though there was no guest list for them to know who should be there. It was so chaotic. Renny pleaded that the grandchildren should be allowed inside and they reluctantly let us pass.

The tent was beautifully decorated with brown and orange draped across the posts and gold accents on the tables. There were subtle hints of the tent collapse, like grains of sand on the table cloth, but all else was just right. The wedding cake was a towering 4 layers of orange on a table up front. The friends of the parents danced in with them followed by the bride and groom escorted by their friends. They danced alone at the front and then the emcee told their friends to join them. After a song or two, he told the friends to sit down so the parents could dance. He said, "The friends will dance all night without spraying, but the parents and older people will spray the couple."

After the reception, we hung around while everyone else from the house went home. Someone finally told the bride and her mother what happened to the tent and showed them the video. Mrs. K. was speechless.

Traditionally, the bride goes back to her home for a final goodbye to her family before being welcomed to the groom's family. The reception was in Ikeja near the groom's (family) home, and it would take nearly an hour to go the bride's (family) home in Fair Stock. The MOB, aunts, sisters, and cousins gathered in a small circle under the tent and sang songs in Yoruba and English, then prayed for Anne in her new life. She had changed from her wedding dress to a pink gown and knelt before her elders as they prayed. Onome prayed as the male head of the family. Osaze's family sent a car to pick up Anne and we followed behind them to the house. Her mother did not follow and the father also would have gone home, but Onome chose to just be the big brother for this part of the ceremony. Her new family welcomed her to the family with songs. They offered drinks to the guests. We prayed and went on our way after about 30 minutes.

The day was full of joy and excitement, and I'm glad I was able to be part of it all. I started packing for my long journey home the following day. There was a prayer of thanksgiving to be held at the church on Sunday for the final act of the wedding, but I would not attend due to my flight.

A Very Long Engagement

2010-04-30T19:49:00.000-07:00

April 15, 2010
We played beauty shop last night, untwisting and detangling "The Supremes’" hair until almost 2am. Renny woke up early this morning to wash and style their hair for the special day ahead. There was lots of activity in the house as everyone prepared for the wedding. It’s also Mr. Bello’s birthday. The engagement/traditional ceremony was scheduled to begin at 12pm, but everyone assumed it would start much later (African Time). We left the house late and made a quick stop at a salon to tie our gele (gay-lay). The gele is a piece of cloth that is tied ornately (or not) around the head. It sounded like thunder as the stylist folded and tied the stiff fabric around my head covering my ears. It was extremely tight and pulled my face and eyes up at least 2 inches I’m sure. Who needs a facelift when you can tie a gele.

We arrived in Fair Stock around 2pm and things were just getting started. The ceremony was under a tent in a vacant lot next to the bride’s family home. Their family is from I___ and the groom’s family is from Edo state, so they had different rituals to perform during the engagement. There were traditional dancers from both sides. The emcee had more collections than a Pentecostal church – “Please contribute to the band…the dancers…the bride…the groom, etc.” Just when you think you’ve given your last offering, they ask for more money. The families gave cola nuts, drinks, and money to the elders on each side. The groom was escorted to the ceremony surrounded by the dancers and his parents. Later, he along with his parents and elders from his tribe met with elders from the bride’s tribe to negotiate the bride price. Onome was part of this meeting because he was the oldest son and stood in the place of their (deceased) father. The bride price was more for show than anything else. They “agreed” on 1.5 million naira.

The bride was finally escorted into the tent alongside her groom surrounded by the dancers and elders in the Ikeja way. She wore a beautiful lime green gele and dress while he wore white robes. (He actually looked Simoan to me, but his parents are Nigerian.) They danced together and were sprayed by the guests. They sat down to take pictures, danced some more, and went back inside the house. The emcee announced that they were coming back to the ceremony in the Adu tradition. The bride changed into a wrap and was adorned in beads around her head and neck to match the beads that her new husband and his tribe wore. The elders from each side prayed for the couple. Then, there was more singing, dancing, and picture taking. The ceremony eventually ended around 7pm and we left around 8pm.

When we arrived at home, we celebrated Mr. Bello’s birthday with 2 different cakes – both very delicious. A few of his friends came over to toast him and join the celebration. Before the guests arrived, the consensus in the house was that I should have a Nigerian name - Chioma. It is an Igbo name that means "God is Good" or "good luck/fortune", but everyone in the house speaks Yoruba as do most people in Lagos. They thought it was most fitting for me after going through a short list of possible names. I was still dressed in my wedding attire when the guests arrived, and I confused them when I talked. They said I looked like a Nigerian, but I didn’t sound like a Nigerian. The hosts told them my new name and they called me Chioma a couple of times. It was my turn to be confused. I didn’t realize they were talking to me. One of those guests offered to show me around the city the following evening.

Overall, it was a wonderful day full of tradition and memories that will last a lifetime. I was thrilled to participate in the engagement ceremony and to wear traditional clothing along with all the other beautiful people dressed in brilliant materials and patterns. Plus, I like my new name. Maybe I should make it official and fill in the blank on my birth certificate. (Trivia: What blank am I referring to?)

"Chioma"

"The Supremes"

“Where are you from?”

2010-04-30T19:44:00.000-07:00

April 12, 2010
Today, I went to the market with Renny and Aunty Bose. The market was on the side of a road, and we parked in what would probably be the shoulder or a sidewalk in the US. There were cars crammed into that space, and I couldn’t see how we would ever get out. The “area boys” who told us we could park there said that we should leave the keys. Aunty Bose was reluctant, but finally gave them the keys. We walked to the main shopping area where I tried to hold my breath. The smell was horrendous. We walked around the crowded, dirty, sweltering market until they found what they wanted, and I felt like I’d lost 5 pounds from sweating so much. We walked back to the car praying that it would still be there. It wasn’t exactly where we left it and it was surrounded by several more cars. How were we supposed to get out of that jumble? At that point, the “valet” walked up and started moving the cars behind our car and narrowly dodging other cars parked on the road. Driver’s Ed. never taught me how to park like that.

"Valet" parking

After the market, we headed to the tailor to get my dresses altered for Thursday and Saturday. When the tailor heard that I was American, she treated me like royalty. Not really, but she was nicer to me. Aunty Bose told her that I was interested in taking more dresses home with me, and the tailor offered to make them at no cost for me. We planned to go to another market to buy material, but she told us that the shop across from her sold better quality than what is found in the market. It is also more expensive. I’m sure they scratched each other’s backs all the time. We bought the material anyway and told her we would pick it up later in the week.
After leaving the tailor, we went to Mr. Bello’s office. He took us to a late lunch at a popular restaurant where we had pounded yam, efor “vegetable” stew, stuck fish for me and goat for them. Stuck fish is dried cod that is later cooked in a sauce. The server brought it to the table and cut it up for me. It looked painful just watching her cut that tough meat, but I decided to try it anyway. I tried to bite into a small piece and felt like I might lose my teeth. It was so tough to chew. I gave up and just ate the yam.

Pounded yam

Before going home, Mr. Bello decided to stop at an old friend’s house that was around 75 years old. He introduced me as "his daughter’s friend from America". The man asked where I was from in America, and I told him I live in Houston, TX. He asked where my parents were from as he studied my face. Then he asked, “Are you from Nigeria?” I reminded him that I was American. He said, “Yes, but where are you from in Africa?” I told him I didn’t know, but it was most likely somewhere in western Africa. This prompted a conversation about the slave trade and how we Africans in America have no memory of our origins. Mr. Bello told us that he visited a slave port in Ghana and how unimaginable it was to think that people were shipped from that place never to see home again and many times they were sold by their own people for trinkets. I asked them if schools in Nigeria taught about the slave trade, but they did not remember learning much about it in school. Renny asked if I felt at home in Nigeria, like maybe there was part of me that reconnected and felt familiar in this land. Maybe if I had that feeling it meant that my ancestors were form that area. I didn’t really feel that way in Nigeria. (In fact, there is only one place where I have ever felt that I truly belonged and my spirit felt at peace there.) Maybe if I visited Ghana, or Mali, or Niger, or Cameroon, or some other country, I would feel that I was finally at my African (original) home in my spirit. As I flew into Cairo, I did feel elated about being in Africa in general. (Even though Egypt doesn’t believe it is African.) I felt like I should kiss the African ground when I walked outside the airport to say that I was home, but I didn’t.

I plan to come back to Africa many times in my life. I hope one day soon I will be able to answer the question “Where are you from?” with “I am from ________.”, and say it confidently and definitively.

Post script – I felt most connected to the African continent when I stood on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean later in my stay.

Party Like It’s 1999…

2010-04-30T19:38:00.000-07:00

April 10, 2010
On Saturday afternoon, we attended a wedding reception for Aunty Bose’s son’s best friend. As I stated previously, you don’t have to know the couple to go to the wedding. No invitation required. The church ceremony started at 11, but we did not attend. Instead, we arrived at the reception at University of Lagos (UniLag) at 2pm thinking that we would get there a little after it started factoring in African Time. As we were walking into the hall, we learned that the church ceremony had just ended. I could not imagine a 3-hour wedding. They told me that the norm is usually around 1-1.5 hours for the Catholic ceremony, but this one doubled because of all the dignitaries present who had to be acknowledged. The bride’s father was a government official. Bode told us to keep our purses and cameras close to us because of pickpockets and thieves. A wedding is a prime target for criminals because there are so many unsuspecting people with money in one place. In fact, sometimes the families hire police to escort them to their homes to prevent armed robbers from attacking when they see all the gifts and money given to the couple at the wedding.

There were so many beautifully dressed people around me. The primary color for the Aso Oke (ah-sho oh-kay) and decorations was gold with woven sand-colored gele’ (gay-lay). Even those who did not wear the aso oke were dressed impeccably. We were escorted to the front after the militant ushers heard that we were friends of the bride and groom from abroad, which was only half true. Those of us who were from abroad did not even know the couple, but we went along with the rouse to get a good seat. There were probably 2000 people there. We also participated in the processional for the bridal party. All the friends danced down the aisle in twos and then separated to form 2 lines for the bridal party to dance in between us (Soul Train line). The governor of Lagos State, Babatunde Fashola, attended the reception along with many other dignitaries. The emcee told all the bride’s friends from abroad to come to the front to take a picture with the governor. Renny and I were prompted to get up again since we were “friends from abroad”.
After the food (that never ran out), speeches from the couple as well as family and friends, and the cake cutting, the real party began. The bride seemed to dance tirelessly. Many people joined the couple on the dance floor and “sprayed” them with money (made it rain). The bride and groom took a break from dancing to take more photos. The people who remained on the dance floor sprayed other dancers. Even Jite, Renny’s 3-yr old, danced with another little girl and was sprayed.
It was a fun event for all of us and it somewhat prepared me for the wedding to follow on Thursday. Onome told me his sister’s wedding wouldn’t be as big, but it was sure to be spectacular.

Wedding for government official's daughter...millions of naira

Amount of money most guests spent on gifts for the couple...zero naira

Seeing Jite getting sprayed and stuffing the money in her "breast"...Priceless!

"De Nile is not just a river in Egypt…"

2010-04-26T11:56:00.000-07:00

I looked out the window of the plane as the pilot announced that we were starting our descent into Cairo. All I could see was sand, then sand-colored building, a river, and more sand. I also saw 3 large pyramids and several smaller pyramids and the sphinx in the distance. When the plane finally landed, I felt the heat outside as I walked from the plane to the terminal. After some confusion on whether I should go through Customs or the transit counter, I purchased an Egyptian visa without showing any ID for $15 from a bank. I then walked through customs with my own escort. (Aside: As I walked around in a circle, I saw various airport personnel pull out their prayer mats at different times and pray in a corner or an open spot on the floor.) I went to Baggage Claim and saw that my bags were the last 2 to be collected from my flight. I walked over to the information counter and asked about tours around the city. I settled with a company that would take me to the Egyptian Museum, outside the pyramids at Giza, around the city, to dinner, and then take me back to the airport.

My guide, Tarek, was very helpful and knowledgeable about the city and country as a whole. My first impression of Cairo was that it was dirty, but not in the sense of piles of garbage and waste everywhere. Rather, there was a lot of sand and dust everywhere because it’s the desert. It is a city of ruins after all. There was lots of traffic on the way to the museum from the airport. The 2-lane road became 3.5 (.5 for motorcycles). Tarek pointed out different buildings, like the Military Academy where Anwar Sadat, Muammar Gaddafi, and Saddam Hussein were trained. “Good things come out of that academy”, he said sarcastically. We passed President Moubarek’s gated estate, as well as palaces built by former kings. There was also a memorial dedicated to the October 1973 war with Israel, the last war between the 2 countries. It seemed like he uttered “mosque, mosque” every 5 minutes indicating that I should take pictures of yet another mosque. Egypt is a country comprised of 85% Muslims and 15% Christians, and “Everyone lives in harmony.”, according to him. At least that’s what THEY want us to believe.

The Egyptian Museum was amazing. The artifacts were either originals or replicas of pieces that were found in tombs and other excavated sites in the country. There was also a new exhibit on missing/stolen relics that should have been there and where the pieces were being held. The most prominent artifact was the Rosetta Stone, which is being held captive at the British Museum. (I know it’s there because I saw it with my own eyes.) In a small, almost hidden corner of the museum was a small collection of 10 or so Greek and Roman statues and busts. They looked so out of place relative to the rest of the collection. I took a few “unauthorized” pictures until someone yelled at me. I walked out of the museum at closing time to the sound of the call to prayer as the sun set. There was a mosque across the street. The rest of my tour would be in the dark.

We drove along the side of the River Nile, and then over it and took a few pictures on the bridge. Tarek asked if I wanted to do a dinner cruise on the Nile, but I thought that was a bit too touristy (says the tourist) and expensive. I wanted to see more of the city. He took me to the obligatory shops where most tour guides take their customers and get commissions form the stores. The first store sold glass, jewelry, and body oils. The owner showed me how they make the oils and handed me a list of all the scents and their purpose. I was not interested. Next, we went to a papyrus show where the proprietor showed me how the paper was/is made. The stalk is first cut into pieces and trimmed. Then, flattened as much as possible and soaked in water to cure. The strips are thatched together until the paper is the desired size and for days to dry. I walked around the shop and found a ready-made papyrus that could be customized with my name. I received a 30% “discount” because I was the last customer of the night. I’m sure I was still overcharged because they had to pay Tarek’s commission, but I really liked my selection and did not have time nor energy to look for something cheaper somewhere else.

We went to Giza to view the pyramids and sphinx from outside. I arrived minutes before they closed and turned off the lights. I could only see the silhouettes, but that was good enough for me. One day I will go back & see more in the daylight. I went to dinner at a restaurant that served traditional food without a menu. The waiter asked if I wanted chicken, beef, or shrimp. A few minutes later, he brought out a huge basket of flatbread surrounded by eggplant, cabbage, white beans, chick peas, and 2 kinds of dipping sauces. My main course was chicken kebabs with white rice and fries followed b ice cream. From my seat in the restaurant, I could look down on the traffic below, and I could also see 2 pyramids in front of me on the other side of the road, It was amazing to me to be sitting in a city where people built these great monuments thousands of years ago.

Tarek told me he was going to take me to “Old Cairo”. I thought I was already in old Cairo. The city has been there for over 5000 years. (It reminded me of when I was a little girl and asked my mother how new was the New Testament. She told me it was very old, and I asked her if it was older than my grandmother. I thought it was just written recently. Why else would they call it “new”?) Old Cairo was very crowded even at night, and most of the people out were male. That is the only area where I saw garbage piles and smelled unpleasant odors. There were many stray cats in the street. I noticed lots of stray cats around the museum too. I only saw a couple of stray dogs while there.

By that time, I was really tired. I kept yawning as he pointed out more and more mosques. I finally said I wanted to go back to the airport around 10:30pm. He was willing to drive me around all night, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. I did not want to fall asleep in the car with a strange man in a strange city at night by myself. I camped out in a 24-hour restaurant in the airport. The manager told me it was okay for me to stay there until 6am when it was time for me to pick up my boarding pass for my 8:15 flight to Lagos. There was a long booth along the wall where I slept, read, ate, slept, and talked to the workers. There was also a restroom in the restaurant for me to freshen up. Later in the night, a man had the same idea as me and slept on the opposite end of the wall. Later, I saw him on my flight.

Six o’clock finally arrived and I bid farewell to the restaurant manager who checked on me off and on during the night. He even told me that he would wake me up so I wouldn’t oversleep, but I was already awake. He along with most of the other airport workers and people I met in the city were very nice and seemed to read from the same script. They would ask where I was from and then say, “Welcome to Egypt” or “Welcome to my country”. I picked up my boarding pass, checked my bags, and waited for my flight to start boarding. I had a little time left, so I walked around the terminal. There were a couple of shops and eateries grouped together. As I passed a bar, I saw Michael Jackson’s “Remember the Time” video. I stopped to watch thinking how ironic it was that I was watching that particular video in Egypt.

A short time later, I went to my gate to board a bus that took us to the plane in the middle of the tarmac. I was no longer in 1st class. I sat in my usual window seat and thought I might have the row to myself. A few stragglers came on and a young man sat next to me in a row of 3. I thought he would move to the aisle seat when no one else came to our row, but he stayed in that middle seat. He seemed to have no awareness of personal space. I know that is a “Western” concept, and I am even more conscientious of personal space than most others, but I couldn’t understand why he thought it was okay for his newspaper to spread to my area or his arm to push my elbow off the armrest. His friend had a whole row to himself right behind us. This guy obviously was not going to move. I stood to go to the restroom and saw that there were several empty rows. On the way back to my seat, I moved my bag from the overhead bin and sat on one of those empty rows. I could finally relax. The flight attendant made an announcement as we started our descent to tell us she would be spraying the cabin with a required non-toxic spray to kill all the parasites we might be bringing into the country I assume. As the plane landed, my former neighbor and his friend stood up and walked to the back of the plane. The flight attendant told them to sit down, but they kept walking. He (flight attendant) yelled at them, they finally sat, then stood up again to look in a bag. The other passengers looked at them and shook their heads. I gave the “space invader” the side eye. When we arrived at the gate and everyone could safely stand to collect their items, those guys walked to the back of the plane again to the annoyance of all the passengers standing in the aisles waiting to deplane. I don’t know if it was their first time flying, or maybe they were unaware of the additional scrutiny placed on Nigerians since the “attempted bombing” in December that made people very wary of their actions.

Thank God I made it to Naija safe and sound where Onome was waiting for me at the airport. Renny and the girls were waiting in the car and drove up after Onome told them he found me. I was so happy to see them all, because our last time together was in 2008. Let the Nigerian adventures began.

Sunrise, Sunset…

2010-04-21T21:36:00.000-07:00

Sunrise

My journey to The Motherland began on Wed. afternoon. My cousin took me to the airport where I checked my bags, ate lunch, and waited to board the plane. I took the longest route possible – Houston to London to Cairo to Lagos. I think the flight was so indirect because I used my frequent flier miles. I flew 1st class from Houston to Cairo, and watched the movie Precious while eating dinner. I sat there balling my eyes out 36,000 feet in the air surrounded by strangers. The flight attendant offered drinks and dessert while I was wiping my eyes; I’m sure she thought something was seriously wrong with me. After that movie, I only wanted to watch comedies the rest of the trip.

I opened my window to see the sun setting on North America before we crossed the Atlantic Ocean. I slept for a few hours and then woke up to see the sun rising over Europe. I’m glad we crossed the ocean in the dark, because seeing all that water scares me. Knowing that my seat cushion turns into a flotation device is not comforting in the least bit. I arrived at Heathrow Airport early Thursday morning. The airport knew that a special guest had arrives and made arrangements for a Benz to pick me up. I took pity on the other passengers and allowed them to ride with me to the next terminal. Actually, the airport shuttle bus was a Benz, but I know they planned it just for me. After arriving in the new terminal, I looked for my gate, but the gate # was not displayed. Instead, the screen showed a time when the gate # would be displayed 30-45 minutes before boarding. All passengers sat in the same waiting area of the terminal until it was time for their respective gates to be displayed. Basically, there is a mall 1/3 size of The Galleria inside that terminal where passengers are forced to wait until they know where to go. The retailers have a captive audience. Most people do not sit still while waiting; They walk around this “mall” and buy drinks, food, clothing, jewelry, electronics, etc. The genius who came up with this layout was probably given a key to the palace.

I walked around for a while since I’d sat so long on the plane. One thing that stood out in the Duty Free shop was a huge sign that said “Smoking Kills”. At first, I thought it was a joke or a sign posted by an anti-tobacco vigilante. However, as I stepped up for a better view, I realized that this same message was on all the cigarette cartons in huge letters taking up nearly the entire box. There was also another label that read “Smoking seriously harms you and others around you.” Wow, those Brits do not play with the tobacco companies.
Finally, my gate # was displayed, and I walked over to board the plane to Egypt. Muzak boomed (you didn’t know Muzak could boom?) on the speakers and "Sunrise, Sunset" was the last song I heard before stepping on the plane. I sat next to a young man whose wife and 4-year old son sat across the aisle. We chatted briefly as the rest of the passengers filed in. I asked him if it was his son’s first time flying, and he said he’s flown several times. In fact, he flew to India for the first time when he was less than 2 months old. That little boy is off to a great start.

I chose to watch “Up in the Air” for my in-flight entertainment while flying to Cairo. There were various points in the movie where the sound cut out and came back. However, at the end, there was a long section where I could hear music and see the mouths moving, but I could not hear the words they were saying. That was a bad bootleg. I told the flight attendant what was happening, and he restarted the whole system. I did not have time to start over and just to see the end. I will have to watch the movie again later to see what I missed. Please no spoilers.

Sunset

Home Again

2010-04-20T07:43:00.001-07:00

I made it home last night. I wrote a lot about about my experience, but I did not have internet access to blog real-time. I will begin posting about my trip later this week and continue to update until I get them all done.

Stay tuned...

The Countdown...

2010-04-04T20:27:00.000-07:00

Today, I celebrated Easter with the Iwus and their family. They answered some of my questions about Nigeria and told me that it is like nothing I've ever seen. I'm presuming that's a good thing. I also tried a traditional dish called moy moy (sp), which is made of beans. I have never liked beans or peas since childhood, but I really enjoyed the moy moy. I'm sure I'll have no problems with food in Lagos, because I'm pretty adventurous when it comes to food.

Tomorrow, I start taking the malaria pills. The recommendation is to take them 2 days before arrival, everyday while there, and 7 days after returning.

I will leave home on Wednesday with a long layover in Cairo on Thursday, and arrive in Nigeria on Friday. I've decided that I will get my Egyptian visa at the airport so that I can leave for a few hours to see the Egyptian Museum and have dinner before returning for my connection to Lagos. I'm not planning to take my laptop, which will be hard for an internet junkie like me, but I will definitely write about my experience while I'm there. If I have access to the internet, then you'll see me post updates real time. Otherwise, I'll post when I return.

Bon voyage (to me)!

Travel Writer

2010-04-03T18:38:00.001-07:00

Periodically, my mother tells me I should be a writer. I always disagree, because 1)she's my mother and she thinks every thing I do is great. That's just how mothers are; and 2) I don't actually like writing. I did it in school because it was required, but I've never really been a fan of just writing on my own. Except, sometimes I get in the mood for it. I might journal for several days in a row, then stop abruptly and pick it back up months (or a year) later. I actually enjoy writing about my experiences sometimes. Writing this travel blog is both creative and therapeutic for me. I also enjoy reading about other people's travel experiences, like those who inspired me to first chronicle my trip to India. I hope I inspire people to travel and write the way they influenced me.

A couple of weeks ago, I posted a Facebook status saying that I want to be a travel writer after reading a couple of travel magazines and articles online. A week later, my friend sent me an email about a travel writing class at a local college. I will start that class later this month. I also joined www.blackatlas.com, a website sponsored by American Airlines for people to share and learn about travel experiences around the world from a black perspective.

I appreciate all of my "50,000 coaches", but especially my mother and my friend, Tiffany for encouraging me to pursue being a travel writer.

Stay tuned...

By the way, can anyone guess the movie with the phrase "50,000 coaches"? Reply in the comments for this post.

Buzz off, mosquito!

2010-03-20T13:50:00.000-07:00

Several people have asked me if I'm getting any vaccines for my trip to Nigeria. Thankfully, I received the recommended vaccines for Nigeria when I went to India, and my company paid for them. If I had to pay for them on my own, it would be almost like buying another plane ticket. Many travel vaccines and medications are not covered by insurance. The only medicine I plan to take is Malarone, the malaria pills. I picked them up today at a cost of $153. Since I'm paying out of pocket this time, I will take every single one of those pills. No leftovers. I also have some Cipro left over from India that I never used. Maybe I should check the expiration date. lol

Here's my checklist of things to do for the trip:
Purchase ticket - done
Apply for Nigerian visa - done
Get malaria pills (Remember how well that went in India? lol - done
Send measurements for dress - done
Research the Lagos area for things of interest, dress, local norms - in progress
Apply for Egyptian visa - research says I can purchase it at the airport, but I'm going to keep looking
Research things to do in Cairo (Will I have enough time to go to Giza?) - in progress

Bright Idea...

2010-03-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

I had a flash of brillance while on a flight yesterday. I keep seeing posters in the airport for all the countries where Continental flies, and it made me think of something. I am a member of their One Pass Mileage program, and they recently joined Star Alliance. My idea is to set a goal to fly on all 26 members of Star Alliance within 5 years. I'll revisit this plan periodically to see where I stand. My trip to Nigeria will cover 3 of the member airlines.

You're going where?!?!

2010-03-13T06:21:00.000-08:00

When I first interned in Houston in 2002, I had the good fortune to work with a beautiful lady with a funny accent. (I know, I know...I have a funny accent to someone too. lol) She introduced me to her family and we developed a great friendship. She thought I was a little weird because I would sometimes go to the (not so clear) Clear Lake to read during lunch...by myself. gasp
We kept in touch even after I left Houston. She moved to London for a year and I stayed with her and her family while I was there. I also had the opportunity to meet her sister in person in London after talking to her on the phone several times. After she moved back to Houston, her sister's family came to visit and I hung out with them again.

I visited with my friend last December, and she mentioned that her sister was going to their native place soon. I've told her since 2002 that I wanted to go with them, but the circumstances were never right. Either I was in school, I didn't have the funds, or it was a last minute trip. This time, I knew I was in a place where I could go. I connected with her sister through the magic of Facebook and told her I was interested in going with her family (husband and 3 girls) on their next trip. She told me her husband's sister was getting married in April and I was welcomed to come with them. That was all I needed to hear. I started making arrangements right after that.

Where am I going? I'm going to Lagos, Nigeria. Why am I going to a wedding when I don't know the couple? Unlike American weddings, Nigerians (and many other cultures) welcome everyone to attend their celebrations. The whole village will be there, and I'll be in the middle of it all. They will have a traditional engagement ceremony and a Catholic marriage ceremony. Everyone on the bride's side will wear specific colors, likewise for the groom's side. I'm included in the bride's family, so I will wear her colors. I'm excited about seeing a traditional ceremony, because I've only ever attended American weddings, which are basically all the same in my opinion.

I also have a long layover in Cairo on both legs of the trip, and I'm planning to leave the airport each time to do a little exploring. I have no idea what I'm going to do there, but I just think it would be a waste to spend all that time inside the airport when I could at least walk outside and get a meal or buy a souvenir.

Here's my checklist of things to do for the trip:
Purchase ticket - done
Apply for Nigerian visa - done
Get malaria pills (Remember how well that went in India? lol )- in progress
Send measurements for dress - done
Research the Lagos area for things of interest, dress, local norms - in progress
Apply for Egyptian visa - research says I can purchase it at the airport, but I'm going to keep looking
Research things to do in Cairo (Will I have enough time to go to Giza?) - in progress

Check back for more updates on my trip preparation.

I was there!

2009-01-20T20:01:00.000-08:00

I arrived at BWI on Monday afternoon and waited for about 30 minutes for Super Shuttle to pick me up. I boarded the van with 7 other people. It was quite an interesting group - an older man from Chicago, a middle-aged woman with a landscape architecture firm returning to DC, a 30-something woman from Chicago, and 4 female professors from Seattle. We were all there for the inauguration. I was the youngest and the only person of color other than the Salvadoran driver. The 2 hour ride through Maryland was full of talk about plans for the week and how people felt about what was happening.

I arrived at my friend's house just in time to shower and dress for a pre-inauguration house party. There were several people at the party that I had not seen since FAMU. Some people were planning to go to the inauguration, while others were unable to go due to their flights. After the party, we took a friend to BWI. We finally got back to the house around 4am and I decided I would take a nap for a couple of hours. Before I laid my head down, my friend, who had been watching the news downstairs and saw the reports about the chaos already happening at the metro stations, told me I should probably just head to the Metro station without the nap. I had not slept since Sunday night, but I reluctantly got dressed (in layers).

I went to the Metro station and the ticket machines seemed possessed. I stood in line waiting to buy my ticket, and it flashed "Out of Service" as soon as I stepped up. I moved to the next line. Another machine would not allow a woman to enter her fare. I finally got mine, and walked through the gates to wait on the train. I had observed from the parking lot that the cars at the end of the train were practically empty, and people were crowding in to the middle. I got my seat at the end of the train and proceeded to DC. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I opened my eyes every time the doors opened and saw more and more people in my car. I embarked from the train at Judiciary Square station. It was 6:48am when I walked out on the street level.

There was a huge crowd on the street that was not moving. They would not allow anyone to walk towards the Mall until 7am. Those with tickets were directed one way and the others went another way. I did not have a ticket. There were volunteers on several corners giving us directions as we walked. We walked almost an hour on streets, through a tunnel, up hills, around corners, and finally onto the lawn of the Mall. There was no security check for the unticketed area. We were greeted by rows of porta-potties with lines already formed in front of them.

It was a few minutes before 8am. We still had a few hours until the ceremony started. What do a million people do in 20 degree weather for 3 hours? Keep moving. I walked onto the lawn and moved as close to the front as I could. I stood in front of the red castle in the first section of the unticketed section. I could see the Capitol in the distance ahead of me, the Washington Monument was behind me, and the museums of the Smithsonian flanked the sides. The concert from the night before was showing on the screens. I had a hard time viewing the jumbotron with all the tall people in front of me, but I could hear everything clearly. Everyone sang and danced to keep their spirits up and their bodies warm.

After over 2 hours of standing there marching in place to keep my blood circulating, I could no longer feel my toes. I was so afraid I had frostbite. The rest of my body was pretty warm because I dressed in layers, but I failed to layer my socks. That was a very dumb move for me. I will never ever do that again. I had to find some toe warmers. I left my spot up front and walked out to the sidewalk. I spotted a couple of Boy Scout volunteers and asked them where I could get toe warmers (heated packs you place in your shoes or gloves). They told me they were being sold at the concession tent. I walked the length of the Mall all the way to the back where the tent was. I didn't realize how close I was to the front until I took that walk. I stood in line for an hour and watched the procession of dignitaries on the screen as I waited. I heard Aretha Franklin singing, but could not see her just as I stepped up to order hot chocolate and toe warmers. I was so hurt when they told me they didn't have the toes warmers. I walked away just in time to see Barack Obama take the Oath of Office. I found a spot better than the original one (I could see the jumbotrons clearly) and stood amongst my fellow Americans beaming with pride, tears streaming down my face. It was so cold I thought my tears would freeze.

Everyone around me waved the flags the Boy Scouts passed out while cheering and celebrating this moment in our history. There was complete silence as President Barack Obama gave a very commanding speech. I was happy to share the experience with all the people around me. After the speech, some of the crowd started walking off the field. As I walked, I listened to the inauguration poem, and then the prayer by the legendary Rev. Joseph Lowery.

All 2 million people poured out from the Mall at the same time. Some people decided to visit the museums and stood in the long lines to enter. For those of us trying to get to the trains/buses to take us home, we were told to walk to 14th St. to exit, but they were not allowing anyone out that way. While I was walking, I finally found someone selling toe warmers, and put them in my shoes. I turned around and walked east going against the crowd headed west. I couldn't get out that way either. We couldn't walk north because Constitution St. was closed. I stopped to ask a few police how we were supposed to get out, and they said, "I don't know." It was pure chaos. There was no organization around clearing people out of the area - no signs, no volunteers giving directions, nothing. We felt like trapped animals. I found a set of stairs near a museum and stood there to get out of the crowd while I tried to figure out my next move. The crowd started thinning, and I decided I would walk south back across the Mall. I followed the crowd walking south where there were vendors lined up hawking their wares. I skimmed a few and kept walking when I didn't see anything I wanted. I looked at the map to find the closest Metro stations on the south side. I went to L'Enfant Plaza and was mystified by the crowd I saw waiting to enter the station.

crowd waiting to enter station

I was tired, cold, hungry, my body was sore from all that standing and walking, and I needed to go to the bathroom. I was on the verge of tears. I just wanted to get on a train and get out of there. I was surrounded by thousands of people, exhaust fumes from the tour buses, and the piercing sirens of police cars and ambulances parting the ocean of people in the streets every few minutes. I kept walking down 7th St., and I saw a line of people. I asked someone why they were in line. It was the line for the Federal Center Metro station with the yellow/green lines. I needed to be on the red line to get back to Rockville, but I was willing to get on any train that would take me out of the area. I could read the map to figure out where to go from there as long as I wasn't outside anymore. The line was wrapped around the building on 7th and down E St. I stood in the line which seemed to move a couple of feet every few minutes. After waiting in line for about an hour or more, I was finally on the escalator down to the platform. I walked through the doors of the train where I stood holding the straps for 2 stops before changing trains at Gallery Pl./Chinatown. I stood in the line to enter the platform for the red line to Shady Grove. I walked all the way to the end of the platform where the crowds usually don't go. The doors opened and I sat down. I finally exhaled. The ride to Rockville was pretty calm. I actually nodded off for a bit. I was so exhausted.

Would I do it again? Was it worth it? I would not have missed the inauguration even with all the drama and stress surrounding it. I endured the freezing temperatures for hours, walked for miles, and went without sleep on behalf of my unborn children. I want to be able to tell them I was there between the US Capitol and the Washington Monument on the day that President Barack Obama was sworn in. The people who participated in the March on Washington witnessed Dr. Martin Luther King's famous "'>I Have a Dream" speech over 40 years ago on that same patch of land, and I saw the realization of part of that dream today. America is finally living out the true meaning of its creed. We are not on the mountaintop yet, but we are definitely higher than we were before.

On the Pulse of Morning

2009-01-18T15:18:00.000-08:00

I looked down at the sheet of paper Mrs. Reed, my 6th grade teacher, was handing out to the class. It was full of words that the whole class had to memorize. There was a collective groan. "Do we really have to memorize all of this?" "I can't do this." "Why is it so long?" On the top of that piece of paper was typed, "On the Pulse of Morning by Maya Angelou". It was the poem she wrote and recited at the request of newly elected Bill Clinton for the 1993 Presidential Inauguration. It was the spring of 1993.

I was born eight days after Ronald Reagan was inaugurated to his first term as President of the United States (POTUS). I was too young to know or even care about his subsequent election and the one after that. However, when I was 11 years old in the 6th grade, I became acutely aware of the 1992 presidential election. Mrs. Reed gave the class an assignment that required us to write a report on the candidates and their stances on the issues. This was before the internet age so I used newspapers, magazines, and the local news to write my paper. After we completed our research, there was a mock election for all of the 6th graders. We felt so empowered and excited to be able to vote for POTUS like the adults. Eight years later, I voted officially. My first real election was marred by drama. It was 2000. I was a student at an HBCU. I was in Florida. Need I say more? The next one wasn't much better.

I first heard about Barack Obama around the same time as the rest of the country. He was introduced to us at the Democratic National Convention in 2004. I was impressed by his speech and looked forward to seeing him more in the years to come. Two years later, when he announced he was running for president, I did not jump on the bandwagon. I read his books and was fascinated by his life, but I did not think he was ready to be POTUS. So many people around me were buzzing with Obama fever. I had friends who were precinct captains and campaign volunteers, but I did not acquiesce. I did not want to commit to anyone until I had done my own research. Too bad I didn't know any 6th graders who could do the research for me. I refused to support him just because he was a black man. I was angered every time I heard that someone was voting for him because of his race. I was also angered every time I heard that someone was not voting for him because of his race. I made my decision before the Texas primary using data from http://www.procon.org/ and other sources. I voted early in the primary and then went back to caucus in my first national election in Texas. I was officially on the team - no turning back. For the first time, I actively participated in a national campaign by doing more than just voting.

I did not know what to expect when November 4, 2009 finally came. Would it take days to hear the final results? Would there be mass disfranchisement again? Based on all the watch parties and gatherings advertised for that night, people were anticipating good news. Shortly after 10pm CNN projected Barack Obama as the winner. Everyone had a reaction. They screamed, cried, stared at the screen in silence, jumped for joy, clapped their hands, hugged friends and strangers. My initial reaction was a shout of joy, then silence. I couldn't believe what I saw and heard. Was it a dream? I immediately thought of the impact of Barack Obama's presidency on my 2 nephews. He would show them that they could also aspire to the highest office in the land and actually achieve it. They will grow up seeing a black man in the White House and will not think it is unusual. The next morning I cried as I thought about two little black girls living at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. They are not the daughters of slaves or servants, but of the President of the United States of America.

I knew I had to be there on January 20, 2009 when President Barack Obama was sworn into office. I'd thought about going before the announcement, but decided to wait until it was confirmed before buying a ticket. All I needed was a flight and an inauguration ticket because I could stay with a friend in the area. I sent my requests to the 2 US Senators and 1 Representative for my area and waited in anticipation. I received rejection emails from all 3 over the next couple of months, but that only dampened my spirits a little bit. I just wanted to be in Washington, DC to say that I was there when history was made. I want to tell my children all about the day the first person of African descent was sworn in to the office of the President of the Unites States of America.

I will board a plane to Washington, DC by way of BWI tomorrow morning to partake in the inaugural festivities. The profound meaning of that is not lost on me. I am flying into an airport named after the first black Supreme Court Justice to witness the inauguration of the first black President.

Here on the pulse of this new day, I say to my sisters and brothers, "Good morning".

Thank you Mrs. Reed.

'On The Pulse Of Morning' : An Inaugural Poem by Maya Angelou
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried tokens
Of Their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly,
forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow,
I will give you no hiding place down here.
You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness
Have lain too long
Facedown in ignorance,
Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out to us today,
You may stand upon me;
But do not hide your face.
Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song. It says,
Come, rest here by my side.
Each of you, a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more.
Come, clad in peace,
And I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the Rock were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your brow
And when you yet knew you still knew nothing.
The River sang and sings on.
There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African, the Native American, the Sioux
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek,
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.
They hear the first and last of every Tree
Speak to humankind today.
Come to me,
Here beside the River.
Plant yourself beside the River.
Each of you, descendant of some passed-
On traveler, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you,
Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of
Other seekers -- desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede,
The German, the Eskimo, the Scot,
The Italian, the Hungarian, the Pole,
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am that Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.
I, the Rock, I, the River, I, the Tree
I am yours -- your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.
Lift up your eyes
Upon this day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.
Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands,
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For a new beginning.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.
The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space
To place new steps of change
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out and upon me,
The Rock, the River, the Tree, you country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.
Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes,
And into your brother's face,
Your country,
And say simply
Very simply
With hope --
Good morning.

January 20, 1993

Home at Last

2008-04-28T12:00:00.000-07:00

I started writing this blog over 2 months ago. My purpose was to document my travels so that 1) family and friends could share in my experience 2) I could look back and relive the trip in my own words forever (or until blogger deletes it) and 3) when another single black woman travels to India or any other country, she has a personal reference beyond what is found in guidebooks.

The blog was not an original idea. I was inspired to share my story by 3 people. A few years ago, my friend Kherri interned in the UK and wrote a newsletter about her life there for the people at home. I found the newsletter idea to be very creative and informative. Last year, Clarence traveled across Europe for several weeks and wrote a travel journal under a nom de plume. I thought that added touch made it even more appealing; it was like reading the start of a novel. I didn’t want to write under a pseudonym, but I did want to have a creative headline. Credit goes to Chibuke for coming up with the fitting title, “Eclectic Soul”. Finally, I was inspired by Megan Lyles, a woman I only talked to online once a long time ago. She wrote a travel blog about her trip from New York to South America by bus http://www.meganlyles.com/. It is informative, funny, and inspiring, and I recommend that everyone read at least a few entries if they want to travel to a new place without actually leaving their seat.

People keep asking what I enjoyed the most about India. It was definitely the people I worked with. They were so thoughtful. They did their best to make my time memorable and enjoyable. Moumita and her roommate, Sarika and her mother, and Anita and her husband opened their homes to me and I was able to see how real Indians lived. Their hospitality was immeasurable. Sushama invited me to her baby shower so I could see a formal celebration. I was also invited to Rupali's sister's wedding but it is the week after I return to the States. Alkesh and Jitesh planned a full day of Mumbai site seeing for me along with Rupali, Prasanna, Jaya, Sarika, and Febin. Jaya and Shiva showed me the Vashi train station, and Trunal and Moumita made my last day in Mumbai unforgettable riding the local train. I would have been miserable without all of them. They served as my translators and my tour guides, my colleagues and my friends.

A few months ago, I was inspired by a song on a commercial called “Unwritten”. Today is where your book begins, the rest is still unwritten. I made a list of what I wanted my book to read and it included traveling to new and exotic places. I am grateful that I had the opportunity to travel to India. I’m looking forward to my next journey around the world. Where am I going next? Here’s a clue: I named my car after the city. For those of you who don’t know my car’s name, read some of my earlier posts. : )

Thanks to those who were regular readers and sent me feedback on my writing. Stay tuned for the next installment. I’ve posted my pictures of India. Please send me your email address if you did not receive the link.

Personal Care

2008-04-28T11:55:00.000-07:00

I realize that some people had questions on basic necessities that I didn't address previously. After I moved to the second hotel, I had easy access to grocery stores where I could buy what I needed. If you are not staying near a store or are unsure of your accommodations, I recommend bringing your own trial-size products until you can find a local store. If you're going to be out in the bush or somewhere remote, you might want to bring enough of everything to last you your entire trip.

Mouthcare
I use bottled water to brush my teeth as a precaution. I pour the water in a small glass. I think I will actually use the same method when I return home, because I use a lot less water. I brought my own trial size toothpaste, but I bought a bigger size from the store here. They have brands that Americans will recognize - Colgate, Closeup, Pepsodent. BYO only if you require special products.

Bathing
No different than home, except my first hotel only had a shower. Indians prefer showers or running water to sitting in a tub of still water. You can find a variety of soaps, bar and liquid, in the store. BYO only if you have sensitive skin that requires special products.

Hair care/skin care
There are a variety of shampoos in the grocery store, but very few conditioners. They carry brands like Dove, Garnier, Pantene, etc., as well as ayuverdic products. You won't find any Cream of Nature here. There are hair dyes, but mostly in dark brown or reddish tones. Some of the products guarantee healthy, shiny, black hair (the natural color for most Indian hair). If only those same companies helped maintain natural skin appearance also. Many of the skin care products focus on lightening skin for both men and women. BYO Recommended if you require special products.

Shaving
Gillette creams and razors are very popular here. I haven't really noticed the other brands. I've read that men should have an "Indian shave" at least once while here, but make sure the razor has been sterilized. For women, beauty parlors offer very cheap hair removal services. I recommend getting your eyebrows threaded at least once. BYO only if you require special products.

Feminine products
Stayfree and Kotex napkins are popular here, as well as a brand called Whisper that looks a lot like Always packaging. I saw a tiny section on a bottom shelf for O.B., which was the only brand of tampons. Based on what I've read, they are not widely used here. BYO Recommended

Eyecare
I've seen a tiny section for B&L contact solution in the grocery store. I've torn 2 contacts while here, and I hope I don't have to replace the other 2 before I leave. I've seen signs for optometrists while driving, but they all show glasses. I asked my co-workers if they wear contacts and no one in the group wears them. It is hard for me to believe that so few people wear contacts here. You can read about my contact solution story in an earlier post. BYO Required

Laundry
I used the hotel's laundry service for my jeans and work clothes, and I handwashed smaller items like underwaer and t-shirts. I bought a small package of Tide because it was a brand that I recognized, but there were many other options. BYO only if you require special products.

My Last Night in Mumbai

2008-04-25T02:05:00.000-07:00

Last night was my last time in the Mumbai office. I asked the ladies to wear saris on my last day to take pictures. I wore the same sari, but I had a new blouse stitched. I also needed lessons on how to wrap myself before going home. I brought my sari to the office and Iffat gave me a lesson on how to wrap it. I was able to do it with her help, but I need more practice on my own. One of the ladies also painted my hand in mehinde (henna). Many people told me I was ready to be a bride in my sari and mehinde. I just need a groom. It took about 45 minutes for her to apply the henna, and an hour for it to dry. I slept with it on my arm so that the color would darken and scraped it away with coconut oil this morning. The designs will last for a couple of weeks.

The team had a celebration for me and gave me gifts, including beautiful diamond and pearl jewelry that could be worn with my sari, a hand-stitched bag, and a hand-painted tray. The picture on the tray was something I've been looking for the entire time I've been here. No one knew that but me and God. The finishing touch was a beautiful shawl from Kashmir that Jaya gave me. Previously, she'd told me about her trip there with her mother to visit her brother in the army. I knew that the trip to Kashmir meant a lot to her and for her to give me something so personal was very touching.

Normally, I would be at work right now, but I'm using my final night here to pack and do last minute stuff. I bought an extra bag to take back all the things I bought, and I have just enough room.

2008-04-23T17:42:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: I started writing about my trip on Saturday, but it took me a few days (okay, almost a week) to sit down and finish writing about my experience. I added dates so you know when it was written initially.

Saturday, April 19
I haven’t slept in about 30 hours. Yesterday, I left work at 2am to catch my flight to Delhi on Spice Jet (http://spicejet.com/), a domestic carrier. Mumbai has 2 airports – domestic and international – and they both have the same name. They are located about 15 minutes away from each other. The domestic airport looks totally different from what I saw at the international airport. It looks relatively new and has this simplistic, yet sophisticated design. There is marble everywhere. In fact, marble seems to be a very prominent building material here. All of my hotels have had marble walls and floors. Also, the homes that I visited had marble. Maybe later I’ll look into why marble is used so much. But, I digress. The marble at the airport had designs in some areas that looked like maharajas. I walked into the airport and all the airlines had ticket counters immediately to the left and right. There was a second set of doors guarded by Indian police with guns that opened to the check-in desks. I checked in and walked to the gate. I still had a couple of hours to kill, so I walked around the small terminal. There were a couple of gift shops and a book store open, but everything else was closed. The first thing I noticed when I looked into the gift shop window was a box of Ciallis and next to it was Viagra. I walked into the store and saw a bunch of pills that I thought required prescriptions. Silly me. There was nothing else for me to do other than read my book while I waited. I looked a little while later and saw people starting to line up to go through the security gate. I walked over and saw a really long line in the middle and a shorter line on the right that had just opened. As I was walking into the right lane, I made eye contact with an African man (#4 since I’ve been here) in the longer line. He motioned for me to go to the other line on the left. The line I was in was for men only. The line on the left was for women. I went through the female only line and waited at the gate for them to call my flight number to start boarding. I was shocked that no one asked me for my ID at the airport. A lot of people were there for those early morning flights. The other African man (#5) came over and talked to me for a few minutes while we were waiting to board. He told me I looked South African when I told him I was American. He was the first of many to say that to me today. We had to take a bus from the terminal to the plane. I thought I was going to sleep for an hour and a half on the plane, but I could not. There was a woman with 2 boys behind me. I thought the youngest one was around 18-24 months initially. He screamed, talked, pushed the seats, kicked and had a smelly diaper. Every time I nodded off, he made sure I wouldn’t stay asleep long. At one point, he stood on the seat and was touching my head. I turned around and gave his mother an evil eye for not keeping him under control. It was 5:45am and most people were trying to catch a quick nap. She made that impossible for everyone. When we arrived at Delhi, and took the bus to the terminal, I saw the boy fully for the first time. He looked like he was at least 3, maybe 4.

The hotel sent a driver to pick me up from the airport. My first impression leaving the airport was pretty good. The streets were clean and pot-hole free, unlike Mumbai. They even had recycle bins and signs to keep the city clean and green. I also didn’t see any beggars. All of that soon changed. The ubiquitous piles of rotting garbage soon emerged, and we seemed to step back in time. There were carts pulled by cows and small horses (not sure if I should call them ponies or just malnourished horses). There were also bicycle rickshaws along with green and yellow auto rickshaws.

I booked the budget hotel, Hotel Ajanta (http://www.hotelajanta.com/), online with hotels.com, so I wasn’t sure of what to expect. The hotel is in a very busy area surrounded by other budget hotels and travel companies catering to foreigners, i.e. tourist traps. The hotel manager tried to give me a higher rate than what I paid online. I showed him my paperwork and he seemed to lose some steam. The room that they gave me was not what I paid for. I looked at the website again to be sure, and I showed it to one of the hotel workers at the front desk. He told me that I checked in before the regular 12 pm check-in time so they gave me that room until 12. Ha. No one said that when I checked in. They were expecting me not to say anything. These people underestimate me.

I walked outside around the hotel while waiting to change rooms. Every other stall is a travel agency. I also looked at another hotel where I was planning to stay originally (had they responded to me). If I didn’t like my new room, I had a back-up plan. The new room was better, but still not great. I showered, but refused to use the towels. I also asked for clean sheets to put on top of what was already there. You get what you pay for. I took a rickshaw to Connaught Place (CP) to find food, shopping, and entertainment. I asked the hotel staff how much I should expect to pay the rickshaw before leaving. The rickshaws have meters but they are not always used. It is very important to get a somewhat objective local to provide the rate so that you have a bargaining position with the driver. If you go into it blindly and accept the rate that they give, you could end up paying 2-3 times more than necessary. I ate and shopped at CP. I also made dinner plans with a woman from my office who is working in Delhi. I walked around CP and the surrounding area for hours before dinnertime. I was approached with the same scam 3 times. Very friendly locals wanted to show me a market with good deals. I had already heard of the place and didn’t need an escort. They were eager to get me there because the merchants give them a cut of the jacked-up prices they charge tourists. They all had the same lines, which reminded me of the kids on the train in NY who sell candy. Two of them were teenagers “practicing” their English with me. I told them to stop following me. I walked around for most of the day and stopped at a coffee shop for refreshment before dinner.

I met Tracey for dinner in an area mostly occupied by expats. The restaurant had a movie theme and served Western food. Tracey was scheduled to be in Delhi for 9 weeks, but she’s leaving after 6 weeks. She doesn’t appear to be as open to India. She told me that she developed a horrible sickness while here and now she refuses to eat anywhere but her hotel and this particular restaurant. We talked about our experiences here. I told her about my day at the parlor after she mentioned her spa treatments at the hotel. I asked her if they bleached her feet too, but of course they didn’t. Her skin is already ideal; she’s white. She found all the emphasis on whitening creams and fairness ads to be disturbing too. We talked for a while and enjoyed good food before leaving for our respective hotels.

Sunday, April 20
Today, I woke up at 4:30am so that I would be ready to leave at 5:30am. I scheduled a tour online with Informative Tours (http://www.indiatraveltours.com/agra%20day%20trip.htm) to see Agra. A driver picked me up from the hotel and took me to the train station. He gave me my tickets and instructions for the rest of the day. The train ride was 2 hours from Delhi to Agra with tea and breakfast. There were so many people at the train station. My car was filled mostly with tourists going to Agra. I brought a newspaper along to read on the train. I started reading and then decided to look out at the countryside instead. All along the tracks were men squatting with their bottle or bucket of water. The train stopped and a man just went about his business with all the passengers staring down at him. I went back to my newspaper. I could do without “the view”. When the announcer said the next stop was Agra, half of my car stood up to disembark. I walked out and saw someone holding a sign with that was supposed to be my name, except it was spelled “Alizabeth”.

An English-speaking guide named Edwin Benjamin Lal (yes, he told me his full name) met me at the gate with a driver. We went to a local 5-star hotel, Hotel Taj View, where I could freshen up. This was the same hotel where I would have lunch later. He asked me what order I preferred to see the 3 monuments and gave me a short description of each. I decided to see Fatehpur Sikri (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatehpur_Sikri) first, since it was the farthest away (over an hour). After visiting Fatehpur Sikri, I would have lunch, and then visit Agra Fort and Taj Mahal. Edwin talked a lot about the sites and about the city of Agra during the drive. He also talked about his family. He’s the only Christian I’ve met my whole time in India. The driver took us to a parking lot near Fatehpur Sikri where we had to catch a bus to the entrance at the top of the hill. The bus driver wanted to wait on 2-3 more tourists to come since it was just me and my guide. Two women came and he still wanted to wait on more. Then, he hit paydirt when a whole bus full of Russians started walking over. They were a huge target for hawkers. All of a sudden, the bus was swarmed by people trying to sell their wares.

Fatehpur Sikri was built by Mughal King Akbar. The legend says that he was married to a Muslim woman and did not produce children. She encouraged him to marry another woman to bear a child. He married a Jew – still no child. Finally, he married a Hindu woman and still did not produce an heir. He went to see a saint and made a sacrifice, and later his third wife bore a child. (I don’t think it was his, but who am I to destroy the legend.) Anyway, the fort contains marvelous buildings and carvings in red sandstone. There was a pillar that I found very interesting. It contained symbols from Islam (crescents), Judaism (stars), Hinduism (swastikas and lotus), and other secular symbols (mostly Persian). He built each of his wives a home that incorporated her religious beliefs and lifestyle. The Hindu wife had the most elaborate home and temple because she bore the son. He created a religion that incorporated all 3 religions into one, but it didn’t really catch on. There was a slimy green pool on the side where 2 men would jump for the tourists’ money. I thought it was pretty degrading, but it showed how people are willing to debase themselves at a price. There is also a mosque attached to the back of the fort. I walked around the back and saw the mausoleum from the back side. There were huge bee hives hanging from the top of the domes at the entrance. I was frightened at the thought of those things falling on the people below.

We drove back to the hotel where I had lunch. The food wasn’t very good. It seemed like they watered it down too much for the tourists. There were shops inside the hotel where I walked around to kill the rest of the hour. I bought some leather (camel) shoes for Rs 600 after bargaining down from Rs 1150. Pay attention because the shoes come up again later. Edwin and the driver came back to pick me up in a new car. The air conditioner wasn’t working in the old one, and I wasn’t going to make it through the day riding with the windows down with all those smells. (Aside: My uvula has never worked as much as it has since I’ve been here.) We headed over to Agra Fort (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agra_Fort). It was built by Shah Jahan, Akbar’s grandson. He also built the Taj Mahal, which is not too far, and is visible from the fort. I took several pictures with the back of the Taj Mahal as a backdrop. Most of the fort is made of local red sandstone and marble from Rajasthan. There was also gold on some structures that was stolen at some point by the British or some other conquerors. The buildings were very cool inside even though the sun was beaming down and the heat was unbearable outside.

After leaving the fort, we went to several stores. As part of the tour, Edwin had to take me to certain markets. He told me I didn’t have to buy anything unless I wanted to. Apparently, all of the tour companies do the same thing because I kept running into the same tourists. There were also shops that I saw where I wanted to stop and he obliged. At one very fancy multileveled store, I asked the saleslady not to follow me. She told the other lady and they backed off. Then, a man came over and I told him I was just browsing and he stuck to me like glue. The lady told him I didn’t want to be followed around and he ignored her. All of this was in Hindi, but I knew the context based on their body language. He kept following 2 ft behind me, and I quickly proceeded to the elevator. Do I need to wear a sign that says, “Be attentive, without hovering”? I saw a group of about 5 black people at one of the stores. That doubled the number I’ve seen my whole time in India. I think they were American even though I didn’t hear their voices, because we shared the same nod of recognition. There’s something about having no one else like you around and then seeing that you’re not totally alone every once in a while. It’s a little like seeing someone who could be your relative in a strange land. The Africans that I’ve seen here seem to just ignore me. Maybe they see me as just as foreign to them as everyone else. Or, maybe, it doesn’t really matter and I’m making a big deal out of nothing.

We went to Taj Mahal (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taj_Mahal) around 5:30pm in time to watch the changes before sunset. Vehicles are not allowed near the structures because all the pollution was damaging the white marble. We had to take a bus to the perimeter and then walk through the East Gate. On the bus, I heard an American accent (southern) offering a woman a seat. I asked him where he was from and he said, “ATL, shawty”. Ok, not really. I told him I was from Texas and we had a brief conversation on the ride up the hill. At the gate, they gave each visitor a bottle of water and shoe covers. I learned during my trip to Elephanta Caves that the national monuments charge a higher rate for foreigners. I had to pay Rs 250 at the Taj Mahal in addition to the Rs 500 I paid at Fatehpur Sikri for a daypass to the 3 monuments, while Indian residents only paid about Rs 20. The Taj Mahal was beautiful from every angle. It is a shrine to the love Shah Jahan had for his wife. It took 22 years and 20,000 workers from all over the land to build. Many of the people living in Agra today are the descendants of those workers.
Edwin showed me how the marble changed colors from the waning sunlight and the inlaid stones and gems looked like glitter. I took a lot of pictures. Shah Jehan had planned to build a black onyx replica of Taj Mahal for his own tomb across the river. He started the foundation, but was arrested by his son before he could finish. I took a picture of the foundation and its surroundings. I actually spent about 5 minutes inside the Taj Mahal. It is a small circular tomb with 2 marble casket-like sculptures in the middle. (The actual bodies are buried underneath the building.) It was hot, crowded, loud, dark and stinky. Everyone was pushing to see the middle. It was a claustrophobic’s worst nightmare and a thief’s paradise. There were signs on the outside warning us of pickpockets. No pictures were allowed inside. I went back out and took more pictures. I ran out of space on my memory card after Edwin took some pictures of me right outside the mausoleum.

We walked back to the bus and I stopped to see the wares along the side of the road. The same shoes I paid Rs 600 for earlier that day were being sold for Rs 100-250. We were going back to the Taj View Hotel to freshen up before going to the train station. I told Edwin I was going to return the shoes I bought earlier since I could get them for less on the street. I walked into the shop and handed the guy my receipt asking for a refund. He told me he couldn’t give me a refund on my credit card because he had already submitted the paperwork. Uh huh. He still had a couple more hours before the shop closed. No one settles their receipts before closing; I’ve worked in retail before. I told him that he could either put the money back on my card or give me cash back. It was that simple. He hemmed and hawed about how he didn’t have the authority to give refunds. I told him to call the owner or whoever had the authority because I wanted my money back. Then he said that credit card transactions could not be voided in “his country” unlike “my country”. Do I look stupid? Visa is Visa everywhere. All of the anger and frustration I’ve felt since being here all came to a head with this man. He underestimated me. I wasn’t leaving without my money. The other shopkeepers were standing at their doors watching the whole dispute transpire. I went back to the lobby and asked to speak to a manager, the hotel owner, or whoever had some authority over the retailers in that hotel because I wanted my money. It wasn’t even about the amount of money anymore, but the principle. This man had no integrity. I told the manager at the front desk what happened and we walked back to that store. She told him I wanted the transaction cancelled and I wanted my money back. He quickly said he would void the transaction on my card. “Didn’t I ask you to do that 10 minutes ago and you said you couldn’t?” I was so angry. He had to go to a credit card machine on the other side. I followed my card over there to watch him void the transaction. I walked out of there with my money, and resolved to never return to that place if I was ever in Agra again.

I took the train back to Delhi and was picked up at the station by the same driver from that morning. The train station was extremely crowded. Families were camped out on the platform having their dinner and they had pallets laid out for sleeping. The driver took me back to the hotel where I showered and packed my things for my flight back to Mumbai on Monday. The flight arrived on time at 2:25pm. I had just enough time to go to my hotel, eat lunch, and get ready for work. Overall, I had a good time on my short excursion to Delhi and Agra. I realize that it was very risky for me to travel in a foreign country as a single female. I was a walking target, but God kept me safe.

2008-04-21T16:30:00.000-07:00

I started writing about my weekend in Delhi and Agra, but I haven't finished yet. Please be patient. Here are a few pictures from the weekend in Agra. Enjoy.

Taj Mahal at sunset

Taj Mahal

The sun was in my eyes.

Mosque at Fatehpur Sukri

Agra Train Station

I'm ok

2008-04-18T02:39:00.000-07:00

The itching and redness has subsided. My skin is back to normal. I don't think it was anything I ate, because I've been eating the same spices for the past 5 weeks with no issues other than diarrhea a couple of days. It could have been the laundry detergent because the rash only covered the parts of me that were in a t-shirt. However, all of my clothes were washed in the same detergent (Tide) and I didn't have any other reactions. Oh well. All that matters is that I'm better now.

I need to start packing for my trip tonight/tomorrow morning. I'm about to head out for lunch and then I'll come back and pack for my weekend trip.

2008-04-17T04:32:00.000-07:00

I went to the doctor yesterday, and she said the itching and redness was probably due to an allergic reaction to something, but I'm not sure what. She prescribed calamine lotion and some alergy pills. The hospital was a lot better than I imagined. It looked fairly new and the facilities were clean and modern.

Yesterday, Sarika invited me to lunch at her home. Her mother made a delicious seafood meal and we watched a Hindi movie before leaving. Anita invited me to her home last Sunday before the baby shower, and she also cooked for me. Everyone has been so hospitable.

Today, someone finally spoke to me instead of just staring. I was walking in front of a mall when a Sikh turned to me and asked me which country I was from.

I'm going to Delhi this weekend, and I'll also visit Taj Mahal in Agra. I need to buy a new bag to take all the things I've bought here back home. I brought an empty suitcase, but I need more room.

Sari, Baby, Henna

2008-04-15T16:33:00.000-07:00

All the ladies on our team wore saris on last Monday for Gudi Padava, or the New Year. It was the celebration for N. Indians, but each region seems to have their own date to commemorate the New Year. S. Indians and Bengalis celebrated the New Year on yesterday. I brought my sari to work with me on last Monday so the ladies could show me how to wear it. It took 3 of them to put the pins in the right place and make me look like a proper Indian woman. I was amazed that they were able to dress themselves at home with no help, because it seems like a very complex process to get the pleats and things looking just right. They told me that it comes with practice. After they wrapped me in the sari, we took pictures – first in the bathroom and then out on the terrace of the office building. The sun was setting and provided just enough light to show off the beautiful colors on the ladies. It felt like we were doing a photo shoot. Saris range in colors and designs, and come in many different fabrics, including cotton, silk, etc. with or without sequins, embroidery, and other embellishments. You can get a good sari for Rs 500 – 1000 (around 25 USD), but they become more expensive (Rs 10000 or more) if there is a lot of embroidery or special work, like for weddings. The sari is a long piece of cloth, probably around 3 yards that is wrapped around the woman’s body in different ways. They showed me about 4 different methods of wrapping the top usually based on the region. One size fits all. The sari is pretty comfortable to wear when sitting, but it can make walking challenging. It is very similar to wearing a ball gown like a wedding dress or debutante dress, because you have to kick the dress out while you walk to avoid stepping on it. You also have to remember to raise it up when walking up stairs so you won’t trip on it. (I forgot that a couple of times.) It can also be cumbersome if you choose to wear it so it drapes over your arm. Your arm will become tired of holding it up and you also have to worry about it slipping off when you move. Overall, I enjoyed the experience and look forward to another occasion where I can wear my sari. I felt like a princess.

I didn’t do much around the hotel last week. I was happy that I had options for food and entertainment between sleeping and working. However, I almost had a Naomi Campbell moment in a store. I ran out of contact solution, and I went to the mall to buy more. Contacts are not a popular option here. Each of the malls next to my hotel has a supermarket named “Food Bazaar”. Neither of them had solution, but I remembered seeing it somewhere in the mall previously. I saw the Health and Beauty Store that I swore I wouldn’t go back to after they followed me around the last time and I practically ran out so I could breathe. I was desperate, so I gave it a shot anyway. The store is around 200 square feet with 3 small bisecting aisles. It is tiny and crammed with all kinds of cosmetics, fragrances, and personal products that you would find at your local Walgreen’s. Every 3 feet, someone stopped to ask me if wanted to try whatever was in their tiny section. That store was way too small to have that many people working there. They should have had no more than 3 employees in the store at one time. The solution was on the back wall. I was standing in the middle of that aisle with 3 sales people on each side of me. I wanted to scream. I proceeded to the counter to pay for it, and the guy told me it was Rs 145. The sign said 90. I walked back over to that aisle with my entourage and showed him the price. He said that was the old amount. Can you say price gauging? If I didn’t need the solution so badly, and if I had another option nearby, I would have walked out and never returned. But, he had me.

My co-worker, Sushuma (pronounced Sooshma), invited me to her baby shower on Sunday. I was excited to participate in traditional festivities. Anita told me a little bit about what to expect at an Indian shower. There are some distinct differences between Indian and American baby showers. First of all, the shower is to celebrate the mother-to-be only. People do not give gifts for the baby. Instead, the mother is showered with money, food, clothing, and other gifts. People do not give gifts for the baby until after he/she is born. The second difference is that there are no silly games. The focus is totally on the mother. We arrived at the apartment where the shower was held, and there were already a few older women sitting on the floor. More and more women arrived as the party went on. Sushuma sat on a decorated swing with a small table in front of her. Each guest blessed her by putting a red dot on her forehead, pouring rice and coconuts in her lap, feeding her a bit of a sweet, and giving her whatever gift they brought. First, her mother-in-law and her mother did special blessings with a candle. Next, other elders did something similar. Then, younger married women blessed her, followed by unmarried younger women. Those who came in late took their turns also. After all the women had blessed her, some of the older women started singing songs to her. It was a very nice affair. However, we heard the incessant sound of Fur Elise during the whole ceremony. The door to the apartment was open, and every time someone opened the gate to the elevator, the song would play. Everyone else seemed to ignore it. After all the blessings and songs, we proceeded downstairs where there was a tent setup on the patio. Both men and women partook in the reception. The food (veg) was good and it was a really nice night. We took a few more pictures with Sushuma before leaving.

Yesterday, I took a rickshaw to a street close to my hotel with several markets and shops. I could have walked, but it was too hot for that. I wore a hat, but people still seemed to stare at me. I saw a few items I wanted to buy for my nephews, but they cost just as much (or more) than adult clothes. Since that was my first time shopping for children’s clothes alone, I thought I should wait until I could talk to Anita or Sarika about how much they should cost. Later, Anita told me they were priced correctly, and that the stores charge more to make clothing for children because they have to cut the material smaller, or so they say. I went to another shop with reasonably priced dress material for women. They had their own tailor that could make the pieces for you. Tailors are very common here. I chose some material that I liked, but I wanted it made into western-styled summer dresses, not a salwar kameez. The material for a salwar kameez comes in 2 pieces with different patterns. One piece is used for the top and the other is used for the pants. There is a scarf too. It cost about $7 more for me to have 2 dresses made from the material. The owner and his wife were very friendly. She asked me if I was South African even though my hair was covered. I told her I was an American here for business. She had a salon above the store and asked me if I wanted to go up for any services. I asked her how much she charged for henna. I’ve been considering henna for my hair for a while, but I just hadn’t gotten around to doing it. I knew that I had to do it while in India, since it’s so common here. Henna is a natural dye that is used on hair and also to temporarily tattoo skin (also called mehinde). The natural color of henna is reddish, but it can be modified with other ingredients to produce brown tones or black. It has conditioning properties that strengthen the hair also. The lady applied the henna, and an hour later, my hair had a red tint very similar to the color I dyed my hair a few years ago. I was very pleased with the color, but they did not know how to wash my hair. LOL

I didn't think I would need to use my International SOS card for medical emergencies, but I had to make that call a few minutes ago. I've developed a rash all over my torso, back, and neck. While I was at work tonight, I kept scratching my back thinking that mosquito bites were making me itch. I looked in the mirror when I got to the hotel and saw red patches all over my upper body - not mosquito bites. I have no idea what caused it. SOS advised me to take some Benadryl, which I brought in my emergency medical kit, and they are going to schedule an appointment for me tomorrow with an English-speaking doctor. We'll see what happens. I just want to stop itching.

2008-04-11T02:58:00.000-07:00

2008-04-07T11:11:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, our company had a party at a local hotel. Every 6 months the Mumbai office has a party to recognize exceptional performance. (Is this the same company I work for?) There is also a competition between each division that involves a skit and dance - Bollywood style. I arrived just as the performances began. They were mostly in Hindi and Anita gave me a brief synopsis at the end of each performance. I stood there and looked at the costumes and dance slightly dumbfounded since I didn’t know what else was happening. Some groups wore elaborate costumes. They announced the winner, and then the real party began. There was an open bar with both soft drinks and “hard” drinks. The music was very loud and eclectic. No slow songs – mostly popular Hindi film songs, regional songs, reggaeton, soca, rock, Shaikira (not sure of her genre). All of the music seemed to have the same basic beats. Everyone wanted to dance with me and teach me new moves. Anyone who has ever tried to teach me a dance knows how difficult that is. I grew tired and went in search of food. There was a large buffet with Indian specialties that I really enjoyed.

Later, Jaya asked me if I wanted to take a walk outside because it was very hot and smoky in the party room. The Vashi train station was across the street, and she showed me the terminal and the tracks. One of the trains stopped on the tracks before heading to the depot. We walked around one of the cars which was designated for women. Typically, the train has 9 cars. One of the cars is designated for the handicapped and three of the cars are specifically for women. Women can also ride in the male cars, but it is safer to ride in the women only car if she’s not with a man. A police officer travels in the cars with women to protect them. There are a lot of rules in place to “protect” females, such as no work after 10:30pm. After our excursion to the train station, I was ready to head back to my new hotel.

On Sunday, I met Sarika at the bowling alley at the mall with her friends. She and I went shopping for a sari later. Sunday was a holiday, and the people in the office planned to dress up on Monday – women in saris and men in kurtas. We went to a couple of shops before I found one that I wanted to purchase. I also had to buy a blouse and petticoat. The final touch was the bangles that are traditionally worn. Apparently, I’m a giant here, because I could not get my hand through any of the bangles. They pulled out the largest size and it still would not fit. I always thought my hands were normal and proportional to my body. I could wear the bracelets with elastic or openings, but I didn’t see any that I liked that would match my sari. Oh well.

I’ve adjusted to working at night. In fact, my body stays on that schedule even when I’m not working. I might get into bed around 11, but I don’t actually go to sleep until after 3am. Sometimes, I watch TV or surf the net until I get sleepy. I wake up earlier on Sundays if I have something to do, but I still go to sleep late. Last night, I started reading The Kite Runner when I got into bed. I put it down around 2am so I could sleep. I laid in the dark for a while trying to fall asleep, but it just wasn’t happening. I turned the light back on and continued reading until I finished the book around 6am. My company has a small library that allows employees to check out 1 book for 7 days. My next book is Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie, a local author who has won many awards worldwide. I am mostly reading books written by or about Indians, but The Kite Runner is about Afghanistan. Both The Namesake and The Kite Runner were made into major motion pictures. I enjoyed The Kite Runner immensely, not just because it was a good story, but it also made this region of the world seem more real to me. You always hear about Afghanistan, Pakistan, and India on the news and only think of it as someplace on the other side of the globe far from home. But those places are real and real people live there. Some of the people are old enough to remember when life was peaceful, but there is a whole generation (my generation) that has never known peace in their homeland. War, poverty, and turmoil are normal for them because they haven’t known anything else for nearly 30 years.

It is hard to be surrounded by so much poverty on a daily basis. These people are so poor that they relieve themselves on the side of the road because they have nowhere else to go. On my way to work, I see little boys squatting in the dirt with a bucket of water next to them for rinsing off when they are done. It is so common that people continue on their way and don’t even seem to pay attention. I can’t imagine my brother or nephews pooping for all the world to see them. On my way from work each morning, I see whole families sleeping on the sidewalks, on top of cars, and other unlikely places. Some of them have the luxury of sleeping on a piece of plywood supported by cinder blocks. I see shopkeepers sleeping in chairs in their stores and rickshaw drivers sleeping in the back of the rickshaws. An auto rickshaw is basically a scooter with training wheels and a frame that allows people to sit across the back. It is half the size of a compact car. How can grown men actually sleep back there? I wonder if the shopkeepers and the drivers sleep there to protect their livelihoods or is it because they don’t have anywhere else to go. It’s hard to see these things constantly without becoming desensitized to the plight of fellow humans.

I asked Anita and Yagnesh if the children I see on the streets in the lower castes will ever be able to leave that lifestyle or are they doomed to live a life of poverty like their parents forever. They confirmed what I feared. A small number of them are given the opportunity through education to escape, but the rags to riches tales are very few.

Halfway

2008-04-05T12:51:00.000-07:00

It’s been 3 weeks since I arrived in India. Time has certainly flown by. The part of the experience I dislike so far has been all the time I spent inside my hotel room at The Park. There are no shops or restaurants nearby, only businesses and the police training facility. I am moving to Fortune Hotel (http://fortunehotels.in/) this weekend. It is a new 3-star hotel and The Park is 5-star. Who determines these categories? What exactly is the criterion? I liked what I saw at Fortune even if it is not 5-star. It is clean and modern, and there’s a bathtub too. The Park only has a shower probably because traditionally Indians prefer to clean themselves with running water as opposed to sitting in still water. The hotel is next to the 2 malls I visited previously and one of the malls has a grocery store that I can visit for food and other items. I now have the option to eat at the hotel or eat out in one of the nearby restaurants. A flea market is in walking distance. The hotel is also near Sarika and other people I know, so I won’t be in the middle of nowhere with no one close to me.

2008-04-01T10:24:00.000-07:00

Interesting t-shirts: "Swastika...4000 years before a madman from Germany discovered it" and "This t-shirt was outsourced in India"

on top of the mountain

view from the ferry - Gateway of India and Taj Mahal Hotel and Tower

All of us in front of Elephanta Cave

Bleach on my feet at the "parlor"

A Day in Bombay

2008-03-31T03:54:00.000-07:00

I just finished a very long day in the city of Bombay (Mumbai). My office and hotel are in Navi (New) Mumbai, and I haven’t ventured to Mumbai proper since I landed at the airport. Navi Mumbai is another city (not really a suburb) across the bridge from Mumbai.

I had a wake up call at 6:45 am. I got dressed and went downstairs for continental breakfast before my ride arrived. Sarika and Jitesh picked me up in front of the hotel at 8. They procured a car and driver for the day. We went to the Vashi train station to pick up everyone else. The ride from Navi Mumbai to Mumbai is a little over an hour. We drove through the city and they showed me various landmarks until we reached our first destination – a mosque. It’s a really famous mosque called Haji Ali Dargah. We had to take off our shoes before entering the mosque and they separated men from women. We took a few pictures outside of the part where you pray (not sure of what to call it), and then we started to walk back. The mosque was located in the middle of the Arabian Sea and we had to walk across a long causeway to reach it. The smell was horrendous in that area. I tried to hold my breath while walking, but I just couldn’t force myself to do it longer than a few seconds. I felt like I was walking through a land field. I gagged several times while walking over there. Every Feed the Children commercial I ever turned away from came stared me in the face today. A group of healthcare workers stood near the entrance to the causeway giving children polio vaccines. Those poor children and their parents presented a very ugly picture of the poverty that so many of us fail to acknowledge every day.

After visiting the mosque, we headed to Elephanta Island. Before catching the ferry to the island, we took several pictures in front of Taj Mahal Hotel. We also took pictures at The Gateway of India. This monument was built by the British to welcome King George V to the island. Ironically, the Gateway was the last site that the British used to leave the island after India won its independence. We proceeded to the ferry amidst the crowd and the “hawkers” along the path. Once on the ferry, we took pictures of the group and the various landmarks along the way. The ferry ride across the Arabian Sea was around 45 minutes. Another foreigner was sitting next to me. I overheard him on the phone and I knew he was American by his accent. I was a little excited to know there was another American aboard. I asked him where he was from when his call ended and he told me he was from Massachusetts. We struck up a conversation about our experience in India. He’s traveled around India for a couple of weeks. He left home over 2 months ago and has visited many countries. He’s leaving for Thailand and maybe China later this week. I was surprised to hear that his best experience was in Iran.

Elephanta Island has 8 caves that were carved in the 6th century by one of the Indian rulers.. The carvings represent various forms of Hindu deities. On the way inside the gate, my group hurriedly pushed me inside. They later told me it was because the price for tourists is higher than Indians. They’d told the guard that I was from Delhi to get me in at the lower price. The path to the caves was lined with vendors selling various goods. There were animals along the path such as the ubiquitous cow, and the equally present stray dogs. There were also monkeys in the trees. Scary monkeys. They have a reputation of snatching things from people as they walk up because they think they it might be food. They also hang out in the trees near the caves. One of them stole a bag of Lay’s from a member of our group.

We went to McDonald’s after visiting Elephanta Island. I don’t even eat at McDonald’s at home, but the rest of the group wanted to go there. I had the Chicken Maharajah Mac with fries. Basically, it was the Big Mac made with chicken, and the sauce tasted like a ginger-based, spicy paste. Victoria Terminus was across the street from the McDonald’s. I stopped to purchase a book for Rs 50 before heading inside the station. I bought a bootlegged version of The Namesake. I’ve bought books from street vendors before with no issues, but this time I had to look through 3 different books to find the best copy. It looked like someone got lazy while making the copies, so some of the pages were a little crooked. They also stapled the first few pages in the wrong order.

Victoria Terminus is the main train station and houses both local and regional trains. There are vendors everywhere. It’s very similar to Grand Central Station in NY. You can infer from the name who built the station. It seemed that most of the tourist sites and older building were built by the last group of people to rule India.

I started writing this blog last night when I returned to the hotel. I was so tired that I couldn’t finish writing about the rest of the day. Now, I am refreshed and ready to continue.

We went to Nehangir Art Gallery which was built by the Tata family. It showcases modern Indian art. There was one piece that really fascinated me. It wouldn’t mind having it in my home, but I probably wouldn’t be able to afford it. Down the street from the gallery was the Prince of Wales Museum, now called Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Museum. You will find that many of the streets and buildings have 2 names – one Indian and one British. We only had 30 minutes to see the museum before it closed. We did the “quick tour”. Jaya (a member of our group) studied history in college and spent a lot of time at this museum. She told me what was there and where, which made our visit more effective. I told her what I wanted to see and she took us there directly. She also gave background information on the museum and some of the pieces. She was a great tour guide, even though we had a limited amount of time. After the guards put us out of the museum at 6pm sharp, we walked back toward the vehicle. Rupali suggested that we go to Rhythm House Music Store, which was next to the parking lot. It was just like any other music store I’d seen, but there was a huge section for movie soundtracks. Bollywood produces over 1000 movies a year, and each of those movies also produces soundtracks that become just as popular as the movie. I bought Erykah’s newest CD (I’m listening to it as I type this) along with an instrumental Indian CD with 51 songs. I didn’t want a CD in Hindi that I couldn’t understand. I always read the lyrics of English songs too. I’m very careful about what I buy here. I don’t want anything representing a deity or some other image that I don’t believe in.

We drove back towards Marine Drive where the sun was going down over the water. We walked along the path to the end. There were lots of couples and families enjoying the cool breeze and the view. Across the street were several upscale apartment buildings. It was a very pretty site made better because you couldn’t see the dirty water of the sea in the dark. We also saw The Queen’s Necklace. At night, the lights surrounding the beach make a semi-circle that looks like a pearl necklace; hence, the name.

We drove for over an hour to Juhu Beach around 8pm. I nodded off for awhile when we were sitting in traffic. I was tired and hungry. I get very cranky when I’m hungry, so I thought it would be best for everyone if I stayed quiet and napped. When we finally arrived at the beach, which is across from the airport, it was crowded and fit the carnival-like atmosphere I’d heard about Chowpatty Beach (on the opposite side). There were vendors selling food, toys, and other trinkets while people and the ever-present stray dogs walked along the beach. Some of them ventured into the dark waves. The stars were very clear and bright. We headed toward a restaurant, but the wait was over an hour. We ended up at Tawaa, a restaurant that specializes in fire-grilled food. We had to wait a few minutes for a table. While waiting, the ladies went to the “washroom”. I walked in and was assaulted by the pungent smell. I walked out almost immediately. One of the guys suggested that we take a rickshaw to find another more suitable restroom. I declined and said I could wait. I’m glad I always carry hand sanitizer.

After dinner, the driver dropped me off at the hotel. The first thing I wanted to do was shower and get clean. I felt really grimy from all the pollution and sweating.

I had a good time visiting all the sites of the city. I appreciate Jitesh, Sarika, Alkesh, Jaya, Rupali, Prasanna, and Febin showing me around.

2008-03-29T13:28:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, Sarika and Vinu picked me up from the hotel before work. We went to a small dosa restaurant that makes around 100 different types of dosas. After eating dosas, we climbed a mountain in the middle of the city. Vinu drove up and stopped at different points for me to take “snaps”. The city looked so serene from up there. We passed a lot of couples on the way up taking advantage of the scenery and the privacy. There was also a small village near the top of the mountain. We descended the mountain and drove through the city. Vinu was really good at slowing down for me to take pictures of the various sites. He was a great tour guide. We also stopped for coconut water. I wasn’t expecting to actually drink coconut water from a coconut. I assumed coconut water was a special drink concoction. In reality, the top of the coconut is cut off, a straw is inserted, and you have coconut water. It was good, but it wasn’t as sweet as I thought it would be. They told me the coconuts get sweeter as it gets hotter. Coconut water is fairly common in beach areas like Miami, Jamaica, etc.

It was nearing time to go to work, but we had to make another stop on the way. We went to the top of a hill where there was a church and several temples on the same street. The church was Catholic and they were having mass. Next to the church was a Hindu temple (for North Indians). We had to take our shoes off before going inside. I took some beautiful pictures of the sunset off the balcony of that temple. There was another North Indian temple next to it, and a South Indian temple was at the end of the road. I learned that the primary way to distinguish gods from the north and south was the color. The gods of the south are all black. They are black for the same reason that the Evans (Good Times) had a picture of black “Jesus”. People want to worship a god that looks like them.

When I went to work last night, everyone was making plans to take me out on Sunday. They asked me where I wanted to go in Mumbai, and I gave them a list. Before the end of the night, they had mapped out a route that would allow me to see the most places in the shortest amount of time and they told me to be prepared to walk a lot. There will be a group of ten of us going out on Sunday.

Today, I went to “the parlor” with Moumita and her friend. I had my eyebrows threaded along with a pedicure for less than $6. That was my first time ever using thread and it wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. I think the lady was a little frustrated with me because I didn’t understand what she was telling me to do. Thankfully, Moumita was there and she translated for me. She wanted me to hold my eye taut. The pedicure was basically the same as one I would get in the US, except for one thing. The first thing the lady did was pour a powder into a bowl and mixed it with water. She applied the paste on my feet with a brush. At the time she was applying this paste, Moumita’s friend asked me if the pedicures were different in the US. I told her I’d never seen this white paste before. She told me it was bleach to lighten my feet. I wanted to jump out of the chair when she told me that. There is a great fascination with bleaching skin here that I find very disturbing. After leaving the parlor, we walked around for a bit. I saw an elephant walking down the street while waiting. The man riding him was asking people for money.

We waited for Anita to come get me. I’ve known Anita for two and a half years. She’s traveled to the US twice and we’ve developed a great friendship. She and her husband took me out to dinner. We had a good time at a place called Indulge that’s not too far from my hotel. They cleared up a couple of mysteries for me. 1) Everyone stares at me when I go out because of my hair. 2) After using the hose, you’re supposed to drip dry.

Your Questions

2008-03-24T15:12:00.001-07:00

Some people have sent me emails with individual questions. I've responded to those emails, but I thought that other people might have the same questions. Feel free to post any questions you have about my experience in India in the Comments section of this post (Your Questions). I will answer your questions in this post only, so check back for updates. After I answer your question, you can always add more questions or follow-up on previous answers. Just click on Comments to pose a question. You can remain anonymous if you like, although I would like to know who is inquiring.

busy day

2008-03-23T15:38:00.000-07:00

Today was one big adventure. I woke up around 6am and couldn't go back to sleep. I read a little bit before showering and going downstairs for breakfast. The hotel staff greeted me. "Good morning, Ms. Stephens." I like to sit by the window of the restaurant facing the pool, but that is the smoker's section. Thankfully, none of the smokers came down while I was eating my breakfast, so I ate in peace. (Aside: Why do smokers always get the good seats by the windows or the patio?) I was dressed and knew that I was going to do something other than stay in my room today, but I didn't know what that something was. I went back to my room and saw that it was still too early to call anyone. I waited a couple of hours before picking up my phone. Something was wrong with the phone and it wouldn't allow me to dial out. I had to use the phone in the room to call one of my co-workers. We were going to the mall, but she had to run a few errands before she could go. She asked if I wanted to join her and I accepted. I had to figure out how I would get to her place. She, like most Mumbaikers, does not drive. I'd asked the guy at the front desk if the hotel had a car for rent earlier in the day. He said it starts at Rs1200 for 2 hours and goes up from there. That was much too expensive. After talking to Moumita, I decided I would try a rickshaw. She gave me her address and I proceeded downstairs. I asked the front desk guy where I could catch the rickshaw and how much I should expect to pay. I went outside to the street and a rickshaw just happened to be coming my way. I told him where I was going ( I wrote the address on a slip of paper) and got in. On the way there, he stopped to ask one of his buddies exactly where it was. I arrived at my destination within 15 minutes. Moumita met me outside and we proceeded to her flat.

The apartment was small (appx 500 sq. ft.). Her roommate has a 2.5 year old named Advev aka Chucky. He was really shy and wouldn't talk to me at first. Then, he warmed up to me and we started playing together. He even shook my hand later in the rickshaw (it was a game to him), and he laid his head on my shoulder. His mother, Rashmi, told me that she's separated from her husband. It seems that it is becoming a trend in Mumbai for men to walk away from their families in a place where it was unthought of in the not so distant past. Divorce has a horrible stigma in Indian society. The woman and her family feels the brunt of it, and she is treated very badly for the rest of her life.

We went to the bank and grocery store. The store had three levels - groceries on 1, clothes on 2, and housewares on 3. It was a fairly inexpensive market. We went back to the flat for lunch. Rashmi cooked chicken curry South Indian style. We sat and talked for a while after lunch. I was invited to hang out with them again next weekend. The power went out for about 30 minutes and the apartment became a sweatbox. I hadn't heard Chucky speak a lick of English all day, but suddenly he started saying "electricity" over and over again. The power goes out twice a day in the city. I know that the power goes out at the hotel during the day, but it always comes back on a few seconds later. I suppose they have back-up generators at the hotel. I didn't realize it was happening all over the city. So many of us take it for granted that when we flip the switch we have light and air. Local residents also have to boil their water to remove impurities.

I had to use the loo before leaving for the mall. I walked in and immediately walked back out. I
needed instructions on how to use the toilet! I'd read about the Indian-style toilet, but I really wasn't expecting to ever use it. The hotel has modern Western facilities, and the office combines both styles. They don't use tissue, but a hose to rinse themselves. See the picture.

Later, we went to the flea market in a rickshaw. There were lots of people and dogs perusing the open market. Across the street from the market, hawkers had their wares on the sidwalks. We left the flea market and headed to the mall. Two malls were literally feet away from each other. The malls were bigger than the one I visited last week. One of them looked like it was plucked from LA and transplanted to Mumbai. All around were name-brand stores like Reebok, Wrangler, United Colors of Benetton, etc.

All day long, I was the main attraction. I don't like being the center of attention for everyone. I don't know what it was about me that made everyone stop and stare. I wore jeans and a t-shirt, which is not uncommon; especially not in the mall with all the Western stores. (I was surprised to see a couple of women with spaghetti straps.) Was it my skin? Half of the people around me, including Rashmi, were my complexion or darker. Maybe it was my hair. It is currently twisted, and I pinned the back up in a bun. At first , the attention was subtle, and I didn't mind it so much. There were a lot of double takes. People saw me and then had to look again to be sure they saw what they thought they saw. A couple of people in the grocery casually tapped their friends to tell them to look at me. One little girl gave me a really mean look, but I saw her do that to other people and realized she was probally just a mean little girl. When we walked around the flea market, people stared at me. There was a lady walking directly behind me. I think she was studying my hair. Every time I turned around, she was grinning at the back of my head almost tripping over me. At the malls, I was profiled. Store clerks stayed 2 feet behind me at all times. In one department store, 4 of the clerks crowded around the rack I was looking at and looked away when I looked up at them. Later, a woman snapped a picture of me with her camera phone on the escalator. I was trying my best not to be the stereotypical ABW, but I was getting annoyed. We went to the food court on the top floor. Rashmi and I split up to get our items. As I walked down the corridor, a woman did a total 360 when she saw me. She was facing me as I walked toward her and she turned her body completely around when I passed her. I turned back and looked at her, and she hurriedly looked away. I was so ready to get out of there. I didn't tell my shopping companions what was happening. The next time I go out in public, I'll wear a salwar kameez and cover my hair. I would like to see if that makes a difference in their reactions to me.

Rashmi and I left the mall together and took a rickshaw. Her flat is on the way to my hotel, so the driver dropped her off and continued on. I arrived at the hotel with just enough time to tune into Easter Sunday service online at my church. I logged in and was unable to view it. I tried another ministry and was unable to view it also. I was very disappointed. Last night, I wanted to watch Netflix movies online, but they are only available in the US. I thought Streaming Faith was available worldwide, but I guess not. UGH. After that disappointment, I was hungry, so I ordered room service. All I wanted was a sandwich and fries, no sauce/gravy or exotic spices. I had a good dinner and talked to an old friend online for a while.

Today was a very full day.

2008-03-23T12:37:00.000-07:00

"The loo"

The malls look connected they are so close.

apartment building

"For Your Safety"

2008-03-22T07:07:00.000-07:00

My company arranged a driver to take me to work each night. When he arrives at the hotel to pick me up, the hotel staff calls me to let me know he is here. It usually takes me a few minutes after the call to actually go downstairs. They make him park in a designated area until I arrive. Each morning when he drops me off at the hotel, the security guards stop him at the gate. One of the guards slides a long black pole underneath the car. Another guard asks for the keys and opens the trunk. I went downstairs one night, and they alerted him that I was ready so he could drive up to the front. While I was waiting, I asked the hotel guy about the long pole underneath the car. I already thought I knew what it was, but I asked anyway for confirmation. He said it was a mirror. I asked, “What is the mirror for?” He replied in an ominous tone, “For your safety.” I’m sure my mother finds that reassuring.

That does not make me feel safer. In fact, it heightens my awareness of security concerns. I’m surprised they don’t have bomb-sniffing dogs. It reminds me of the time I visited a church in Brooklyn. At the end of the sermon, the pastor called everyone up for prayer and told the ladies they should bring their purses with them for safety. That immediately raised a red flag for me. It made me think that theft must be fairly common in that church for the pastor to say that from the pulpit. How common are hotel incidents?

I was very sleepy the first night the driver picked me up from work, but I forced myself to stay awake. I decided that I would not sleep in the car, because I need to be alert to what is happening around me at all times. I don’t want to wake up and find myself in a strange/dangerous place. I can now identify landmarks and signs on the route from/to the hotel. There is a Pfizer facility protected by a gate on the way to the hotel. There’s also a sports stadium nearby, probably for cricket. I am always observant of my surroundings, but I am even more observant now. Women traveling alone must take many precautions, especially when you don’t speak or understand the local language. I have an international card that was issued to me for medical emergencies and other security concerns. They will also make arrangements for an emergency evacuation, if needed. Hopefully, it won’t be necessary.

Several people asked me how my mother felt about me traveling to India. Her biggest concern is my safety no matter where I am. All she or I can do is plead the blood of Jesus to protect me and keep me from all danger.

On a lighter note...
My friend recently climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, and she took wonderful pictures of her journey on the way up. There’s one picture of a goat that she titled, “our friend curry”. That picture was so funny that I wanted to take a picture of an Indian “curry”. As my driver was turning into the hotel this morning, a herd of goats was walking toward us. It was such an unusual site. I have no idea where they were going at 4am. I asked the driver to stop while I took a picture. The car was literally at an angle in the hotel driveway, partially blocking the road. All of the security guards were crowded around the front of the car, probably wondering why it stopped so suddenly and preparing to confront the driver. I took a couple of pictures of these goats out for a stroll. Unfortunately, the pictures did not come out clearly.

2008-03-21T16:53:00.000-07:00

Before

This is how I looked after the colors.

Holi

2008-03-21T05:29:00.000-07:00

Indians will be celebrating Holi (Festival of Colors) on Saturday. Many people took Friday off to prepare for the festival. It just happens to coincide with Easter and Good Friday this year.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holi

My team at work will celebrate tonight. The festivities include throwing brightly colored powder all over each other. They will take a picture before and after to show the effects. They've already told me that I should bring a change of clothes.

2008-03-18T17:32:00.000-07:00

It is 6:02am, and I'm awake. Why am I awake when I really should be sleeping? I'm hungry. The hotel has continental breakfast at 7am and I'm forcing myself to stay awake for free food. If I had gone to sleep when I got here at 4:30, I would have slept through breakfast and woken up a lot later, a lot hungrier. Also, the lunch here is really expensive, and I don't have any alternatives. Yesterday, my lunch was over Rs 900 (appx. $22). I have a per diem, but I'd rather spend the money on other things (that last longer). There is a method to my madness. I'm spending the time catching up on emails and paying bills. I'm also listening to Barack Obama's speech on race, but it keeps stopping at the same point. Don't they know I don't have time to stop and read the full transcript!

I went to work on Monday night and was pleased to finally get out of the hotel. I also had the opportunity to see the area around the hotel in daylight. There are office buildings on the same street and an open lot across from the offices. That lot has a couple of make-shift tin houses and cows. Yes, cows. The drive from the hotel to the office is around 30 minutes. There's a lot of traffic because people on the day shift leave at the same time. I saw the sunset on my way to work. It's amazing to think that I'm watching the same lowering sun that my family is watching rise. The office is located in an area that was formerly a village. When you drive into the business park, you'll still see a few leftover tin houses, more aptly described as lean-tos, and various street vendors. The actual office building is better that I imagined, and the associates are very friendly. As soon as I told them where I was staying, they knew that there was nothing for me to do in the area. Several of them live in close proximity and said that they would show me around. Thank you Jesus!

I went to the mall on Tuesday afternoon. My friend, Sarika, came to the hotel to pick me up and her friend drove us there. I met Sarika when she came to The Woodlands over 2 years ago. On the way to the mall, we passed several buildings that are under construction and look nothing like the rest of the city. This is probably the area that I passed on my way from the airport. We went to Center One Mall, which is across the street from another mall, which is next to a new mall under construction. Materialism at work. The funny thing is that in the midst of all these new structures and shopping malls, there is a field of cows. Cows just appear randomly here. The cow field is next to a large bookstore on a busy street that connects the 2.5 malls in the area. Very random. The mall is relatively small compared to American monoliths. It had several stores that you might see in the US, as well as distinctly Indian stores. Before entering the mall, we had to go through a metal detector and the guards checked our bags. I had my laptop bag with me because we were going directly to work from there. I bought a kurti (shirt) and salwar kameez (top with pants). See the links for examples. I also bought some beautiful material for making your own salwar kameez, but I want to use it to do something else. I will be firing up the sewing machine when I get home.

Kurti:
http://eshop.ahmedabad.com/shop/product/apparels_&_accessories/womens_wear/kurtis/True_Bllue/30986
Salwar Kameez: http://eshop.ahmedabad.com/shop/product/apparels_&_accessories/womens_wear/salwar_kameez/InVogue/50386
http://eshop.ahmedabad.com/shop/product/apparels_&_accessories/womens_wear/salwar_kameez/InVogue/50385

I saw another black woman at the mall. I thought I was the only one! After shopping, I called my driver to take us to the office. Sarika had to speak to him so that he understood. He speaks limited English. I went to work and came back to the hotel.

The hotel staff makes me feel like a minor celebrity because they all know me. I asked the guy at the front desk about breakfast, and he told me he would call my room with more details. I asked him if he knew my room number, and he said, "Yes, Elizabeth". He knows my name? Wow. I wonder if they talk about me amongst themselves. I have to watch out for the paparazzi.

I've decided to start taking my malaria pills right before I leave for work. Hopefully, it will be easier for me to remember since I leave around the same time everyday. I spray myself with OFF before leaving the room in the hopes that the mosquitoes won't come near me anyway. Let's see how that goes.

Follow-ups to previous posts:

Dr. Hak, thanks for the suggestion. I'm getting a lot of ideas here. I actually considered bringing my crochet hooks and yarn right before leaving, and I decided against it. I could have made several projects while stuck at the hotel.
You've probably heard of Tata this week. The Indian car company unveiled "The People's Car" yesterday in Geneva. It is small and costs $2500. This is very significant, because this car is expected to make car ownership easy for a country of over a billion people. You can also expect an exponential rise in carbon output, which impacts climate change.
I remembered the Nina Simone song when I laid down on Tuesday morning. It's called Sinnerman.

Time for breakfast.

Stir Crazy

2008-03-17T02:03:00.000-07:00

I am so bored! This is a really nice hotel, but there is nothing to do around here. I go downstairs for meals and the staff is really friendly, but there's nothing to do except stay in my room. I could sit at the pool, but it's too hot. I asked the people at the front desk if there was anything around here, and they suggested one of the hotel restaurants. So, I clarified my question. "Is there anything to do outside of the hotel?" They had a brief exchange in Hindi, and then said, "No, there's nothing around here for tourists." UGH

A lady from the office called me to discuss my transportation for later this evening. She and her team are responsible for my travel arrangements. She said this hotel was chosen because of its proximity to the office, but other than that there is nothing around here of interest. I have to wait until I get to the office tonight and talk to my co-workers about meeting in the city to do things before work.

I don't know how working at night is going to affect my desire to go out during the day. I will be working from 7pm to 3:30am IST (8:30 - 5:00pm CST). I guess you could say I've adjusted well to the time. Last night, I went to sleep after 3am because I had to watch CSI and CSI:Miami. I turned off the TV before CSI: New York could keep me up another hour. I woke up around 8:30am and went downstairs for breakfast. I came back to my room finished another Mumbai tourist book, checked my email, saw that one of my friends was still online and chatted briefly. Later, I went downstairs for lunch and enjoyed one of the best, if not the best, Indian meals I've ever had. Most Indians are vegetarian, so they can do things with vegetables that are beyond the creativity and culinary skills of the West. I need to do something a little more productive than eating. ; ) I still have a few hours to kill before work. I'll probably take a nap.

Random Thoughts

People around the world know so much about America - good and bad. As I type this line, there is a newsflash about Britney Spears' latest hairstyle on TV. There was a news story on the TV during lunch about an Indian company's new manufacturing plant in Arkansas. How many Americans can identify an Indian state? Mumbai is in Maharashtra.
I keep hearing a song during commercial breaks and I can't remember the name. It's the first few bars of a Nina Simone song on piano.
Mumbai is hot. I sat outside for 5 minutes yesterday afternoon and was forced to return to my room.
Mumbai has an industrial smell.
Tata owns everything. http://www.tata.com/0_companies/index.htm#global. Every other commercial is for a Tata product.
There are a lot of commercials for insurance companies and banks. I think the commercial cycle is: 1) Tata product, 2) insurance company, 3)Tata product, 4) bank/investment company, 5) beauty product (hair care, skin whitener, makeup), repeat. I've actually figured out some of the dialogue because I've seen the commercials so many times.
I keep forgetting to take my malaria pills at the same time everyday. I need to set an automatic reminder for myself somehow.
A lot of men work in this hotel as house keepers.
Juno is a great movie. I saw it on the plane. It reminds me of Girl Interrupted and Little Miss Sunshine.
If I were at home, I would be sleep right now with another hour before the alarm goes off.

First Impression

2008-03-16T07:01:00.000-07:00

I left Houston on Friday afternoon for a long flight to Mumbai. I had a brief layover in Newark, NJ before a 14-hour flight to Mumbai. I flew business/first class and was able to enjoy the full experience of luxurious flight accommodations. The food aboard the plane was good and plentiful. I was also able to sleep (6-7 hours) rather peacefully flying across the Atlantic, although I missed most of the daylight hours and awoke in time to see the Arabian desert briefly before the sun went down. I arrived in Mumbai around 8:20 pm IST on Saturday. (Indian Standard Time (IST) is 10.5 hours ahead of CST.) As the plane lowered for landing, I saw the bright lights of the city and lots of traffic on the streets and bridges going the “wrong” way. I could also see a lot of apartment buildings and construction. The airport was also under construction and had signs everywhere asking patrons to pardon the inconvenience. The airport reminded me of the Times Square station in New York. It was very busy and had lots of twists and turns. I went through Customs and received the Indian stamp in my passport. I waited for what seemed like forever at baggage claim and it seemed that everyone from my flight had dwindled away. There was another American waiting on his bags also. He walked over to the area where the bags first come off the conveyor belt and saw his luggage sitting there. He suggested that I do the same, and there was my luggage. Who knows how long it had been there. I exchanged my currency before leaving the airport. The current exchange rate is 39.6 rupees (Rs) for every dollar. I round up to 40, so Rs 200 is approximately $5 USD. I walked out of the airport into what appeared to be an open air market. There were lots of people waiting for passengers behind a small barricade. Half of the people were from hotels or travel companies picking up travelers. The other half was family members and friends waiting on their loved ones. Most of the women were dressed in saris and few of them (mostly, younger women) wore jeans. There was a small dirt road behind the people and gov’t vehicles crossed occasionally. It was dark and dusty outside. There were Indian guards (with guns) sitting at the door not allowing anyone in the airport without proper identification. My name and hotel was not on any of the handwritten/typed signs that were held up. I took off my jacket in the heat and mosquitoes buzzed all around me. I quickly thought of the OFF in my bag that I didn’t think of putting on while I was still in the airport. I quietly prayed that the malaria pills would take care of me if bitten. I waited for almost an hour. I felt like a little girl waiting after school for her parents to pick her up after all the other kids had already gone home. Finally, I saw a white clad man wearing a name tag with my hotel’s name walk over to the barricade. I walked over to him and told him my name. He asked me if I was on Singapore Airlines, and I told him I was on Continental. Apparently, there was a mix-up at the hotel, and they thought I was flying on Singapore Airline. His sign had my name and that was enough for me. I followed him to the crowded parking lot as he pushed my luggage cart. I noted all the vehicles, most of them were recognizable brands, like Chevrolet, Toyota, Hyundai, Suzuki, and Honda. I saw a silver Civic as we left the parking lot and I thought of my beloved Syd(ney), my Civic.

The trip from the airport to the hotel was around an hour and a half. My senses were bombarded as we wound through traffic. Mumbai is the Bollywood capital and is considered cosmopolitan compared to other Indian cities. There were bright billboards and signs everywhere, like New York and London. Most of them were in English, but even those that were in Hindi had recognizable images that allowed me to infer the meaning. Hindi is the official language of India, but English is understood by most Indians due to the British influence. The streets were lined with pedestrians, motorized rickshaws, scooters, bikes, and cars. There were beggars sleeping on the sidewalks with stray dogs curled up a few feet away on busy streets, similar to Tijuana, Mexico. All the stray dogs made me rethink my decision not to get a rabies vaccination. The sidewalks were also lined with bricks. I’m not sure if they were due to mass demolition or if there was a mass public works project underway. There were dilapidated buildings all around used for housing, business, and food stalls. Almost 60% of Mumbaikers live in poverty. The shops and apartments looked like the favelas of Brazil, except they were not on hills. I saw a woman with a pretty lime green sari riding on the back of a scooter with her legs dangling to the side similar to the way women used to ride horses. As we passed the scooter I saw that there was a little boy of 2 or 3 riding in front of his father. None of them wore a helmet. In fact, I saw very few cyclists with helmets. Although there were lines painted on the street, no one seemed to pay attention to them. It was common to see vehicles riding in 2 lanes. The streets were very noisy with the sounds of people, vehicles, and screeching horns. The red lights were treated more like yellow lights that were used for rolling stops. One of my friends likes to use the phrase “organized chaos” to describe some of my hairstyles. I can’t think of a more fitting phrase for the traffic conditions in Mumbai. I’m so glad I don’t have to drive here.

As we crossed the bridge to Navi Mumbai, I saw fewer people and makeshift homes on the streets. We passed luxury hotels and apartment buildings that looked like they were newly constructed. Finally, I arrived at my hotel and was greeted by a very warm staff. I checked in and my bags were delivered to my room. I was impressed by the hotel appearance and friendly staff. The hotel reminds of the hotel featured in Lost in Translation. It looks very modern with bold splashes of color and caters to foreign tastes. It is the only 5-star hotel in the area. I am pleased that I am in a room that meets my wish to be near stairs even though my request was not stated. I’ve developed a preference for lower level hotel rooms near stairs since I began traveling somewhat frequently for business. The reason is two-fold: 1) I like being near the stairs for a quick exit in case of fire or other emergency evacuation, and 2) Being near the stairs encourages me to exercise. Since my food expenses are covered by someone else, I tend to eat more and require more physical activity. Hence, the stairs help me stay in shape. After I settled in my room, I went to the lobby for dinner around 12am IST (1:30pm CST). I was surprised to hear Stevie Wonder’s Mon Cherie Amore playing in the lobby along with other Western music. The hotel has several restaurants, one of which is open at all hours. The food was good and filling. I came back to my room and turned on the TV. It was already on CNBC, so I watched Suze Orman and other local business programs. I also found the BBCWorld network. Those are the only interesting English language channels I’ve found so far. I’m disappointed that the Indian programs do not have subtitles for me to follow along. While I was watching TV, I decided to try out the electric adaptor plug for my laptop. As soon as I plugged it in, the power went out in the room. I opened the door to see if it affected anyone else, and it didn’t. I sheepishly called the lobby and told them the power was out. A worker promptly came to my room and fixed the breaker. He also inserted an object in the socket that would allow me to utilize the plug safely. I will not be unplugging that adaptor for the next 6 weeks. After watching TV for several hours, I went to sleep. I wasn’t sleepy, but there was nothing else for me to do in the middle of the night here. I slept for about 4 hours and awoke bright and early this morning. I don’t feel the effects of jet lag. I looked out the window to get a view of my surroundings in daylight. The hotel is surrounded by a brick wall, almost like a fortress, with sentries standing guard. There is a hill across the street with buildings on the other side of the hill. There is a highway on the other side of the hotel. I don’t see any other shops or tourist places within walking distance. I feel a little trapped in the middle of nowhere. I am usually comfortable traveling alone and finding things to do, but I’ve been told that it is not safe to do that here. When I visited London, my friend gave me a subway map and showed me the train station and I was on my own to explore the city. I looked like a Londoner and generally fit in (until they heard my American accent). If only it were that simple. I’m looking forward to going to work on Monday for familiar faces (and voices). Hopefully, my colleagues can show me around and help me become more familiar with the area.

The paragraphs above were written shortly after breakfast this morning. Since then, I've come to appreciate the fact that I didn't have anywhere to go, as I developed a case of "Delhi belly". I don't know if it was something I ate or if my body is just trying to get accustomed to the new environment. Everyone is warned not to drink the water or to eat the ice. This morning at breakfast I even skipped the pineapples on my plate because I remembered that I shouldn't eat fruit that I didn't peel. However, when asked if I wanted coffee or tea, I requested tea. After taking a few sips, I realized my mistake, and shrugged it off. This is a 5-star hotel afterall; the water is filtered. From now on, I will make my own tea using bottled water. : )

Why am I going?

2008-03-07T20:27:00.000-08:00

I am going to Mumbai to train our offshore associates on various processes. Some people have asked me if I'm teaching them to do my job. The answer is no. I'm teaching them to do work that is currently handled by contractors. However, I do not feel threatened in my job because it is not something I want to do forever. I believe that God has a greater work for me to do and this assignment is part of the preparation.

The Countdown...

2008-03-07T20:15:00.002-08:00

I will be on a plane to India in exactly one week. I can't believe it has happened so soon. I have so much I need to do before I leave. I closed on my house this week, so I have to unpack my things in the house and then repack for my trip. I've made a few lists to help me out. My mother is coming to visit next week too. I will give her a list of things that she can do to help me out while I'm at work.

I went to the doctor for my Twinrix (HepA/HepB combo) follow-up this week. I hate needles. That shot was so painful my whole arm felt sore for a couple of minutes. The doctor said it was because it's a higher dose and it was cold from being in the refrigerator all night. I have to get the final dose in 3 months. I'm not looking forward to it. I also asked for more Malarone (malaria pills) because they didn't give me enough to last the entire trip and to take them after I return. I had to call my primary doctor for a prescription for Cipro http://www.cipro.com/scripts/index.php.

Maps

2008-02-22T20:15:00.000-08:00

Mumbai is on the western coast of India (in purple).

I'm going to Mumbai!

2008-02-22T18:15:00.000-08:00

A few months ago, I was presented with the possible opportunity of traveling to India for my job. I was excited to hear of this possibility, but I also didn't want to get my hopes up. There's something about my nature that does not allow me to share my excitement until I know for sure that something is going to happen. That probably sounds really cyncical, but I guess it's just another defense mechanism I use.

Anyway, the plans were made official in the middle of January, and I started preparing for my 6-week trip to Mumbai http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mumbai http://www.lonelyplanet.com/worldguide/india/mumbai/. I already had a passport, but I had to get an Indian visa along with vaccinations. First, I called my mother so she could send me my shot records from my school days. The CDC http://wwwn.cdc.gov/travel/contentVaccinations.aspx recommends a list of vaccinations based on country, as well as being current on standard US immunizations. Based on the CDC's list and my shot record, I needed Tetanus, Typhoid, Hepatits A, Hepatitis B, and Polio vaccines. Thankfully, Hep A and Hep B are combined into one shot (that requires a follow-up) and Typhoid can be taken in pill form. I decided not to get Yellow Fever because it is only recommended if you're going to be in rural areas of India. They also gave me Malarone (anti-malaria pills). My arms were sore for a couple of days. The Indian Consulate for this region of the US is in Houston, so I could get my visa on the same day I applied. Since I'm traveling for business reasons, my company had to write a sponsor letter for a business visa. I found it funny that the Indian consulate outsourced it's visa services to another company. I understand the business case for outsourcing since I work for an outsourcing company, but it still seemed a little comical to me.

After obtaining my visa and vaccinations, I was able to make my flight arrangments. I am staying at The Park Hotel http://www.kiwicollection.com/site_link/VIEW=PR005419/, which has received great reviews.

I also met with co-workers who traveled to India in the past. They offerred great insight and suggestions. However, I also wanted to know what it is like to be African American in India, and neither of them could help me with that. I turned to my fellow SBIans and received several responses from people who have either been there or know of someone who has visited. I hope that my blog will help fill the void for future travelers.

Stay tuned for pictures and more details on my trip.