Written 4/5/11 in Calcutta, India
As I sit here in the place we are staying, I hear the sound of the Muslim call to prayer being drowned out by the rain and thunder. As I sit here in my dry guesthouse, my neighbors are sitting on the sidewalk outside our gate, trying to stay dry underneath their meager belongings. As I sit here on my computer, I think about yesterday…
Yesterday we walked through neighborhoods of Calcutta that I have not yet been.
Yesterday the smells of fried food, spices, and chai filled the air, all of which mixed with the scent of poop.
Yesterday I watched a cow stop traffic, but had to run for dear life across the street as oncoming cars sped up.
Yesterday I saw men shooting up heroine on the streets.
Yesterday I saw a widow sitting in the alley, being ignored by those passing by. Here a widow is worth nothing, must dress a certain way, and eat no nutritious food so that she dies quickly.
Yesterday I saw skeletons of men with missing limbs sitting and begging. I was told they are owned and probably have been so most of their lives.
Yesterday I saw poverty beyond anything I had ever seen in a squatter settlement set up around railroad tracks.
Yesterday I was offered food and flowers from the poorest of the poor, as we sat outside their shack made of blankets.
Yesterday I saw the cremation of a Hindu man. I stood there as his body was dipped in the river, placed on a stack of wood, and set on fire. I watched as the scent of burning hair and flesh filled my nostrils and ashes fell on my head. My heart was broken as they presented this man to their 330 million gods.
Yesterday I learned that a recent survey revealed that 100% of the children over six years of age who live on the streets in the city have been sexually abused. 100%. Every child interviewed.
Yesterday I smiled as one of these street girls sat across from us at KFC. Sassy and smart, our contacts have befriended this eleven year old girl and she eats lunch with us every week.
Yesterday I watched women sit and wait outside their brothel. Many women have been in the trade since they were forced into it at an average age of 11. Upon entrance, these children are beaten and raped for weeks, and often don’t see the light of day for years. Years later, it’s the only life they know.
Yesterday I heard someone explain that poverty is all about a lack of options. If a man has no work and many children who have not eaten in a week, selling his little girl for the night seems like a small price to pay so that the rest of the family doesn’t starve.
At the end of the day, I was beyond wrecked by everything. I was physically, emotionally, and spiritually drained. Hopelessness seems to jump out at you at every corner here. But although I am tired and there are so many situations where I am struggling to see God, I know He is here, and I know He is good. So I will bless His name. I will bless His name for yesterday, I will bless His name today, and I will bless His name tomorrow.
