Definition of culture shock: the feeling of disorientation experienced by someone who is suddenly subjected to an unfamiliar culture, way of life, or set of attitudes. (Source: Apple Dictionary)
Usually I don’t experience any big culture shock. At this point, I’ve spent almost a whole year of my life outside of America and I’ve grown pretty used to different environments and successfully adapting to them. But India is a different bird in itself. And now that we’re living there, I’ve had my first big culture shock on the World Race: sanitation.
The standards of cleanliness in India are very different than the developed world. Garbage lines the streets, cattle wander all over the place, and stagnant water is everywhere. These all combine to create some of the most pervasive and penetrating smells you could imagine.
Alex and I, rocking our lungis (Middle Eastern man skirts)
(All photos in this blog taken by Abby Twarek)
For the most part, nobody washes their hands. Not before eating. Not after pooping. Not when our American paradigm thinks people should normally wash their hands. Hand washing is no longer something I take for granted because it’s become such a simple pleasure.
Food vendors put their ungloved hands all over your food before serving it, like its no big deal. After they shake your hand that hasn’t been washed all day, you’re left wondering where else their hands have been.
And eating utensils aren’t used in India either. Your right hand becomes your fork, spoon, and knife, mainly to scoop loose clumps of rice covered in spicy and flavorful unknowns. Ironically your left hand is the cleaner of the two, because it’s the culturally taboo “poop hand” that cannot be used. So I have been stuck using my dirtiest hand for everything.
Two results have come from this: (1) I am using more hand sanitizer than I’ve ever used in my life, and (2) I am praying more for the little things than I’ve ever prayed in my life.
A bottle of sterilizing alcohol can only do so much, so we are leaving the rest to prayer. Whenever we receive food, we pray not only for the food to be blessed, but also for anything alive and unwanted to be killed. Our ministry for the month includes visiting rural villages and local churches that offer to feed us. The balance of accepting hospitality and living safely can become a catch-22, but in church-related circumstances we have trusted that God will take care of us.
One visit to a village church brought a shared communion cup, and my prayer went somewhat like this: “Jesus, I not only believe that you died for me, but also that every germ in this cup will die as well in me showing that.”
Another example was at a baptism. We drove out to a desolate dammed up lake that had warning signs not to go in the water, but the local pastor asked for one of us to go out and help him. With peace that passed all understanding, I went for it after having my teammates pray for me.
(Afterward, I asked for the warning sign’s full translation and discovered the danger was from the water being very deep since it was dammed. But I still experienced a crazy adrenaline rush from choosing to trust in God through situations like that!)
And you know what? After two weeks in unsanitary India, I have not gotten the least bit sick or experienced any stomach or bowel abnormality. My team has remained relatively healthy as well. I’ve been blessed with great travel immunity and have only had diarrhea (affectionately known as “the big D”) once on the Race, and I know prayer has been a big part of that. For anyone back home praying for my health and safety, thank you! 🙂
I met another Isaac! How cool is that?
Praying for the sick
(Yes, that is a tattoo. There will be a blog about that soon.)
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Before we left the Philippines last month, God told me that February in India would be a huge month of prayer for me. Originally, I assumed that would be in regards to the future because I had been thinking about post-Race life with jobs, career goals, more education, relationships, etc. But that was only part of it.
We can get symptoms of culture shock anywhere in life where there are unknowns, and I have been learning that the first step should be turning to prayer. The “feeling of disorientation” can happen whether we are in a native or foreign culture, and I have experienced lots of little culture shocks in the last year. Through them, prayer is becoming my conditioned reflex and the unfamiliar is my Pavlovian bell to start talking to God.
In response to Indian living conditions, I have learned to ask, seek, and knock for outside help like Jesus calls us to do (Matthew 7:7-8). Anytime I encounter filthiness (physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, etc.) my first response is praying continually about it to find peace (Philippians 4:6-7).
Also, this has been a month of prayer because countless Indians have asked us to pray for them, especially with their Hindu backgrounds of oppression and openness to any spiritual influence. We get swarmed with prayer requests after church and on the streets, which is another culture shock. But this has gotten me to pray all the more and now we have an idea of how Jesus must have felt during his ministry.
Culture shock is leading me to prayer, and this comes from the challenge for God to bring it on in my life. As I continue to learn this lesson in India, I can raise a dirty chai glass (after praying of course) and toast to more culture shock and challenges in the future.
