Sitting in the back of a tuk-tuk.
A dirt road fit for one sedan has four tuk-tuks, one car, and five motos all trying to get through at once. Everyone is laying down on their high-pitched horns. As if it weren’t crowded enough, pedestrians attempt to squeeze through every crack, every little space left in between vehicles. Small shops and food stands line the street, every owner awaiting a new customer. Homeless people are lying down on their mats, somehow sleeping through the surrounding chaos. Beggars of all ages are scavenging for anything they can find. We finally get moving as the traffic begins to shift, but then we come to a sudden stop because a herd of cows decides to stroll slowly from one side of the road the other. In general, people seem so impatient around here—especially on the road—except when it comes to the cows; they give them all the time in the world to mozy through the city. Humans respect cows more than they respect their fellow man. The tuk-tuk begins to move again. My senses are on overload: dust flies into my eyes; at times, I’m coughing uncontrollably from the polluted air; the many smells of sewage, manure, and garbage hit my nose in various waves; my eyes can’t seem to choose one focal point; my ears are ringing from all of the noise surrounding me; I’m bouncing around in my seat with every pothole we hit. I have to be careful to keep my limbs inside the cab because there’s only about an inch of safe space between this tuk-tuk and whatever flies past us next. As we continue on our short but seemingly never-ending journey to the local market, we are met with intense stares by virtually everyone we pass. It’s rare for locals to see westerners on this end of town. I look over at my teammate, Vielka. You can see it in both of our eyes: we are overwhelmed, both of us wondering if this trip is worth the four bananas we plan on buying at the fruit stand once we arrive. I take a deep, dust-filled breath and let out a bit of a sigh as I say, “Only one more week…” Her response, “Yeah… but just think, these people live like this for their whole entire lives.” I feel like a knife has just plunged into the depths of my heart. I think to myself, “How can this be someone’s daily reality? How do these people live like this? Life is so difficult here.” As I’m looking around at all of the people, I see empty eyes. Misery. No smiles. No hope. No life. As tears begin to fill my eyes, I shift my thoughts to the Lord and ask Him, “Why do you want me to see these things? Father, what do you want me to do with all of this?”
The tuk-tuk pulls off to the side of the road. The driver says in his thick Indian accent, “Okay-Okay.” I hop out, reach into my back pocket, and hand him 10 rupee. Vielka and I exchange a smile as we attempt the next, most challenging leg of our excursion to the fruit stand: crossing the street by foot.
