Tierney Short

Today is International Women's Day

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 04:42:00 +0000

Last year, I celebrated International Women's Day with hundreds of women from scheduled castes and tribes in India -- Dalits or "untouchables." I had been in the country for about a month, and I was assisting IJM colleagues man a booth as part of my ever-evolving (and always exciting) job description. Our glossy banners and thin, colorful sheets of A4-size paper were covered in curly Tamil script, information about forced labor. Information that we hoped would prevent these women, or anyone back in their tiny villages, from suffering under this illegal modern day slavery system. I was the very-much out of place American girl with the smile and the camera, documenting the event as an IJM intern -- and fellow woman.

This year, I celebrated the day by attending one of the 500 theaters showing Half the Sky, a documentary and televised panel discussion based on Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn's incredible book of the same name. Though you missed the one-time event, don't miss the book. Seriously. Buy it now. To whet your appetite, check out Kristof's column from the Sunday NY Times: Learning From The Sin Of Sodom.

Today, I celebrate the women on many sides of this earth who have shown me what it means to hold up half the sky.

A spark in the darkness

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 20:50:00 +0000

This past year in South Asia, I learned firsthand the challenges and complexities of fighting forced labor slavery. Our office worked exclusively to counter this specific type of human trafficking -- investigators identify factories or facilities using forced laborers, a team of social workers and lawyers work with local government officials to rescue these victims according to the law, rehabilitate them, and then prosecute the owners who perpetuate this crime.

Each of IJM's field offices focuses on a particular form of violent injustice. Working with laws already on the books, IJM seeks to rescue individual victims and fix the broken public justice system. The past few weeks at IJM's headquarters have opened my eyes wide to more of these injustices: sex trafficking of minors, illegal police detention, unprosecuted sexual assault.

Yesterday, I celebrated with colleagues halfway across the world as they rescued women and girls who had been trafficked into a dark world of sexual exploitation and coercive fear:

As dawn broke yesterday morning, IJM and local police conducted simultaneous operations at two brothels, freeing approximately 30 trafficking victims, among them girls as young as 13. The rescued girls and women are now receiving care from IJM social workers. Seven suspected perpetrators have been taken into police custody, and police have locked the brothels to prevent their re-opening.

A spark of hope has been ignited for these young women. And another torch on the long path towards justice burns brightly today.

Snowed In

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 15:41:00 +0000

Two months ago, I would have laughed in disbelief if you told me I would be playing in 55+ inches of snow in February. I expected to be in sunny South Asia, enjoying the "cool" upper 80-degree winter months, eating my Madras Meals off the bright green banana leaf outside at Palimar. But I've spent the better part of the last ten days snowed in, enjoying Washington DC's storm of the century (literally).

Due to complications obtaining a new work visa, I will not return to my dear colleagues and unfinished work in South Asia. However, I will continue to support these same friends and coworkers from afar, by completing my internship at IJM's headquarters in DC. More to come on the specifics of my new role, reflections as I transition and adventures from a new city.

For now, a few photos from Snowmageddon:

The entire city was covered in a magical blanket of snow.

Cars were buried along streets (this photo was taken in between the two massive storms -- yep, there was a lot more to come).

All this snow made us a little stir crazy...

and got our creative juices flowing. Sick of the Snowmen dominating the sidewalks, Maryanne, Brian and I decided to make a Snurtle. (Snow + Turtle = a Snurtle)

Our snurtle is big, but not quite big enough for sledding. I figured it was worth a try.

Posing with Snurtle in front of our apartment.

Although we never actually found a hill, Maryanne and I sure made good use of this sweet retro sled!

National Slavery + Human Trafficking Prevention Month

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 14:51:00 +0000

President Obama has declared January to be National Slavery and Human Trafficking Prevention Month. In his declaration, he commemorates the Emancipation Proclamation, which freed men, women and their children from lesser human status, living as slaves in our own country. Slavery didn't end as swiftly as President Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation, but 150 years later I live in a country where slavery is certainly abolished and laws against it are swiftly enforced.

In South Asia, and many other developing nations in southeast Asia, men, women and their children are still treated -- and tagged -- as lesser humans, living as slaves. These modern day slaves are exploited sexually, robbed of the fruit of their hard labor and trapped in a cycle that spins madly on, without sufficient, practical law enforcement.

IJM educates and equips local public justice systems with resources they need to abolish slavery from their corner of our increasingly flat world. There are other government and non-profit agencies working to do the same. And there are individuals, like me and like you, who are speaking up to demand a change. To demand an end to slavery, for good. And for everyone.

IJM - Reality of Human Trafficking from International Justice Mission on Vimeo.

Want to be like me?

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 21:23:00 +0000

You too could be an IJM intern or fellow. Or you could recommend this amazing opportunity to a recent grad, or an adventurous (or laid off) skilled professional who is looking for a change of pace and a lot of learning by doing.

Check out the opportunities on IJM's website.

(The above link also goes to a little shameless self promotion, as I'm the featured intern!)

Waiting to return

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 15:08:00 +0000

Because I enjoyed my internship with IJM in South Asia so much in 2009, I decided to extend my time and return in 2010. I will continue (and expand) my work in the Communications department -- as soon as I receive a visa. There have been unexpected delays in the work-visa application process which have prevented me from returning to work this first week of January.

As I wait to return, I am grateful for (hopefully only a few!) quiet days to reflect on the amazing work I am a part of over in South Asia. Most of all, I am eager to return to the friends I work with. The IJM office is a dynamic blend of lawyers, social workers, investigators and administration staff from various economic and educational backgrounds (read: some are very poor and lack a high school degree). The majority of these staff are nationals, while expatriates like me make up an ever-changing flow of interns and fellows eager to volunteer vocational skills or pick up some new ones during a yearlong stint.

Although the staff are so many different personalities -- some quiet and reserved, others loud and prank-playing -- I have observed a common tenacity. Rescue operations to assist local governments document and release slaves from illegal bonded labor demands time, emotion. Follow-up visits with these families to counsel and resource them for lives in freedom demand time, endurance. And fighting for justice in a court system that is so overloaded it would take 100 years to clear every case currently in the system demands time, excellence.

In the nasty face of modern day slavery, IJM's work demands courage. I am reminded of a quotation my mom has stuck to a little yellow post-it by our house phone: "Life expands or contracts in direct proportion to one's courage." (Anis Dais) My colleagues in South Asia are a testament to this truth; may we too live courageously this year and find ourselves with very full lives.

A Final Tribute To: Monkeys

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 23:00:00 +0000

Monkeys abound in India. After observing many of them from afar and feeding enough of them at arm's length, I can confirm that they are sneaky, bold and mean. I still think they are cute, and very cool.

Walking around the Red Fort, like they own the place.

Feeding my new friend a tasty peanut.

Joey, taunting his new friend, also with a peanut.

This is real.

This is also real. Totally worth waiting for the 40th second:

Please note how no one stops to take a second look at the monkeys scattered across the path, part of the spectacular scenery that is commonplace in Gnarly Town, I mean Darjeeling.

Jaipur

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 19:58:00 +0000

Jaipur, called the Pink City. I'd choose Sun City if I were nicknaming -- the buildings shrunk and shined and danced and darkened as the sun's light traveled through the day.

Elephants were nearly as common as auto rickshaws.

The city stretches flat and full of life, situated in the Thar Desert.

Crumbling buildings, full of mystery and beauty from days gone by.

The Amber Palace.

My obsession with doors continues.

The palace is partly ruins, partly (relatively) well preserved fortress.

Street food. Spicy nuts and chopped-up onions, peppers and other crunchy stuff. Wrapped in yesterday's newspaper. The good stuff you're not supposed to eat.

We wandered down eerily abandoned streets, in search of The Sun Palace.

As we rounded this amazing vista, chanted prayers drifted loudly, beautifully, from the desolate buildings below. Dreamlike.

Coolest reflection pool I've ever seen.

Secret town. Surrounded by rocky hills and primarily inhabited by monkeys.

There were no placards or tour guides to tell us anything about the amazing frescos and delicate architecture of these temples. I did, however, meet a tiny classroom full of teenagers learning Sanskrit. Seriously.

Watching the sun set from the Sun Palace. And taking a moment to jot down a few of a myriad of thoughts.

Jaipur was pretty incredible.

Agra

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 18:33:00 +0000

Agra, home to the iconic Taj Mahal.

Flanked by symmetrical temples, also massive and intricate.

There was a lot to see.

Impressive, massive marble grandeur. (That's me leaping for joy, and for scale.)

Equally as impressive, the intricate marble detail. (That's me in Joey's artsy shot.)

Beautiful.

This temple (beyond the Taj column) still functions as a Muslim mosque. The other red temple, directly opposite, was simply built to maintain symmetry.

After wandering around the Taj Mahal and then shelling out the two bucks for a tour, we headed across the tourist-trap town to the Agra Fort.

Joey made a friend.

More visitors.

We said goodbye to the Agra Fort (also called the Red Fort) as the sun set.

Darjeeling

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 17:49:00 +0000

Darjeeling, nestled into the steep foothills of the Himalayan Mountains.

We walked through friendly neighborhoods, stacked like colorful shoeboxes into the valley.

We drank lots of loose leaf tea, Darjeeling Tea of course.

We hiked down into Happy Valley Tea Plantation.

A third-generation tea plantation worker invited us into her home for a hot cup of "Super Fine Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Piko 1" tea and an in depth lesson on the grades and harvests and flushes of tea.

Himalayan Mountaineering Institute, a jump-off point for treks and fascinating museum documenting harrowing Everest expeditions.

The public library made me want to read a lot of books.

Tiger Hill sunrise -- the third highest peak, Mount Kanchenjunga, behind us; the brightly bundled up couple pointing to Everest in the distance (not actually visible that morning because of the fog).

After a one-night splurge in a heritage hotel, we took our packs and decided to find a cheaper hostel for the remainder of our stay. We lucked out with this room -- complete with a space heater and an amazing view of Mount Kanchenjunga from that massive window.

Kolkata

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 16:23:00 +0000

Kolkata, a city of old and new.

Typical traffic crossing.

Mother Teresa's home (on the left)

Haircut, anyone?

See you next time, Kolkata.

[Back] From the Road: Part Three

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Fri, 04 Dec 2009 08:15:00 +0000

Though it somewhat belies the title, I write this entry from my Home Chennice Home. Partly because I'm still in "holiday" mode, partly because I am neurotic and want to record systematically and report equally. So before I get to uploading photos and crafting captions that will never be adequate, I remember the golden hills of Rajasthan:

Jaipur. Another city-love at first sight. Well, my first sight by daylight. After a long delay and a choppy train ride, I did not have a lot of love for the streets anywhere at 4am. But when Joey and I awoke to a cool breeze wafting its way through the cracked shutters and wandered out to the garden for homemade french toast and chocolate-banana crepes, I knew Jaipur would live up to my expectations. Our time was short but sweet, and my expectations were exceeded.

After chatting with the lovely husband and wife owners of Krishna Palace -- the heritage homestay we stayed at and enjoyed many delicious meals at -- Joey and I bargained with an auto rickshaw driver to be our tour guide for the day. We departed our quiet, peaceful neighborhood and entered the traffic. The traffic: the usual tour buses, trucks and lorries, junk cars and luxury automobiles, cows pulling carts, plus bicycle rickshaws galore, really tall, snooty looking camels pulling carts full of assorted goods and people, painted elephants carrying passengers and mostly young boys with reigns (whips), scrawny street dogs fighting swine and dirty piglets for trash lining the alley shortcuts our auto driver took at breakneck speed. A crazy city.

In the 11th century, Jaipur was known as "Amer," an imposing military town. Today, the Amber Fort remains an impressive testament to those days gone by. We loved walking around the seemingly empty palace -- plenty of ruins to explore without other noisy tourists and many unlocked doors and halls that didn't have signs posted that we should not enter, so we obviously took that as invitation to enter. Amazing views of the surrounding city of Jaipur below -- a mix of modern buildings and regal, Mughal towers, domes and mosque minarets, separated by lined streets and joined by thick, pink arched gates. A city of past and present.

Satisfied by the palatial ruins of the Amber Fort, we were not expecting to be so wowed by our next historic destination: the Sun Palace. AKA Monkey Temple. Our auto driver dropped us off on a desolate side street; a few guys selling chai and tacky bangles etc, plus some cows munching refuse and, as we had hoped to discover: monkeys. But oh so many more monkeys than we had hoped for! We walked up the rocky path, unsure which way to go because there were no signs anywhere. Not many people either. We continued to climb, pausing now and then to point and photograph the increasingly amazing view of Jaipur below and beyond. Then we turned a bend and came upon a few abandoned houses, stores, temples? A few men with magical white beards and red paste and tumeric smeared on their wrinkled foreheads peeped out at us. I surmise they are Hindu priests or spiritual gurus perpetuating the mysteries of the bizarre, wonderful city. One was singing, chanting as we walked by. A clear, deep voice that commanded rapt attention precisely because it sang to no one at all.

We stumbled up and down the uneven path, feeding monkeys from our hands -- tentatively at first and then (Joey) tauntingly. We passed a few women with a bundled baby and baskets of cobras (yes, real live cobra snakes they swatted casually then shoved towards us, asking for photos and rupees). The sunlight started to dance on the rocks, growing taller and wider around us. And then we reached a well-preserved ancient, tiny town. Or maybe it was once a single large estate that housed the temple dedicated to monkeys. A young man bathed in a square pool of dirty standing water, some sort of ritual observed by a small group of family members. Another small group of foreigners were finishing up their tour of the otherwise non-touristy town. Joey and I examined frescoes of Hindu gods and ancient legends; ornate doors and beautiful archways painted once-bold, still-beautiful shades of green, teal, burgundy, orange. We walked into one of the simple, amazing temples and discovered the courtyard was empty but for a small room -- where a dozen or so young students sat on the floor reciting Sanskrit for their instructor. A secret city.

In addition to the stunning architectural details and vistas from several almost too-good-to-be-true vantage points, I loved Jaipur for the craft she has generated over the centuries and now revived: hand block printing. Essentially, it is a method of printing cloth with handcrafted wooden stamps using vegetable dyes, over and over and over, to create a patterned length of (gorgeous) material. Perfect for wearing or furnishing or simply looking. There is more love for Jaipur, but I think I need more time to find the words.

Rather unfortunately, Joey's experience of Jaipur was halved by a nasty stomach bug he's still fighting, mightily. Not sure if it was the spicy crunchy snack mix we ate out of a cone of newspaper from the man in a turban on the side of the road, or a virus completely unrelated to foreign food. On the bright side, of all the places we stayed, the Krishna Palace really was the most delightful place to suffer from fever and migraine. As we said sad goodbyes to Jaipur for the airport (with Joey still feverish and full of only four pieces of small toast plus some Advil), Nicolette and Magda called to propose a revision to the itinerary: skip Cochin and head back to Chennice instead. As last minute things sometimes do, the plan worked out perfectly. Although I guess the perfection started after we had survived a night spent in various positions of uncomfortable at the Mumbai airport (in my attempt to be both adventurous and stingy, I'd purposefully booked an overnight layover to save on a six-hour hotel stay. Bummer.) Needless to say, we are glad to be home and enjoying a day of rest.

I know I will need many more days to reflect on the complex beauty and astounding history we glimpsed -- and experienced -- in our whirlwind travels up North. I'll try to post a few of those thoughts here.

From the Road: Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 09:46:00 +0000

I'm typing from Krishna Palace again, this time enjoying the cool, dry afternoon. Under the shade of the wide front porch with columns and furniture meant for comfortable slouching, this is the perfect temperature. Before I walk the few steps to the garden to join Joey for lunch, I thought I'd offer a few more bullets on our middle stops. Photos, of course, to follow.

Delhi. One night was enough for us in this modern, sprawling city. We stayed in the Main Bazaar, a street full of aggressive hoteliers, tourist trap knick knack shops and many fellow ex-pat backpackers (60% of whom had dreds ranging from legit to wannabe to mangy). After we had walked a few of these over-stimulating streets and resisted an exhausting number of shopkeepers selling expensive souvenirs and tempting but cliche hippie-pants, we hired a taxi to take us by the India Gate. A famous monument. We also drove past the Parliament building and President's house -- our hospitable taxi driver asked the sleepy guard at the gate if the two foreigners could have a closer look, and we drove into the expansive driveway of the P's house. Pretty sweet.

Agra. Aboard the Taj Express, we met a friendly New Yorker traveling around India. She joined us for the day, splitting transportation costs, lunch and the inevitable stares by three, at the famed Taj Mahal and lesser-known but really cool Agra Fort.

The Taj Mahal. Meaning: Crown Palace. Built by a Mughal king for his third wife -- the most beautiful and his most cherished. They were married 19 years, before she died giving birth to their fourteenth child. Before she died, she made him promise never to marry again. Impressively, the powerful Raj followed thrugh with the promise. As I expected to be, I was stunned by the enormous and beautiful palace. We wandered around the huge white marble palace with cameras clicking, trying to capture the splendor sans other gawking tourists. The combination of large scale grandeur and precise detailing impressed me for hours. Especially after I found out the entire thing was constructed in 22 years!

Agra Fort. Also called the "Red Fort," because, well, it is mostly red. Parts of the fort date back to the early 12th century, and the fort ranges from crumbling ruins to well-preserved towers topped with intricately edged domes. We arrived late in the afternoon and were able to observe the lovely arched windows and vistas (of the Taj Mahal, in some places) alone. We entered the red ruins and sat on the wide window sills for awhile, quietly observing the sunrays lengthen and linger -- until Joey got abruptly and offensively reprimanded by a guard. Then, we made our way along loose stone paths to an unexpected courtyard and series of beautiful towers and open terraces. I allowed myself to shut my eyes and imagine what royalty must have lived here, flanked by the imposing fortress. I opened my eyes and we discussed what stellar parties we could throw here.

After our day of walking through history and touching the cold marble walls of one of the seven wonders of the world, we sipped cups of too-hot chai from a noisy roadside cafe. An appropriate transition into our three hour plus plus plus wait for the delayed train that would take us to our current destination: Jaipur. More on that later.

From the Road: Part One

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 17:01:00 +0000

Though I type this from Krishna Palace, our lovely heritage hotel in Jaipur, I back track a bit to give you a glimpse of what Joey and I have seen in the past week. Photos will, eventually, help me order our adventures and articulate more of what we have seen.

I write this from a train -- another ride that will blend into my fuzzy but fond collective memory of train rides in South Asia. So many landscapes sliding past my dingy windows -- patchworks of brown, green and greener; fields of monotonous herbs, crops, bramble. This train ride is warmer than the last, but I'm still grateful for the wool shawl-blanket I bought as a gift (and am keeping for myself) from the Tibetan Refugee Self Help Centre at the bottom of a valley village in Darjeeling. To place name drop. My mouth is warmed -- tongue burned -- by the ubiquitous "chai chai coffee" I gulped down before tasting which one my five rupees bought. Louder than the friend of a friend's mix on my ipod (Coco Rosie at the moment, I think) I hear antsy kids and quietly laughing families; men in business clothes; the "chai chai coffee" man making his rounds again. The train shimmies side to side and rumbles forward; I'm not sure if I hear this or feel this. A few blue pleather seats away, Joey catches uneven sleep between abrupt station stops and chai calls.

I dare to offer fragmented memories from our first two stops:

Kolkata. I fell in love with this place after walking about four blocks. Crumbling colonial buildings set a beautiful, but simultaneously tragic, backdrop for the citylife moving quickly, moving on.

Our day in the bustling but cleaner-than-expected city began with roadside hot breakfast. Puri with potato, followed by a tiny terracotta vat of chai tea -- extra satisfying because you smash the thin pot on the street after the last drop of good. Nicolette, Joey and I were joined by our gracious host and friend Kari, who impressed us with her Bengali bartering language skills. We first visited Mother Teresa's home, her granite tomb simple and adorned by yellow mums spelling "I Thirst." We then ventured on to visit a couple inspiring NGO's teaching women "in the trade" alternative means of income and empowering them to seek a different lifestyle ("the trade" referring to women caught in sex trafficking or prostitution). Our full day (majorly skimmed here) was topped off with a wild rummage through humongous bags of colorful, secondhand sarees. I restrained myself and only bought seven -- to repurpose as amazing quilts or amazing whoknowswhats. One day was not enough; I'll be back.

We rushed to our overbooked overnight train ride. Nicolette and I shared a berth and my sleeping bag and were actually grateful for the forced togetherness and extra body heat; Joey lucked out when a bunk opened up after an hour or two and he left his aimiable elderly Indian man/almost bedmate. After a chilly ride north, we haggled for a seat in a jeep -- four to a bench seat (including three sharing the seat -- singular -- next to the driver of the stick shift small sized SUV). We jolted and bolted around harrowing curves and wall-less, shoulder-less bridges over deepening valleys. And, after about 7000 feet of all that, we reached our next destination.

Darjeeling. Amazing. (Really.) And it wasn't just the steady ground beneath our feet that sloped into the commanding foothills of the Himalayas.

Nicolette, Joey and I were there for only three days, but we quickly ran out of adjectives. Charming heritage hotel -- our first night's treat. Breathtaking sunrise over the Indo-Chinese border of Himalayas, viewed atop Tiger Hill. Brilliant sunrays dramatically illuminating Mount Kanchengjanga, the third highest peak in the whole wide world. Quaint cobblestone streets. Traditional grandmothers in layers of saree, sweater and shawl, walking together in the early morning with smiles and prayer beads. Trendy teenagers in skinny jeans and hipster scarves walking the same streets with each other and cell phones. Eclectic-ly potted plants and flowers spilling over brightly (but tastefully) painted terraces and rooftops. Aromatic tea in shops. Authentic tea in the home of one woman who has worked at Happy Valley Tea Estate her whole life. Ridiculously overpacked antiques at our favorite Tibetan art and handicraft shop (ok my favorite, not Joey's). Gorgeous mountains. Everywhere. Stunning valley views. Even adverbs aren't enough.

To all concerned family and friends: we are thriving and well. Joey is rocking his Adventure Pants and I am grateful for a hot shower at our current homestay. Today, monkeys ate peanuts straight out of our hands. Life is good. More updates sooner rather than later.

Vannakkam, Tambi!

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 04:29:00 +0000

Welcome, Little Brother!

Magda and I were so excited to pick up Joey from the airport with our special sign. Clearly the other passengers were jealous, and the multitude of families waiting for their loved ones were confused.

Day One.

We began Joey's first Chennice day with a drive through the chaos that is also my everyday life.

I wanted to show Joey a slice of life. Having a new pair of eyes in the auto rickshaw next to me reminded me that even my morning commute is quite lively. I am loving the perspective refresher and am noticing things that I have forgotten are foreign.

Things like the political graffiti on the walls, the myriad of bikers on the roads with lines that no one ever pays attention to, the always bright sunshine, the mysteries floating in sordid puddles, the men peeing on the side of the road, the extra green lonely trees springing up every now and then in the midst of a dirty, cracked road.

I love the motion of the city Joey captured in this photo, taken out of our auto rickshaw.

After an exciting-ly normal drive, we reached our destination: Parrys Corner. An area of town criss-crossed with tiny streets and tinier shops selling everything from office paper to Christmas lights to eye glasses to fresh produce to motorcycles to cleaning supplies to carpets to...you get the idea.

Yes, Joey is really here.

Joey's first South Indian Coffee. Equal parts sugar, steaming milk, instant coffee -- and stares.

Taking in the sights. You could stand in one place for awhile.

Another common sight: me standing on the street looking lost, getting directions, staying lost, getting directions again. Even after almost eleven months (wow).

I love this city for what you find in the details. Like crumbling architectural details -- bits of brick, peeling colors and once-regal windows.

Joey loves the fashionably old turquoise bikes.

Stay posted. Our adventures are just beginning.

Harvest Time

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 14:47:00 +0000

A new season has come -- but not the one with orange-y red colors and pumpkin flavored muffins and spiced lattes. The Monsoon Season has come, with dangerous puddles and enhanced humidity and extra loads of laundry. Despite the past month's busyness (and the fact that there is not a Fall breeze in the city), we decided to create the Autumnal spirit right here in Kipling Place. So Nicolette and I opened our specially-saved cans of pumpkin (mailed all the way from the America Place) and whipped of a deceptively harvesty feast. Then we cranked the A/C and I put on my best Fall-colored scarf to host a fabulous Harvest Party.

There were a few added challenges (in addition to not having Pillsbury crust for my mini pumpkin pies, successfully baked in our tiny toaster over).

Throwing a dinner party for 25+ means visiting at least three grocery stores. Nilgris for the bulk of it, Nuts & Spices for the speciality items (like olives, feta and, well, good nuts and spices) and Evergreen for the missed produce (like cilantro and bananas). As I mentioned, the Monsoon rains have come. The Monsoon rains are sudden then steady. The best thing to do when they come is: embrace them. So Saturday morning was extra adventurous, riding on the back of the Blue Wonder with slippery armfuls of groceries, to and fro store to house, store to house, store our house.

Meanwhile, our house was the site of an impromptu business meeting between half a dozen South Asian businessmen and our three amigos (brother and his friends of one of my dear friends who crashed at our place on their business venture travels throughout India). The meeting was rescheduled and moved to our cozy living room due to rain, of course. The more the merrier.

And then there was the sink problem. We woke up that morning to discover that instead of running through the drain, any drop (or deluge) of water spilled directly onto our kitchen floor. So we washed the dishes -- a lot of dishes, a lot of times -- in my shower. And we washed the fruits and vegetables -- a lot of fruits and a lot of vegetables -- in my shower. It was a little weird to direct guests to my bathroom if they needed to use the loo, or wanted to wash a fork to reuse for pumpkin bread.

Step One: Scrub the produce. No parasites please.

Step Two: Dry the herbs. Yes, that is my bedroom.

Step Three: Prepare the Harvest (and attempt* to repair the sink).

Repeat this Step Throughout: Wash dishes. In Shower.

Enjoy the fruit of our labour: Harvest Party!

*FYI, the sink is now repaired. The very next day we discovered two dirty rags shoved into the base of the drain pipe. We are not sure how they got there, but we are glad they are gone. Big thanks to Jay, David and Rob for their assistance fixing the sink, washing the dishes and -- most of all -- appreciating the favorite feeling of Fall.

Link to an update

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 07:41:00 +0000

I'm starting to wonder if Daylight Savings affected us over in South Asia after all, stealing away some of our hours! Life has been busy lately, as I'm sure is the case no matter where you are in the world.

I will be able to share more later, but here's a link where you can see some photos I took and read about a very recent, ongoing, case. Please do read, and join my colleagues and me in prayer.

It's a small world after all

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 12:47:00 +0000

A few months ago, a group from a local womens college came to our office looking for an expatriate woman to speak during their international conference on "the feminine mystique." The recruiters kindly refused to let me decline this offer, latching onto the comment I had off-handedly made about studying various structures of the so-called "feminine mystique" in my Gender Studies of South Asia class. I think I wrote one essay on the topic. The flattering academics even went so far as to woo me with accolades and named me their "youth icon." How could I turn down such an opportunity? So I agreed (and enjoyed) speaking about women who had inspired me by shattering gender expectations and challenging norms. I spoke of women in my country, like Rosa Parks, who had stood up for herself, for women and for men. I spoke of the women I have observed and met in my short time here, a visitor in a very complex place. The women who courageously raise up themselves and their families in freedom, after release from years and years of bonded labor slavery.

I typed up an email to explain this bizarre (but lovely) speaking opportunity to my former professor who actually knows more than a thing or two about the feminine mystique. I began with a brief summary of where I was and what I was doing. About an hour later, I got an email that started off "WOW!" and went on to say that she was in the city RIGHT NOW. She named the hotel and a few hours later my roommate and I were sitting at table sharing a Kingfisher with Dr. Nair. We got to hear all about the fascinating research she was a part of, and I learned that a group of Furmanites would be passing through as part of their study abroad travels around South Asia.

Fast forward to today (Happy All Souls Day, by the way). My colleague, Hephzibah, and I traveled to a college campus on the outskirts off the city, to give an IJM and Bonded Labor presentation to a fabulous group of Furman students. It was somewhat strange to be on the other side of the wooden desks and pens poised over blank notebooks, especially since Dr. Nair was among the attentive crowd. But it was a great presentation, full of questions and answers, which are always better than slides and talking points.

Can you spot the Furman alumn?

P.S. One other small world moment -- last week Dr. Nair sent me an email from Kerala and said she had run into an IJM group, including our President and the Regional Director who said he'd hired me, at a harbor in a very small town. They were en route to visit our office. Sometimes I like it when the world feels small.

Good Busy

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 19:09:00 +0000

We have officially reached the last quarter of 2009, and the beginning of the rush to plan 2010. The time to scramble towards year-end targets and meet annual goals. The time to review budgets and finish filing systems. The time to start thinking ahead to what new projects await and how old projects need to be revived and if existing projects will continue. I've been spending most of the alert waking moments at the office for the past week or so. (I'll blame my blog-silence on that. By the time I leave my messy desk, my eyes are begging for a break from the computer screen and my creative energy would rather direct itself to an endeavor other than the written word -- like eating food cooked by my flatmate (thank God for people who unwind by cooking up a storm) or hitting the town to follow around our favorite Hip Hop DJ's for some dancing.)

In the midst of all this busyness, much of which is restricted to the confines of Microsoft Word Documents and A4 sized paper, I must intentionally remind myself of the people--both my colleagues and our clients--behind the goals and targets; the real lives represented by the numbers and statistics; the invaluable relationships simply recorded in the files. Remembering, and investing in, these people, lives and relationships takes a lot of time and energy. But that's the good kind of Busy.

A couple of weeks ago, I was witness, and part, of a day that sustains me through the mundane yet overwhelming tasks of long work weeks like this one. I had the once again amazing opportunity to document a day of Freedom. The IJM team partnered with local government officials to rescue ten people from slavery. The patriarch of the bunch and his wife had three small children plus two married children living with their spouses and working for the same rock quarry owner. The middleaged couple had been bonded labor slaves for fifteen years. Please read the story on IJM's website, currently the top story in the Casework Bulletin.

So Hot Right Now

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 14:17:00 +0000

Sometimes, South Asia doesn't know quite how cool it is. Take Coconut water for instance, piles of irregular shaped ovals taking over many a street corner and prompting every third person (or thirtieth, but there are so many you'd blink and miss 27 of them) to stop and sip. A couple of weeks ago, I came across this article in the NYTimes. Apparently Coconut water is all the rage in Brooklyn. You could pay $2 to $4 in Brooklyn, or you could come visit me and pay 20 to 40 cents.

Trend Setter, on the side of Spur Tank Road.

A Happy Day

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 19:06:00 +0000

This week I had my favorite kind of work day -- one spent with IJM's "clients," individuals who are former victims of forced labor and are now living free lives. No matter how many cases I review or write about, every time I meet the subjects of these stories I am humbled and inspired. This particular family has a powerful story, before, during and after the salt mine where they were coaxed to come and earn an allegedly good salary, educate their children. One hundred percent of their "salary" was paid to one local shop, where they were forced to buy all food and necessary provisions. The school where they were promised education literally shut down two days after their arrival; the preteen daughter forced to work alongside adults raking and spreading salt. When IJM first met her, her feet were scarred with boils and her hopes were flat. When I spent the day with her, her feet walked around a zoo in the city and jumped rope, spirits soaring.

I hope to share more of their story someday soon. For now, I leave you with a (lighthearted) photo of me and a deer. That's right, here, deer like people, daytime and. I think the only thing more amazing than petting a deer in the two-wheeler parking lot were the confused looks on the family's faces as they wondered at my wonderment.

Apparently, this is normal.

I guess it makes sense that Bambi likes popcorn...
Did you know that peacocks spread their glorious feathers and dance when it is going to rain? As if I needed another reason to love my favorite animal.

I Appreciate Equipments Day

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 18:04:00 +0000

This weekend I was standing in the foyer of a bank, waiting for my turn to use the ATM machine with my flatmate. As we entered the welcome pocket of air con, the young man who brushed past us took a smallish sized coconut – the brown, hairy kind – and hurled it onto the pavement in front of the bank. Nicolette and I exchanged raised eyebrow glances and quietly got out our rupees. Outside, we noticed more crushed objects and splattered produce. “Must be a festival,” she said nonchalantly.

And it was a festival. According to popular wisdom (aka Wikipedia) and confirmed by locals in The Know, pooja is “a religious ritual performed as an offering to various deities, distinguished persons, or special guests. It is done on a variety of occasions and settings, from daily pooja done in the home, to temple ceremonies and large festivals, or to beginning a new venture.” Unbeknownst to me at the bank, I was observing that young men doing pooja to the ATM machine – appropriate as it was “Equipments Day.” He was literally honoring/thanking the machine for working.

I find many of the Hindu rituals counter to my Western notions of religion and my own experience as a Christian. Upon first hearing of Equipments Day, I was befuddled by the smashed watermelons on pavement and the green, leafy banana leaves tied with twine to the sides and hood of cars, trucks and bicycles. Below, you’ll see a photo of autos parked outside my office – I was surprised to see one windshield lettered with “PRAISE THE LORD” and still decked out with tropical leaves, flower garlands and incense. After I talked to a friend (thanks Magda), about my confusion, and admitted my initial incredulous laughter at this praise of lifeless machines, I realized I was missing the point. Appreciation.

So I’m a few days late, but today I tried to be thankful for the “equipments” in my life. I have switches that power lights; a computer I use to type up stories of slaves and keep in touch with friends back home; my iPod full of music I love; my camera; the French Press; Nicolette’s scooter that transports me all over this crazy city...to name a few. I suppose an important difference remains – I see these technologies and ammenities as blessings from a God who created people to be creative, inventive, communicative. But maybe I’ll still go smash a coconut onto the sidewalk after work to demonstrate some appreciation.

Autos outside my office, lined up and ready for Equipments Day.

Auntie's car (my landlady) in the pretty carport beneath our flat

Traveling by bicycle definitely requires an extra special blessing.

Not pictured – but seen on Equipments Day: the light switch board at the post office smeared with white paste and turmeric dots, the elevator in a friend’s apartment complex with splattered watermelon, a cash register at a snack shop down the street adorned with tiny yellow flowers and a cluster of roots, shells and aloe vera plant parts and, of course, the ATM machine.

This is where I live

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 16:33:00 +0000

This week I spent half a day at Freedom Training, a three-day series of workshops and interactive lectures led by IJM social workers -- intended to instill basic knowledge and begin the fragile process of rebuilding the lives of newly released forced laborers. My moleskine is filled with facts and quotations I scribbled down, pestering the patient staff to translate and repeat answers. This entry was jotted down among these notes.

Sometimes I still have moments where I have to blink a few times really fast and whisper aloud "This is where I live." Like right now. I'm sitting in a large cement room, lit by fluorescent tube lights and cooled by eight plastic ceiling fans. Cooled, of course, being a geographically relative verb. The voices filling this space are laughing now, some comment about cigarettes or insight into substance abuse shared by the IJM social workers has struck a chord. The men laugh a deep, admitting laugh; the women laugh a knowing laugh and then exchange glances with one another, settling back into their plastic chairs with placid eyes on tired faces. The babies are antsy. Tired, perhaps, or hot and hungry.

I'm watching one woman now, her tiny arms believable only when I stare at her proportionally tiny face, pretty features pinched into narrow symmetry. The baby she now feeds at her tired breast was born in July, the day before this family of four and four other families were brought out of the rice mill where they laboured, endlessly tired, illegally and hopelessly trapped as bonded labourers. Her husband is also well-kept, his somehow still white shirt hanging, billowing almost, over his jagged frame. Their daughter is in his arms, fussy and not allowing him to sit down.

The slide that's projected on the wall has pictures and words explaining dependence on and tolerance of alcohol. I think of the documents I read last night, in my cool A/C bedroom, on my cool iBook laptop, to prepare for the interviews I'll do later today. I read of one woman who explained an incident when the owner of the rice mill had hit her husband. Why? The radio was too loud. I am filled with anger at this man -- who owns a rice mill and fills it with dispensable workers as he might stock it with bulk rate rice sacks. I almost read over the next part -- I wanted to -- the part where she mentioned that her husband had slapped her across the face just before this incident. I stop. Even in remembering I stop. What of this man -- the husband -- a victim himself? A man I pity as he sits quietly in front of me, seemingly attentive to the discussion and intermittently picking up his small, pig-tailed daughter. Why does he perptuate violece, exert power through brute strength?

I don't think anger or pity are the answers. I don't think there are answers, at least not complete ones, this side of heaven. I blink again and this time everything's normal. I look around at these faces again, willing the words I don't comprehend to sink in and somehow shift thinking, spur dreams. I project hopeful futures in spite of the domestic violence and rampant substance abuse they've been learning about. I wipe a line of sweat from my upper lip and think, "Yes, this is where I live."

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 20:55:00 +0000

Sometimes the things I appreciate most are the things I speak about least when I talk to friends and family back home. In my attempt to explain a single day or illustrate a simple story, I forget to mention the crucial details of familiarity. These little things that have grown blessedly familiar to me are worth a mention. A few that I'm grateful for tonight -- in no particular order:

Hand signals. Learning to manage the traffic through the use of decisive hand signals has been one of my favorite parts riding on the back of the Blue Wonder. It makes me feel like I can order the madness, if only for a moment. Extend right palm to turn right, left to do the same. The more casual the cooler. To stop someone from cutting you off, throw out that same hand and fully extend all five fingers. Dirty looks permissible.

Friends passing through. As many cities are, this is a transient place. My own days here are passing quickly. Yes, some of the friends I have made have deep roots and big families who proudly name this quickly changing place their hometown. Others are fellow expatriates, adjusting and laughing and learning and reeling from the cultural discoveries that come from doing very normal things in a strange place. Still others are visitors, here for a long weekend. Nicolette and I have enjoyed the company of one such passer-through for the weekend. Visits like his are sweet because they remind me that things like good coffee, thoughtful conversation, favorite music and intentional relaxation are worth slowing down for.

Kipling Place. That's my flat. Named after a lovely restaurant I've mentioned before, decorated with gauzy white curtains and rich furniture. We do have lovely white curtains, but more than decor we aim to emanate the vibe of oasis. This city is full of character and charm, lots of chaos and pockets of quiet. Kipling Place is quite similar -- home to delicious dinner fetes and dance parties as well as candlelit evenings meant for conversing. Last night we sat out on our refurbished rattan furniture on the terrace, marveling at the still night and dim stars, poking out of clouds set in the heavy, humid sky. We talked a little, listened to some guitar and mostly just sat. It was a favorite.

Back from the USA

noreply@blogger.com (tierney short) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 16:54:00 +0000

A few snapshots to follow explaining my silence in cyberspace for the past couple of weeks: I had the honor and privilege of standing beside my dear friend Meggie as she became Mrs. Joshua Simmons this past weekend. My trip home to the US of A was a wonderful blur of family, friends, food, lots of laughter and snippets of conversation I'll treasure for months to come.

Meggie and Josh are married!

With the happy couple, who incidentally had the most charming first dance everPretty bridesmaid-bouquets to match the gorgeous fall day and stunning bride (and her handsome groom)Very pretty music played by my oh so talented friends as Meggie walked down the aisle
Me and the Missuses, at the rehearsal dinner In addition to my fabulous friends, I got to spend time with my wonderful family -- and see Mary Grace's (adorable) dorm at Furman!

And now I'm back, jet lagged and clicking through pictures on facebook, wondering if I was really in Greenville two and a half days ago. My time was short but sweet, full of wonderful familiarities (like Furman friends and sweet potato cake from Brick Street and drinks with the rents from Up The Creek and driving down Main Street and Starbucks everywhere) and unexpected surprises (like noticing how many Americans have--visible--tattoos and wear cowboy hats for real, or how quiet the streets of Atlanta are at night). A very big thank you to each of my friends, siblings and mom and dad for making my time refreshing and reminding me that there really is no place like home.