An Overdue Post

Thanks to many of you for your encouraging emails and comments about my blog. They motivate me to keep pounding away at these keys. Here are some new friends I met on the way to dinner the other day.




Officially, it's been a few days since my last post, so I have a lot of things I should write about. If you can bear it, read the whole post, because the end is my favorite part. It's the most meaningful part at least. Also, as a preface, you should know that I just suffered a devastating loss(21-16, 18-21, 17-21) to my Korean friend In Soek at ping pong. It's his last night here, and it seems there was no way he was going out of here on a loss. I will, despite all of this, try togive an optimistic update on my life.



This week we've been learning a lot about women and their place in Indian society. Over the last several decades progress toward their equal rights and treatment has been steady, but incredibly slow. Women were for decades thought of as second-class citizens who belong doing menial chores and hard labor. In some communities this is still very much the case. In working to improve health in villages near Jamkhed, CRHP has spent the majority of its time and resources breaking down this and other types of discrimination, essentially, to give marginalized groups a sense of self-worth and efficacy. On Tuesday three women who work at CRHP came to our class to talk about their lives before they came here. We heard from them individually, with Dr. Raj asking them questions and translating their answers for us. The first woman, in her forties, told us about how her husband reacted to finding out that the child she would be delivering was a girl, not a boy. He drove her to a small shack miles out of town and left her there to deliver the baby on her own. After the immense stress of delivery, she had to clean the baby, cut the umbilical cord with a nearby stone, and take care of the baby before making the journey back into town. Fortunately, someone found her and took her and the baby back to her husband, but, as was the custom, her husband forced her to pay him 2000 rupees and give him several gifts before he would allow her back in the house. This, she says, was a fairly common practice at the time. It was the husband's way of reminding his wife that she should be grateful that he is merciful enough to let her live in his house.

Another girl talked about the way her father treated her when she was growing up. She began by telling us about how as a child she knew that her parents (both father and mother) favored her brothers over her. Her brothers were fed first at mealtime, they were not asked to work around the house, and they were sent off to school to get an education. She, on the other hand, was often left no dinner after her brothers had eaten, she and her mother stayed at home and worked all day, and she was told that she was not worth the money it would cost to educate her. If she went anywhere alone, her father would whip her till she bled, and if she ever spoke in the presense of a man, he would "come at her with a knife."

The third girl that spoke to us had been married off by her parents at the age of twelve to a man with AIDS. Her parents agreed to give her to this man even though they knew had AIDS because he did not require a dowry for her. A dowry is one of the many cultural practices in India that parades women as objects and men as their owners. Paying a dowry means that the parents of a girl pay the man they marry her off to because he is relieving their burden of having a daughter. Anyway, this girl quickly contracted AIDS after marrying the man, and eventually became pregnant. Her husband died leaving her and the unborn baby without a livelihood. Because they had the disease, the homeless mother was banished from the community. She begged her parents to take her back. They reluctantly agreed but began refusing to feed her, hoping, she thinks, that she would starve and die and no longer be their burden.

These practices are still representative of some Indian men and their disposition toward women. India has been and, by and large, continues to be a patriarchal society that ignores women and their needs. As of 2001, some populations had between 700 and 800 women for every 1000 men. That means for every thousand girls conceived, roughly 200 were aborted or abandoned at birth.

On a lighter note, each of these at some point women found their way to CRHP. At CRHP they found people that would listen to them and show love to them. They found people that would sit and eat with them (a major faux pas if the woman is low-caste or AIDS-infected). They were even given jobs. They learned what love is, and in time, had children they could share it with. One woman said, "Because of this love, I am always happy and always have a smile on my face." This same woman had in her adolescent years attempted suicide because she could not bear the thought of her father beating her again. Now she is a village health worker who talks openly about her past to students from all over the world. What a change that can come over people, and what healing occurs, when they are shown unconditional love.

New subject: Mason, Sui Kwon and I went to the market at Jamkhed yesterday, mainly just to walk around and enjoy the buzz of the city. Oh, and buy cool things if we saw them. We didn't see much out of the ordinary, but I think we made a fruit salesman's day when we bought about 8 kg of mangoes and a few pomegranates. The mangoes were/are delicious but I'm still deciding on how to go at the pomegranate. It looks sort of tricky. We also discovered a new fruit we'd never seen. I've posted a picture of it. It tastes like mushy brown sugar and cinnamon, which I promise is a good flavor.



During the trip In Soek wondered if Jamkhed has ice cream, so he started asking storeowners in broken english if they knew where we could find some. It's funny, In Soek is relatively new at speaking English, but we have noticed that the villagers respond better to his English than ours. Anyway, a couple of merchants pointed us in the right direction and within a few minutes we were chowing down on mango and butterscotch ice cream under the hot Indian sun. Heavenly.

After that we had dinner, hamburgers and french fries (our chefs are so thoughtful). At the end of dinner, the course coordinator, Alex, put on a movie produced by the one and only Riki Lake about the benefits of home birthing. According to this movie, hospital ob/gyns and insurance companies are evil and do not care about women or babies, and, for this reason, they are running a smear campaign against midwifery and natural birthing in general. Eh... it wasn't that bad actually. It really makes some good points about the benefits of women giving birth without drugs at home and not on their backs. A lot of research indicates that the on-your-back method we're used to seeing, and the trends of inducing labor and giving c-sections, are not healthy for the mother or the baby. It's mostly just convenient for doctors and nurses.

The highlight of the day was going on a village visit. CRHP has its program operating in about 40 nearby villages, so we went to see one, with the local village health worker as our tour guide. For starters, this village was unbelievably clean. After getting used to the putrid smell of Jamkhed, I guess I made the assumption that all of India is that way. Not so. This village had no sewage in the streets, no trash on the sidewalks and clean water sources were all over. We saw people washing their dishes and clothes and even trying to keep the steps of the well clean.

The village health worker herself was also very impressive. CRHP chooses low-caste illiterate woman to be responsible for the health of each community. This woman fit these qualifications but was surprisingly knowledgeable about health interventions and epidemiology. She was also very outspoken about how much she enjoys taking care of her community. As we walked from house to house it became clear that the people love and respect her for what she has taught them and how she has helped them. It was wonderful to see the fruits of CRHP in action--a clean village with healthy citizens and plenty of clean water for people to use.



I'm starting to see CRHP's work in a new way. Although it means addressing complex social issues with a wide range of disciplines and philosophies, improving health is really based on a few simple principles: showing love to people, respectfully teaching them(about anything, from basic hygiene to their self-worth), and then encouraging them to live what they have learned and share it with others. Sort of has a familiar ring, doesn't it? That's because they are principles of Christlike service. In my opinion, although they have slightly different purposes in mind, Jesus and CRHP are both genuinely concerned with improving people's lives and are determined to, by whatever means, make a difference for them, and that's why their foundations are essentially the same. I'm also learning that CRHP and Christianity are basically motivated by the same thing--that is, the fact that people are inherently valuable, no matter their--spiritual or temporal--poverty. Anyway, thanks for reading. Love you all, Bryce

Mango Mayhem

I'm not known for being resourceful or good at problem solving, but believe you me, when there's a bag of mangoes on my bed, no knife to peel them with, and dinner is more than an hour off, simple objects in my immediate vicinity morph into multi-purpose supertools. Let me explain.

Yesterday, I went to the market with some girls from the class. It was fun walking through Jamkhed, which is loud and lively and has children everywhere that stop to wave and smile. Some of them can even yell to us a few English words. Anyway, we made our way down a narrow alley lined with merchants and food and trinkets until it opened into a massive gathering of fruit and vegetable stands. The first stand I stopped at was selling only mangoes and the little boy running it cut off a slice of the one he was holding and gave it to me. I put in my mouth and let me tell you, this was a glorious moment. I've never tasted a mango so sweet and soft. Anyway, I asked "Rupee Kay?" which means "How many rupees?" to which he answered "uhn fo fi-rupee"--One for five rupees. One for five rupees. Likely, you do not understand the gravity of this man's statement. Five rupees is worth a little less than a dime here. Like 9 cents. So, I got seven. Seven giant, succulent mangoes for about 65 cents altogether. After I bought them, we kept walking through the town until it started to pour rain. We ducked under a tarp from a fruit stand until a rickshaw--basically a go-ped with three wheels and a big metal cage for passengers to squeeze into--pulled up and offered us a ride back to CRHP which was about a mile away. For twenty rupees (about 40 cents, and split four ways), we thought it was a steal. We jumped in and he drove us home, the rickshaw creaking and rattling the whole way. Rickshaws are everywhere in India from what I've heard, but, you might be interested to know, rickshaws here are all known for having speakers and sub-woofers that make western car audio systems sound like ipod earbuds. Anyway... mangoes. So I took them into my room, set them on the bed, and scanned my room for a knife or something made for cutting things. Nothing of the sort. Anywhere. I shuffled through my desk and through some things in the bathroom, but to no avail. Nothing sharp. By this point, my heart rate had increased considerably. This called for action. I, almost instinctively, grabbed my passport from my left front pocket and sunk the thin, hard cardboard corner into the skin of the first mango I could grab. Since I'll need it to get through customs on my way home, I reasoned that I should not over-saturate the passport with mango juice. For a replacement, I grabbed my cell-phone charger from the wall and inserted one of the metal prongs (the part that plugs into the wall) into the slice I'd made with my passport and cut a rough line all the way around the mango. Unfortunately, since the prongs weren't long enough to pry the mango open, I had to find something a little longer, but still thin enough to fit between the layers of mango. Believe it or not, a 50-cent Euro coin in my desk which I was given in Amsterdam did the trick. In just minute or two I'd devoured that thing. And let me tell you, it was worth every awkward second of cutting my mango with random objects and every awkward second of having to clean them off after. Every single second.

Some things you should know

In scanning through what I've posted so far on this blog, I found that I have told you about lots of big events, but very little about some everyday things that are a pretty big part of my life right now. This post is to let you in on some important details I've been neglecting to share, in no apparent order.

1. It is hot here. Like boiling lava hot. It's like you're always in an oven except it's an oven that sprays you with water to keep you moist/alive always. Also, there's no a/c anywhere, so you try to spend a lot of time standing downwind of fans. If I had to guess, I'd say it's generally in the low 90's with 80% humidity.

2. The Food. It's great. We get three solid meals every day. Most meals have rice. All have vegetables. We get fruit sometimes but it's rare, but not as rare as meat. No so fast, mom. Before you celebrate that your son is finally eating healthy foods on a regular basis, I should explain that everything--rice vegetables and meat--is coated with a layer or two of oil and/or sugary grease. I'm not really sure if I'm gaining weight or not since there are no scales or mirrors anywhere. I learned today that we've been eating this vegetable called "drumstick" which is, according to some, the solution to malnutrition in the world. Apparently it's a cheaply grown super food, with all of the major vitamins and minerals we need. And hey, when it's doused in oil and indian spices, it's not half bad.

3. I'm being eaten alive by bugs. At any given moment, I probably have about thirty bug bites on me. At first I thought the mosquitoes were the culprits, but I put a mosquito repellent air freshener in my room and I still keep getting bitten. The bites are usually concentrated in small areas or in a path across my skin. Like a Family Circus cartoon.

4. I got a sweet Henna tattoo on my arm. I told the Indian girl to give me a manly one (since Henna is usually a female accessory) but she still drew a flower and a seashell. I guess since it's on my bicep, it's inherently manly. From my vast experience with tattoos, I've gathered that no matter how feminine a tattoo is, it becomes manly when it's on a bicep. Like a heart that says "Mom" or a picture of a woman. Am I right?

Editors Note: Henna is temporary


5. Ping Pong. Boom. Believe it or not, in the heart of rural India, we have a fully modern table with several high quality paddles. Some of my classmates are surprisingly good at at it too. I even lost to one of them, 4 games to 1.

Alright, I think I'm caught up with my posts now. I've had some extra time today because a local waterfall we planned to visit...wait for it...dried up! yesterday!
Anyway, I hope you're doing well. Much love.

Braving the Markets

Today breakfast was pushed back until 9 so we could sleep in (it was a late night with the World Cup last night) and we didn't have any classes to attend either. So we got to go see the cattle and fruit markets, since saturday is usually the best day to see them. The cattle market covers several square miles of flat dusty terrain with intermittent puddles and ponds. It is all walled in. I guess that's about it.






Oh yeah, and there are like five million cows painted with pink and green chalk for sale. And another five million Indian men milling around sizing up the cows, patting them, and bartering with the owners for them. It was buzzing and it smelled a little like what east Gilbert smells like in the mornings when the wind from the dairies comes wafting in, except today the smell's source was five feet from our nostrils. The 25 of us walked around for about a half hour, looking at the merchandise (cows and some goats)and being photo-happy. I have to say, taking pictures here is sort of strange. In most tourist spots, you take pictures of cool monuments, buildings, landscapes, landmarks etc. Around here the most intriguing things to take pictures of are the people, their culture and, to be honest, their poverty. The times when you have the feeling "I should take a picture of this, I'll want to remember it" it's usually something unusual or foreign about another living, breathing human being and the way they go about their day-to-day life. It's easy to turn people into novelties here and I'm trying to keep myself from doing it.










They are beautiful people. The way they treat us and the way they treat each other is endearing and full of trust. It was a little alarming to see at first, but men often walk places together holding hands or with their arms around one another. Toddlers and young men do the same. I saw two men standing in road resting their arms on each other's shoulders while they talked. Women seem to treat each other with the same sense of closeness and affection. It really is beautiful to see. In the United States, this kind of affectionate interaction between friends and acquaintances seems less common. I think we tend to be more interested in being independent, especially in public/social settings.

After the cattle market, we took a bus over to the fruit market which is in a different part of Jamkhed. If you forgot, Jamkhed is a rural (lots of people though) town in India, while CRHP is the health project based in its outskirts. Anyway, talking to Dilip, a student in our class who is from India, I learned that fruit markets in India are all essentially the same as the one we walked through in Jamkhed. Vendors line the streets, sitting, usually, amid several baskets of produce. They're often selling the same goods as other vendors nearby, but they don't seem worried about it. It took us about forty five minutes to walk from one end to the other, which should tell you that it was really huge. Just rows and rows of people and their stands. To our dismay, the fruit market was far less sanitary than the cattle market. Although the cattle market has its share of unsanitary spots, the fruit market is in the city center, where the byproducts of city life are everywhere. I noticed one fruit vendor who sat resting against a pile of garbage. Other vendors who sit on either side of the street have at their backs the sewer, which is open and relatively stagnant. Pigs, dogs and cows eat, play and rest in piles of garbage on the roadside. Honestly, the fact that real people live in these conditions hasn't rocked my world yet. I think it's because deep-down I know this isn't my home and that in three weeks I'll be back in clean, quiet provo. I somehow delude myself into assuming that this loud, dirty, chaotic place will no longer be a reality in three weeks, because it will not my reality. I think I dull the experience of seeing other human beings living in abject poverty by allowing myself to think that my pleasant reality is everyone else's reality too.

Back to School

If, in reading this post, you're looking for something that will make you jump out of your seat, cover your mouth with your left hand and start pointing at your computer screen with your right hand while you make unintelligible shrieks at the people nearby to get them to come and read, this is not the post for you. Unfortunately for you, thrill seeking person, this one will mostly be about what I'm learning about health care and what not.

*clearing throat*

Over the last day and a half, the "course" part of my trip has begun. It's been really incredible. Every morning we get up and go to breakfast at seven, and at nine we have a lecture on something about CRHP or go on rounds in the hospital with Dr. Shobha. Every lecture and every round is focused on teaching us how to holistically improve a community's health as opposed to just treating/curing disease. It's about identifying the sources of diseases and eliminating them. That means considering all social and economic factors that either impede or improve health for people. To give you an idea, a person's caste or social status, their religious or political beliefs, their level of education or understanding of basic hygiene, their access to clean water, their gender, their geographical locations, their perceptions about medicine, all affect their health and/or their ability to get health care, even though these factors aren't generally considered components of a health system or even considered to be related to health care. For the last forty years, CRHP has focused on addressing these issues in communities, and with astounding results. I'll tell you about a few lectures we had yesterday and today that were awesome.

First thing yesterday we had a lecture from Dr. Raj, the co-founder of CRHP. He's pretty famous in the global health community for his work, which revolutionized global health and could--if Congress opened their eyes to alternative models of health care--revolutionize health care in the US too. We had a panel discussion with six women who work as village health workers (VHWs) for CRHP. Having "village health workers" is one of the many geniuses of the project. CRHP chooses one low-caste woman from each community take responsibility for providing basic health services and education to the entire town. By choosing under-served women from under-served castes to be in a position of authority and service in a community, barriers of caste and gender discrimination crumble and dissipate. However, some of the biggest barriers of caste discrimination to be dealt with come from the VHW's themselves. These women, especially of the lowest caste (Dhalit), are taught by society that they are worthless and only useful in completing the most menial tasks, like cleaning up garbage and feces. Dr. Raj told us that when VHWs began working for CRHP, their weekly training consisted of about 30% medicine and public health and about 70% self-esteem building. In order for these women to feel efficacious, and like they can help people of higher castes, Dr. Raj and CRHP have had to break through centuries of socially acceptable discrimination that these women are raised to believe is ok. Most of the VHWs we heard from had been married before turning 12 years old and had been beaten regularly by their husbands. One of the most beautiful moments I've experienced since being here happened during this panel discussion when I started to think about the transformation these women have undergone because of the education they were provided and the respect they were shown at CRHP. These women represent a demographic that for centuries has been socially silenced, marginalized and abused but now they are outspoken, honest and expressive about their experiences and feelings toward important issues. Essentially, they have been given a voice and feel like they can make a difference in their communities. One woman, for instance, is in her fourth year as mayor of her community. Forty years ago that would have been laughable/criminal. The VHWs told stories of how they'd organized women's groups in their communities and combined in these groups against drunk, abusive men and also helped women to get loans from a predominantly mysogenist government to start their own businesses. One woman said "I learned to know who I am" by working for CRHP. I got some video tape of this panel discussion, which I'll see if I can post online.

We also heard from the Mobile Health Team, a group of social workers and nurses who travel to villages that have special needs. CRHP covers over 40 rural villages, each of which has an assigned village health worker. The mobile health team has more specialized skills than the VHWs and is thus repsonsible for traveling to give seminars, assess damage caused by natural disasters, start new programs, and organize common-interest social groups for people to talk about local problems. They were all very kind and gave insightful comments about primary health care. Finally, we had another lecture from Dr. Raj. He is so impressive. He lectured on the history of primary health care for about two hours, and allowed us to ask questions. He also talked about CRHP's mission. Their primary goal is equity, which, he explained, is different than equality. For a health system to be equitable it must be set up to give all people--no matter their social class or gender or geographic location or anything-adequate access to health care. In global health work a lot of people throw "equity" around in conversations, but it's rarely achieved in the planning and execution of health initiatives. That's because it means addressing issues like gender discrimination, social hierarchies and government corruption and working to correct them. All of which are uncomfortable/dangerous for people to talk about, especially if the people causing these problems are the people in power. When I was listening to the lecture I was thinking about the ways American and European health systems tend to be inequitable. In Europe and other socialized systems, the long wait for surgeries and other procedures leads many wealthy citizens to travel abroad for quicker care. But what can the poor do? They can only wait, as their health deteriorates. That is inequitable. The way the US has privatized healthcare for so long is inequitable. The fact that some people can be uninsured based on their economic status makes the system inequitable. If you disagree, you probably have never thought of health as a fundamental human right.

Dr. Raj also talked about preventive medicine and why it isn't practiced in the states, or anywhere in the developed world really. Preventative medicine means looking at what causes people to get diseases and addressing them, rather than practicing merely curing people of their diseases, which is generally done with therapy, prescriptions and surgery. Just think of what would happen to the soaring costs of healthcare if some of the money that's spent on sick care was allocated to preventative care. Costs would definitely taper off. People would need fewer prescriptions, fewer trips to the ER and less coverage from their insurance companies, and we probably wouldn't need an overhaul of the national system. Unfortunately, preventative care isn't lucrative. A doctor who can help you maintain a healthy lifestyle is not in demand. However, when there's a sharp pain in your chest, and your left arm goes numb, a doctor that can unclog the arteries surrounding your heart is in high demand, and you're willing to pay him a lot more than the doctor that would have helped you prevent the heart attack in the first place. That's probably an oversimplification but it makes an important point. Until preventative medicine is lucrative (which means, until the government subsidizes it, unfortunately) health service costs will continue to soar, on our bill. That's a non-partisan reality. I'm not sure, but we may be way beyond a CRHP-type model in the United States. I'll probably talk about that some more in another post.

*Stepping off of soapbox*

Alright, that's all for now, I'll give you some more soon.

24 hours

I got some good advice from a friend on gchat today. She reminded me that the longer you wait to write down an experience, the more your memory of the details fades. This is already happening with how my day went down yesterday, and since it was one of the craziest days of my life, I figure I should crank out as many details as I can remember right now. I'll give them to you in the order they happened. Also, I'll give you the full twenty-four hours, none of which I spent sleeping.

We'll begin as I got off the plane in Mumbai. For the most part, the inside of the airport looks just like most airports in the US. Except for all of the people being brown and not speaking English, I guess. Even then, these Indians were wealthy enough to buy plane tickets to the United States, so there was a lot of Western dress and language. So, overall, very similar. Oh, and except for the smell. It was funny, as I was walking out of the plane the little boy I sat next to during the flight inhaled deeply through his nose, turned to me, and said "Ah, the smell of Bombay!" He and his family lived in Boston, but they had visited Mumbai enough that he had memorized the smell. And let me tell you, it was a memorable smell. It smelled like a mix between body odor, trash, raw sewage, and a hint of sulfur, if you can bring yourself to imagine that. Anyway, enough about the airport, I'm not even close to the good stuff.

Outside the airport there are literally hundreds of young Indian men clamoring around the exit soliciting passengers for their cabs or shuttles. Luckily the CRHP arranged for a travel company to pick me up and a man amid the squalor was holding a sign with my name on it (Spelled "Bryc Jonon"). You'd be surprised how hard it is to help someone who is looking for you understand that you are who he's looking for when he doesn't speak your language. From there, he led me to a van in a parking garage where several men with grim faces were standing around (at this point, I wondered if there is a graceful way to get mugged). But I was with another American who was on his way to Pune too, so I figured we'd be ok.

In the car, we got to see a bit of Mumbai. Granted, it was midnight so it was pretty dark out. The amazing thing though was that tons of people were still out and about. Stores and shops line all of the streets and many of them were still open with people crowding in and out of them. The "smell of Mumbai" only got stronger as our driver weaved through traffic toward downtown. Since no one in the car spoke English except for the other American--a student at U of Chicago-- and I, we struck up a conversation and eventually talked about our respective faiths. We had a really great talk, and he ended up asking quite a few questions about the Church, which quickly took me back to my mission. In fact, one of his questions led perfectly into the first lesson missionaries teach people. It felt good having a spiritual discussion with someone who believes something different than I do. Doesn't happen often in Provo. I happened to have a book of mormon in my backpack, so I handed it to him, and he eagerly said he'd read it. Over the course of the conversation he told me how he'd found truth in all of the religions he'd studied but didn't think religion could have it all. He was interested in the Church because it was one of the few he hadn't yet studied. Anyway,despite our conversation being hyphenated by our driver's abrupt lane changes and slamming on the brakes, it was awesome. Now for the scariest moment of the whole trip: Out of nowhere the driver pulls over at a busy intersection, looks at me and says "you". He gets out and opens my door and starts to take my bags out of the car. I see two men pull up in a car beside us. I do not know them and no one speaks English. They get out and begin walking toward me and my driver motions to them and points at me. Then, just as I was about to curl up into the fetal position and start whispering/singing lullabies to myself, I remembered that someone from CRHP was supposed to meet us in Pune to take me to the CRHP. Somehow I brought myself to trust that that's who these men were, but it wasn't easy to do. Everything seemed really shady. It was in front of "National Motel" which wreaked and had garbage everywhere, and we were sort of in a dark alley-ish sort of place where the crowds couldn't really see us. Although it ended up being the right people, I think CRHP should work on their customer service.

In the car with the CRHP people, the seats were a little more comfortable and I could lay down across the whole back bench. Unfortunately, this driver was even more maniacal than the first one and I didn't get any sleep. I'll spare you most of the details about his driving habits, but I'll tell you one. The man honks like it's going out of style. It's like honking will literally not be cool tomorrow and he wants to squeeze every last bit of coolness he can out of honking. It's funny though, honking in India is not the same as it is in the states. Whereas in Provo, when somebody honks you assume they must be non-members, this driver honked for other drivers' benefit, to show them he'd be driving near them. I'm serious. I also noticed that semi-trucks have bumper stickers that say "honk please" or "please use horn". In other words, what is perceived as rude and impatient in the states is an act of kindness and love in India. Anyway, three hours later we rolled up to the CRHP. Jamkhed, the town CRHP is in, is really dirty and loud. I half-expected it to be the poster-child town of the CRHP--clean and vibrant--but I was wrong. People are poor and starving here just like most of rural India. When the driver turned to me and said "This is Jamkhed," my heart sunk a little because it looked so disheveled. But the CRHP is at the end of the town, nestled away within it's own walls and has its own accommodations. It's a really nice comparatively.

When we pulled into the CRHP a bus full of students was driving away. These students, I later learned, were my classmates who were heading out to go work in a nearby village. Cool thing though: the director, Dr. Shobha walked up at that moment, gave me a warm welcome, and invited me to do rounds with her in the hospital. This means her taking me around to all of the patients and explaining their conditions to me. It was fascinating. A fourth-year medical student, Joey, was doing rounds with her and she asked him to explain one of the patient's medical histories to me. The guy was brilliant. He spent fifteen minutes relating every symptom this man had had, and every reason the man could have had each one. He did an incredible job dumbing it down for me too. Very inspiring. After the rounds, we talked about his plans for the future which are incredibly focused. We also talked about community based healthcare. We sort of came to the conclusion (he came to it and I agreed) that to improve health in any community you have to change the way people in that community talk to one another. And the way you go about organizing it needs to be something community members believe in and will make a part of their relationships with their friends and neighbors. Joey suggested that health planners get involved in the social organizations that are popular in the community. That way they can understand social dynamics and how to influence them. He told about his ideas for an hour or so and seriously, the guy is brilliant. Anyway, my talking to Joey is not important to you, except for what became of it.

At the end of our conversation, Joey walked to the hospital. Unbeknownst (is that a word?) to me, he asked the director if I could come with him to participate in a surgery. He came back, asked me if I wanted to come along, I agreed, and minutes later, I was watching two young girls get tubal ligations, basically getting their tubes tied. Family planning is a big deal here because so many girls often have several children while they're still teenagers. They can't even take care of themselves let alone the children the often conceive against their will. The clinic offers the surgery to girls that want it. Anyway, the surgeries were pretty intense because the girls weren't under anesthesia and the doctor was literally digging through their abdomens pulling out tubes and other things I won't describe. Super cool though. SUPER cool.

From there, I went to lunch, met my classmates, and realized most of them are a lot like me. They're all way more accomplished than I am, but they're just about my age and they all are pretty normal people. There are also way more students than I expected. About 25 I think. After our class about the social determinants of health, I went up to my room and decided to lay down until dinner. However, I woke up at about midnight. Crazy day. Anyway, I better sign off for now. We've got a local mobile health team coming to speak to us in a minute or two. Love, Bryce

Greetings from Hindustan!

Thus far I’ve tried to be friendly with the people I meet while I travel. As a result I’ve met some really cool people. For example, on my way to New York I sat next to a guy named Johnny B who is moving to Manhatten to pursue a career in high-fashion modeling. He also produces his own hip hop music. Really nice guy. And in the airport in Amersterdam, I met a group of students that was heading to a some rural Indian town to set up a chiropractic clinic. They told me that most Indian people have access to X-ray and MRI machines but aren’t able to find professionals to read the results. So, they told me, it’s a funny sight to see these poor Indian people pull high-tech MRI printouts from their robes for the students to read. Although these people were nice and friendly, the most personable people I met in airports were Indian people. Something about them allows you to feel comfortable and at ease. This was especially refreshing because when you're a clueless tourist who has to ask random people where he even is and how to get where he's going, it's nice when the people you're asking are naturally warm and kind. People on the plane introduced themselves to me, asking about my what I'd be doing in India and giving me tips for how to get places the fastest. I sat next to a young Indian mom and her two kids on the plane... she was so sweet to them and they were incredibly well behaved. Especially compared to the drunk American adults sitting nearby who were taking full advantage of the comlimentary beer and wine on the flight. Real quick, whose idea was that?! Complimentary beer and wine for people who are in close quarters with 300 other people for the next 8 hours?! Wow, Delta. Really? Anyway, since arriving at Jamked that notion has only been affirmed. Everyone I pass bows and says “Namaste” which means “Hello”. They smile a lot and offer to drive you places on their go-peds. At first I thought they were doing it expecting that I'd pay them, but not so. Usually, they just grab my hand and kiss it. It's a little flattering and cute, I guess. Anyway, enough for now. I'll write more soon. Like about my wild journey from the airport to this little village I'm in. Seriously, wild.

The perfect beginning

Like any good writer knows, if you want to write something people will read, write it in a coffeeshop that looks out onto the corner of a busy street in a big city. I may not be a good writer, but I know this, so to begin this blog I am sitting in a starbuck's (it had the only bathroom I've seen for blocks) on the corner of 59th and Broadway (I think) in New York City. That's columbus circle, on the south east corner of Central Park. There are people everywhere here. All kinds of them. Living in Provo for almost two years has almost made me forget that there are people that look different from one another Anyway, I'll write more when I'm in in Mumbai or Jamkhed!