Returning to Kalaw

I've already shared our experience of the 14 hour journey up country to Kalaw, but have failed to express the encounters once we arrived.  So here I am transporting myself back to those days that were filled with laughter, tears, and story, after story, after story.

Though our time in Kalaw was brief, it was clear that for my family, it was here, where most of their memories rest.  Kalaw was, and still is, the heart of their impressionable years as eager and open children.  The vivid memories that they carry with them are embedded in their former homes, school, and places of business.  Words like Dove Road, Grandfather's house, St. Agnes's Convent and Banyan tree all hold a very special place in their hearts.

One unforgettable place was their home on Dove Road.  As we traveled towards it, the roadway had digressed into an overgrown trail making it difficult to imagine that there was life somewhere down the way.  As brush and branches scraped the side of the bus, our skepticism of whether or not we were on the right track grew.  But how could they forget the way to this house? They couldn't.  They knew it was there.  And it was. 

Dove Road House; Kalaw, Burma; January 2011

Like all of the places we visited, the current occupants understood this journey we were on and welcomed us into their home.  Here, they allowed us to take our time to walk through each and every room, to take pictures and reminisce on how the place used to be, used to be arranged, used to feel.  Much of the Dove Road house was still the same in structure and foundation and the signature letters under the peaked roof line are still proudly standing.  

Inside Dove Road House

The house is minimalistic in furnishings. Only basic necessities are present.  It was clean and orderly, but was missing the hustle and bustle of a young, active and vibrant family.  The family told us that it is currently listed for sale and in hearing this, I saw the twinkle in my family's eyes, their minds silently thinking...what if?  It could be so meaningful, so easily, once again.  

Pathway at back of Dove Road House

Outside, we scattered throughout the large plot of land surrounding the house.  There was a pathway at the back where my mom and uncle used to play and some crazy stories emerged as we walked down...stories of sibling rivalry, neighbourly spats, and, well, others. 

Grandfathers house was another visit. Grandfather, meaning my Grandma's Dad.  This was a full house.  A full house, mourning the passing of their relative just days prior.  But yet, they welcomed us.  And allowed us to sit and stay a while.  The way this home was designed is unique.  It is on the second level.  And when you reach the top of the staircase you enter a great room and around the perimeter are the bedrooms, kitchen, and bathroom.  There is a back stairway that leads to a large storage room that exits to the back alley.  Down these stairs, more stories of the past unfolded. Stories of young love that lay next to the piles of rice bags.

The balconies of this house were remembered as the favorite spots for relatives to spend their days.  To think that throughout time, layers of memories are built within the same kitchen, the same storage room, the same staircase of the same house...by different families.  I guess in life, some things need to remain constant to support the chaos that human interaction and life can present.  As each of them looked into the rooms and saw past visions of times gone by, new life was swirling around.  The memories are still alive, but only visible to those that experienced them, years before. The new family can only wonder what this house meant and the happiness it supported so long ago.  As we took our last round and emptied their house, they followed us to the stairway and sent us on our way with a bag of hot samosas!

And where did these children learn?  Boarding school of course.  Who taught them?  Nuns.  At St. Agnes's Convent.  My uncle and mom remember their lessons here clearly.  And although the school no longer seemed as intimidating, it still had an air of discipline and order.  Once again, the simplicity of life and material possessions were apparent.  As we observed their former classrooms we saw emptiness, except for the requirements of a place to sit, write and teach.   

St. Agnes's Convent, Kalaw, Burma, Jan 2011

St. Agnes's Convent, Kalaw, Burma, Jan 2011

Inside classroom of St. Agnes's Convent

How news travels in Kalaw is yet another story in itself.  Do you ever wonder how you would make contact without a phone?  Well, in Kalaw, you pass the word, from person to person.  But you must have faith that your message will reach the intended, untainted.  We spent two hours at a local Nepalese restaurant eating mouth watering, authentic dishes and waited for a long lost acquaintance to arrive.  She arrived, late at night, not knowing who had requested her presence.  Unfortunately, she wasn't "the one".  Some things just can't be found.

And then, the next day, a lovely dressed lady walked onto our bus and asked for "Sister Shirley" because "Teacher Gladys" used to be her teacher and she had heard we were in town.  The local doctor also recalled "Teacher Gladys", "Teacher Zeenat" and "Teacher Lorna".  The town was interested to know why we had returned and how their teachers and sisters of the past were fairing.  It was obvious our family had left an impression on the town and were still remembered 45 years later.

Who would have imagined a trip like this would have been possible.  And those friends from years ago, were there, unchanged, and still friends.  As for the memories, are they best left in the time that they were created? It depends.  For Kalaw, I think the return was heart warming.  But this wasn't always the case.

Kalaw Street against mountain backdrop

My days & thoughts in the Dominican

From a world of darkness to endless sunshine, laughter and music.  From Pakistan to the Dominican Republic.  From feeling deflated to feeling inspired.  These were the two extremes that I experienced the past two months.  For me, my surroundings can make or break me.  Just as those that I surround myself with can deplete my energy or encourage my dreams.  For more reasons than simply to eradicate the lingering heaviness of the City of Karachi, this trip was right.  Right place, right time, right people.  There's nothing better than crazy girlfriends, intoxicating rum and a focused mind.  This combination, plus a little time, can cure most things.  Oh and food.  Food always helps.

I have just returned from the Dominican Republic.  Here, I and a team of eleven others, through an organization called Cambiando Vidas, meaning Changing Lives, built a house in three and a half days. Yes, that's right, built a house...Dominican style of course.

As I reflect on the days of the build, I recall my thoughts and how they changed from day one to the day we left.  This is how it was, for me, as I envisioned a common goal with people who were at first strangers.

Day one of the build.  Oh day one, this was my hardest.  Not in a labour kind of way, but mentally.  On the surface, the work site seemed chaotic, but yet the masons and the volunteers knew just what to do.  Things were getting done and hands were occupied, but I...I pondered my own contribution.  The foundation of the house had already been placed, and the cinder blocks were added to three rows high.  There were many men from the community on site and they knew what to do, when to do it, and how to do it.  I felt I was just there, showing my face, kind of like a silent investor.  Am I really needed here?  Am I really making a difference?  If I wasn't here, the work would still go on, the house would still be built.  So, what's my part?  At the same time, I knew I was missing something, or...waiting for something.  Perhaps I hadn't let go as yet and was unable to fully immerse myself in the experience.  I was still consumed with thoughts from back home and was not fully present in the moment.  I was desperately seeking a job to keep my mind occupied.  Productivity is my life line and idleness is my enemy.  These were the subtle feelings of unrest floating through me.  Everything was blended, the feeling like you are on the border between good drunk and too drunk and the world starts swirling around you, and things start blurring together.  Perhaps someone spiked my water bottle with Brugal.  This blending made it impossible to really feel any one experience, like a numbness, just going through the motions, absent of any real enjoyment.  There were so many unfamiliar faces.  And the lack of knowledge of what the next step is or not understanding why we're doing what were doing, or how to do it...I was lost, in a world of unknowns.   I've been given an order....but how the heck do I carry it out?  These were my endless inner thoughts that I battled as the day progressed.  In reality, you just had to ask, and there was usually something that needed to be done.  I found odd jobs, and slowly my comfort level increased and my mind relaxed.

All in all, my mind was in and out this day, and thinking back, I don't even remember what tasks I finally sunk my hands into.  I don't remember seeing or playing with the children.  But I do recall confiding that I'm just not feeling it.  That I couldn't quite understand why one would choose to do this again.  I felt, more than anything, that I was just in the way.  I remember thinking, it's okay, I'm aware that you don't really need me, physically. 

I love the sun. Oh Mr. Sun, so shiny and bright, but he too takes some adjustment.  It is hot, and you are wearing clothing for a work site, which means, steel toe boots, thick socks, long pants, a long sleeve shirt, a hat, sunglasses, and work gloves.  You are all covered up...kinda felt like I was back in good old Pakistan.  Just kidding, not even close.  Anyway, there is no where for the sweat to escape.  So, you're hot, and you are working.  I asked the time because I was sure lunch was just around the corner, but no.  It was 10:30 am.  Only?  I felt as though it was 1:30 pm.  I was starving and was wondering when we were going to eat.  Each day the cook station is set up and the ladies from the community prepare lunch for all the workers.  We all eat together, same meal, same time.  Usually some combination of rice and beans.  Quite delicious.  This could be the truth or it could be because we are usually starving by the time lunch came around.    Not because it was late, but because the combination of an early breakfast, the hot sun, and labour can work up a pretty good appetite.

By the end of day one, the cinder blocks had been placed to the roof line and we, or they, were on schedule.

As for me...I was ready for some strong Rum.

Day 2, 3 and 4.  Somewhere along the way, things started to separate and I became sober.  The faces were no longer just faces.  There was meaning in my presence.  I felt like I was a part of the community, that I had been accepted.  The community had not changed.  The work had not changed.  I had.  I was now inhaling everything around me and was present, whole heartedly.  I get it.  It's the experience.  Not really about offering my muscle and strength, or skills in the construction biz (not that I have any), but about joining in with the community and letting myself go to their culture.  Their way.  And a house is built alongside these human connections. That's what it was for me.  To embrace a new rhythm of life.  As the days went on, I didn't feel the need to always be occupied and I relished in play time with the children.  The children are on site, working, for as long as the work day goes on.  But, being children, they still make time to play and we were lucky to engage with their free spirits and innocent faces.  Just looking at them added another layer of joy to the work day.  It is easy to become attached to them.  They are so open to love and to receive love.  Unhardened by life.  And as for time, it just slipped by, lunch was served before I could ask what time it was.

And as for my physical contribution, I was contributing.  I was swinging those cement filled buckets and passing those 40 pound cinder blocks.  And although I could have stepped out of the human chain at any given time and it would have still choo choo'd along, it was about the camaraderie that you feel being a part of it.  Receiving and passing the bucket of cement as it splashes all over your already stained, wet work clothes, well, it's just pure fun.  

There was so much more than the work day.  There were water fights, which were quite welcomed for the cooling sensation that you felt after the initial shock.  And the nights of learning to dance the bachata, and drink rum.  There was plenty downtime to absorb the days work. And when the house was built, the rest of our days in the Dominican were nothing but pure bliss.  All in all, the right balance of all elements made for a perfect 10 days that gets 10 gold stars from me.  I, however, could not have made it through, if not for those crazy girls of mine.  So a little thank you to them, for creating a successful healing environment.  I love our midnight chats and the open arms that you always welcome my outbursts with.  If you are reading this, thank you.

Entwined in the sweat, cement, music and laughter of the Village of Las Charcas, we learnt the meaning of Dominican time, style and rhythm.  Human strength, skill, cooperation and generosity flowed endlessly from the community and has thus changed the course of one more family.  In exchange for three days of our time and efforts, we were given unforgettable memories and have returned to our homes, soul enriched.  For us, our lives have been forever touched.  For them, they have a place to call home, to grow and flourish, and to create a legacy for their family.

We said our good-byes, but left behind our words spread across the wooden beam of the roof in crayon colours and our names engraved in the cement of the back step.  At first, yes, these faces were unfamiliar, but in the end, they felt like family.

I have never understood the definition of community.  Or the importance of it.  I get it now, because I felt it.