A Day in the Life

During our midpoint retreat in Thailand a few weeks ago, we were called upon to make a comic strip about a typical day in our lives. Since I have yet to really explain what I do on a typical day, I thought I would share this comic strip with you. We were told that we had to be the superhero, and that we had to include onomatopoeia.

Apologies for the less than ideal image quality (both on account of my camera and drawing skills).

*Raina happens to be the last name of one of India’s most famous cricketers, making the name easier to explain in India than in the US.

*Raina does not see herself as a raider in any way and recognizes the colonial implications of said adjective. However, the lure of alliteration and insistence of a friend lead her to use the title here. 

 Despite a 9:30 am rickshaw leaving from right down the street, Raina the Raider flies out the door, past her inquisitive neighbors and resident cows, nearly missing her free ride to Khamir.

In the rickshaw, Raina the Raider camouflages herself among the mass of people, pretending to understand the Gujarati conversation while actually studying her coworker’s mannerisms for future disguise purposes.

Arriving at Khamir, Raina the Raider takes on her first foes: Bully, Happy, Chicoo and Joni Mitchel. Though they attack her with demands for food, she distracts her canine adversaries with affection and charges forward into the office.

With the internet disappearing into the void, Raina the Raider chooses to connect with coworkers rather than start her day without her greatest weapon of distraction.

As if by magic, Masi (auntie) appears with chai and a smile, offering a charge of morning energy for a day of adventure.

Suddenly, a coworker appears, calling for her aid. With a foreign visitor on campus, it is up to Raina the Raider to explain her NGO while protecting its secrets.

As she and the foreigner wander through the exhibition of Textile Legacies from Kachchh and Sindh, Raina the Raider struggles to explain her presence in Bhuj.

With the ring of a bell, a coworker enters, announcing the time for lunch.

At lunch, Raina the Raider surreptitiously avoids chaas (buttermilk) and roti in an effort to protect her stomach against the myriad antagonists attempting to weaken her system, instead sticking to rice, dal (lentils), and subji (vegetables).

Realizing her morning has disappeared into the abyss, Raina the Raider struggles to complete her own projects while responding to last minute needs from coworkers.

After eight hours of sitting at a desk and two in a car, Raina the Raider gets out of the rickshaw early in order to walk half an hour in the relatively cool evening.
*Note that the Loch Ness monster in this picture is in fact a camel.

Raina the Raider meets up for dinner with the other international spies stationed in Bhuj, or gets vegetables from a stall to make into dinner.

Risking her life, Raina the Raider shoots electricity into a bucket of water to heat for her bath, then allows her mind to escape into the familiarity of media.

After a day of disguise, Raina the Raider takes off her mask and goes to sleep, ready to start again in the morning.

The accidental celebrity

Coming to Bhuj, I knew I was going to stand out.

At this moment the city contains approximately five foreigners who aren’t just stragglers from tourist season, and for the most part people in Bhuj don’t have sustained interactions with any of us. I have grown accustomed to being asked “which country?” and waiting for the curious conversation that will inevitably follow. Real life examples include:

Kid in street: “Which country?”

Me: “US”

Kid in Street: (angrily) “Then why would you leave?”

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Neighbor: “Which country?”

Me: “US.”

Neighbor: “Oh! My cousin brother is in Australia!”

Me: “That is great! I have never been to Australia.”

Neighbor: “Haha that is a good joke.”

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Guy: “Which country?”

Me: “US”

Guy: “USSR?”

Me: “We don’t call it that anymore.”

But all in all people are starting to get used to me, allowing me to forget that they still see me as different.

Then, all at once, I am thrust into the spotlight, and forced to think deeply about the privilege I represent by being here.

My NGO is doing a project where we collect waste plastic from local companies, schools, and plastic collectors, and women artisans weave them into products like shopping bags, mats, and curtains. I wanted to participate, so I put out a cardboard box in my apartment to collect plastic bags. No more than ten minutes after putting the box out, a reporter was knocking on my door wanting to put a photo of me and the box in the local newspaper. I conceded, thinking this was an opportunity to get the word out about the project. I told the reporter all about Khamir and the recycled plastic project.

About a week later, the article came out in the paper. Roughly translated by a coworker, it says:

"US woman gives unique worship in Bhuj"
"American Raina Fox is working hard in Bhuj on a unique project, collecting the best plastic from Vikas deep apartment in Bhanushali Nagar for an organization called Khamir."

While I would have preferred they not publish the name of my apartment and that they actually say something about the Khamir project, all in all the article was harmless.

Then I got to work, where a TV crew from a national news station was waiting. They had asked specifically for me, and wanted to do a segment on "my project".

I told him that it wasn't MY project, but in fact, a Khamir project, my box was only one part of a bigger project, and that I would love to introduce him to the woman heading it so he could interview her.

He said, "That's not news, a foreigner saving India is news."

I refused to do the interview, and was left feeling extremely uncomfortable.

First of all, no one here is "saving India." There is no such thing. One reason I chose to do the AJWS fellowship was because I support their stance that the best work is being done by grassroots organizations within the communities themselves, not foreign aid organizations, and I wanted to take a supporting role in that work.

Second of all, my coworkers have been doing this work for years. Then I step in and suddenly people care? I have done nothing to deserve recognition, and totally understand my coworkers' frustration when I suddenly draw cameras. Is the attention I drew helping or hurting my NGO's work?

So why DO people care about me? I still don't have an answer. Maybe there is a fascination with the West because of the media, or something leftover from British colonialism. Or maybe just because I am new and different, and I live in a place where tradition rules.

But I know that when I go back to the States and people aren't stopping me on the streets anymore, it will feel like both a release and an identity crisis. I won't have my identity prescribed for me, won't have the excuse of saying I don't understand something because I am the "American." It will be harder to stand out when I fit in, and harder to label myself when someone doesn't do it for me.

For now, I am "the American from the newspaper," and this identity is both a source of comfort and discomfort, privilege and exclusion. Which pretty much sums up my time in India so far.