Some of you may be uncertain why I am suddenly writing a blog from India. The reason I am here is to work for LifeSpring Hospitals which is a chain of maternal and child health clinics in India www.lifespringhospitals.com The reason I am at LifeSpring is because I was awarded a fellowship through the Acumen Fund www.acumenfund.org
A quick education: India's healthcare situation lags behind other countries that have experienced similar economic expansion and GDP growth, namely the group of countries with the fastest growing developing economies, known as BRIC (Brazil, Russia, Inda, China). The poor situation is reflected on all health indicators from immunization among 1 year olds to high disease prevalence. India suffers from a crippling shortage in the healthcare workforce, a growing social inequality and a country-wide infant mortality rate of 57 deaths per 1000 live births. India has the highest IMR (infant mortality) and MMR (maternal mortality) among BRIC countries (2008 data).
LifeSpring's Role
LifeSpring Hospitals has developed a business which serves only poor women and their children. The model is proving to be not only sustainable but scalable. In 2010 LifeSpring plans to build 9 hospitals (with my help!). The hospitals are small (25-30) beds. In a country where maternal and child health is a massive issue LifeSpring Hospitals is providing one working solution.
Alright...enough with the plug.
Perhaps the most interesting thing about LifeSpring is their approach to marketing. Here, pregnant women are considered customers and not patients (pregnancy is not a disease!). Today, I spent time in the field with the Outreach Workers (on the ground marketers) for LifeSpring. The experience was rewarding and intense.
To begin I have never felt more tall, white or LARGE in general. (see photos of nurses with me today as well as video of them refusing to do the nod!)
The customers of LifeSpring are poor. They are not the poorest of India but near the bottom. Seeing where they live was eye-opening and educational. In these parts of India it was very clear that white people are seldom seen. From the start I had children and families following me through the dilapidated neighborhoods. Everyone was extremely curious about my presence and what I was doing. Children came up to me to touch me and stand in lines to introduce themselves.
The native language here is Telugu and few understand Hindi at all. Communication was pretty much non-existent. That being said, it was very clear everyone was basically saying: “come over here and meet the white lady.”
The children were beautiful, shy and curious. The women were cautious and luminous. (see photos)
The households here are not ruled by the young pregnant woman, but by the older woman of the household (typically the mother-in-law). Imagine that! These women were the gatekeepers.
What we did was essentially sell maternal and child health care door to door. I know this sounds crazy (and it was!). The fact that this is possible gives you an idea of the sheer number of pregnant woman in India.
What is important is that without a service like LifeSpring these women are forced to go to government hospitals where care is poor, not free (although promised this way) and without dignity. LifeSpring is offering them a choice and these women are listening.
Today I learned a lot about dignity and how it is maintained in the settings which seem hopeless. The areas we serve have no running water, animals running rampant and garbage laying in the streets. Despite the dirt and poverty what I did find was a beauty and dignity: the henna hands and painted toe-nails of even the youngest girls. The ever-lasting brilliant colors of India – The way women sat together braiding one another’s hair into ropes of ebony.
Most interesting to me was the way they were all finger painting their houses and ‘sidewalks’…this is difficult to describe. When you go to these homes you realize that they are all decorated with red, white and blue designs around the doorways, bases and entrances to the homes. This is done by the people who live there. They essentially paint it on by wetting colored powders and finger-painting (see photo). The beauty and uniqueness of each home does not go un-noticed.
I also saw dignity in the way they swept the paths between the homes. Despite the relative squalor the street was clean.
What I do know is that being pregnant in these settings cannot be easy, but somehow these women make it seem that way.
On a lighter note - I got serious hazing because I had been dating someone for 3 years and not married them. These ladies think I am incompetent as a woman. I was also offered a child by one of the women in the village.
Showing posts with label India. Show all posts
Showing posts with label India. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Burden
Saturday, November 21st, 2009 – Posting Two
In America I grew up working poor. In India, it seems, I will live a life which is somewhat privileged. I find myself struggling with my class identity and personal judgments and fears around being privileged as well as the sheer poverty of India.
Of all the amazing training I received, no one prepared me for the shame I feel of being white and privileged in a city and country where poverty is very real, very sobering and very aggressive.
During my adventures yesterday we stopped late at night to try to get food. The minute we stepped out of the car begging women circled us - trapping us against the car itself.
It never ceases to amaze me how universal suffering and helplessness are. This language has no barriers.
They are pulling at my sleeves and pleading , open-handed, 5 – 10 all around me. Some are missing teeth while others are blind and their closeness is suffocating and intimidating.
In India, begging is often a profession and rigged game. Many times, giving these women money means you are putting money into the hands of someone who is paying them to beg and then taking most of the money for themselves. The rumors and stories surrounding this ‘profession’ are endless (think Slumdog Millionaire).
I make the mistake of giving one of them a one rupee coin (50 rupees equals 1 dollar). My shame has become visceral. Eight pairs of hands thrust at my face, demanding equality. Is there dignity here?
Now, on the verge of tears and completely overwhelmed I crawl back into the car – escaping the reality outside.
In the next moments the police arrive with whistles and a paddy wagon to clear the beggars from this street and corner. I witness this through the tinted glass of the rental car.
I look out as this part of India looks in. I am blessed to be here.
In America I grew up working poor. In India, it seems, I will live a life which is somewhat privileged. I find myself struggling with my class identity and personal judgments and fears around being privileged as well as the sheer poverty of India.
Of all the amazing training I received, no one prepared me for the shame I feel of being white and privileged in a city and country where poverty is very real, very sobering and very aggressive.
During my adventures yesterday we stopped late at night to try to get food. The minute we stepped out of the car begging women circled us - trapping us against the car itself.
It never ceases to amaze me how universal suffering and helplessness are. This language has no barriers.
They are pulling at my sleeves and pleading , open-handed, 5 – 10 all around me. Some are missing teeth while others are blind and their closeness is suffocating and intimidating.
In India, begging is often a profession and rigged game. Many times, giving these women money means you are putting money into the hands of someone who is paying them to beg and then taking most of the money for themselves. The rumors and stories surrounding this ‘profession’ are endless (think Slumdog Millionaire).
I make the mistake of giving one of them a one rupee coin (50 rupees equals 1 dollar). My shame has become visceral. Eight pairs of hands thrust at my face, demanding equality. Is there dignity here?
Now, on the verge of tears and completely overwhelmed I crawl back into the car – escaping the reality outside.
In the next moments the police arrive with whistles and a paddy wagon to clear the beggars from this street and corner. I witness this through the tinted glass of the rental car.
I look out as this part of India looks in. I am blessed to be here.
Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow
Saturday, November 21, 2009 – Posting 1
Today was my first full day in Hyderabad, India and I think I might have spent it doing some of the most random things possible.
Today was my first full day in Hyderabad, India and I think I might have spent it doing some of the most random things possible.
Two Words: Snow World.
Yes, as it turns out there is a Snow World in Hyderabad. Where Indians and Expats (well actually just me and 4 others) alike gather to play in artificial snow generated by machines which likely use more power than half of Hyderabad combined.
I can only describe it as slightly ridiculous and I have pictures to prove it.
I could not help smile at the irony of Ms. Wisconsin playing in snow in India on her first day in the country…how did this happen. Not just snow but a slide and rock climbing wall inside the winter wonderland. I think only the pictures can do this justice – they will be attached.
My ticket to snow world was a package deal in which I also gained entry into a mirror maze, rainforest walk and haunted house.
Snow world was followed by a 2 hour drive into the middle of nowhere in bumper to bumper traffic to go go-carting and play laser tag. Seems very American to me!
By the end of all this I had been up from about 5 AM – midnight. I crawled into bed exhausted and wondering at the many commonalities I have already witnessed – sometimes the world feels so small.
How Did the Chicken Cross the Road?
November 20th 2009
I am beginning to believe that my most difficult task in India will be learning to cross the road. It is a full-blown war out there!
This morning, I got bored and proceeded to go for a walk hoping that along the way I would find an ATM, phone card, kaftans and perhaps even a new phone – (since blackberry messenger is free anywhere in the world!)
It should be noted that I found none of these things but instead returned home with my tail between my legs. But I did make it a half-hour or so.
During this half-hour I was followed for at least 15 minutes by one rickshaw driver who wouldn’t leave me alone, yelled at forcefully by a group of begging women, nearly run off the road by several walkers and saw my life pass before me as a bus of screaming school children nearly ran me over. Needless to say, I am not only a bit unnerved but also appreciating New York.
Have you ever seen the Seinfeld episode where George starts playing frogger?…crossing the streets in India is just like this. Dash..pause…wait..go…breath. There are no lights, there are no rules and absolutely no concern for the sanctity of life.
I am now afraid one of you will die when you come to visit me.
Last night while riding home from the office in my state of sleep-deprived delirium a large bull with huge horns came charging down the freeway against traffic. This was not a hallucination…totally real. No one even flinched…just kept on going. A large bull, charging traffic…if that can’t create pause I don’t know what will.
Other than that I am starving, without phone and internet and ready to get things sorted out so I can live with a bit more peace.
With Love,
Meghan
I am beginning to believe that my most difficult task in India will be learning to cross the road. It is a full-blown war out there!
This morning, I got bored and proceeded to go for a walk hoping that along the way I would find an ATM, phone card, kaftans and perhaps even a new phone – (since blackberry messenger is free anywhere in the world!)
It should be noted that I found none of these things but instead returned home with my tail between my legs. But I did make it a half-hour or so.
During this half-hour I was followed for at least 15 minutes by one rickshaw driver who wouldn’t leave me alone, yelled at forcefully by a group of begging women, nearly run off the road by several walkers and saw my life pass before me as a bus of screaming school children nearly ran me over. Needless to say, I am not only a bit unnerved but also appreciating New York.
Have you ever seen the Seinfeld episode where George starts playing frogger?…crossing the streets in India is just like this. Dash..pause…wait..go…breath. There are no lights, there are no rules and absolutely no concern for the sanctity of life.
I am now afraid one of you will die when you come to visit me.
Last night while riding home from the office in my state of sleep-deprived delirium a large bull with huge horns came charging down the freeway against traffic. This was not a hallucination…totally real. No one even flinched…just kept on going. A large bull, charging traffic…if that can’t create pause I don’t know what will.
Other than that I am starving, without phone and internet and ready to get things sorted out so I can live with a bit more peace.
With Love,
Meghan
How Did the Chicken Cross the Road?
November 20th 2009
I am beginning to believe that my most difficult task in India will be learning to cross the road. It is a full-blown war out there!
This morning, I got bored and proceeded to go for a walk hoping that along the way I would find an ATM, phone card, kaftans and perhaps even a new phone – (since blackberry messenger is free anywhere in the world!)
It should be noted that I found none of these things but instead returned home with my tail between my legs. But I did make it a half-hour or so.
During this half-hour I was followed for at least 15 minutes by one rickshaw driver who wouldn’t leave me alone, yelled at forcefully by a group of begging women, nearly run off the road by several walkers and saw my life pass before me as a bus of screaming school children nearly ran me over. Needless to say, I am not only a bit unnerved but also appreciating New York.
Have you ever seen the Seinfeld episode where George starts playing frogger?…crossing the streets in India is just like this. Dash..pause…wait..go…breath. There are no lights, there are no rules and absolutely no concern for the sanctity of life.
I am now afraid one of you will die when you come to visit me.
Last night while riding home from the office in my state of sleep-deprived delirium a large bull with huge horns came charging down the freeway against traffic. This was not a hallucination…totally real. No one even flinched…just kept on going. A large bull, charging traffic…if that can’t create pause I don’t know what will.
Other than that I am starving, without phone and internet and ready to get things sorted out so I can live with a bit more peace.
With Love,
Meghan
I am beginning to believe that my most difficult task in India will be learning to cross the road. It is a full-blown war out there!
This morning, I got bored and proceeded to go for a walk hoping that along the way I would find an ATM, phone card, kaftans and perhaps even a new phone – (since blackberry messenger is free anywhere in the world!)
It should be noted that I found none of these things but instead returned home with my tail between my legs. But I did make it a half-hour or so.
During this half-hour I was followed for at least 15 minutes by one rickshaw driver who wouldn’t leave me alone, yelled at forcefully by a group of begging women, nearly run off the road by several walkers and saw my life pass before me as a bus of screaming school children nearly ran me over. Needless to say, I am not only a bit unnerved but also appreciating New York.
Have you ever seen the Seinfeld episode where George starts playing frogger?…crossing the streets in India is just like this. Dash..pause…wait..go…breath. There are no lights, there are no rules and absolutely no concern for the sanctity of life.
I am now afraid one of you will die when you come to visit me.
Last night while riding home from the office in my state of sleep-deprived delirium a large bull with huge horns came charging down the freeway against traffic. This was not a hallucination…totally real. No one even flinched…just kept on going. A large bull, charging traffic…if that can’t create pause I don’t know what will.
Other than that I am starving, without phone and internet and ready to get things sorted out so I can live with a bit more peace.
With Love,
Meghan
First Impressions Matter Most
November 19th, 2009
India is chaos and beauty all rolled up into one festive, unruly and unforgiving ball of spice.
India offers no remorse or apologies.
Poverty is butted up right against polish here: Slums on the painted tip toes of mansions. Oxen line the roads while limos take expats to the Google headquarters.
People are everywhere, traffic is manic and the sound of horns, hammering, screaming and talking never stop…EVER.
It is also beautiful. The spirit of the people is captured in their colors. The city is blooming. Saris decorate the rubble and women workers dot the road-side in greens, indigos and bright yellow. Even the poorest are vibrantly dressed.
The slums are unnerving and vast. Blue tarps dot hillsides where strip-mining rules. The city moves seamlessly from slum to shops to wealth to slums. It is an endless cycle of random plots. Men are standing welding in the streets as cars weave around them. People crush rocks and sell anything imaginable.
The place is bubbling with entrepreneurs and determination. It seems to be growing and developing far too quickly for any sort of over-sight to take place. The randomness of it all is uncanny.
I am exhausted and hungry but strangely awake.
I am missing my family and the normalness of home but appreciating that this is all part of the process.
India is chaos and beauty all rolled up into one festive, unruly and unforgiving ball of spice.
India offers no remorse or apologies.
Poverty is butted up right against polish here: Slums on the painted tip toes of mansions. Oxen line the roads while limos take expats to the Google headquarters.
People are everywhere, traffic is manic and the sound of horns, hammering, screaming and talking never stop…EVER.
It is also beautiful. The spirit of the people is captured in their colors. The city is blooming. Saris decorate the rubble and women workers dot the road-side in greens, indigos and bright yellow. Even the poorest are vibrantly dressed.
The slums are unnerving and vast. Blue tarps dot hillsides where strip-mining rules. The city moves seamlessly from slum to shops to wealth to slums. It is an endless cycle of random plots. Men are standing welding in the streets as cars weave around them. People crush rocks and sell anything imaginable.
The place is bubbling with entrepreneurs and determination. It seems to be growing and developing far too quickly for any sort of over-sight to take place. The randomness of it all is uncanny.
I am exhausted and hungry but strangely awake.
I am missing my family and the normalness of home but appreciating that this is all part of the process.
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