Peeri Garhi

One of the leprosy colonies we went to was in an area called Peeri Garhi (PG). It was about a 45min drive away from Pochenpur. Along the way you would see street signs directing you to PG but spelling it a different way on each sign (Peri Gardhi, Pera Garhi, Pirra Garri...). That is because Hindi is not written in the script that English is and there is no standardized way of transliterating.   

After we parked we had to walk past a wedding pavilion, a car dealership, and a section of slums before we got into the colony. It is so crazy to see the opulence of a car dealership juxtaposed directly next to slums. In India the upper and middle classes are much less insulated from poverty. Most peoples attitudes towards those in poverty is "they must have done something in their past life to deserve the fate they have...I shouldn't try and tamper with their karma." (picture of Jaymaree, Ravi, and Me)

Once we got into the colony we would usually visit people in their houses. The "houses" are tiny little rooms smaller than my bedroom along a small sort of alley way with about 8 houses on each side.  Between one and five people would live in each dwelling. Inside there was a little counter with a gas burner for preparing food (pictured above). There was no running water inside. Sometimes people would have beds but not all the time. Not having a bed is not as terrible as it might seem. In the very hot summers sleeping on the cement floor is often cooler than sleeping on a bed. Even if there was no bed or any other furniture in the house, there was always a television.

Every week Amy and I would visit a young mother named Jaymaree. We would come sit in her house on mats she laid down on the floor, and watch Tamil soap operas and music videos (the first language of most of the people at PG is Tamil). We tried to entertain her two children, 5 year old daughter Kushabu (in the picture above) and 3 year old son Perchant. Kushabu is a little fireball, full of energy and independence. Perchant at first was a little afraid of us white people and would cling to his mothers legs. He learned to like us more as we would push him in the swing in the middle of the room, made by an old saree hung from a hook in the roof (he would also nap in the swing like a hammock). When we would get there Jaymaree would always serve us coffee and masala munch. "Coffee" in India is nothing like coffee in the States. It is milk, warmed and sweetened with some Nescafe in it. I really enjoyed drinking real coffee again once I got home, but sometimes I miss Indian "coffee." Masala munch is like Cheetoes but instead of cheese flavored it is Indian spice flavored. I loved this stuff so much a brought back five bags of it (I still have two left and I am tempted to open one of them right now). These two things actually made a really great combo.

Most times we had a translator, usually a lady named Lincy (in mint green suit in the picture to the left), who would go between the houses and help us communicate. Jaymaree knew a handful of English words and even more Hindi, so between the Hindi we knew and the English she knew, we could have some short conversations that usually ended with someone not understanding the other and not knowing what to say next. Such is life in India. 

Ministry at PG was often awkward but always sweet.