I have no idea where to start this post, it's taken me a few days to actually write this and I have had two pots of coffee before writing this... so I'll just skip a nice intro and get into and get to the story: first of all, Brundaban came home from school with a deep, open wound in his head.
Hold on, let me interrupt myself.
Let's talk about Indian government schools for a moment.
I have never before seen such negligent, uncaring, lazy and even abusive teachers. Children that are Christian will be denied many privileges in school. Hindu families will receive money from the government, but Christians will be denied such a right. You will often find that the teachers will sleep instead of teaching, sometimes in class. Sometimes they will "excuse themselves" to the restroom for long periods of time or eating and drinking instead of teaching, leaving entire classrooms devoid of teachers and education. If the students say the wrong answer, the teachers will slap or hit the children on the hands with sticks...sometimes, the teachers make the students slap themselves.
This brings me back to Brundaban's condition. When he hit his head, gashed it open, the teachers did nothing. The schoolchildren were worried, so they put face cream in his wound to make the blood flow stop. He came home from school with a deep, open wound in his head...filled in with face cream.
This is not the first time the government schools have done nothing to help the children that I call my friends. At one point, they sent one of the children to walk home, alone, with a fever of 104F. He had malaria, and by the grace of God, one of the New Life staff happened to be driving by and took him to the hospital.
Let's get back to my little brother, Brundaban. It has gotten to the point that, if there is a small medical need, the kids will come to me first (I was wondering when that red cross course I took in high school would be useful...). Because the kids will come to me first, Momma Suphala wanted me to check on Brundabana brother. I told him to first wash the face cream out of his gash. He did, and it was so deep that Momma, Dad, Grandma, Alexis and I gasped. I told the truth, he needed to go to the hospital. If you've read any of my posts, you'll know I do not trust the hospitals in this village whatsoever...they are even more negligent than teachers in this district. We talked about it for a small amount of time and decided that I would go with Brundaban to the hospital.
So, yes, I have lost count of how many times I have been to hospitals in Kesinga. Again, I was on my way to the hospital, this time with my little brother. The wind was blowing like crazy that day and I was having a hard time keeping the dust out of my eyes, much less keep the dust out of my brother's head. It was ridiculous.
We arrived at the hospital, me, Brundaban and two of the driver sirs. We were then taken to a room, then another room, then another. Then another. Every doctor seemed to be 'busy', taking a nap, eating, drinking and, in general, uncaring and were unphased by the reality that there was a little boy with a huge gash in his head.
I have never been in so many hospitals in one city, and, in that city, seen so many doctors who are so uncaring, so dark and hopeless. It is disgusting to experience. There is no compassion, no love, no heart...I have no idea how to explain it. It almost seems as if they enjoy watching people in pain...I can't understand it except for to explain that every single hospital is completely devoid of the Holy Spirit apart from the times when "those Christian people" come by.
When we get finally got a doctor willing to take half an hour out of his time to sew up Brundaban's head, the doctor was so ungentle and my brother's screams and howls were unexplainable. The room was unsanitary (there was literally a box labeled "body parts only" right by us and dirty needles everywhere) as I watched this doctor and saw my brother, I was not disturbed by the wound but by the carelessness, heartlessness and improper medical work that was happening right in front of me.
When we got back to the car, Brundaban, despite being the toughest 11-year-old in the world, fell into my arms. My heart broke.
I knew then that it was a reminder that, when I get home, my work isn't finished...I need to study Hindi and take medical courses. I would love to also be able to translate for other teams that may come to this district and work with New Life, and, in fact, the people at New Life are praying about one day having a hospital and a place to pray over people.
I have been changing the dressing on Brundaban's wound every day, and today, needed to comb out his hair and, in the process, comb out chunks of blood, comb out large lice crawling about and comb out dirt and dust. While I did this, I was not disturbed, but filled with a brotherly love and talked to God quietly. Brundaban felt no pain but sat quietly, knowing he was loved by his big sister and, more importantly, loved by God. As I continued to comb, I thought, "I want to do this for the rest of my life".
I want to waste the rest of my life on Christ, loving people like crazy. I am excited to go to school, learn as much as possible and love people when I get back, whenever that may be.
I also have no idea how to end this post. All I know is...I have been dressing cuts, tending to chemical burns (there's this type of spider here that pees on you and leaves chemical burns on your skin. It's a giant nope on eight legs), treating stomach problems and taking care of sprains and skin problems...and I love it. I love the fact that I teach computer, science and English every morning at school, tend to small medical needs when someone knocks on my door, cuddle lonely children, simply be an open ear to teenagers that need someone to talk to and pray over people in villages. I love serving Christ and His beautiful people. I am excited for whatever plans He has for me.
That's about it. I think I need more coffee. Love you all, I will see you all soon.
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