The Calcutta Diary, Part III

Fri, 8/28
This day was incredible. It started pretty early. I was up at 6:30am and out of the house 15 minutes later. Wes, Tim, and I met Nabine, a native man who runs a ministry for railway children (officially, he is associated with YWAM: Youth With a Mission). He and his wife, and their two children are from a village about 6 hours south of Calcutta. His brother is a pastor there and his family lived a comfortable lifestyle doing kingdom work in the village. A few years ago, Nabine’s wife began having visions. She knew that the Lord was calling them to Calcutta to work with the railway kids. They didn’t know anyone there, and had no idea how this calling would manifest. But, they left everything they had, and followed the leading of the Holy Spirit. Nabine told us that the first year was very tough. Sometimes, his family had no housing or food. His wife cried a lot, and they feared for the security of their children. Still, the labors of their ministry began—first, with prayer. Then, Nabine began to visit the station.

Howrah Station is the busiest train station in Calcutta, and it is one of the largest in India. More than a million passengers travel by Howrah trains daily. The outside of the station is the first true architectural beauty that I’ve seen here (there may be more, but the buildings are all so moldy that it would be impossible to see it). The inside of the station is depressing. The three of us were immediately impressed with the courage of Nabine and his wife to take on such a challenging ministry.

In the beginning, Nabine went to the station every morning for 4-5 hours. He went in the morning because the kids were less likely to be high on drugs at that time of day. Boys and girls age 6-18 live at the station because they are homeless, they got kicked out, or they left home by choice. It is beyond me why life at the station could be better than anything else… But here’s an example: One boy we met today left home because he’s from a Muslim family with 5 wives and lots of children. He was neglected and became very bitter with his home life. He wound up at the station. Young kids there get “taken in” by the older gang leaders, hooked on drugs, and then are destined for a life of constant struggle. They live on whatever they can find at the station that has been left over by travelers. They collect empty bottles, and sell them. 3 bottles gets them 1 rupee, which is the equivalent of less than 2 cents.
Nabine’s ministry involves visiting the station and building trust with the kids by talking with them, showing love to them, and treating them like human beings. Their hearts have been hardened by circumstances. The police beat them like animals if they’re caught running around the station. There have even been reports of terrorist groups pretending to take railway boys to a better life, when they were actually recruiting them to carry out extremist acts. So, trust is not an easy thing to gain with these kids. But Nabine, his wife, and a handful of others kept praying and kept visiting.
It was evident to us that Nabine had built rapport with most of the Howrah kids by the time we visitied. When they saw him, their eyes lit up and they exclaimed, “Uncle! Uncle!” That was encouraging. Still, it was difficult to see the kids living in such filth and despair. I had never seen a 7-yr old strung out on drugs until today. I saw many children who had been “sniffing glue” that morning. Some were still reluctant to talk with Nabine. But we got to shake hands with the kids and spend time conversing with them as much as the language barrier would allow. We did not see any “railway girls.” Nabine says the girls are kept hidden, protected by the gang leaders, high on drugs, and used for sex. We saw young men who lived at the station, likely since their childhood. We saw elderly people sleeping on the concrete, and families who had set up camp there. All of them looked like they could use some serious medical attention and food.
There is no hope in life at the station. It’s a desperate existence there. As bad as it is, it’s the only constant that the kids know, and I believe many are afraid to leave. But Nabine offers the kids hope through Jesus Christ. His ministry does regular outreach for the railway kids. They have regular “open house” at a nearby location, where the kids can get some good food and good company. They are only allowed in if they are not under the influence of drugs. And, best of all, Nabine has rescued 11 children from the station! 7 boys and 4 girls. The girls were a special victory since it’s not likely that they are even seen at Howrah. Nabine’s first rescue occurred about a year ago. The boy was carried from the station with little life left in his body. At the hospital, the doctor said he would be dead within a week.

We met that boy this afternoon. We met all 7 boys (the girls are under someone else’s care). They live at home with Nabine’s family. And we spent our afternoon there. It was amazing. The house is pretty sizable compared to every other home we visited. They don’t live in luxury, by any means, but the boys have enough space to play and just be kids. They get fed 3 meals a day and are given clean clothes to wear. A friend of Nabine’s just built them all new beds last week so they don’t have to sleep on the concrete floor anymore. There are a handful of others involved with this ministry, including a tutor for the boys. Nabine and his wife talked to us about some of the challenges of their ministry. There is certainly the issue of fear when the boys first come from the station. They need to be monitored by two adults all the time. They can be extremely violent and have not been taught how to behave in a family setting. They go through drug withdrawals and they cry. They have rescued boys who have actually gone back to live at the station. Nabine said there have been times when they have really feared for the security of their own children, particularly their beautiful 6-yr old daughter.
But through the railway ministry, God has proven that He is bigger than the station’s strongholds. To see the transformation in the boys was incredible. Two of the boys had just come from the station last week. Rahou, one of the new kids, was just as sweet as could be. He said the blessing before we ate lunch together, and later on he and I were singing praise songs together that he had first learned at church last Sunday. After lunch, all of the boys had their house chores to do before we could play, and they did them diligently. The oldest boy is 14. He was only with us for a few minutes, because he had to leave for the Bible seminar he is attending this month. He says he’s so grateful for what God has done in his life that he wants to become a pastor. The kids were so much fun to hang out with. They asked us all kinds of questions about America, and we played several games of UNO. We got to see some of the things they’ve been learning in their class lessons, and affirm their good work. I know God has a unique plan for each of the boys, and He will provide the means to care for the 7 that are with Nabine now, as well as more that will come.

When it came time to have a more serious talk with the boys, I was reminded that God uses all things to work for the good of his Kingdom, for those that love Him. Tim has a very difficult story to share about growing up in a Christian home, but turning away from God as a young adult. He made some bad decisions, and paid a heavy price for the lifestyle that resulted. But he boldly told his testimony to the boys (in great detail, which he had not done earlier in the week) and it was so powerful to see the kids relate his story to theirs. They were all very encouraged by Tim, especially Rahou, who listened attentively with wide-eyes and kept inching closer as the story went on.
Nabine received a letter while we were at his house. It was from his brother, the pastor, whose church and home were located in a village south of Calcutta. I say “were,” in past tense because the brother, his family, and his congregation are now living in a makeshift camp in the jungle. The people were all forced out of the village. The Hindu people burned the Christians’ houses down, and 8 members of the church congregation were killed. When they ran for their lives into the jungle, huge trees were cut down behind them, making it very difficult to get out, back onto the road. The letter to Nabine chronicled the several weeks these people have spent living in dangerous conditions, with little food. They but themselves a path back to the road. But when the people sent two of their congregation to the village for food, they did not come back. They were killed.

Nabine’s brother wrote about how strong his congregation had been, standing firm in their faith in the Lord. He said what they really needed was rice. As I read the letter, I just couldn’t believe it. I know the concept of persecution, but it seems so archaic to me. In this day, do people seriously get killed for professing the name of Christ? Yes they do. I am grateful for religious liberty in America.

We were sad to say goodbye to Nabine, but thankful to be a part of such a wonderful ministry, if only for a day.

Sat, 8/29 & Sun 8/30
Wes and Tim flew home Saturday morning. I spent the day with Don and Dale, shopping at a mall that is really nice, even by American standards. We went to a fancy restaurant for lunch, and it was the most expensive meal I ate during my time in India—500 rupees, or 10 dollars. I got to spend Saturday evening reflecting on the week and praying for the needs that I had been made aware of by people in Calcutta ministry. On Sunday, I attended house church at Matt & Shannon’s flat and spent some more time with their family. The house church was attended by about 10 adults, including Nabine and his wife. And we got awesome news! The church body there was able to use its offering fund to pay for rice for Nabine’s brother’s congregation! I’m not good at doing measurement conversions in my head, but it sounded like a lot of rice was to be delivered to them on Monday morning. God will supply all of our needs.

Calcutta is not a place that I would like to live. It is a difficult city in many ways. All the basic infrastructure of the city itself is really insufficient for the number of people there (13 million). The traffic, and lack of traffic laws are insane. Corruption is rampant, and people get away with things by slipping money to the authorities all the time. Calcutta is a city with a ridiculous amount of religious superstitions and man-made folklore. Here, faith is more about keeping with tradition and culture than it is about believing in a God who actually cares for people.

God made himself a man. He likened himself to us. He sent His son Jesus to our world, to be atonement for our sins and to be the hope of everlasting life in heaven. The heart of a Christian overflows with love because of Jesus’ sacrifice, and that overflow causes Christians to care for other people the way that Jesus cared for them. The Hindu religion is very different in that it is individualized. I’m not entirely well-versed in Hinduism but my basic understanding is this (correct me if I’m wrong): People essentially choose which gods they worship (they have millions of options) based on tradition, needs, or preference. They strive to become more god-like, which could take many reincarnations to achieve. Once they are complete in some way, their souls essentially evaporate, or become one with the universe. This religion does not have any element of community. There is little concern for caring for other needs. It is no one’s spiritual responsibility or desire to be concerned for the widows and orphans of Calcutta.

“The agony we see in the faces of those starving children and beggars is actually caused by centuries of religious slavery. In my own beloved homeland of India, thousands of lives and billions of dollars go into social programs, education and medical and relief efforts every year. Many of the crisis problems that are considered disasters in the United States would only be normal, everyday living conditions in most of Asia. When we have disasters in the Orient, the death tolls read like Vietnam War body counts.

…Despite all these massive social programs, the problems of hunger, population and poverty continue to grow. The real culprit is not a person, lack of natural resources or a system of government. It is spiritual darkness. It thwarts every effort to make progress. It dooms our people to misery…The single most important social reform that can be brought to Asia is the Gospel of Jesus Christ. More than 400 million of my people have never heard the name of Jesus Christ. They need the hope and truth that only the Lord Jesus can provide.”
-K.P. Yohannan, Revolution in World Missions

THE END

The Calcutta Diary, Part II

Wed, 8/26
Another long, but wonderful day with Subir and the GNCEM. First, we visited another day school. In each classroom, we handed out stickers and candy that we bought for the kids. Then the kids all came together in one room and sang songs for us in Hindi and English. We led them in ‘Father Abraham,’ which we also sang a handful of times yesterday. Then we shared our testimonies and prayed for the kids. We were welcomed with flowers and treated to tea and cookies.

We drove quite a distance away from downtown to visit the Girls’ Home. It is a very nice. The girls there are from the streets or the slums, and began their education at the Mobile Schools. They stay at the home, are fed 3 meals and 2 snacks per day, and their parents visit once per month. After we visited each of the classrooms, we had a lunch break there. We were offered coconut water straight from the coconut that they hacked down from a tree out back. It was a really nice gesture. The only problem: I hate coconut. I drank it anyway. Lunch was wonderful. As usual, the hospitality was ridiculously generous. I politely skipped out on the curry today, much to my stomach’s delight. After lunch, we had play time with the girls. We had brought them a bunch of little stress balls to play with and we had fun throwing them around. The girls put on a performance for us with songs and skits.
Onto the Boys’ Home. The kids were so excited when our vehicle drove up. I have been amazed at the honor shown to pastor Subir by his staff and the children, and the same shown to us. They call us “Auntie” and “Uncle”—terms of respect. The children are all very well-behaved. But boys will be boys. Tim and Wes thought it would be fun to play 2 v. 75 dodgeball with the stress balls…and it was fun. The kids loved it. Subir told us that the boys had been praying to God to give them one futbol (soccer ball) to play with. Wes brought them 10 soccer balls to keep. After lots of playing and testimony-sharing, we were treated to tea and cookies while the boys performed Bible skits and songs. They started to sing one particular song in Bengali and I thought I recognized it. ‘Oh yeah, I know this song in Korean!’ I remembered. So I sang along and translated it into English in my head. Our God is a really big God. And I’m reminded that He is sovereign over all the Earth. That evening, we attended another house fellowship. We taught a lesson from the book of Samuel, about David. Man judges by the external, but God knows our hearts so, 1) don’t judge appearances and 2) don’t try to fool God by looking good on the outside. Again, the people were passionate, the worship was wonderful, and the prayer requests were many. We were treated to dinner.

Thurs, 8/27
This morning, we attended “4 Soils” training conducted by the International Missions Board (IMB), and attended by ministry leaders from all over India. There were about 60 people there, 10 Westerners and 50 “nationals.” It was encouraging to see so many strong Christian men seeking His face. There were also a couple of women there. In talking with some IMB staffers, we learned that the Indian believers’ passion for Jesus is unmatched in the Western world, but that their vision planning, organizational skills, and logistics are lacking. So, the goal of the training was to put their passion to better use for the kingdom. My prayer is that the application of the concepts discussed in this training will glorify God in India like never before!
The three of us left at lunch time and went back to Matt & Shannon’s flat. After lunch, Shannon, Zeenut and I hailed a cab. I wore my salwar kameez. The plan was to visit a Muslim shrine, a mazar. We wanted to go and pray for the women who had come to the mazar for various needs. Shannon told me the Quran tells Muslims that if you pray in the name of Isa (Jesus), Allah (God) hears your prayer. So, even though Islam and Christianity are extremely different when it comes to believing in Jesus as Messiah, it can’t hurt to go and pray for these women. Zeenut’s mom, Anita, has visited a different mazar, and the women have approached her asking for help and for prayer. When Anita said she would pray for them in the name of Jesus, they generally welcomed it. We did not have such a positive experience.

First, my pants ripped as I got out of the cab. They do not make pants for 6’ tall women (or men) here. As we walked up to the shrine, the entry was chaotic because of the crowd of beggars who were strategically placed. During Ramadan, the holy month, Muslims traditionally give more alms. Begging in India is a professional business. Often, that means that the kids who approach you have been forced into it by parents who are close by with watchful eyes. Or that sickly-looking babies get passed around by different women who hope to play the starving mother card. It is a really sad reality, one that is often perpetuated by tourists. I just tried to get to the steps of the mazar, which seemed to be the safe zone, but got a butt-grab from a homeless man along the way. This is something I was warned about, but it still made me upset. It was somewhat unnerving to leave our shoes outside for fear that they may be stolen.

The imam seemed suspicious of us as soon as we entered. That’s understandable, I suppose, since two of us were Westerners and the three of us together did not look very Muslim. Apparently, I did not have my head wrapped properly because the imam pointed out an exposed portion of my shoulders. So Zeenut had to re-situate my dupati before we were allowed in. Once inside, we weren’t permitted to enter the main room where the actual saint is buried. The mazar in its entirety was very small, and the heaviness in there was overwhelming. It seemed like a dark, sad place. What was more hopeless to me was that people were praying to a dead guy who was declared a saint by some other guy who’s probably dead by now.

We were surprised to find lots of men in there, but only one woman. Even so, we knelt down and commenced prayer. Though I hadn’t thought of it until then, I was quickly reminded of the state of my knees. My prayers for the Muslim women of that community did not drown out the pain of my aching joints. So, reluctantly, I stood, thinking I would just go outside and pray from there. Yeah…right. This is India, not America. There’s no option to stand peacefully on the sidewalk, especially not for me. Immediately, I was surrounded by a swarm of beggars. I just stood my ground, not making eye contact, and truthfully shrugged my shoulders to indicate that I didn’t have my wallet on me. After a moment, the adults went to find someone else. The kids were relentless. It hit me very hard when I finally looked at their faces and recognized several of them from the Mobile School on Tuesday. I gave up on the idea of praying from out there because the gawking passers-by were too distracting. A 6’ tall Western girl wearing a bright orange Hindu costume—I didn’t stand a chance.

Even though it seemed like I stood out there for an eternity, it was only about 10 minutes. I was expecting Shannon & Zeenut to be inside for an hour, maybe two. But they were actually asked by the imam to leave. He made up some excuse about how ladies could not stay long during Ramadan. More likely, it was a “skin thing.” Instead, we prayer-walked around the neighborhood. Then Shannon bought a burka at the bazaar so she would be covered, literally, for next time. She and Zeenut will go to a bigger shrine next time where they are less noticeable.
Since we were in the area, they took me to see Mother Theresa’s house (Her grave is pictured above). It was interesting. Then we got a cab home. I went to Matt & Shannon’s a while longer and played with the girls. Then they insisted that I try their favorite dinner food. So we went to Rhamania restaurant and ordered “chicken rolls.” They were so good! When I got home to Don and Dale’s flat, they had ordered Dominoes…dinner #2 :)

The Calcutta Diary, Part I

Sat, 8/22
It is hard to describe all of the things I saw while driving through Calcutta from the airport. There are no traffic rules here. Cars, rickshaws, pedestrians, hand-carts, bicycles, buses, and cows all plow their way through the same streets. Lots and LOTS of people!...hut-like dwellings and shops everywhere…market places…unfinished construction projects with squatters…Dominoes! We all went to dinner at a nice place near the guys’ hotel. It was called the Charcoal Grill. I had tandoori (Indian-style bbq) stuffed mushrooms and some delicious nan. I am staying at Don and Dale Getty’s guest room. They live in a 17th-story flat just south of downtown.


Sun, 8/23
This morning we went to a local church. Subir, a native of Calcutta, is the pastor and his Korean wife, Enoch, works for the ministry also. When he picked up the three of us at the Bella Vista, Subir asked us which one would be giving the sermon. What?!? No one told us about this ahead of time. We all just stared at him. Surely it wouldn’t be me, the female…not in this culture. Tim stammered that he would try to teach something. I guess that’s why we should always be prepared!
Subir warned us that the church was “small and poor,” but we loved it as soon as we got there. The congregation was about 100 people, all packed into this one small room (with no A/C of course). Everyone sat Indian-style on the floor with their shoes off. The people worshipped so joyfully! I was actually surprised that they had music and stereo equipment. I couldn’t tell if they were singing in Bengali or Hindi, but it didn’t really matter since I only understood one word anyhow: “Hallelujah!” The highest praise is universal…

The pastor invited us to sit in chairs at the pulpit. We each introduced ourselves and thanked everyone for having us. The three of us sang ‘How Great is Our God’ for the congregation. Wes and I shared our testimonies and Tim preached a lesson from Acts and Ezekiel (the stories of Simon the Sorcerer and how God breathed life into the bones): Someone who appears to be your adversary needs Christ too. And nothing is too difficult for God. After the service, the church members socialized with us in broken English and they were extremely kind.

We went to lunch at a mall food court with Subir, Enoch and their three kids. We also met some of the Western missionaries there that we’d be working with for the week. We ate TONS of Indian food…food from the different regions of the country is all distinct, and we got to try a bit of everything. The nan is my favorite so far—playing it safe! I spent the rest of the day listening to stories from the Gettys about their time in the mission field. I was happy to catch Paul on g-chat just before he went to church. In Calcutta, we are 9.5 hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time.


Mon, 8/24
Today, I felt like a complete failure…

Matt and I took a cab to the guys’ guest house this morning. We chatted over breakfast and then had “orientation.” Matt taught us a lesson from the book of Jonah (we’re like Jonah and Kolkata is like the city of Ninevah). Then he taught us about the Camel Method for sharing the gospel with Muslims, using parts of the Quran. I realized that I only know bits and pieces of the Muslims’ holy book. Maybe I’ll read it sometime soon…

Matt explained the Amazing Race evangelism activity to us which, at least for me, seemed far from amazing. Street evangelism is definitely not my strong point. And now I’m supposed to try it in a Muslim area of town?! At least I got to go with an Indian who knew her way around—Zeenut is a Christian girl, just a little older than me, who was born and raised in Calcutta. The guys were totally on their own. Zeenut and I took a cab to a Muslim neighborhood (and by the way, when I say cab, I mean a car that looks like it was made sometime in the 1970’s and never had any maintenance done on it whatsoever). When we got there, we started with lunch at the Royal Indian Hotel. It was a pretty fancy restaurant by Indian standards, and we both ate biryani, a rice and meat dish with special spices which is traditional Muslim fare. Apparently, you would never attend a Muslim wedding without eating this. I picked up the tab for both of us and the grand total?? 216 rupees; $4.32.

Once we started walking around, Zeenut and I had to separate because no one would speak English with me if she was beside me…duh. I was in search of Muslim women to dialogue with. The ultimate goal was to get into a conversation about religious beliefs, but we were supposed to figure out answers to some Muslim culture-questions along the way. I did not accomplish any of that. I felt like every possible circumstance that could have worked against me today, did. To begin with, there were barely any women on the streets in general, let alone English-speaking ones. Apparently, Muslim ladies don’t go out much during Ramadan (the month-long fast; they stay at home and cook all afternoon for iftar, which is the breaking of the fast every night after 6pm or so). Add to that the fact that it was raining, making it near impossible for me to distinguish Muslim from Hindu since all the women covered their heads with scarves. Many Muslim women wear the traditional burka, but not all of them do. With the weather as it was, no one was interested in stopping to chat. I made several attempts, but only had one actual conversation. It was with a young Hindu woman, but it was just small talk.

I was overwhelmed by all of the stares, gawking, and comments that came my way (mostly by men and boys). I felt ridiculous in the traditional Hindu dress I was wearing, but it would have been even worse had I been in Western clothes. The streets are insane and there is no organization to the commercial side of things here. I tried to at least admire some architecture, which I usually love, but there wasn’t much to see. Just a lot of dilapidation and disrepair. I wanted to cry today. I have a much better appreciation of what the career missionaries do here. All the honking, barking by wild dogs, and fumes gave me a headache.


Tues, 8/25
Today was a good day. We were in the field from 7am-8:30pm. We were working with Subir and his ministry: the Good News Children’s Education Mission (GNCEM). First, we spent time at the two Mobile Schools. We rode on the bus to pick up the Mobile School kids. The bus was actually pretty nice compared to many buses on the road. Our church at home in Charleston was associated with financing this bus, so it was cool to see the fruit of that. Subir, who speaks decent English, told us that the kids we would pick up first “live in the garbage.” So we picked them up from the huge city dump. We made one more stop nearby and the bus was packed with adorable, screaming, filthy children.
At the school, the kids first get a “bucket shower.” I’m not sure who was more thankful for that: the kids? Or Wes, Tim and me? Then, in the classroom, we put on the kids’ uniform shirts, introduced ourselves, sang songs with them, and shared our testimonies. We fed them breakfast—2 biscuits (cookies) and a shot glass of milk. After eating, the three of us taught their lessons in English. I was in charge of the youngest group. We worked on numbers and counting 1-10, and words for body parts (remember the song ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes?’) Then…play time! It was tiring with them crawling all over us but it was great.
We left that Mobile School and visited the other one, in Calcutta’s “China Town.” The kids at that school are not homeless at the dump, but live in the slums. We did much of the same at the second school. At each place, we were honored as esteemed guests with flower wreaths. It’s very interesting how the older children (like, 7+ years old) care for the younger children here. During shower time this morning, it was the older kids at the front of the line ready with the soapy cloth to scrub down the others. If a baby is crying, it’s often an older child that will go comfort them.
Lunchtime was spent at Subir’s flat. Homes are very different here. We got to meet some of his ministry staff (there are 50 in all.) In the afternoon, we visited GNCEM’s baby care center and the regular day schools for grades 4-10 (there are two schools). In each classroom, we got to share our testimonies and encourage the kids in the Lord. We sang songs and played games with the kids. We were treated to tea and biscuits at each place. It was strange drinking hot tea while simultaneously sweating my butt off.

At 6pm, we went to a “house fellowship” (like bible study or small group) with Subir although, in America, the structure would definitely not be considered a house (more like a utility shed). The host was a former Hindu priest who converted to Christianity and led his family & followers to do the same. Wes, Tim and I taught a lesson from 2 Corinthians 4:13-16. We were treated to a big dinner by our hosts. They were so generous even though they have so little. I do not like Indian sweets.