After the regular morning routine (bread, bananas, tea and singing) I found my walking crew: an Austrian girl whose name I cannot remember despite her telling me twice, a nameless man from Ireland who I suspect is a teacher and a nameless Spanish dude. Our walk was pretty quiet today and I was okay with that.
We were the first to arrive (there are many other volunteers but they took the bus) and I headed straight to laundry. I began washing the clothes because a) it needed to be done and b) I wanted to protect my princess hands. Although I washed clothes I'm not convinced they actually got clean, but who am I to say? The laundry is first put in a big basin with soap and water. Someone either works through it with their hands or by standing on it. Then it is passed on to the first sink of soapless water. Here it is swashed around a bit, pulled out, wrung a bit and handed to the next sink where the process is repeated. Three sinks in all. After the last sink it is wrung out, put in a bucket and carried up three flights of stairs to the network of clotheslines on the roof.
When I was done washing I went to the roof to help. There was a little lady there (most ladies are little here) who started using me as a teammate: she'd get it ready and pass it to me and I'd throw it on the line. For her shed toss and hope, for me the clothesline was maybe eye level. She said, 'you tall' and laughed. Then she pointed to the other ladies helping and repeated. She started calling me over by saying "tall girl". I returned the favour by calling her "short". She laughed. We laughed a lot actually. She'd be going through the laundry and look up at me and randomly start laughing. She is a patient at the home as saw me yesterday but I guess she never put herself beside me. Tall girl served a purpose today.
Two things: most ladies here speak Bengali so conversations are difficult. There is little English. Also, they and the employees of the home refer to all the volunteers as "auntie".
Yesterday my size was quickly capitalized on and a role was created for me. A nun was taking a lady to the bathroom and beckoned me to help. Then my role throughout the day became to lift ladies to go to the bathroom, in and out of bed and hoist them in wheelchairs onto the bus to see the doctor. I did enjoy the strength training.
The meals were routine: some ladies on chairs, some squatting on the ground, most eating with their fingers, some who couldn't feed themselves using a spoon. Quiet, considering there's nearly 100 women in the room.
There was no exercise class today because there was a mass for the Catholics at the home. Instead, the non-Catholics and I hung out in the garden. We played games, I made faces, there was massaging of limbs and nail painting. Anything to get a laugh really. I did my best to love on these ladies in any way I could: from soft touch to telling wild stories in English with crazy facial expressions to singing to just being beside a lady. There is no manual on what to do during this time. You kinda gotta just love. "Yesterday is past. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have today. Let us begin".
For a whopping 5 rupees I took the bus home. When I first came to the motherhouse I was annoyed that I could only volunteer for the morning, but now I like the routine. The afternoons are a fun opportunity to explore or chill. I've done a lot of writing catchup, as you can likely tell, and that has been peaceful and has helped me process. I've contributed mainly storied accounts in my posts as the big picture thoughts are still percolating. It's been an interesting two weeks. At this point all I know is that I'm so grateful for my Christian upbringing.
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