Kalighat.

I got yelled at by a nun. Yes, that's right a nun scolded me, really? Is that even possible? Sister Mary Katherine Francis, I admit I don't know their names, they are just sister or Massy. This whole volunteering thing is really a bit more like diving in the ocean. Diving in the ocean with no oxygen, no mask, and no flippers and just sinking sinking sinking. You either drown, or keep sinking until you hit a cave illuminated with light. I think I just barely made it into the cave.

Every morning the patients get their medicine, so the other day, I was handed some pills in a little plastic cup and a glass of water. i was told to give the medicine to number 16, all the women are assigned numbers in order to keep things organized and with over 50 women in a room it is rather hard to remember their names. most of which are something like Rani, Shefali, etc. These days with my even broken English, it's pretty hard to remember names in Bengali.

So I approached 16 cautiously, but with grace I might add. This woman, along with a few others, is literally a walking, breathing skeleton. One eye is clouded over, gone blind; teeth are missing in all directions; her limbs are nothing more than taught skin stretched over protruding bones;I can hold her head in the palm of my hand, feeling the rough stubble of her missing hair, and the shape of her skull. She is in terrible shape. She can sit up on her own, but the cringe part is when you actually have to lift them up yourself; it's like grabbing onto a skeleton, and it feels like the bones might break under any pressure.

She reluctantly swallowed the first pill and syrup, but was having trouble taking down the last pill. She dipped the plastic cup into her water glass trying to mix the two to make it easier. Still no luck. After several attempts she decided to give up and feebly lay back down. What was I to do, force this little orange pill into her failing body? It feels like I am walking with the living dead.

I asked another volunteer to help me, but she somehow did not understand so immediately went up to a sister and questioned her. Word gets out, and this crazy Korean nun starts yapping at me, 'it's your responsibility, you made a big mistake.'

Obviously, I understand, this is peoples lives. But, with no direction, no organization, no experience, and my first time in a room with dying people, really nun, can you give me a break for a second? I wanted to ask her what would Jesus do, but I thought that might be inappropriate.

So coughing back a few tears I let it roll off me, and continued on my way. So most of our duties at Kalighat, literally the Home for the Destitute and Dying include; maid service. No joke. Even the doctor and nurse volunteers, all of us who have travelled from around the world to be here, admit they feel a little useless. With a lack of supplies and medicines it really is hard to do the correct treatments. Regardless, I suppose at the end of the day all we can really do is try to have a little compassion for these women; channel our positive energy into making their day just a little better; basically just trying to be nice and give them some kind of recognition. I feel useless most of the time.

There was a women with AIDS, she lay in the corner, secluded, alone, dying. I will never get her face out of my mind. Her body is nothing more than bones, again, wrapped up tightly in her skin. He head was completely bald, and she lay underneath her kurta buried in the folds of fabric draped around her. She lay there so completely helpless and in pain, all we could really do is put ice packs on her feverish body, and hold her hand giving her some human touch. On her neck the lymph node was swollen to an unimaginable size. Elena, another volunteer, came over and sat near me as I was sitting with this woman, looked at me and said matter of factly, "AIDS," just nodding her head in confirmation. I knew this was probably the case, but saying it out loud is like throwing a stone through the window.

Yesterday the head nun told me to cover her in a sheet. Later in the afternoon, the sheet was pulled over her head.

Not to be so dramatic, but I thought I should share at least something from the volunteer aspect. Otherwise, everything else is great. Kolkata is starting to be my favorite city in India, ironic that it is the last Indian city I will visit on this epic journey. It feels different. So for now, I will just keep on being baked by the sun-by far the hottest time in India, and hottest city yet-and keep on being a secret spy in the Catholic Missionaries of Charity, that's how it feels sometimes.

Not to mention, today I moved into another apartment! It's only for two weeks, but so much better than the shit hole dorm room I was staying at. We have our own little global community going on, the American, two Dutch girls, and a Parisian. Sounds pretty good to me.

There are just so many things to share, it's hard to know what to write, what to censor, and what to leave for home. Regardless, I can't wait to just sit down in a room with people and disclose all those things I have been leaving out. Trust me, I have enough stories to spend the next three years writing a book.

Lastly, thank you heaps to all of you who have responded in some way to this blog. Your messages and encouragement are really what keep me going, and its always really nice to hear that people actually are reading, so keep em coming.

day 299 on the road!!

peace.