The poorest place I have ever seen

ROSHINDER SINGH, 19, has just embarked on the adventure of a lifetime - volunteering with the Missionaries of Charity in Ethiopia, on the other side of the globe from her home in Trinidad. She has been recounting her experiences in a series of e-mails to relatives and friends, giving some gripping and occasionally sobering accounts of her experiences with orphans, AIDS patients and victims of domestic abuse and rape in a country ravaged by poverty and political strife. A graduate of Maple Leaf International School, Roshinder is gaining valuable life experiences in Ethiopia before entering the University of Rome in Italy in September. Born in Dublin, Ireland, to Sikh father who is of Malaysian descent and Canadian-born Trini mother, Roshinder’s home is in Trinidad with her mother and step father, Maggie and Brian Patience. Her Trini grandparents are Senate President Dr Linda Baboolal and Dr Michael Baboolal, a prominent medical practitioner.

ARRIVAL:
Hi Everyone!
I am in Addis Ababa now. Finally! Instead of it taking me two days to travel, it has taken me five. They were the longest five days ever — sleep overnight in Miami, sleep overnight in London, stop off in Syria, Afghanistan and Egypt. And then finally I am here, but once again, in another hotel having to spend the night. So technically, I’m not even where I’m really supposed to be yet. Every airport has been so different! The people in Afghanistan were looking at me as though I was the devil! I had my sleeves rolled up and they were staring at me so badly. So to please them, I put my hoodie on to somewhat cover my face!

I sat next to a guy on my way to Syria and he was the cutest man ever. It was his first time on an airplane and I had to teach him everything, from putting on his seat belt to how to make sure his ear drums weren’t going to pop when we landed. He told me he had saved up for seven years just to get home to see his wife.  When the plane hit the ground, I looked at him and he was crying! He was so happy to be home. When I arrived in Afghanistan, the electricity in the entire city went off because it is a signal for everyone to go home at 11:30 pm. Can you imagine Trinidad’s electricity shutting off every night as a signal to get home? Never! And the women look so unhappy and trapped while the guys are all fat and mean and their tone of voice makes you freeze like they’re interrogating you. Their airport looks like a mosque or a temple!

But the coolest part of all! I arrived in Egypt and it was dark so you couldn’t really see the ground, but when I got inside the airport from walking outside, I had sand all in my shoes. Sand from Egypt!! And when we took off, you could just see sand flying and hitting the windows whereas it would normally have been rain or snow or something. So basically, I was in an airport in the middle of the desert. A bird just flew on my computer and chirped. I just jumped and embarrassed myself in front of everybody. Anyways! So 22 people died right across from where I live yesterday. Thank God I wasn’t there for that. It was all about the elections. Do you know Ethiopia is becoming democratic? And that the World Bank is giving Africa $16 billion! I was so happy!

Ethiopia is definitely the poorest place I have ever seen. Last night, my taxi driver looked at me so sad and he showed me this $5 bill that someone gave him as a tip. It was ripped in half and then after I looked at it, I realised that it was also a fake. He looked so sad and miserable — just like everyone else here. Everyone just stares at me — in London, Syria, everywhere! They just sit there and stare at me. I have now learned how to ignore them. I still don’t understand it though, because there are people everywhere that look like me! Now I just smile. Yeah, I’m sure you all are tired of this e-mail! Sorry . . . don’t have much to say yet, but all I can say now, is that Trinidad is one of the luckiest places on Earth compared to the rest of the world. There is war and poverty everywhere you turn.

In Syria, they looked through my hair, took off my shoes, checked inside of my mouth! In Miami, they took my fingerprints and my picture. In Addis, they made sure that I had all of the vaccinations done and they speak to you so harshly and mean. But, it’s their job I guess. Basically, it’s really sad and depressing here. I saw a little boy get slapped by his father today and the boy didn’t even cry . . .and no one even noticed. I basically cried at least four times today. I was so happy when I arrived, but now I realise that some countries really don’t have anything left at all. The water is yellow, the toilets can’t flush, and the bed I had to sleep in had stains. Yuck! It definitely has been an adventure so far — and I’m still loving every minute of it. I’ll e-mail again when I have the chance. I miss you all and love you all.

JUNE 11:
Salaam! (Hello)
I don’t know where to begin and how to say everything. These have been the two most difficult days — sad, tedious, draining — everything. I love it here. I feel as though I am in my element but at the same time your heart breaks 24/7 and it gets lonely here when you realise how far away you are. The life I used to have is not even close to what I now have. I do everything possible from 9 am to 9 pm with a two-hour lunch break in between . . . and I don’t even take that lunch break because how is it possible to sit and relax when you know what is happening outside? It is very difficult to not want to help every person you pass by.

Today I must have taken care of at least 30-40 people with wounds . . . from 9 am to 12 pm. Then from 12-3 pm (lunch break), I go to the children’s orphanage to feed them, sing to them (they love when I sing “Jack Johnson” — they dance) and I read to them. That is the saddest part of the day because they are all disabled — mentally and physically. Then after 3 pm, I help the men and women. The Women’s Ward consists of cases of genital mutilation,  wives set on fire or burned with acid by their husbands and AIDS. With the men, I feed them, take care of their wounds, shave their beards, bathe them — everything possible. There isn’t a limit to what I have to do but I don’t do anything that I don’t want to do (which isn’t anything really).

You find the courage not to show the patients that you are crying because they loose hope when they see you are not brave for them. My life is the furthest thing from being normal . . . my music, my pictures and my books keep me sane. We have to be in bed by 9 pm because they let the dogs out since people come to rob and steal. There are over 1,000 patients who sleep on the dirt flood and wait to be fed and taken care of. The situation in Ethiopia is getting worse — 35 more people died last night and they all came here. All in big bags. And the teenagers from Ethiopia University come hurt. I took out a bullet from a man’s shoulder yesterday, went to run and get a cloth to stop the bleeding, two minutes later he was dead. The women get raped and after they feel dirty and violated. They cut themselves so men won’t rape them again. The children beg for affection and when you give it to them, they never leave you alone.

When I am exhausted, the only thing I want is a great shower and a beautiful bed but instead I bathe in a bucket of freezing cold, yellow water and go to sleep in a sleeping bag. I cried today watching my picture because I miss home. My friend Anthony from California came into my room wanting to know if I wanted breakfast and he saw me crying. He left and two seconds later be brought pictures of his own family and we cried together. Never saw a boy my age cry before. The volunteers here all are studying medicine. I have two great friends, Julia and Maria, from Spain. Others are from Sweden, China, Afghanistan, Calcutta and Germany.

I can’t eat because I can’t take care of the patients afterward — vomit. My body aches, my heart aches and I don’t think I even have a head anymore to think with. Two more months and I can’t even handle two days. The Internet is very expensive here so I cannot send individual e-mails. So sorry. I read your e-mails but I can’t respond. Your e-mails help me — keep sending them. I miss you all and think of every one of you at night. I woke up this morning and went to the supermarket — while my friends were in Base with free drinks. Never did I feel so distant and separated but I know Base and my friends will always be there. I’ll see you guys again soon.

ROE.

e-mail continues next week