Along with other charities in India, we were forced to abandon our volunteer program about five years ago when India did away with the volunteer visa.  But it has now been reinstated.  Hooray!!  So, we’ve started our program again.  We’re calling our new program, the Rising Star Sponsorship Program, because every person going, sponsors a child at one of our schools as part of their participation.

As I am writing this, our first group of sponsors is in India, making a big difference in the lives of our students and their families in the leprosy colonies.

All of our students are rejoicing to get the sponsors back!  For many students, the coming of the sponsors was the highlight of their experience in our schools, because the sponsors are so much fun!  It also made a HUGE difference in their ability to speak English, and in their progress in their studies.

If you are interested in participating, contact Shalay Andrus at sh****@ri****************.org.

I’m including in my article, a beautiful story written to me by a former sponsor.  I think that from this account, you can readily see why this is such a life-changing experience! 

Where Dead Men Walk

By Gloria Pope; October 2011

Things really move fast in this age of jet travel! Two short days ago, I was sitting in a sidewalk cafe on the Champs d’ Elysée, basking in the charm of Paris. Today, I’m sitting in a sweltering Rising Star Outreach medical van waiting to visit our first leprosy colony. What an experiential shift of 180 degrees! ….and what a coincidence! That’s also the ambient temperature in this van!  but I digress….

Seated next to plastic basins and boxes of medical supplies, I silently applaud the wisdom of Rising Star to thrust volunteers into the medical experience within 24 hours. The quicker you face it, the less time you have to create unrealistic fears about it. Did I just say, “unrealistic fears?” Isn’t that an oxymoron? DUDE! Leprosy is Jurassic Park scary! What is unrealistic about this fear? I feel several new beads of perspiration pop out to join the hundreds already glistening on my damp forehead. Am I up for this?

We are joined by a female doctor and two nurses; employees of Rising Star Outreach. Like us, they are dressed in salwars (baggy pants and long tops) but theirs are made of such elegant fabrics, we volunteers appear to be “slumming” to hang out with them. They show no concern. One staff nurse, Charmilla, a twenty-something year old Indian beauty, greets us with her stunning smile: “Good Morning!”

“Good Morning,” we reply.
“We are delighted you are here!”
We smile in response.

Charmilla’s personal energy is both sweet and exciting—like spiced dark chocolate. A wave of amazement and gratitude hits me: “I AM glad to be here! I AM totally excited to be sitting in this medical van in India waiting to visit a leprosy colony!” I catch Charles’s eye and give him two thumbs up. He smiles and returns the gesture. Our daughter, Holly, for whom travel and foreign cultures are the elixir of life, is so stoked, she doesn’t need the van to get to the colony; she can fly! Our driver, Vel, starts the engine and, to my delight, flips on a lovely, lovely air conditioner! All is well.

We had a little taste of the Indian “road rally” during our initial journey to the compound, but today we are more alert to the nuances of rural driving. It is basically an extended game of “chicken.” All vehicles try to use the center of the road because there are fewer pedestrians, animals and bicycles in the middle. Just before collisions occur, drivers ease a few inches sideways and speed by each other. It is best to discard all concepts of safety and just get into the game.

Even though he uses the less impeded middle of the road, Vel must swerve constantly to avoid cattle, carts, kids (both human and goat varieties,) and of course, the plethora of potholes. Bump! Swerve! Sway! Bump! The van, quite new and ostensibly manufactured with shock absorbers, is no match for this abusive terrain. Each broken chunk of pavement sends a jolt through tires, machinery and passengers. On the larger roads, the “game of chicken” becomes “school of fish.” Vehicles of every size and shape fill the road and swarm around each other like land-sardines. Drivers honk their horns continually to alert one another of their presence. Despite this “messaging system” there are so many near misses, you find yourself wondering if you packed your advance directive and spend many spiritual moments making bogus deals with the Creator.

Feeling like a patient who has undergone lithotripsy, I exit the van and plant my shaking feet on the ground. We are in the Barathapuram Leprosy Colony. I scan the environment. The buildings are relatively clean by Indian standards, meaning the black mold has only stained only about 25% of the concrete and the rain and sun has only destroyed about 50% of the paint. Abundant foliage provides relief from the direct sun. Suddenly, a tiny woman races towards us waving her “hands” (actually fingerless stubs) in the air and shouting something in Tamil. She sports a gappy, jack-o-lantern smile and a gigantic tri-colored bindi that practically obliterates her forehead. She looks absolutely insane. Shouting and leaping, she does a cartoon character dance in front of us and we respond by smiling and nodding. I turn to a member of the medical team and ask, “What is this about?” She answers, “This woman is thanking God for sending us.”

I stand frozen to the spot, trying to absorb just a fraction of this little woman’s joy. What must it feel like to be stricken with an illness that destroys your body and severs you from your family, your home, neighborhood, and society? What would it feel like to be sick AND discarded simultaneously? What would it feel like to fall farther than anyone can fall—from health to walking death—to languish in a colony like this for the rest of your life? And then, what would it feel like, after all that rejection, to be the recipient of human warmth, human touch, human kindness? No wonder the woman is dancing for joy!

Charmilla’s voice snaps me out of my reverie.

“Here are the surgical masks and gloves. Leprosy is actually very hard to get, but since no one knows how it is spread, we wear them. The first station is where you will unwrap the feet. Throw the dirty bandages in the plastic bin. The second station is where the feet are washed. Use fresh soapy water and a new gauze “sponge” for each person. At the third station you will apply Neem oil to the feet. This softens the hard skin around the wounds so Navimani, the Rising Star nurse, can trim it off. You can also cut toe nails here. The nails are very, very hard, and you will need this. (She holds up an industrial pedicure tool that can also be used to chop down trees.) Be careful. The final station is debridement and wrapping. You will help Navimani dress the wounds with clean gauze. One of you can work at the check-in station checking blood pressures and blood sugar levels. Okay, everyone! Pick a station!”

I take the BP and finger sticking station, thinking my nursing background might be helpful there. Holly and Charles take positions in the foot care line. The other volunteers pick their stations. The work begins. Colony residents line up on the shady porch where my table is perched. I feel happy to be involved in such a good work, but I soon become frustrated because I can’t speak the language. My mouth is covered by the mask so I try smiling with my eyes. It is my only way to communicate until Charmilla teaches me to say, “Hello” (Namaste) and “Thank you” (Nandri.)

I learn something very strange about tissue damage in these patients. Trying to get a drop of blood from the remains of a patient’s finger (the only one left on her hand,) becomes a team effort. I use the lancet three times to no avail. I call over to the doctor, sitting a few feet away from me, for advice. “Squeeze harder!” comes the reply. Charmilla comes to my aid. With Herculean effort, she is able to squeeze…not blood….but clear liquid. Our eyes get very wide and she exclaims, “Only water!” Charmilla bears down again using vice grip strength. The woman feels nothing; the central problem of this disease. Finally, one drop of pinkish-white fluid oozes out. We run the test on it and the woman moves on. Whew! This puts “finger prick” into a whole new category of medical procedures for me.

At that point, I notice a commotion near Charles’s and Holly’s stations. The coordinator is taking pictures of one patient. I decide to see what is going on. As I get closer, I see a gut-wrenching scene. The poor man seated in front of Charles is missing most of his foot and the remaining flesh is wet and maggot infested. In my years of nursing, I did not encounter a wound more revolting than this. It is very humbling to watch my sweet husband help this man with such courage and tenderness. Holly has taken a position at the man’s shoulder and is holding his hand. Debridement is impossible. Amputation is the only answer. All Navimani can do is disinfect the man’s stump and wrap it in clean gauze. The leprosy hospital at Bharathapuram will have to do the amputation.

The words to, “I Heard Him Come,” by Jeff Goodrich, come racing into my mind;

I heard him come, I saw his very face,
I wondered who would come into this place
Where dead men walk, and where the dying talk
Of life before “the curse” upon them came.
He looked on me; He must have felt my gaze,
He came toward me, through the crowded maze,
And I a leper, in shame, hid my head,
till someone said, Jesus, is his name.”

I find myself wishing Jesus was on our team. Of course He is here in a spiritual sense, but I wish He were in our van. Then, we could just step back and watch Him heal everyone. We volunteers could then organize a “Post-Leprosy Party,” or something, and be done for the day. But Jesus is absent and we are here and the wounds are horrific. I sense there is something greater going on; an end that justifies the means, but why, why, why does it have to be so hard?

One thing that happens in situations of extreme suffering is that both sufferers and servants are stripped of mundane thoughts, shallow desires, and ordinary interests. Relieved of mediocrity, we gain clarity. We see the effect of “pure love.” Suffering sanctifies everyone involved. The patient becomes holy. The servants feel humbled and honored to be in their presence. We walk away from the experience, changed, and no matter how grotesque and gritty the environment or the work, we feel cleaner than we did before we encountered it.

Our work is done for the day. We pack up the equipment and sit in the van. I notice that I have beautiful fingers and toes. I want to weep for joy. Many of the patients have lined the driveway to wave their final “Nandri” to us, but one man lies under a portico. He rocks back and forth holding his leg with both hands; the stump of his leg wrapped in clean gauze is oozing blood.

We leave Barathapuram and return to our comfortable, clean, living quarters. We immediately shower and change into clean salwars. Rising Star has a dinner-time tradition where everyone shares his/her personal “high” and “low” for that day. Melissa, one of the newbie volunteers, stands to share her day’s “peak and valley.” Tears begin to run down her cheeks. In a voice choked with emotion, she says,

“I was so scared when we arrived…and then that crazy little woman smiled and danced in front of us. At that point, I knew I could do anything. She saved me.”

I thought to myself, “Yes, she saved us all.” How precious a smile can be in the face of death.

A few days after our experience at Barathapuram, Charmilla announced that the man with the extreme wound had passed away. News of his death affected us all.

“I held his hand, Mom,” Holly said quietly.
“Yes, you did, and can you imagine how much that meant to him?”
Silence and a nod of her head.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Can we come again?”
“I hope so.”

Each night during our four weeks in India, I laid on my bunk listening to the chirrup of geckos while I thought about the mysterious, addictive nature of service. I marveled at the strange, otherworldly wisdom that both sanctions and sanctifies suffering. I push my faith to the breaking point and urge the last molecule of philosophy to answer the haunting questions: WHY? WHY so hard? WHY so much suffering? WHY?

I didn’t find all the answers that night, but I did fall asleep without fear or regret. This would be a Gap Year to remember.

NOTE: Not all volunteers are required to assist the medical team.  If someone prefers another activity, it can be arranged.