Ich weiß es ist sehr lustig das ich als männliche Schwester einen Artikel aus einer Frauenzeitschrift in meinem Blog veröffentliche. Ich tue dies da ich es sehr gut beschrieben finde und viel von dem wie ich es erlebt habe gut rüber bringt.
Susan Rybarchyk’s article in Womanalive magazine
Susan Rybarchyk
A Passage to India
I had no expectations going to India. I went to see firsthand the work being done by Velemegna Good News Society Hospital in Bidar, which my parents and I had supported since 1982. I had been invited many times, but circumstances never seemed right. Circumstances have a way of determining destiny, and while non-Christians might say "go with the flow," I prefer the phrase via con Dios...go with God.
In April 2005, my best friend suffered a heart attack. She had gone with her husband to the Mayo Clinic for tests and we had spoken by phone upon her arrival. She was optimistic and upbeat. That night, she died in her sleep. She was 58. So was I. We planned on growing old together. Whatever the variables in my life, this was fixed. Suddenly, I could see nothing in my future. Nothing. What if I died tomorrow? Would I have done all that God had planned for me?
Then an e-mail arrived from Dr. Sybil Meshramkar, Director of Velemegna. "Come stay with me as long as you want," it read. This invitation I would accept. But I had no medical training; how could I be of use? "You can tell Bible stories, can't you?" Sybil replied.
So began months of preparation: saving money, getting vaccinations and an Indian visa, vacating my apartment, putting everything into storage, donating my car to charity, arranging for bills to be paid, re-writing my Will. I didn't know when, or if, I would return.
One month before my scheduled departure, a tooth fractured. Then I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes. My blood sugar was 238! Did some power on earth not want me to go? The tooth was pulled and after ten days, through diet and exercise, I had reduced my bloodsugar to 87 (and have kept it under 100 ever since). If some power didn't want me in India, a greater power apparently did.
In January 2006, I flew to London, and from there to Mumbai and Hyderabad, where Sybil met me. Her mother, Dr. Sushila Salins, had been my dear friend for twenty years, but she and her husband, Christy, were in heaven now and the hospital they had established in one of the poorest areas of their native India was being run by their elder daughter. Sybil and I had never met, yet we embraced as old friends.
Bidar was three hours away by car, so we arrived quite late. I might have slept better had my bed been less hard and dozens of stray dogs hadn't kept howling outside my window. That, I soon discovered, was quiet compared to the noise of late night Muslim wedding receptions and Muslim "revival meetings" at the nearby function hall, complete with pounding drums and megaphones.
I arrived the weekend preceding an "eye camp" sponsored by a secular German organization. Indians were collected from surrounding villages, evaluated on Monday, operated on the following day, and kept a second night for follow-up exams. Beds were available, but many preferred to sleep on the floor in a large area outside my room. They had brought food and blankets, and sometimes-family members, treating the camp as a kind of "holiday." Sunglasses provided after surgeries were snapped up like diamonds.
By camp's end, one hundred people had got their sight restored or improved, most of them operated on by Sybil.
The Germans had asked her to forego morning devotionals lest patients felt obliged to attend. They were told, politely but firmly, that Velemegna's Christian staff began each workday with hymn singing and a Bible message. No one was required to attend but no would be turned away who wanted to come. Dozens of Indians took part, Hindus, Sikhs, Lambada women ("gypsies"), even a few Muslims. For many, it was their first — and possibly only —opportunity to hear the good news of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
My first few days were spent gathering information for the Velemegna website the Germans had designed. In the evenings, when not accompanying Sybil to someone's house for a birthday celebration, christening or other gathering, I would go to the children's hostel to tell Bible stories. Simon, one of the local pastors, translated my English into Kannada, the local language, and the children greeted us with broad smiles and eager handshakes. Indian children are delightfully friendly.
At night, I would stand in my tiny washroom; pour hot water from a bucket over myself, suds up, then rinse off. I never felt so clean, and was soon sleeping like a baby under the mosquito netting I probably didn't need any more than the 14 (!) bottles of insect repellant I had brought along. I came to enjoy being serenaded by drummers and dogs and missed them when the nights were still.
Food posed no problem. Meals were mainly vegetarian, prepared from scratch with locally grown ingredients like okra, onions, spinach, and beetroot purchased fresh daily by Sybil's indispensable housekeeper, Sheila, from the nearby market. Had I known that no one in Bidar sold sugar-free soda, I would have brought Diet Coke instead of all that bug spray! (Loo paper was also at a premium.)
Sybil had cautioned that a visit to the blind school might be sad, for unlike the children's hostel, it receives no government funding and can offer little to students. But with Simon at hand, I climbed into a three-wheeled rickshaw and sallied forth. While students, ranging in age from around seven to fifteen, sat cross-legged on the bare floor singing, their teacher, a young blind man named Daleep, played songs he had composed on the electronic keyboard. It was lovely, and I was eager to return. After my second visit, however, I lay on my bed weeping. "Is there nothing I can do to help?" I prayed. When an answer came, I could hardly wait to take action.
Simon and I met Daleep at the music store, where Daleep sampled several harmonium (keyboard with bellows at back), tabla (India drums), tambourines and cymbals to select the best for his students. The following Sunday I was invited to hear two older students play the instruments and watch as one younger boy gave it a try. They thanked me for my gifts and before departing prayed for me, promising to remember "Susie" in their prayers. I remember them too and thank God for the great joy they gave me!
When none of Velemegna's staff took up my offer of help with English, Sybil made attendance at an afternoon class compulsory. They grumbled at first, but the class was soon well-attended and fun for students and teacher alike. I understood English better as I taught it to them, and learned a few words in Kannada: "Nanu egah uttah mettabeku." "I want to eat now."
They called me "Susie Auntie" which — instead of making me feel old — made me feel loved.
In addition to its eye work and pregnancy services, Velemegna supports a leprosy colony, providing medical care and land for farming marketable crops such as sugar cane, almonds, mangos and rice. When honoured for service to the community, Sybil's response is always the same. She gives credit to her parents and the glory to God.
Supported by two brothers and a sister, Sybil has done a remarkable job. But "success" has come at a price. With the best of intentions, her parents had arranged her marriage to a man who wants no part of Velemegna and has chosen instead to work as a pediatrician in another state. Until recently, they have battled over who will — and how to — raise their nine-year old son. And there is another child to consider — a two year old girl Sybil rescued at birth when her mother left her to die. Sybil's husband has no wish to raise her as his own. He wants his wife and son at his side in Kerala. Sybil wants to help the people of Bidar...and save her marriage. As things stand, she cannot do both.
Staff problems also arise. Doctors commit to help, then go elsewhere or fail to perform adequately, leaving Sybil to do as many as forty cataract surgeries a day.
On Valentine's Day, 24-year old Ravi proposed to Sheila and she accepted. They were both Christians and in love; it was a good match. Despite Sheila being four years older, Ravi's parents had approved. Sheila's mother not only refused but summoned her brothers from Bangalore to take Sheila away from the only home she has known for years. The couple considered eloping, but when the uncles threatened Ravi's parents and younger sister with bodily harm, Ravi had no choice but withdraw his proposal. Efforts failed to change the mother's mind, and eventually Sheila was "escorted" to an unknown location in Bangalore, her pockets secretly stuffed with cash for a possible later escape. Ravi is determined to find her. Sybil is trying to help. Sheila's mother — who professes to be a Christian — sees nothing wrong in what she’s done!
I arrived in India with no expectations. I left knowing how to eat with my fingers and drink without the glass touching my lips, to accommodate the rat, which occasionally shared my room and lizards scurrying up walls. I discovered that Indians say "yes" shaking their heads from side-to-side and find it hard to talk at all with their heads still.
A young Muslim woman asked if I was married. When I said "no," she asked why. I asked instead if she was married, and when she said "yes," I asked her why. She responded: "compulsory." I pointed at myself and responded: "not compulsory." Even beneath a long, black burka, I could see her smile.
We come to our Faith as daughters, mothers, spinsters, wives, widows, divorcees and sisters. We see Christ through American, British and Indian eyes and wrap Him in the clothes of our culture and era. But He is the same everywhere throughout time. I lost my best friend last year and don't have children, grandkids and a husband to grow old with. But I have seen Christ at work in hearts and lives in India. I am grateful and content.
P.S. Ravi managed to elope with Sheila and now she is pregnant and very happily married.
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