Dont hit a cow

At 5 in the morning we sat in the heat waiting for our contacts to meet us, outside the airport was a familiar madness for me but for some of the girls this was the first they had seen of the third world. cows, crazy little 3 wheled rickashaws that had a driver and a motor, made their heads spin and the musical horn that sounds uncannily like a 1980s bad ring tone. There seems to be no law to the traffic in India other than you don't hit a cow.

Including our contacts there are 16 of us staying in a small bungalow, our dorm had the only western toilet and so far i haven't had my head taken off by the fan as i climb into my bunk. everything is together I'm not allowed out alone, when i gave my Independence to god i wondered how that would work in a practical way well this is it, its called how not to kill someone when you have to do everything as a group and have no freedom or Independence. The roof terrace my lifesaver so slipping on my compulsory dupati (scarf to cover ones boobs) over my Punjabi (tunic shirt that must cover your bum and have at least short sleeves) and circus like pants i take a rolled mat and head out to the roof at night to enjoy some space (and currently a full moon)

I dont think a day went by in the first week i didnt spend half the day talking myself out of leaving, the schedule was hectic there seemed to be no aid or mercy missions instead it was announced we were doing two days of a childrens camp with no less than 5 hours a day of programme to to think of! we had been asked while in madrid to prepare some stuff but between us they totalled an hour, and what do you do with 120 kids in 35 degrees, especially if your me! oh dear goodness i nearly ran away there and then.

I dont know how we did it but we did, not only that but we went back and did it the next day too, i stood there and announced things over-acted in silly dramas and sang (within range of people with ears.)