| Sunny Side Up May 12, 2004 �2004, Kathleen Gibson Refuse to do nothing They clustered around the school kitchen, joking, inhaling deeply, and drooling. Obviously hungry. When Bryce, the tallest, offered to chop onions for me, I realized just how hungry. They'd fasted for thirty hours, those kids. The principal too, a man who seemed young enough to be one of them. He kept checking in, sniffing and making appreciative comments. Who could blame him? My stomach growled too, thirty hours empty. The Manitoba private school where my daughter works had invited me to speak to them about my recent trip to India. I had other speaking to do in the area, so it worked out nicely for more than one reason: The school holds an annual thirty-hour famine, a World Vision program that encourages awareness and raises funds for world hunger. My talk about what I'd seen in India served as its kick-off. Each famine ends with a communal meal. Last year they'd ordered in pizza. This year, the famine coordinator offered me the 'privilege' of preparing an East Indian meal for the twenty or so participants. She gave this invitation in the same tone of voice one would offer, say, a complimentary ticket to an evening harbor cruise. (Daughters!) Okay, I said. I'll cook an Indian meal, but they'll have to eat it like the Indians do, like I learned to. No cutlery. I chose a simple menu, or so I thought. Vegetable byrani, and curd with onions and tomatoes. Then scoured local grocery shelves for the ingredients. ("Sorry, lady�. we're mostly Mennonites, not much call for East Indian spices here...") I found some in parents' kitchens. Substituted or ignored the rest. I heaped the fragrant rice dish onto their plates. "Right hands only, kids. Make a ball with your fingertips, pick it up, and use your thumb as a pusher. That's how most people eat in India." They sat, bemused. Some shuddered. The lefties protested. Their mothers' repeated warnings, "Don't eat with your fingers," had clearly stuck hard. Hunger won. Soon sticky fingers were shoveling curd and byrani into eager mouths. Only one senior snuck out for a fork. "No fair," others protested, but not one followed his example. I wish they could have seen, those students, the faces of the beggars I saw in India. The ones whose circumstances force them to frequently fast long past thirty hours. The elderly who tugged at my clothes, thrust their hands through our Jeep windows. Parentless children sleeping on streets and scraping banana peelings for breakfast. I wish they could have talked to the young mother who peddles peanuts all day at the railway commuter station to make enough rupees to buy the next day's rice for her family. And a few more peanuts to do it all over again tomorrow. 'Refuse to do nothing', World Vision encourages. Those students refused, did something, and made me proud. More importantly, they made God proud. Especially the guy who offered to chop the onions. God knows I left most of my tears in India. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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