…Because You are a Warrior…Wonder…Woman
By Editor
This is one of the very first articles I had ever written. It was for a friend of mine. But then, I sent the article and it was published in the Kalamazoo gazette in April. It is of course about a woman, or call her an angel – some one who helped me one day in the middle of a busy road out of nowhere.
It was a usual fall morning in Kalamazoo, a small city in Michigan. The clouds were dark and the wind was freezing and it was going to snow soon. The first snow of the season always brought a lot of excitement. I have lived almost a year now in this small university town but still everything was new around me.
This morning, I had to go to an old woman’s house to help her. I called her Ruth aunty. She was old and wise, loving and caring for everyone in the community. I am a house-wife and my husband was a student in the university. I had to drive to her house as my husband was out of town for some work. As I was driving, I had to drive up-hill on the main road of the city. The roads were not very busy yet and everything around also looked calm and beautiful. And in that instance my car suddenly stopped.
I was dumbfounded for few seconds. It was a sudden shock for me. Next, I realized my car was slipping down. At once I pulled my emergency breaks and I came out of my car. I was in a totally frantic situation. I tried calling few friends but there was no answer. There were a few cars passing by at that time but I seemed to see no one around me except my car. I was terrified at the thought of dealing with a police and getting a ticket for having my car in the middle of the road.
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By Editor
“Wait until you go to Malawi”, my friend Anne told me. “My mom is going to make sure you have a real village experience”. We stood talking outside of my medical school campus, on the eve of my departure for this southeast African country, the homeland of my friend. We had spent many nights talking about her childhood in Africa, as she spoke of her family of 8 living in two rooms at the back of a church. She watched many of her school friends die of cholera, and when times were hard she ate the same porridge for every meal. She spent most of her life in a village, which she said is the heart of Africa, where most of the living and suffering occurs. To understand Africa, you have to go to the village. After all these conversations I was curious to experience Africa for myself. Not just because of its tragedy, but also because of the warmth and spirit I perceived in my friend.
On arrival in Lilongwe, I was greeted by the pleasant breezes that accompany July in the southern hemisphere. I marveled at the giant golden and fuscia blossoms on the abundant trees. We were met by Emma, my friend’s mother, who took us to her home. One day we accompanied a medical team to a rural area where we learned how to immunize babies while they did malnutrition training. Children with bulging bellies and ragged clothes ran up to us wide eyed. When we moved towards them they ran away giggling and screaming. We blew bubbles we had brought, and they jumped and swung at them, chasing the breezes that carried them across the maize fields. Another day we bought rice and clothing, and distributed it in a village that had been particularly hard hit by a recent drought. I heard of two women who had collapsed and died in a field while scavenging for pumpkin leaves to eat. The people were restrained;there was no stampede like one might expect with a hungry mob. They seemed to understand that a community must stick together, and if one suffers they all do. They only expected enough to survive that day. One little girl of around 8 had no clothing- she had wrapped a piece of cloth around her waist for a skirt. We gave her a yellow dress. She was transformed from grimy waif to princess. She ran home to show her parents.
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By Editor
Hello Friends, I am Arleen, a nurse, wife and mom of 2 wonderful children. I have served as a nurse in many countries like India, Saudi Arabia, Israel and UK. I haven been a nurse all my life. That was my first and the only profession I was always interested in.
Years ago I got an opportunity to work in a hospital in SA when my 1st child was three years old. It was a tough decision but because my husband is extremely supportive and committed to our family we both mutually decided to taken up this offer. I always wanted the best for my family and I always dreamt of setting my family abroad so this experience was crucial for me. I was able to come back every year but that was not easy. The struggle was hard and those days were still long.
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By Editor
My dad was originally from Oaxaca, a graduated architect. My mom, who was a fashion designer, was originally from Mexico City, and met my dad when he was in college. They got married before he got his thesis done, at the same time he was working, so they hardly spent any time together. For two years, my parents lived in Mexico City, in a small apartment. Mom had two miscarriages before she had my brother Sergio, me and later my youngest brother Jose Luis.
My brother Sergio was born in Mexico City, while my parents were living there. After my brother Sergio was born, my dad decided to return to Oaxaca and be closer to his parents. My mom decided to have me in Mexico City because the medical conditions were much better there than in Oaxaca. So I was born in a private Hospital called: “Mosel”.
My parents brought me down to Oaxaca a month after I was born. Dad registered me as if I was born in Oaxaca. For him it was very important the place a person was from and this meant also the place you are born. During my childhood I used to tease him about this subject, I would tell everyone that I was from Mexico City, and I was proud of it!! He would tell me, “You are Oaxaquena!”
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By Editor
It is my joy & privilege to write to you all through this media. I personally want to take this opportunity to thank all those who have contributed on the site either by reading or writing or sharing with others. It will soon be a month that the site is launched and we have got some good response. Thanks to you all, it is only possible through your support. We have some wonderful stories coming our way very soon.
Today I want to share to you about a woman who is so insignificant, poor, may be dead or alive, I have no idea but has a lasting impression on my memory and a clear imprint on my heart.
The story is almost a decade old…..
I was studying in St. Xavier’s college, Ahmedabad, doing my Bachelors; life was filled with friends, fun and excitement. One day, before going to my classes, a friend of mine and I were eating sandwich on the roadside. The guy who was making the sandwich would throw the brown edges of the bread away in trash and then make those sandwiches. They were really yummy. At least, I thought they are the best in the world. Just then, came one old woman. She was very old with lots of wrinkles on her face, as if they were the number of days she has lived. She was frail and weak drooping down from the waist. She reached out her hand into that trash, took a few brown edges and went on her way eating it.
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By Editor
When I was a fourth year medical student, I traveled to Bangalore in southern India to rotate at a Baptist hospital there. I had been fascinated by India for awhile, hearing my Indian roommate speak Malayalam, sampling their exciting curry dishes, and especially hearing about the work of God amongst the poor and disregarded people of the slums. I had the opportunity to meet Violet, a cheerful middle aged lady who served as a chaplain for the hospital patients. She inspired me with many stories of people turning to Christ and even receiving healing after prayer. She asked me if I would like to come with her to the slums of Bangalore, to meet some of those she had committed to minister to.
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By Editor
I am Jayanti Banerjee. I am a wife, mom and a teacher. I have worked as a principal and teacher for last 20 years. My children have grown up and are aspiring higher education in USA and Bangalore. I am here to tell you about the woman in my life whom I love and adore the most – my mother, who is now 80 years old.
My life is so uneventful that I don’t see or think of any interesting or awe inspiring event in my life. It’s an average life of an average Indian housewife. There is no display of bravery or courage. What ever came on my way I accepted it meekly. But since you have honored me by asking I would try to dive into the depths of my life and find out something that might be of some use to you.
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This is one of the very first articles I had ever written. It was for a friend of mine. But then, I sent the article and it was published in the Kalamazoo gazette in April. It is of course about a woman, or call her an angel – some one who helped me one day in the middle of a busy road out of nowhere.
