The tribal visits

Over the past two weeks, my research team and I have been visiting various tribes in the rural villages of East Jamshedpur. Every day, we’ve been waking up at the crack of dawn (well, not really – once we figured out that transportation hardly arrives on time here) to travel the heavily dimpled and crater-faced roads of Jharkhand. We roll ever so slowly into the sprawling farmlands and forest areas, taking usually two (up to three) hours to reach these remote villages.

Driving into each village, I’ve noticed that the infrastructure appears to be somewhat similar in each locality. Extremely modest dwellings are made of rock or cement, and they’re capped with thatched rooftops – most of which are in the process of being covered with clay tiles to prepare for the monsoon season. The [usually] earth-colored homes are outfitted with bright blue doors and shutters, and sometimes the houses themselves sport a wide, horizontal pattern of green triangles or yellow squares against a solid black stripe so that they appear entertaining and full of life. Deep-wells with hand pumps have mushroomed throughout each village to provide a somewhat steady source of water for handfuls of families, and salmon pink government school buildings dot the towns. In the mornings sometimes, there are patches of road that are cordoned off and spotted with rows of freshly hand pressed charcoal – lumpy little black rocks recycled from ashes. Other than these temporary black spots across the dirt though, most of the villages are pretty clean. They don’t have very much litter strewn about (not like the heaps of trash you see in the towns or throughout the markets). Most of the dirt floors are swept clean, and people take pride in taking care of their communities…as well as their animals. Cows, sheep, goats, chickens and ducks usually wander around the village just as people do, until they become a roadblock and our driver honks loudly for them to scurry safely across the road.

Our journeys have been quite interesting, as each village has had something different to offer us. I’m not talking about food and drink sorts of offerings though – in fact, many of these incredibly poor towns hardly have anything to eat or drink other than rice and roti. What I’m referring to are vibrant and invaluable glimpses that they’ve offered us into their poor yet simple, humble lives.

“Namaste,” is the greeting we’ve received at each of the villages we’ve entered – it’s the traditional welcome (and goodbye) that most Hindi-speaking tribes will say, with hands clasped in prayer form at the chest and a small nod of the head. We respond as if we are a mirror image, and then proceed to talk about our research study. We interview several mothers in the villages, and we assemble large crowds (whenever appropriate) to conduct focus groups. Although I can’t share the results of the study here yet, I can share some of the insights we’ve gotten from our interactions and observations.

First, some of these villages are incredibly malnourished. There are some people, including children, who only eat rice and roti. They can’t afford and don’t have access to much of anything else – so vegetables, fruits and meats are extraordinarily special foods to them. If families can afford anything beyond vegetables (of which category they also consider potatoes), then they spring for biscuits  -not fruits or meat.

Biscuits (dense, carbohydrate cookies) are commonly given to really young children here, even though they have no nutritional value at all. It’s a really interesting find, because the popularity of the snack food just goes to show how influential status and marketing can be. The ability of a family to provide their children with biscuits is a point of pride for many…including the business people who brand these food items as such (marketing them as “good for your child” although these refined, processed carbs can actually carry addictive qualities, should be a point of contention). There is a great need for more education here, as many of the nutritional decision makers (mothers) have no formal schooling at all.

Not all villages are incredibly malnourished though. Interestingly enough, there are a handful of tribes who have accomplished agricultural skills and know how to manipulate the land to diversify their diet. These villages have beautifully healthy looking children and mothers (although we can’t say that scientifically), and they have a greater sense of camaraderie in their communities. They feel as though they have enough to eat, and they are quite self-sufficient.

Just as I had found in the slums of South Africa last year, the notion of poverty is not always a depiction of desperation. Although the remote regions we have been traveling to definitely depict poverty: they earn meager wages (an average of 3000 Rupees per month = appx $60), have difficulty finding jobs, don’t have a consistent source of clean water, wear mismatched and tattered clothing, and lack electricity – the villagers have been overwhelmingly gracious at hosting our research teams (as we drive in with our laptops and cameras and whatnot). They don’t express any sort of jealousy or desperation (except for one village); in fact, they’re very appreciative that we have come to gather their opinions and try to help make a difference for their tribes.

Many of these villagers are used to their way of living. They lead very simple lives, exchanging difficult manual labor for natural resources straight from the land. They enjoy the serenity of nature and can understand the fine print of the monsoon season. And whether or not they believe that the caste they are born into is the standard of living they should be relegated to for the rest of their existence, they exude a generously warm and gracious spirit. We’ve been lucky to immerse ourselves in a very hospitable and resourceful culture. I have to say, with as much education as I’ve received thus far, I feel as though I’m taking and learning so much more from them, as I could be leaving behind.