I Can Stay!!!

It’s funny how love endures, even when faced with trials and tribulation. Work sucked today; not anything out of the ordinary when one works within the context of Indian inefficiency and lack of communication (both according to western standards), but if after a day like today I still well up with emotion when thinking about leaving, you know it’s true love.

For the past few weeks, ever since I first professed my love for India and how I never want to leave, Sid and I have been plotting and planning to try to figure out how I can stay. Our ideas have ranged from rational: “Let’s get this THAMBO program going and then you can stay to do the planning for the summer program”, to radical: “What if….we say you are pregnant. And you don’t know who the father is. So you can’t go home…and you just have to eat Cornerhouse every day so you gain the weight necessary to look pregnant?”

Tonight, though, I knew I had to say something to Roshen. I was leaving tomorrow for Delhi, and I wanted to make sure that in the next couple weeks he would keep in mind that I am willing and able to stay as long as they have a need for me. So as I slaved away finishing the 4 new proposals, and Roshen came to say goodnight, I told him that I was willing and able. And he smiled and said, “Yes, I think it would be a good idea if you stayed at least to the end of January for the Iowa program. Yes, that would be very good.” I was ecstatic. Absolutely ecstatic. EEEEEEEEEEEE!

Prowling

Last night two of my students met body builders at Hard Rock Café. They do this thing they call “prowling”, which is when they roll around town trying to meet Indian men. They’re smart girls, so Sid and I have determined that it is harmless and a fun way for them to be able to meet Indians in public spaces…so we play along. It’s fun to have a little bit of innocent girl talk and have drama that doesn’t include relationships among our students. But the very best – well actually, there are two very bests. The first is that they are body builders. And yes, I saw the pictures. The second was the conversation this morning, when, after regaling me with their prowling success story, Ibbs turned to Roshen and said, “So what did you do last night Roshen?” and he replied, “I was worrying about you.”

Sports Films Rock.

Have I mentioned that I love Indian cinema? Today the film was Chak de India, a film about the story of the women’s field hockey team. This film blended my adoration of Bollywood with my absolute love of inspirational sports movies…which means it was a winner. Sid was visiting his grandpa in the hospital, so I screened the movie for the kids…and the power only went out 9 times J Like most Bollywood movies, you could see the inspiration from American films like Miracle, but the way in which this film captures the culture and politics of India is really incredible. You can see the important and convincing role that Indian media plays in society, identity discrimination, gender roles, and even subtle things like the fanatical love that exists towards cricket players. Next time you’re looking for an international film, I suggest you pick it up. Even better, give me a call and I will bring it over J

India's Favorite Pastime

If baseball is America's favorite pastime, Cricket is India's. Multiplied by about a thousand. Cricket stars (alongside film stars) are the closest thing to gods on earth that you will ever encounter in India. In fact, people hawk their phone numbers for millions and billions of rupees.

Today was my first cricket game. Thanks to Ruben (who “knows people”), we were able to get club seats for our students for only Rs. 100 and they were pretty darn good. Sid didn’t sit with us at all; he was up at the gate, his fingers interlaced with the metal, watching the game like a kid on Christmas. I, sitting in the stands….fell asleep. Who can blame me, though – I slept for just a few hours on the train, waking up around 5:15, hadn’t taken a nap that morning, and was running on minimal sleep from a night of staying up way past my bedtime in Koppal (it was so worth it though). Plus, I didn’t really understand the game.

After teatime though (yes, in India the game stops and there is a break for tea time…both in the morning and the afternoon) somebody explained the game to me and I started to really get into it. Ok, that may be a slight exaggeration. But I started to enjoy it. Additionally, the feeling in the air was electric. It was only day 2 of a test match (look at me talking like a pro) but the fans were STOKED. And they did the wave better than I have ever seen at a U.S. sporting event.

The one thing that gets me, though, is that you can play all day long, 8 long hours, and only get 3 wickets down. And then come back the next day only to do the exact same thing. I would get so frustrated. If you think that baseball is a long game…just give cricket a try.

Loving my Job, Loving India

In the afternoon, we took the bus out to the rural areas and met two mothers of devadasis, a young boy who was in bonded labor, and a young boy who by choice had dropped out of school and was working for an income. I love the chance that I have had to hear so many peoples’ stories and to experience India. I especially love doing it with the students, and using my “experiential learning cycle”-style questions to process our experiences with them later.

On the bus after this final meeting today, Roshen came to ask me how I found our conversation with these boys. I hope he wasn’t disappointed, because while yes I found it heartwrenching and frustrating that these boys were being robbed of a childhood and forced into work, but this isn’t the conversation that impacted me the most – my mind was still on the defeated devadasi that we met a few days before. It did, however, change Julio’s life, and it was a joy for me to be able to listen to him process our encounter when I asked him this very same question later that day.

What this conversation did do, however, was connect another heartstring to India; a heartstring that is strengthened with understanding and compassion, and a heartstring that I know will never break and will make it very difficult to return to America. A few of the Bandhavi girls came with our guests, and they came to sit by me saying, “Hi, Jen aunty.” I was shocked. I had met them 3 days ago, they had met me along with 19 other people, yet they remembered my name, leaned on my shoulder and sat on my lap. As we drove back to Visthar, James asked me, “Jen. What would you say is the #1 thing that you are constantly thinking about, that is always on your mind?” And, as I turned from watching the sun set against the Indian countryside, my very first response was, “That I never want to leave India.”

I am so thankful that I had the opportunity to come on this field visit to Koppal. It has truly been a growing experience both personally and professionally. Personally, to really experience India, to grow closer to my students and staff [sometimes bonding just comes easier when you're traveling]. And professionally, to be able to facilitate some of the learning process, to have conversations, to observe field visits being conducted, to question ethics, everything. I loved it. The other day Sid said, "I can't believe you and Roshen want to do this for a living. It's exhausting." Which yes, true, it is. But it is SO rewarding!

Empowering Women?

This morning we met with the Dalit Women’s Federation; more specifically, the Sanghra self-help group. Sanghra is an intiative of Visthar and is a honeycomb women’s group, stressing the importance of savings and unity. The women were absolutely wonderful, but it was slightly frustrating on several fronts:

1) my students were tired. And since they were tired, they were having difficulty engaging in conversation and I found myself asking most of the questions. Along these same lines, it was our last day and we had spoken with dalit women about the same issues all week long…I think the topic was becoming somewhat exhausted.

2) one of Visthar’s male staff was sitting in our circle, and because of his presence the women were sometimes hesitant to answer and he would answer for them, telling us how life was for them rather than letting us hear their voice and

3) They told us about a new initiative that Visthar has, the Child Rights Initiative and Adcovacy Program and that this and all other Visthar projects in the communities will be initiated by the women’s federation. I got excited about this, thinking it was a tangible effect of the self-help groups, proof of empowerment and giving the women courage to take initiative and offer their leadership for something. Intrigued, I asked, “Is this leadership something that you as women offered or that Visthar decided that you would do?” They looked at each other, Nazar looked at them and at me, the Visthar staff walked away with his phone and they said, “Visthar decided.” Now, I am not saying that it is a bad thing that this is a responsibility that Visthar is giving the women; in fact, it is a wonderful opportunity that women of this caste and circumstance would never otherwise have. However, if they are seeking to use this as a demonstration of women’s empowerment, I think they are lacking. Because what I have learned over and over is that you cannot empower somebody. They must empower themselves. Giving them this opportunity is providing them with tools to be empowered, but it isn’t until we see the women having ideas, offering their leadership, and making change on their own that empowerment will truly occur.

Why are You Here?

“Why are you here?” This question was posed to me during a field visit to the

Kunchi Kuppu slum in Koppal, Karnataka, India. I was speaking with one of the few residents who had received a degree, and who was also one of the very few who spoke English. As I began to explain that we were university students from America who were spending the semester studying in India he interrupted me, asking again, “Yes. But why are you here? Why have you come to this community?” I faltered, stumbled over my words. What could I say? The truth seemed dehumanizing: “These students are studying social justice, peace and development in India and it seems to us that you, living in a slum, are the victims of structural injustice. We are using your situation, impoverished living conditions, and lack of opportunity as a case study so that we can try to save the world.” As we watched my students playing games with the community’s children, this young man handed me a diaperless baby and introduced me to the baby’s 5-year-old sister. “This girl,” he said, “lives on 10 rupees a day” (10 rupees is the equivalent of $0.23). He gestured to the laughing group of children who were playing games with my students and said, “These children don’t know anything about life outside their community. They don’t know about anything outside of India. And you have come to India to study us.”

Robo: The Movie

Today we watched the most expensive Asian movie ever made. It is called Robot, and it is Bollywood at its finest. It cost something like 126 crore ($29 million) to produce, and it has the greatest male and female Tamil actors in it. The hero, Rajinikanth is basically a god in India; before movies with him in it, people build and burn fires in the theatres. The heroine is Aishwarya Rai, who was Miss World in 1994 and is still the most beautiful Indian I have ever seen (and there are a lot of beautiful Indian women around). The film was produced in Tamil, but we saw it dubbed in Telegu. Which was only India for you, because the town we saw it in speaks Kannada. It was 3.5 hours long, and if you can imagine a movie that combines Iron Man, Star Wars, I Robot, Transformers, and about 14 other robot/electronics/action films – even Spiderman, you can start to get an idea of what it was like. The film was shot all over India (example: in once scene they go to a barbershop. That barbershop is in Jaipur. It is the only scene in Jaipur, but for some reason they felt the need to travel to Rajasthan to go to that barbershop) and there were songs shot in Goa (western Indian coast), the U.S., and – get this – Macchu Picchu. Yes, in Macchu Picchu they were wearing feathers and singing a song in a clicking language. Would that ever fly in an American movie? No way José. But Bollywood can get away with anything…during the movie, you’re taken for a ride. But it’s fun, it’s thrilling. It’s only afterwards that you sit, stunned, when you realize, “Was Chita speaking mosquito?” “Did ha robot really just deliver a baby?” and your mind is baffled by this beautiful, bizarre culture we call India…it was almost as much of a learning experience as our day’s field visits ;)

I'll hopefully be bringing a copy back with me...but in the meantime, you can watch the trailer here.

Caste No Bar?

Following our village visits, we visited a landlord. We are assuming that this landlord is the one who owns the land upon which the members of the village community just visited work. A member of this community joined us in our visit; she is a leader of the self-help group and was returning to Visthar with our staff. Our large group filed inside the landlord’s house, and it wasn’t until we were all seated and settled that I realized this woman was missing; she wasn’t inside. We chatted with the wealthy landlord; he had no reservations telling us that the women who worked his land made less money than men, yet he also boasted of the inter-caste marriages that his family had supported. They were progressive, he said, and caste was no bar in the marriages. Yet as we filed out of the house, there sat the woman from the community, barred from entering his house because she was a dalit. A member of the lowest caste, she was unclean to enter this landlord’s house. It is so difficult for me to understand this mindset; how one human being can consider another unclean and untouchable simply because they are born at a different socioeconomic level. Progressive, hm? Caste no bar? I think it may be necessary to progress just a little bit further…

Defeated Devadasi

The memorable event of today was time that we spent in a village that is filled with Devadassi women, both former and current. After meeting the community (there are SO MANY children!) we split into small groups (one group with each staff member) and visited the women in their homes. My group was all female (except for one member of the media group) and this was a gift because I believe that the sprit of womanhood that was present encouraged our hostess to open up a little more than normal in our conversation.

However, this doesn’t mean that the conversation was rewarding or encouraging. The woman (I’ve forgotten her name) was just one year my senior, yet the look in her eyes spoke volumes of life I have not known…and many parts of that life I will never know. She was dedicated as a devadasi as a young girl; her elder sister also is dedicated, and they are fighting the system so that her younger sister will never be. She has three children; one is eight. Which means she gave birth to her first child at the age of sixteen; her youngest was diaperless and being played with by her grandmother outside of their hut.

We asked about her life, about “the system”, if she thought it was good or bad. The system is evil, she said, and it is a good thing that it has been abolished. What is the difference between her generation of devadasis and her mother’s generation, we asked. The difference, she said, is that her mother’s generation didn’t realize that “the system” was wrong, they didn’t realize their rights. Why did that change with her generation? Because they had exposure to the outside through self-help groups, through rallies and programs. (While some would champion this as a victory, I still question: clearly these self-help groups, these rallies and programs are in place because someone outside has judged the system as wrong; it is an opinion that these women have been subjected to..is it a western culture being thrust upon the eastern? Or is it true?) We asked what she gets from these self-help groups etc., and she told us that she gets money (Does money bring empowerment?). We ask what the government has done for her, and she says not that much. What would she like the government to do for her? Giver her another house for her mother and sister, giver her money so that she can buy more sheep. What are her dreams for her children? That they can go to school and get outside the village. What are her dreams for the future? That her sister will go to school, get married, and leave the village.

This is her life. She is resigned to it, she has been defeated by it. She has no personal ambitions or dreams; for her, it seems, her life is over. Her life is over at the age of 25, and all she can do is work and hope that her children will have a better life than she has had.

Roshen Time

This morning, we had an optional yoga session at 5:30am. In order to participate, you not only had to wake up at 5:30, but you had to ride on a bus, trek up a mountain, and only then do yoga on top of a rock. I was super pumped. However….guess who didn’t hear her alarm and didn’t wake up until 5:50? Yup, me. I ran outside to see if they were still there…nope. I started to slightly freak out, thinking I was the only one who wouldn’t be there, I had talked so much about it and then failed to show, they had probably waited forever for me before leaving, Sid and Roshen were going to make fun of me for not waking up. So I got back into bed, dozed a little bit, and then showered and got ready. I brought a book down to the lobby so that I would be there when the kids got back and wouldn’t miss the bus to breakfast and the field visits.

I had been sitting there for maybe 10 minutes when who pads down the hallway but Roshen himself (and yes, he really truly pads. Roshen is like a little Indian hobbit…the bonus is that he is always barefooted). I asked, “Roshen! You didn’t go?” to which he giggled(and when I say Roshen giggles, he really truly giggles) and replied, “No. Jen there was a reason why I stressed that It was optional.” [Normally on SJPD when things are optional, it really means you’re expected to participate. Clearly not this time!] “Want to go get some tea?”

Yessssss this was the Roshen time that I have been missing. We walked down the national highway [the main road through Koppal…that leads to Bangalore on one end and Delhi on the other] and had a great chat about assumptions, course design, the art of debriefing, and how we thought each of the students was doing.

We also talked about the Western lens, even the “Visthar social justice” lens that we automatically bring to our field visits. We are in a social justice class meeting with temple prostitutes about the woes of the “system”; therefore in our questions and discussions we already bring the assumption that this is a bad system and that those involved in it agree. However, we never even give space for them to tell us what they think about the morality of it. So we decided to chat about it with the students, to see if we could challenge our prejudices and take steps towards truly open dialogue. I just love Roshen, and I just love my job.

Talking Marriage with Devadassis

Well, today is day #1 on the Koppal field visit. We arrived at around 7:45 this morning and jumped right into business. Visthar has a second campus here, so the group split into 2 with half of us going to visit a government school and the Bandhavi building and the other half heading to new visthar to plant some trees and help with construction. I was assigned the tree-planting…but because of my love for Bandhavi ad my interest in education, I pulled a sly swap. Later in the day we all met up at new Visthar and met with Maji Devadassi women and their children (aka Bandhavi girls).

While I absolutely loved my time at the school and spent with the children, the highlight and most meaningful part of my field visit was our chat with the Maji Devadassi women. Their fire and their fervor was undeniable and I was amazed at the ease with which they shared their deepest troubles and personal stories. [Note: Devadassi women are what is most easily translated into English as temple prostitutes. Maji means “Ex”, so these women are no longer practicing. The practce has been illegal in Karnataka for 30 years, but still exists. I’d love to talk to you more about it later!] But the moment that captured my heart was at the end, when we asked them if they had any questions for us.

Their question was, “What is a wedding like in your country?” This question after we had spoken with them about their personal lives, their relationships with males, the fact that they have been “married” to the gods. Those of you who know me know that I am slightly obsessed with weddings, and at first it was fun and girly to talk with them about it and see the joy in their eyes. But soon the reality hit me, and it broke my heart. Because of this system, because of their caste, because of their poverty, these women have been robbed of not only having a wedding, but of the beauty that is marriage. And when they applauded at the end of our description, I knew it wasn’t because of the church and the white dress. it was because of the love, the commitment, the relationship that we described that they will never have.

Day 1 in Koppal was a beautiful day filled with beautiful people, and although it is something that I have been thinking for awhile as I sat on the bus watching the countryside go by I verbalized it for the first time: I never want to leave India.

Dear Grandma Mabs

Dear Grandma Mabs,

If you could see me now, you would have a conniption. I am sitting wrapped up in a hopefully clean white sheet on a blue vinyl bed on the upper bunk of a sleeper car on a train trying to avoid contact with the rough blanket they gave me and to ignore the trash in the pocket on the wall in front of my face. My backpack is safeguarded between my head and the wall and although I am using my own travel pillow on top of the one that they gave me, I reallllly hope that I do not contract lice…again.

Lots of love from India!

I'm Going to Koppal!

So all weekend long, my students have been scheming to figure out a way that I can go to Koppal with them. This was the one field visit that I had been planning on attending since the first day that I got here, but for some reason the travel agent missed my ticket.

The idea was to sneak me onto the train. We were going to be in sleeper cars, so I could just snuggle into someone’s berth behind some bags. Right? And if I got caught, we could just pay them off…this is India, isn’t it? The funny thing is, even their professor was talking about sneaking me on. So there I was, in a moral dilemma – I never, ever break rules. And here I am considering taking a 10 hour train ride without a ticket?!?

At lunch, I found myself sitting by Sham, who was also going to Koppal. He started talking about how it was really too bad that such a mistake happened because it would have been great if I could have gone. He didn’t understand what happened – whawt if I just got on the train with the other students and hid when the conductor came around? The professor and I looked at each other and looked back at Sham, asking, “Really?!?” because if Sham, who is one of the most integritious people I work with, was suggesting it, we would totally do it. “No,” he said, “because there could be some trouble. But I am going to call Anu to see what the problem was. Because that really shouldn’t have happened. And I am going to tell her that you are sitting here crying….” “Well Sham, I did cry. Just a little bit. Not only because of that – it was a really rough day – [that was when I had lice] but yes, there were some tears.”

And with that he was off.

Ten minutes later I ran into him again, and he said, “We figured it out – you are coming.”

The best part was when I told Roshen. He giggled. And then 15 minutes later he came back to where Sid and I were meeting (In the love hut, slapping mosquitos. He hates that I make us have meetings in the great outdoors. Roshen loves it.) and said, “You were serious! I thought you were joking.” I said, “Roshen are you happy?” And he said, “Nooooo” and walked away giggling.

I love my life. And as great of a blog post sneaking onto a train would have been, I am thankful that I ended up with a ticket J

Heart-to-Heart

Have I mentioned before that I love my kids? Tonight was a night that I was feeling slightly melancholy and really only wanted to lay in bed and watch a movie. Which had been my original plan, but first I had a Skype meeting with some prospective program partners. So I went to the library at 745 only to find out that the internet was down. Another student was in there, so we started chatting. Another joined, and what started as a time-filling conversation ended up being a two-and-a-half hour heart-to-heart. It was a blessing and a Godsend, so much more therapeutic than watching a movie by my self could ever be, and just one more reason why I absolutely love my job.

FunWorld

I woke up this morning stiff as a board without being able to move my neck. I feel as if I was in a car crash; as if I have literally been hit by a truck. “What did I do to myself?” I asked. And then I remembered. I went to Funworld last night.

And at Funworld, I saw my life flash before my eyes several times.

Now, if you drive by Funworld, you would probably think, “Oh look, an old run-down Indian amusement park.” If you park your car and walk towards Funworld, you think, “Wow, based upon the empty parking lot on a Friday night this really looks like a thrilling place to be.” After you enter the gates, you think, “Hey, this is sketch but look, there are no lines. This could be fun.”

It wasn’t until I was sitting in my first ride and looked down at the slightly-broken safety bar that I looked at Devaney and said, “I am seriously starting to question the safety of this place…”

That thought repeated itself several times throughout the night: as I got off of a ride and realized that it had been mechanized not by machinery but by the manpower of the guys who spun us round-and-round (btw, I only realized this as I too crossed all safety lines to stand next to them and take pictures…), as a ride was about to begin but James raised his arms in a “Time-out” position because JP’s seatbelt had broken, as we were riding one of those pirate ships that swings back and forth and found the safety bars lifting and the attendant motioning us to get off when the ship was still swinging (you had to time it really well as the ship swung across: nothing – platform – nothing – platform – nothing – jump!) and as we walked across the tracks of one ride in order to get to the entrance of the roller coaster.

The roller coaster is a story in and of itself. The cars looked like something that had been used as decoration and was scavenged from the basement of the Phantom of the Opera and when it lurched to a start there was such clank and clatter that I (a) started praying that we would make it around the tracks and (b) decided this would be a great time to take some video footage. I am so glad I did, because as we neared the first big drop Devaney turned around and shook her head dubiously. I watched the first cars’ hands go up, then the second, and suddenly – we dropped. No, we didn’t just start to go downhill on the tracks. I am pretty positive that the cars continued going straight until there were no more tracks to follow and then dropped back down onto them. My camera went tumbling (if you watch the footage, you would probably believe that this is the point where we died because it tumbles, tumbles, tumbles and then shuts off), I just about bit my tongue off, and I’m pretty sure that my entire ribcage is bruised from the impact.

However, the amount of laughter that this night brought us makes up for any safety hazards that we faced, and the fact that we survived Funworld makes the next five years of chiropractic care worth the money J

Worst. Day. Ever.

Today is quite possibly the absolute worst day I have ever had. Probably not, but I don’t remember the last time that I felt like I am feeling right now. (A) I have lice. Which is kind of awkward and a huge hassle, and I was kind of freaking out, but then I ran into Roshen. I wailed, “Roshen I have liiiice” and he laughed at me. I said, “Roshen! You are laughing at me!” and he giggled and said, “Yes, isn’t it all just a part of growing up?” I washed my sheets, washed my hair with lice shampoo, some of the girls combed through and put this oil concoction in it and assured me that it would kill them and that I would be all right (I tell you the truth, what I would do without these girls is beyond me. Some would say that I am a gift to them, but the truth is that they are an incredible gift to me). I had an incredible morning with the students as we discussed culture shock and I led an evaluation session that really turned into more of a re-entry discussion as they struggled with what they do with everything that they have learned thus far. Man I love these kids. Then (B) happened.

The program is going on a field visit next week to Koppal. It is for their Identity, Resistance and Liberation unit and is the one field visit that I get to go on and have been planning to go on since July. Last week there was a bit of concern that I wouldn’t be able to go because they lost a translator and 3 random girls who are staying here were also invited to come along, but that was resolved. However, (B) today after lunch Roshen told me that there is no train ticket for me. I have been on the list since freaking July, but the train station made a mistake and only gave us 20 tickets, not 21. And it was so difficult to get tickets for these other 3 girls there is no way we could get one for me. so….I don’t get to go. But, reassured Roshen, maybe I can go with Nasser (one of our staff) when he goes in November when the rest of the program is gone. Which is great, but beyond the point.

After talking to Roshen for just a little bit, I had to go wash the oil out of my hair. As I washed, I started to cry. This is the only field visit I get to go on. Not only would it be great for my education to be able to participate in the facilitating of a field visit, but I love these kids. And now, I only have five weeks left with them. They’re gone next week, back two weeks, gone one week, back one week, gone four weeks, back two weeks and then we all fly home. Only five weeks left with them and the other staff, and it makes me very very sad.

To top it off, I started combing out my hair. And when I pulled that comb out of my hair only to find it covered with huge lice, I just lost it. It is a feeling that I cannot describe with words, but it is slightly akin to the feeling you get in your stomach when you back your car into your neighbors mailbox mixed with an “I just want to throw up” kind of feeling. Yeah. Let’s just say that I cried off and on throughout this process.

So when Sid called to check on our weekend plans, it should come as no surprise that I answered with “Can we just talk about how much life sucks right now? I am standing on my front step combing giant bugs out of my hair and because of India’s inefficiency I have to stay home from Koppal and the very last thing that I want to do right now is go to Funworld.” I am normally a pretty pleasant and positive person, so I think he was taken a bit by surprise.

What is Funworld, you ask? Funworld is the 200Rs. Amusement park that I was taking a group of students to tonight. Quite the place to go when you’re in an “I hate life” mood…especially when in addition to “I hate life” you are also thinking, “I never hate life. What is the root of these feelings and how am I supposed to process them properly; which emotions are appropriate to act upon?” Yes, it was quite complex. Needless to say, I wasn’t a lot of fun at the beginning. And started crying when chatting with more than one of the students. However, by the end of the evening I was feeling a lot more grown-up and professional about everything. Funny how a night at a sketchy Indian amusement park did that to me….

And that night, I only combed one louse out of my hair. And all the nits that came out were dead. So I guess things are looking upwards.