After volunteering at Prem Dan for a week or so, and overcoming the awkward "I'm useless" phase, I developed a daily routine. First of course, was the laundry. I, along with the other various volunteers, would make my way to the roof where we would hang the clothes and bedsheets to dry. Without a doubt, something about the drying system would change from the previous day--mostly just so that the men in charge could tell you that you had done something incorrectly. Although unpredictable, even this was a part of the routine.
After laundry, I would head downstairs, and to the next building. Here, I would clean mattresses and dress the beds with fresh sheets. Of course, I had to be precise with my "French corners". Else, I would be told to start over.
Then came chai time for the residents. These men are serious about their chai, understandably so. I've even seen two of them argue a bit over who gets which cup. After distributing a few trays of chai, came the most important part of my day at Prem Dan.
"Brother! Wheelchair, brother!" Like clockwork, I would hear this from the small corner wall in the front of the sitting area. Every day, this resident would summon me to assist him, and I would happily oblige. Once I had grabbed the wheelchair (carefully selecting of course, because this gentleman is very particular about his wheelchairs), I would wheel it up to him on his left side, aligning the rightside footrest underneath his left leg. Despite my attempt to help him, this man persistently demonstrated his strength by getting settled in the chair by himself. I would put his blanket on his lap, and his two liter Sprite bottle--reused as a water bottle--after that. We'd go up the ramp into the main building, and into the bedroom. Then a left turn, a right turn, and we were at his small bed. He would place his blanket and water bottle underneath his pillow, while I removed his sandals (after learning he struggled doing this himself, I added it to my routine). Once he was ready, we'd continue on our way. His next stop was the shower, where he would need assistance reaching his back, and putting his tan, striped shirt back over his head. Once he was clean, we would head back outside to his small corner wall. After getting comfortably seated, he would say, "tea time, brother!", as if it were happening at a different time that day.
I would then head off to get my chai and biscuits, but the rest of my day isn't worth mentioning compared to my fifteen minutes with this man every day. I never learned his name, nor did he learn mine. But, we would exchange small, shy smiles upon my arrival and throughout the day. Through our simple interactions, I learned about a different kind of love, and that everyone deserves this basic human expression. It's not the kind of love that one has for family, partners, or even friends. It's the kind of love that says, "I care for your life, because I care for life itself."
Indeed, I have come to love this man.
--Nick
After laundry, I would head downstairs, and to the next building. Here, I would clean mattresses and dress the beds with fresh sheets. Of course, I had to be precise with my "French corners". Else, I would be told to start over.
Then came chai time for the residents. These men are serious about their chai, understandably so. I've even seen two of them argue a bit over who gets which cup. After distributing a few trays of chai, came the most important part of my day at Prem Dan.
"Brother! Wheelchair, brother!" Like clockwork, I would hear this from the small corner wall in the front of the sitting area. Every day, this resident would summon me to assist him, and I would happily oblige. Once I had grabbed the wheelchair (carefully selecting of course, because this gentleman is very particular about his wheelchairs), I would wheel it up to him on his left side, aligning the rightside footrest underneath his left leg. Despite my attempt to help him, this man persistently demonstrated his strength by getting settled in the chair by himself. I would put his blanket on his lap, and his two liter Sprite bottle--reused as a water bottle--after that. We'd go up the ramp into the main building, and into the bedroom. Then a left turn, a right turn, and we were at his small bed. He would place his blanket and water bottle underneath his pillow, while I removed his sandals (after learning he struggled doing this himself, I added it to my routine). Once he was ready, we'd continue on our way. His next stop was the shower, where he would need assistance reaching his back, and putting his tan, striped shirt back over his head. Once he was clean, we would head back outside to his small corner wall. After getting comfortably seated, he would say, "tea time, brother!", as if it were happening at a different time that day.
I would then head off to get my chai and biscuits, but the rest of my day isn't worth mentioning compared to my fifteen minutes with this man every day. I never learned his name, nor did he learn mine. But, we would exchange small, shy smiles upon my arrival and throughout the day. Through our simple interactions, I learned about a different kind of love, and that everyone deserves this basic human expression. It's not the kind of love that one has for family, partners, or even friends. It's the kind of love that says, "I care for your life, because I care for life itself."
Indeed, I have come to love this man.
--Nick
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