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July 17, 2008
Posted: 1440 GMT
RAJASTHAN, India – We drove about four hours, passing the occasional camel and rider, as we made it from Delhi into Rajasthan. During monsoon season the moment you get out of an air-conditioned car it feels like someone wrapped you up in a hot wet blanket. You sweat without moving a muscle. Today was one of those days.
Manju has to scrape out the cave, and gather up its repulsive contents.
We met our subjects on a neighborhood street corner where an enormous pig was enjoying a nap inside what could only be referred to as a pig house. Several of the women from the town of Alwar stood there waiting patiently for us. I, on the other hand, fidgeted and grimaced as drops of sweat turned into streams of water running down my back. I should be used to the heat by now. I'm not. They however seemed to defy God's will, standing there with no visible sign of sweat anywhere. It was 6:30 in the morning time for all of us to go to work. We begin our trek through town on foot. None of these women can afford a car. The town of Alwar has claustrophobically narrow streets that are shared by vehicles, bicycles, stray dogs, sacred cows, pigs and humans all at once. The women we're following don't seem to notice, they're late to work. We reach the first house five of them step back to let one, Manju, greet the owner. The owner is not happy to see her and scolds her for being late like any boss might. Except in this case the "boss" would never dare to shake Manju's hand in return for a job well done. No one in this neighborhood wants to touch Manju for any reason. Manju is an "untouchable" in this community along with 300 other women. I am suddenly ashamed of being annoyed at the heat when I see what Manju has to do next. It is Manju's job is to manually clean away the excrement left by her upper caste neighbors and for that she is considered an "untouchable." I watch as she squeezes through an alley way to the so called bucket toilet of the house. It is simply a toilet seat with a hole that opens up to a small concrete cave below. No plumbing, no water. Manju has to scrape out the cave, and gather up its repulsive contents and then carry it away in a rusted metal bowl on her head. The work is still necessary in this town because the bucket toilets, banned in 1993 by India, have never been replaced. I can't imagine what this place would look and smell like if it wasn't for people like Manju. Certainly disease would increase here. But not many here think of that. Your caste is your caste. If you are in the lowest caste like Manju this is your duty, period. Manju moves on to the next house. She says she hates this work but cleans about 20 to 25 of per month to help feed her six children. At the fourth toilet job another owner comes out and wags his finger at some of the women cleaners for being late. They cover their faces with their Saris out of respect but don't budge. We've gone to four toilets so far. By this time my photographer, Sanjiv, is covered in it. He's trying to get video but it's difficult. The spaces are so tight. He's been kneeling, standing, squatting, doing whatever it takes to capture the reality of their situation. He soldiers on. My sense of smell betrays me and I gag at the last cleaning job we shoot. We are being followed. The group of women won't leave our sides. We tell them we don't want them to get in trouble and they should go. They refuse. Each one begs us to tell "their" story. It is partly because a new opportunity has arisen in the community that could get them out from underneath the stifling caste system that binds them to this work. They believe having their story told might give them a better chance at getting into a community center run by Sulabh International in their town. The center is already training 56 women in other work and giving them stipends so that they can afford to leave manual toilet cleaning while they train. But right now the center is out of room and has to expand to accommodate more. It's harsh and I feel guilty for not being able to do more. I want to tell all their stories, just like they asked, but I can't. Television news can be cruel that way. Time is always short. There is a finite amount of time that must be shared by CNN correspondents across the world. There are always too many important stories to tell. Posted by: International Correspondent, Sara Sidner |
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