By Anjali Dotson '06

If you asked me to write a small piece on the health camp we organized in June in my host village, I would probably say it was held in a remote village 70km from the nearest city with 6 doctors from 5 different faculties who saw 265 patients from over 55 villages in 6 hours for Rs.20 per person.

And you might be impressed.

But what I probably wouldn’t mention would be the angry masis crowding around the clinic door trying to get in before their turn. Or the young illiterate women who couldn’t remember the proper dosage of 4 out of their 5 medicines within 30 seconds of leaving the exam room. Or the printers from Bhuj who didn’t send the illustrated medical faculty signs on time. Or the 6 people from my organization who committed to the day and were assigned crucial tasks and then simply decided not to come. Yeah, I probably would leave all that out.

Otherwise, you might not be as impressed.

When I used to read stories about an NGO or individual doing service work in some underprivileged area, I used to be taken by the romance and happy-ending fairy-tales. Now I am starting to see the whole story. And it isn’t always so intoxicating. In fact, at times it’s the knock-my-head-on-the-crumbling-cement-wall challenges that make the story so real, so enthralling.

In many ways, this camp was a pain in the derrière. But I knew it would be, and we made do. And when the sun came up on the 17th, some things went terribly wrong, some went miraculously well, and the rest plugged along about as expected.

I don’t think of this kind of work as heroic anymore. And it is certainly not the quixotic experience the media tries to hint it is. But in the end it’s not the smooth sailing that is so intoxicating for me anyway…it’s the big waves.
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