Showing posts with label india. Show all posts
Showing posts with label india. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

JOURNAL HIGHLIGHTS; Roads I Have Traveled. . . Excerpt # 3 from July, 1995

Founder, Project C.U.R.E.
Author, The Happiest Man in the World: Life Lessons from a Cultural Economist


India : July, 1995, (cont.)  At 8:00 Wednesday morning, Samuel called me from his house in Salem. He had already talked to Benny and said that Benny would stop by the hotel at 11:00 to make sure I got back to the airport in good shape. Benny had taken off work and had ridden the train for over seven hours from Salem to Madras to meet me at the plane. Now he would deliver me to the airport and then head back to Salem on the night bus, which would arrive sometime the next day. As I left Benny at the Madras airport, I thanked him and gave him a box of English toffee for his family. 

Samuel was at the airport to meet me, and we drove for another hour and a half to Erode were I was to do the Needs Assessment Study for Project C.U.R.E. The hospital was directed by Dr. Vizia Kumar. For years the hospital had also run a nurses’ school. The patient load was about 2,500 per month, of which less than 50 percent of patients had any means to pay. Their per capita gross income for the year was less than $150. The hospital tried to charge the other 50 percent of the patients some amount that the market would bear. The hospital received no government assistance because it was a Christian organization in an area of India that was 98 percent Hindu. The London Missionary Society started the hospital in 1903, and in the hallway there was a plaque that made a big deal out of the fact that in 1933 electricity was brought into the building. Even today there are rows and rows of kerosene lamps on shelves for use during frequent power failures.

What did the hospital in Erode need from Project C.U.R.E.? Everything! They did have a Siemens X-ray machine that looked pretty good but was only a 200 milliamps (mA)—not very powerful. They had one EKG machine, but it wasn’t working. The emergency room needed to almost start over again with different equipment. The hospital, overall, was perhaps cleaner than some of the bad ones we had assessed in Africa, but not much better equipped. Most of the equipment and fixtures were, without question, pre–World War II.

From Erode we drove about another one and a half hours to Salem, the city where Benny had said he lived. Salem was a city of two or three million people, and the headquarters for Samuel’s ministry. Samuel and his wife run an orphanage and a school for three hundred abandoned kids. Samuel’s great-grandfather was the first Chris­tian convert in India. He was royalty, but when his family found out he had converted, they repeatedly tried to kill him and have him killed because of the shame that it brought on the family name. Finally he ran away and was raised by missionaries from England. But for four generations now, all of the offspring have been Christian and involved in ministry. The orphanage and school are located outside the main area of Salem on a twenty-acre plot of land. 

As we drove up to the orphanage, the driver stopped the car and Samuel said that we would walk from there. As we walked in through the gates, I had a surprise awaiting me. Lined up in two straight lines on either side of the entry drive were about three hundred kids. They were very quiet and orderly, and several came and put a large ornamental neck­lace over my head. Then the children began singing and throwing flower petals on Samuel and me. They were not in the least rowdy, but they certainly enjoyed welcoming their guest.

Samuel and his wife live in a house on the complex. They have two children of their own. One daughter who is finishing high school, and a son who is also off at boarding school. However, personally, they had adopted five other children ranging in age from one and a half years to seven years. They were all abandoned babies when Samuel and his wife received and adopted them. Quite a family! I stayed there in Samuel’s house in an upstairs guest room.

Thursday, July 13  At about 4:15 a.m. I was awakened by roosters crowing. I went back to sleep until about 5:30, when I began to hear voices of lots of happy kids. Breakfast was served for Samuel and me at 8:00. But just prior to our eating, the air was filled with a three-hundred-voice kids’ choir gathered in a building next door to eat their breakfast. They were singing a prayer before they ate. I couldn’t resist … I had to go next door and see all the kids. They were lined up sitting at long tables. In India most of the people use no silverware service. So in front of each child was a large metal pan, about ten inches in diameter, filled with hot cereal and fruit. The kids were greatly enjoying themselves as they scooped up the cereal by hand and ate it. 


The driver took us first to the large regional government hospital. This one hospital served over twenty million people in Salem and the surrounding area. Seventy-five thousand patients passed through its doors monthly. As our car drove up to the side door, it was apparent that the hospital staff knew we were coming—a delegation of doctors and hospital officials was waiting for us on the curb. The procession was led, then, up a flight of stairs to the hospital director’s office. They presented me with a large, thick research packet, which laid out the activities and goals of the hospital. I asked enough questions to fill out my assessment forms and then asked if they would mind if I took pictures as we toured the hospital facilities.

The hospital was quite typical of a large African or Asian government institution—pathetic. Samuel told me as we walked that they had really cleaned it up when they heard that the American was coming. All of the services at this hospital were covered by the government and were free to the people. So it tended to collect some pretty sorry cases. Some parents here in India will actually cripple their children in order to give them a competitive advantage at begging. But, of course, only a very small portion of the injuries are intentional or self-inflicted. 

A great number of the hospital beds did not have mattresses but, rather, a metal or wooden bottom. Many of the emergency gurneys were two-wheeled rather than four and were made out of bicycle parts and wheels. This large hospital had only one small X-ray machine.
I was impressed with their blood-bank and eye-bank setup. The doctor who headed up the eye bank told me that he now had over forty eye donations for their future eye surgeries.

As we passed the hematology section, I noticed a small ward where they had four dialysis machines in operation. The machines were exactly like the ones I had sent out in different container loads. I asked if they kept those machines busy. The doctor told me that those four machines were used almost continuously for victims of poisonous snakebites. I stopped and looked at him with surprise. “Snakebite victims?”

He said that this area produced a lot of chickens and eggs. Where there were lots of eggs, there were lots of viper snakes—very poisonous. “A lot of people are bitten by the snakes,” he told me. “Most would die without the dialysis machines. The machines purify the blood before the venom overloads the kidneys and shuts them down, thus causing death.” What a great use for a dialysis machine!

© Dr. James W. Jackson   
Permissions granted by Winston-Crown Publishing House
  

Dr. James W. Jackson often describes himself as "The Happiest Man in the World." A successful businessman, award-winning author and humanitarian, Jackson is also a renowned Cultural Economist and international consultant, helping organizations and governments to apply sound economic principals to the transformation of culture so that everyone is "better off."

As the founder of Project C.U.R.E., Dr. Jackson traveled to more than one hundred fifty countries assessing healthcare facilities, meeting with government leaders and "delivering health and hope" in the form of medical supplies and equipment to the world's most needy people. Literally thousands of people are alive today as a direct result of the tireless efforts of Project C.U.R.E.'s staff, volunteers and Dr. Jackson. 

To contact Dr. Jackson, or to book him for an interview or speaking engagement: press@winstoncrown.com

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

JOURNAL HIGHLIGHTS...Roads I Have Traveled: Excerpt 2 from July, 1995

Founder, Project C.U.R.E.
Author, The Happiest Man in the World: Life Lessons from a Cultural Economist



India: July, 1995, (continued):  I had another instant flashback. I was in Kenya, on one of our safaris. The guide was pointing out how the cheetahs and female lions watched the eyes and behavior patterns of the gazelles or waterbucks. The ones they picked out to ultimately attack were those with a flaw, a weakness, or a lack of confidence that could be detected.

About that time in the midst of my flashback, a couple of desperate-looking, dark-skinned Indians with shabby clothes began looking at me and my luggage with a little more interest than was com­fortable. I thought, No way. If out of desperation you’re looking for panic or lack of direction in my eyes, you’ll have to find it in some of the other passengers’ eyes.I walked straight for an abandoned luggage cart in the street, placed my two bags on the cart, as if it had been planned for a year, and then turned the baggage cart back toward the terminal and the crowd. There was another entrance to the terminal, but it was blocked by Indian police. I pushed my way through the crowd, smiled, gave a hand gesture to the police, and walked past them back into the building. I wasn’t supposed to go back in there once I had left the security area, but I had to return to the beginning of the line of placard holders and start over again. 

By now a lot of people were coming out of customs. I searched the line again, but nothing. I backed my luggage cart up against a wall, put my foot on it, and nonchalantly studied the crowd. Over an hour passed. No one. So this was Madras, India, city of ten million? The only thing you can predict about desperate people is that they are unpredictable. I decided to stay in the building for the time being. Several other tattered folk came close, looked over my luggage, sized me up, and moved on. Where in the world was Browning? 

In the crowd, pushed up against the fence but with no placard, were a kindly appearing gentleman and his wife, both about sixty-five or seventy years old. They looked European or American enough. I pushed my cart again through the crowd, right up behind the couple. I reached over a row of short Indians and laid my hand on the old man’s shoulder. 

“You aren’t Mr. Browning, are you?”
“No, I’m Mr. Selz, from Utah, USA.”

“I’m Jackson from Colorado. We’re kind of neighbors when you consider that we are halfway around the world and in time zones they determine in thirty-minute intervals.”

We chatted awhile. He and his wife were Mormons from Salt Lake City and were just finishing their fifteenth month of an eighteen-month mission to Madras. They were at the airport to pick up another older couple needing to fulfill their missionary work for the LDS (Latter-day Saints).

I mentioned my predicament and asked for his advice on a good hotel near the airport, in case my situation came down to my needing a hotel.

He said, “I would definitely tell you the Trident Hotel. You could take a taxi from that stand over there. They will take American dollars for the fare.”
 
About that time, their anticipated couple arrived out of the customs area. We hollered at each other, and they disappeared into the crowd. Another twenty minutes went by. I looked back out the window onto the street. There was a bus just arriving that had Trident Hotel written on the side. I left my baggage cart and quickly went back out past the police and onto the street. I waved at the Trident driver. He stopped and got out of the bus. I told him my name was Jackson, and I needed a ride to the Trident. 

As he was putting my bags into the bus, a young Indian fellow called him over to the side, and my ears flapped when I heard the name Jackson. The young man came onto the bus where I was sitting, stuck out his hand, and said, “Jackson?”

I said, “Yes. Are you Mr. Browning?”

“No, my name is Benny. Mr. Browning could not make it, so Samuel asked if I would meet you. but I didn’t know how I was going to meet you.”

Then he went on to tell me, “I already made reservations for you at the Trident Hotel, and I knew if I waited for you to get on the Trident bus, I would be able to meet you.”

I didn’t even bother to ask him how he thought I was supposed to know that there ever existed a hotel by the name of Trident before I met Mr. Selz. It was impossible that Benny would have known that I would be getting on that bus!  But the next thing he said still had me wondering.

“You were the first person to come out of customs security, weren’t you? I saw you but did not expect you to come out first.  I just watched you. You were so confident, and it appeared that you knew what you were doing and where you were going. You looked like you had a plan, and I guess I was looking for someone lost and in a panic.”

I thought, Oh boy, maybe sometimes those gazelles and waterbucks need to be eaten!

Benny did not stay at the hotel. He was going to stay at his sister and brother-in-law’s place about an hour away from Madras. I didn’t know when Benny finally got to bed, but by the time I got checked into the hotel, it was about 1:30 a.m. Wednesday. I went to my room, and there was fresh fruit and biscuits on a small table. So when the attendant came up with my bags, I ordered a pot of hot tea. Two o’clock in the morning or not, it was time to relax with a good cup of tea.

Next Week: India’s Creative Use of Dialysis Machines

© Dr. James W. Jackson   
Permissions granted by Winston-Crown Publishing House
  
www.jameswjackson.com   

Dr. James W. Jackson often describes himself as "The Happiest Man in the World." A successful businessman, award-winning author and humanitarian, Jackson is also a renowned Cultural Economist and international consultant, helping organizations and governments to apply sound economic principals to the transformation of culture so that everyone is "better off."

As the founder of Project C.U.R.E., Dr. Jackson traveled to more than one hundred fifty countries assessing healthcare facilities, meeting with government leaders and "delivering health and hope" in the form of medical supplies and equipment to the world's most needy people. Literally thousands of people are alive today as a direct result of the tireless efforts of Project C.U.R.E.'s staff, volunteers and Dr. Jackson. 

To contact Dr. Jackson, or to book him for an interview or speaking engagement: press@winstoncrown.com

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

JOURNAL HIGHLIGHTS... Roads I Have Traveled Excerpt # 1 from July 1995

Founder, Project C.U.R.E.
Author, The Happiest Man in the World: Life Lessons from a Cultural Economist


(I have been traveling extensively internationally since 1978. It is always dangerous. I was told one time that desperate people in foreign countries do not see you as black or white, but they see you as green; the color of money. You have what they desperately need and you are vulnerable. So many times I have had to depend on God to rescue me, although I did not always understand how he did it! I share this example of India with you.)

India: July, 1995: India’s population of one billion people amounts to about one-sixth of the world’s entire population. Yet it is only one-third the size of the United States. But why should Project C.U.R.E. get concerned about India? Good question! Perhaps it is because there are over four million people there with leprosy. Perhaps, it is because over one million Indian toddlers die yearly of malnutrition. Or maybe it’s because 80 percent of Indian new­borns are now expected to be HIV positive. How is that for justification?


About a year and a half ago my son, Dr. William Douglas Jackson, was introduced through his friend Dave Sattler to an energetic, young Indian man named Samuel Stevens. Doug was living in San Diego at the time, and Samuel, a long-time friend of Dave’s, had traveled to Califor­nia on a speaking tour. During Doug’s meeting with Samuel, Doug told him about Project C.U.R.E. and the exciting things that were happening with donated medical goods be­ing sent around the world. Samuel was overwhelmed. He was involved in trying desperately to refurbish two antiquated hospitals in India and build out of nothing one brand new hospital.

The trip to India was then planned and coordinated between Samuel and Project C.U.R.E. for July 9 through 21.

The first segment of the trip took me from Denver to San Francisco on United flight 405. At 2:05 a.m., I boarded Singapore Airlines flight 001 from San Francisco. My route would take me to Singapore via Hong Kong. The flight segment from San Francisco to Hong Kong was over fourteen hours, and then another three-plus hours from Hong Kong to Singapore. A same-seat trip in excess of seventeen hours gets to be kind of long. From Singapore I boarded Malaysia Airlines flight 622, which would take me to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, north of Singapore about one hour’s flight time. From Kuala Lumpur, I again changed planes to head for Madras, India.

An interesting thing happened just before takeoff. The captain of the flight came on the intercom and announced that flight time from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, to Madras would take just over three hours. Then he said something I had never heard before: “There is a two-and-a-half-hour time change from departure point to arrival.” It was now 9:40 p.m. The captain continued, “You may set your watches to 7:10 p.m. Madras, India, time.”

Perhaps my body could handle thirty-minute incremental time changes … or maybe not. I thought I was programmed for sixty-minute time-zone changes. I had been notified by letter prior to my leaving Colorado that a Mr. Browning would be meeting me in Madras. The letter stated that I would probably not like arriving in Ma­dras for the first time without being met by some friendly face. So I was anticipating walking out of the secured customs area and seeing a friendly person carrying a small placard saying, “Welcome to India, James Jackson.”

When the plane landed, I grabbed my two carry-on bags and headed for immigration control. I was second in line, not bad for a crowded flight on a huge extended Airbus model-400 aircraft. Oh yes, and there was another advantage of not checking in luggage. After leaving immigration I did not have to wait for the luggage to be unloaded from the plane but went straight to the customs line, where they looked at my honest counte­nance and waved me right through without checking anything.

Well, I was at least five to ten minutes outside the customs door before anyone else from the flight even appeared. I entered the unsecured area where the disembarkers (I would use the word debarkers, but it sounds so K-9) were separated from the eager throng of excited family members and friends. As was almost always the case, there was a fence separating the crowd from the arriving passengers. Pressed up against the fence and hanging over the fence were the people carrying the signs welcoming those who were arriving.

I was the first through the line. My eyes raced over the crowd and along the fence now to spot my name and the friendly face. Then I had an instant flashback. About two weeks earlier, Anna Marie asked just what I would do if I went to some country, and no one knew about my arrival and things grew hostile? I remembered tell­ing her with a smile, “No worry, baby. If I have a return ticket and a credit card, I’ll make it home just fine.” Dummy! Now I was thinking about that and not smiling.

The waiting crowd with signs extended out through the doors and the airport lobby and into the street area outside. It was past midnight. Ours was the last flight. I was quickly outside, into the street, and no sign, no Mr. Browning, no smiling face. Now I was out where the beggars and lepers lined the concrete, and lots of people were sleeping on the sidewalks and streets. I had another instant flashback. I was in Kenya, on one of our safaris. The guide was pointing out how the cheetahs and female lions watched the eyes and behavior patterns of the gazelles or waterbucks. The ones they picked out to ultimately attack were those with a flaw, a weakness, or a lack of confidence that could be detected.

About that time in the midst of my flashback, a couple of desperate-looking, dark-skinned Indians with shabby clothes began looking at me and my luggage with a little more interest than was com­fortable.

Next Week: Where is Mr. Browning?


© Dr. James W. Jackson   
Permissions granted by Winston-Crown Publishing House

 
Dr. James W. Jackson often describes himself as "The Happiest Man in the World." A successful businessman, award-winning author and humanitarian, Jackson is also a renowned Cultural Economist and international consultant, helping organizations and governments to apply sound economic principals to the transformation of culture so that everyone is "better off."

As the founder of Project C.U.R.E., Dr. Jackson traveled to more than one hundred fifty countries assessing healthcare facilities, meeting with government leaders and "delivering health and hope" in the form of medical supplies and equipment to the world's most needy people. Literally thousands of people are alive today as a direct result of the tireless efforts of Project C.U.R.E.'s staff, volunteers and Dr. Jackson. 

To contact Dr. Jackson, or to book him for an interview or speaking engagement: press@winstoncrown.com