I was using the bathroom by the light of my flashlight this morning due to the power outage. Forgetting the water had shut off too, I tried to flush- at which point the flusher fell off and landed inside the toilet. Just another day at Camp India.
I have always been intrigued by the large building located next to camp. It has a walk-in shark’s mouth and children call out at me whenever I walk past. Last night it was blaring American songs and I could see dozens of dancing men.
I’ve been avoiding the Indian party scene due to my general dislike of clubs and my general distrust of Indian men, but last night I could feel myself being intrinsically pulled toward the sound of American music- anything other than Sheila!
So I went over with some other volunteers. Cars and motorbikes were lined up for miles- pretty surprising, since this is basically the middle of nowhere. Turns out the building is a recreation hall, and that night they were having a “rain dance”- to celebrate the monsoons. A sprinkler above the dance floor was spraying water onto all of the joyous, drunken men (not too many women), even though a real monsoon was pouring down on us anyway. After a couple drinks, we were all singing and dancing in the rain and sprinklers, too.
“Tell me!” an Indian man tapped me on the shoulder and shouted in my ear. “Are USA parties better than Goa parties?”
“No!” I shouted back, dripping wet in my last pair of semi-clean clothes, my money pouch swinging between my legs inside my baggy Indian pants, in the hopes that my phone and rupees would not get totally destroyed. “Goa parties way better!”