Welcome back, cherubs! If you missed yesterday’s entry on Christmas and New Year then you can catch all that cuteness here.
So, I’ve been living in Goa for a year. In fact, I got off the plane a year ago today. So as promised in yesterday’s post, here’s a look at what’s happened in the past 12 months, followed by a gallery of highlights.
What have been some of the highest points?
Early on in the year was the Hindu festival of colour – Holi. The Grand Hyatt, a 5-star resort, welcome all of the BLC kids to join in their annual Holi celebrations where there is street food, sunshine, a beach and most importantly for Holi – different coloured powders and Coca-Cola to fuel the madness. For the kids it’s pure fun and games, for me it was like being born again – my eyes saw such vibrant life and intense joy.
Being given a brand new Fender is a moment of joy that stands out.
A recent high point was when 11 of my friends responded to my Facebook request to sponsor 9 of my students to study Grade 1 music theory. Getting the students to write letters to their sponsors gave me and them such joy. I loved watching them write about how excited they were and draw smiley faces in the corners. Massive thanks to Ian & Lucy Hawthorne, Josh Hall, Liam Callaghan, Daniel Risson, Vicky Shelbourn, Halina Kotkova, Sophie Smith, Miranda Anthony, and Laura and Nigel Crosby – you’re amazing.
What’s the weirdest thing that happened in the past year?
Almost all of the possible answers for this begin with teh words “I was driving and…” The maddest story is the most recent one. Last Monday (7th January) I was driving home from the shop and I had to overtake a line of 5 bikes who were going very slowly. I made sure I gave everyone enough space, put my foot down, sped off and eventually passed everyone. After a short while, though, I noticed that the front cyclist – a young guy – was catching up to me. He was level to my window and started shouting, telling me to stop so I pulled over onto a side road. He followed me and pulled up on the passenger side where he stopped, and both him and his passenger started angrily berating me saying I had crashed into them. I knew I hadn’t because I gave plenty of room, my windows were open so I would have heard something like that and neither of them wobbled or fell. I told him this but it made them press into their claim even harder. They got off the bike.
“Get out of the car”, they said. Alarm bells started ringing in my head, so I stayed where I was and leaned over the passenger side to examine the bike. I could see the driver started looking for scratches on his bike, anywhere that might look damaged that he could blame me for, his index finger wandering around up and down, left and right. He ended up pointing to the footrest, which was dented with obvious wear-and-tear over a long time. There’s no way I did that, so I told him. “You did this”, he pressed even more. I explained that that was from years-worth of passengers feet pressing down on it. “No, you did this”. They were both raging now. I had to cool them both down.
After this back-and-forth for a while they were both leaning into my car through both front windows, ordering me to get out. The passenger, who was by my window, his arm right next to my head, stepped back and opened my door, which I promptly shut.
I turned to the driver and asked for his licence and registration because I knew that a lot of cyclists don’t have them so they don’t have any grounds on which to make claims, legal or otherwise. “Do you want me to hit you”, he replied, eyes burning. “What”, I replied, baffled. “Do you want me to hit you in your head”? “Why would you say that”? “You hit my bike, I should hit your head”. Wrong-footing them was apparently not the way to defuse the situation so I kept calm, stayed in the car, enginge ticking over, and asked him “how much would it cost to repair your footrest”. “Five-hundred”. I took 500 bucks (£5.50ish) out of my pocket – funnily enough the only rupee note I had on me at the time – and handed it to him through the passenger-side window. “Here you go”. I wanted them gone, but the injustice of the situation made something else come out…
“…but you should know that I live and work here in Goa at an orphanage. I don’t get paid anything and I hardly have any money myself so this is a lot of money to me. If you take this from my hand then you’ll be taking this out of the mouths of orphans.” That’s when they hesitated, weakly saying they don’t want my money, but I insisted they take it and go because I knew the cash would make them feel dirty. Eventually they took it but they were starting to chit-chat to me – ‘where are you from’, ‘what do you do’ etc. I could feel them trying to exorcise their guilt. After I showed them that I was a genuine guy and not a pleasure-making tourist (I spoke a little bit of Hindi to a worried old local lady to reassure her everything was ok), they determined that it was time for them to go. We spoke kind words to each other, got back in our vehicles, and as they passed my driver-side window, they gave me back the 500 bucks.
What have been some of the lowest points?
Shouting at the band for so quickly forgetting a new song. I’m trying to create a culture of practicing instruments and listening to songs during the week but it’s a real uphill struggle, even for the most musical of them. Working with a band comprised almost completely of self-taught teenagers has presented a weekly challenge for me. But then I think about the fact that I’ve stepped from the slick professional teamwork of Hillsong London to self-taught teens in India and I’ve found freedom in accepting and loving them for where they are right now instead of loving them for how I want them to be. Services and practices have been so much more beautiful because whenever a mistake is made, it’s fine – it’s beautiful and human and we’re all in this together. We are all perfect in our imperfection.
The hardest time of the past year has actually been Christmas and New Year but you can read that story in yesterday’s blog if you haven’t already.
Coming back to Goa after my 6-week trip to the UK in August to find everything in my apartment had moulded in the monsoon. I’d locked the doors and windows so any moisture in the air just set upon clothes, furniture, bedding, walls… everything. A dark green mould had covered the south-facing wall and was obviously intoxicating the air in the flat. After a long 2-leg flight with no sleep for 24 hours, it was crushing. Thankfully my beautiful friend/landlord Sharon was in Goa and she quickly found somewhere for me overnight. Isn’t it so true that the hardest times of our lives are always made better by the people in our lives.
I’ve also had to give a lot of things up to be here. Commitments I had given myself to had to be broken and some tears had to be shed. Securities and comforts had to be let go of and I’ve had to walk each day without knowing what the future holds for me. I’ve had some very dark days where I’ve felt completely alone, but then I remember why I’m here and how I got here and all the amazing, miraculous things that have paved my path. I say to myself, in the words of the wonderful Gary Clarke, “why do we help? Because we can”, and all those smiling faces that I work with come flooding into my heart and fill my mind and I’m reminded again that I’m the happiest person on Earth.
What do you miss about the UK when you’re in India?
My family and friends. You, who are reading this in the UK right now. My Hillsong family who have shaped me so much over the past few years. I miss my old housemates at Strickland Row. I miss not having to worry about changing clothes because I’m drenched in sweat. I miss being able to travel to so many amazing European locations for cheap and in so little time. Contactless payments, organised traffic, spring flowers, Graham Norton’s Eurovision commentary, fish and chips, hot baths, baking with self-raising flour, the buzz of the streets of London, independent movies and amazing desserts.
What don’t you miss about the UK when you’re in India?
Brexit, tasteless meat, Starbucks and the general air of the apocalypse.
What do you miss about India when you’re in the UK?
The kids, who I miss even on my days off. Martin, Beena, Dan and Becky – my Indian fam. I miss anything I need being affordable. The church, the weather, thorough medical care, the multicoloured sunsets on the beach, killing mosquitos, cows in the road, Ghatimami the old mangey street dog, the staff at the local bakery, chicken cafreal pizza, coconuts, mangoes, puppies and their mothers by the side of the road, street food stands, and my fender.
What don’t you miss about India when you’re in the UK?
That would be mosquitos.
What’s happening in 2019?
I’m starting this year with a couple of weeks off. February will see the beginning of theory classes for the 9 aforementioned students, and they will be taking their exam in May. From there they can move up to grade 2 if they wish, and I will be taking on a new set of students to study grade 1.
April will see the launch of my album, “Image”. This has been a major project for me, involving singers and musicians from Goa, Nagaland, London, Manchester, Nottingham, Portugal and Germany. It involves a choir, an epic violin solo, and some creative use of the kids’ vocal talents and drawing skills. It’s all to raise money for the BLC kids’ music education. I’m super excited. A single will be released soon.
Some of my current students are becoming good enough to join the band so I’ll be slowly introducing them to practices. Some of them are becoming good enough to teach others, so I will be giving some of the beginner classes to them to teach. June will see the introduction of song-writing classes for anyone of the BLC kids who is interested.
I’ll be back in the UK in October for a few weeks.
The church is having a women’s conference in November, with a very special guest speaker, and touring over south India.
I’m sure 2019 has a lot more in store, but it can’t happen all at once – we can only experience it moment by moment. Let me encourage you to do so in the fullest way possible – be present, be generous and be open. It’s going to be a good year, my friend.
Thank you for reading. If you want to help my work in India, please consider donating or sponsoring. You can do so via this JustGiving link or contact me on social media or send an email to hello@willadammusic.com and I can provide my sponsorship account details.
To close, here are some of the highlights from the past 12 months. Click a photo to enlarge.
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