Jet lag has 100 % kicked in by this point. Sarah and I woke up by at least by 3 and were up and running by 4 am. We began the day slowly as we apmted ourselves up to what the first school visit was to be, with our newly acquired Indian clothes (kurtas and salwares), we headed down for a group breakfast by 6:30. On the bus by 7, we learning the meaning of a morning stroll... tons of people our in their traditional garb and tennis shoes walking the streets. In a small park, a circle track contained nearly 30 people walking around in circles on it. The commotion was less this morning, and Vydia’s explanation of the trash and filth of the city finally came to understanding. Garbage is everywhere in India; part of that is due to the not very timely pick up by the collectors and another large part is that of the raiders. Impoverished people raid the trash for plastics to sell back and make an earning for. Therefore, they dump out nearly every dumpster and rip open the trash bags in search of their treasure. The collectors are then, ideally, supposed to pick up all the garbage and take it to their landfills which are fully functional. Two problems coincide with this, one being the not often enough receptacle pick up and the other being the the accessibility of the garbage trucks to the sites of needed pick up; roads are narrow and dirt throughout the back ways around the city, leaving no place for a garbage truck.
We continued our drive with nearly 5-6 full-on life-flash-before-your-eyes moments. Not only was I in fear of my own we being, but the crazy moped and motorcycle drives that feel as if there is ample room to fit them, their wife, and two children in a maybe 3 foot gap between large busses. Many cars have no mirrors, of if they do, they are folded in or focused upon the driver for a self esteem boost; regardless, lets just say you could feel the manuel transmission that our driver was working with. Soon the city traffic buzzed into rural traffic, but never was there break. Our six lane road went to one lane on a dirt road, where we faced a bus twice our size headed straight for us. The cows were also out on the street today, at least 30 were out on our drive; joining them was the usual dogs, beggars, school children, workers, mopeds, rigshaws, and buses of all sorts. People continued to stare and instead of looking away, we tested a new theory or maintaining eye contact and smiling with a big wave. This new technique was a hit! Men drinking their coffee, women walking with groceries and the family of four on the motorcycle all smiled back with bright wide smiles and sweeping waves. Eventually we got to the school, in the country side we entered Siragu School, a school made specifically for beggars. These children were taken from their home in the city where they begged and brought to the rural area and live at the school. The classrooms all hold 10 children and 1 adult per 10 children. The kids eat and sleep in the same classroom that they study in. Their grades range form pre kinder garden to 10th grade. the pre K.G class was enormous, nearly 20 children; while 10th grade held 3. the drop out rate can be easily noticed as the grades increased; without the children at home helping with an income, it puts more of a stain back on the parents to receive food and make a living.
The second we jumped out of the car we were swarmed by kids laughing, smiling, shaking hands, wanting to take pictures introducing themselves and also too shy to actually talk. One small pre kindergarden girl climbed into my arms within minutes of stepping of the bus. It seemed once this boundary was broken, physical boundaries were non existent. The kids brought us chairs to sit on and we sat, swarmed and overwhelmed. I felt like I just stepped into an National Geographic expose. The school was all in a desert area, all dry clay and sand, terra-cotta walls, limited electricity, vault toilets if that, no running water but they had a pump and they did have electricity in one building. The kids began their morning prayers in column by grade in English, Tamil and Hindi. We sang happy Birthday and all received hand drawn gifts from the kids. Then the meditations time began. All grades, all 400 children sat against walls and meditated to the sound track played over the loud speakers. Even the Pre K. children followed the lessons with their backs straight, in half lotus, hands in OM and eyes closed. The children we slowly gathered into a circle as we presented our gift to them, a fundraiser check a woman had given to us for about 1,700 US dollars. We dispersed ourselves throughout and I had the pleasure of standing next to Priya, one of the 10th graders. As our rockstar prof Vydia stole the show with her ability to demand attention and speak in every language to translate possibly, the girls ask curiously of my name and the name of others. The school found it comical that there are two sara(h)’s in our group. Once Vydia announced the check, Priya looked at her friend in sheer amazement.. never had she even been able to fathom that amount in US dollars, she looked at me and questions in shock, “ Dollars, Ms.??? Oh thank you, thank you Ms.!! U.S Dollars, praise god.”
We broke into small groups where I was with Megan when we walked in. Sitting with a group, they brought out the atlas and began to show me India and all the states within it. I showed them the U.S and told them of my family in Colorado where the mountains are and they began to tell me of their mountains in Nepal. We discussed their gifts they were given for new years and it was like I was taken and shown a small piece of their most prized possession. The children were lucky if they had a back pack, so when they pulled out fresh notebooks and a small packet of watercolor paint, I shivered. Things I would buy without a second thought or half use then buy a new one they treasured with all their all their might. Priyanka, my small fourth grader whom translated for me and spoke the best english showed me hard work and 3 journals full of hand writing in English, Tamil, and Hindi, then proceeded to write my name in Hindi. I learn of their families, or lack there of, many hand no other home to go home to. So in an effort to lighten the mood I said, “ so this is your family!” pointing to the school, Priyanka nodded and said, “ yes, it is, and I love them.” After this, the comments I have been waiting for began. It started with “ my eyes, they are brown, but yours Ms., they are blue!” I laughed and leaned in so they could see, then came, “ and your skin... its white!” i laughed again, “ yes, yes it is... in fact I think I need sunblock!” they giggled and said the most precious thing I have ever been told. “ And your hair Ms., its golden.” With that simple phrase my heart melted and I dove into how absolutely gorgeous they all are and how many of us here envy them and strive to be tanner and how we love a more ethnic look than our own, they couldn’t understand this. They told Kelsey we are like movie stars from Hollywood. ( Priyanka is below)
We broke into small groups where I was with Megan when we walked in. Sitting with a group, they brought out the atlas and began to show me India and all the states within it. I showed them the U.S and told them of my family in Colorado where the mountains are and they began to tell me of their mountains in Nepal. We discussed their gifts they were given for new years and it was like I was taken and shown a small piece of their most prized possession. The children were lucky if they had a back pack, so when they pulled out fresh notebooks and a small packet of watercolor paint, I shivered. Things I would buy without a second thought or half use then buy a new one they treasured with all their all their might. Priyanka, my small fourth grader whom translated for me and spoke the best english showed me hard work and 3 journals full of hand writing in English, Tamil, and Hindi, then proceeded to write my name in Hindi. I learn of their families, or lack there of, many hand no other home to go home to. So in an effort to lighten the mood I said, “ so this is your family!” pointing to the school, Priyanka nodded and said, “ yes, it is, and I love them.” After this, the comments I have been waiting for began. It started with “ my eyes, they are brown, but yours Ms., they are blue!” I laughed and leaned in so they could see, then came, “ and your skin... its white!” i laughed again, “ yes, yes it is... in fact I think I need sunblock!” they giggled and said the most precious thing I have ever been told. “ And your hair Ms., its golden.” With that simple phrase my heart melted and I dove into how absolutely gorgeous they all are and how many of us here envy them and strive to be tanner and how we love a more ethnic look than our own, they couldn’t understand this. They told Kelsey we are like movie stars from Hollywood.
Later we planted plants for the children and had more of a one on one with the older kids, we talked about what college is like and how to get there. We gave encouraging words and advice. Vydia said one thing so powerful to them that I had never thought about, she told them that to be like us, they had to work hard. Harder than they had ever before; she said everything that I know we do, and all the time we spend with our studies, yet I had never had it put like that. I know I work hard, but for them, we are role models and a real image to relate to.
As we left, the raw emotions that the visit cause were present throughout the bus ride back. We talked of traveling Asia and how to do so, yet sitting there I couldn’t think but how blessed we are to even have the opportunity to talk as if that is a real possibility, when many of these kids will never make it out of Chennai. It is hard to stay happy and understand how we have so much when they have obstacle after obstacle ahead of them. Things so easy for us are extremely hard for them, such as trying to take the SAT to attempt to get into a US school. The kids were so happy and full of life with so little, it really showed that happiness is only on the inside and from the people around you, not material things. Two points that were hardest for me to grasp when reflecting with the group was the little food they were given at the school and lack of understanding or knowledge of humanities or social sciences from the children. When we arrived, the children were eating breakfast, yet I hadn’t noticed until reflecting with the group and seeing the most loving and strong woman here, our Professor Vidya, break down and display her raw emotions and sorrow for the only object for the children to eat, rice. No vegetables, no protein, simply rice with dirty water. The malnutrition ran throughout the school. Sores and skin irritations as well as malnutrition bodies are visible and a spark for the most hopeless feeling a person can have.
( I do apologize for how long it is... I'm not keeping a journal, so this is where I'm writing everything so I don't forget!)
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