Final Summit

Two weeks ago, Carmen and I left Chennai for our trek across India.  I was more nervous than excited, trying to remember that first trek that began my time in India.

Our first destination was Hampi.  Hampi is an old temple town that is home to what seems like hundreds of temples and shrines scattered among and atop giant piles of rock and boulder.  Most lay in ruins after they were destroyed during a seize over a century ago.  Despite the disfigured statues and withering temples, the Muslims were not able to destroy the uniqueness of this landscape. The "mountains" are composed of a pile of what appears loosely and sporadically stacked boulders.  Gaps appear in the middle of the massive boulders creating what looks like holes in the mountain.  It honestly looks like someone forgot to break down the set after filming Indiana Jones.  Still by the last day, I caught myself saying, "It just doesn't look real."  The only explanation we could find for how this landscape formed was the old Hindu belief that the gods had hurled rocks from the sky to show their strength. That's good enough for me.

This was the most adventurous part of our trip.  Only having three days there, we packed our days full of visiting temples, climbing rocks, and dining by the river.  All the while getting around by motorbikes.  After a five second tutorial on how to start, stop, and go, we were off with no helmets and no paperwork spelling out who was at fault when this turned out to be a bad idea.  Luckily I escaped my first moto ride with a mere blister and really dirty feet.  Despite the heat, we spent our days out exploring because our non AC room with a sorry excuse for a fan barely provided any relief at night.  By then we'd be so exhausted from the day's heat we found it easy to sleep in the sticky heat with the sound of monkeys fighting outside our room.

I learned that I'm terrified of monkeys.  Going to the zoo will never be the same.

An overnight bus took us to our next destination: Arambol, Goa.  Nothing too significant about this location except for one major factor.  It is a beach.  Let's call this chapter of my trip Spring Break.  For five days my daily routine was breakfast, beach, dinner, bed, repeat.  Only with slight variations to visit the local market.  Our beach hut was nestled in the middle of the rocky hill that wrapped the edge of the beach and only cost me a whopping $4 a night.  Minimal time was spent there for I was too occupied laying in the sun and finishing a book I found at a small used bookstore, The Godfather.  The only word that can describe Goa: uneventful.  But after three months of Chennai, this is the most beautiful word I've ever heard.

A plane and a per usual eventful bus ride put us in Pushkar, Rajasthan. The town itself is situated around a small lake.  The streets wind and circle with small alleys in between tall buildings.  The view from the top of our guesthouse showed temples and mosques breaking out of the cluster of buildings that are nestled in the middle of tall rocky hills.  At night, the moon and the stars hanging just above the cityscape and the evening call to prayer filling the air create a scene straight from Aladdin.  Minus the magic carpets of course.

Again, we settled for more relaxation rather than adventure, but we did decide to do the much talked about camel trek.  It's advised when visiting Rajasthan to find a camel safari tour guide and arrange a trek out to the desert to spend a night under the stars.  A first this was the plan, but once we realized that the only people out in the desert would be two girls and our guides, we decided to come back that night.  However, a few lessons were learned during that short trek.  The first being: Camels are huge.  I don't know why I figured I would only be a few feet from the ground like a horse, but the moment he stood up I realized my foot was dangling well above our guide's head.  Secondly: Camel saddles are not the most comfortable things in the world.  Especially when you get a little trot going.  I honestly don't understand how men do it.  After the first hour and a half out to the village where we would be dining, I was done with camel riding.  My back, butt and inside of my thighs were so sore I didn't know how I was going to bring myself to get back on for the trek home.  And lastly: It's best, if possible, to check the emotional stability of your guide before embarking to ensure he doesn't drown his misery of a recent breakup with bottle of whiskey.  While waiting on the family to cook us dinner, one of our guides proceeded to drink an entire bottle of whiskey on his own.  As the night got later and later, we kept asking to leave, but was only answered with, "One more chai," and then more stories of ex-girlfriend.  Finally, at 9:45, we left and I struggled onto the back of my camel.  He told us first it would take an hour and a half to return, but after expressing our concern for not arriving too late, he assured us he'd have us back soon.  We did not realize this meant riding the camels at full speed through the pitch black desert.  Multiple times I thought I was going to fly off as I caught air off every gallop, yet our guide did not pick up on our concert.  All I could hear through the rushing wind was, "Fly so high!"

We made it back in 30 minutes.

I'm not sure there are laws against drunk camel driving, but I assure you it is equally as terrifying in a car.  My souvenirs from Pushkar include swollen thighs, a bruised butt, sore arms and hands, and a nice burn from the friction of my leg against the saddle.

The ride to Dharamsala was just as nerve wracking as the camel. Our driver threw this 40 foot bus around curves and mountain roads I'd be terrified to attempt in my Honda.  I slept little.  We reached Dharamsala before the sun.  The fog hanging around the tops of mountains revealing only bits of the snow covered tops.  I instantly felt at home.  When the bus doors opened the cool breeze blew in and I gladly slipped on my jacket. My heart swelled as I took in the surrounding peaks, my excitement rising to meet this high elevation.  The Himalayas may have a the Appalachians beat by a few thousand feet, but I swear they're just as majestic.  This is what I've been waiting for.  A horizon uninterrupted by buildings, just fading peaks into sky.  The view from Rose Cafe where I sit and write won't let me go.  The town is built into the side of the ridge, hundreds of prayer flags blowing from every roof.  I only have a few days here.  Soon Carmen and I will part for the first time in three months.  I'm truly going to miss her.  I think she is the first person I have spent nearly every waking moment with for such a long time.  But I'm ready to experience something new on my own.  I'm ready for the small rural life of Kanda.  As much as I miss Boone, I'm starting to learn I can find my home on any ridgeline.

The End, Part 1

Tomorrow, I pack to leave Chennai.
The last time I packed my bag I was at home surrounded by my friends and family, preparing to go to a foreign country, no idea what to expect.  I had just a few belongings in my bag, but more importantly I had so many hopes and dreams for the work I would be doing, the people I'd be helping, the lives I'd be changing.  That night seems so long ago and those dreams seem so distant.  Since being here, every expectation I did have for this country has been completely wrong or underestimated.  Except for the heat, I expected Hades and got pretty close.  My optimism is fleeting, my spirits have been tested more than they ever have been.  I want to remember this country and experience through the eyes I had when I first got here, but I've gained a different sight and perspective that blurs my original vision.

It's a bittersweet goodbye.  As much as I'm ready to leave Chennai and its ultra-patriarchal society behind, I know I'm going to miss so much about it.  Yes, we have had our fair share of run-ins with less than respectable me, but we have also had the blessing of being in a community wit so many many that always look out for us, not just look at us.  Our waiters at two local restaurants, Hotel Ganga and Dolphin, where we became regulars.  Always remembering who doesn't like onions or prefers the less spicy option. And always remembers to bring me two extra chutneys with my masala dosai.  The security guard outside the ATMwho smiles with a "Good Morning!" no matter the time of day.  Mr Moothy, our watchman at MCCSS, who we never could understand except for "tomorrow" but we have learned he loved us by his big smile every time we walked in the gate.  And what would a watchman be without his trusty watchdog.  Tsunami is by far the most respectable and loving man I have had the pleasure of getting to know since my time in India.  I'm going to miss him along with the others who have helped me have faith that all Indian men are not that bad.

I'm going to miss the staff at MCCSS.  Although stressful at times with their Indian sense (or lack of) time, they have taught me to not rush and worry so much but to have a little faith and things will miraculously work out.

I'm going to miss the family I've made.  Mary, who made us breakfast every morning at the canteen, who tore up our chapatti into small pieces so we wouldn't burn our fingers, and who cooled our tea before serving us.  Who one morning pointed at us and said "daughters," then pointed at herself, "mother."  And of course my Canadian sister, Irish sister, and Australian sister. Or should I say "akkas."

But more than anything, I'm going to miss the children.  Although I haven't seen them as much for working in the office, they have impacted me most of all.  Whenever I start to get the slightest bit homesick the boys will stampede on the roof with their kites and "Hello Sister!" that I remember I am home.  Whenever the patriarchal oppression of women begins to weigh on me, I find strength in the young women at the protection home who have lived here their entire lives, but find joy and freedom in each other.

I thought I would be doing more, but instead I found that sometimes the most beneficial thing to do is to sit back in learn.  My idea of the trafficked victims and human trafficking within India was totally skewed from a western perspective.  I pictured these women being depressed and in dire need of saving, and that the sex trafficking network would have more chains and torture.  The most shocking thing I learned was that these women are some of the stronger women within this culture.  Every situation is different as to how a girl entered into the sex industry, but whatever the case may be, the ones that are in our home are survivors.  They are on the outskirts of society as they are viewed to have no family and a tainted past.  This makes them undesirable for marriage or leaves little opportunity to support themselves.  However, through the help of MCCSS and Isabel's guidance, they have been able to find ways to make money, attend school, and become part of an ever growing family.

Although I may complain about how hard it has been being a woman in India and the incidents we have had because of it, I know that my situation is nothing in comparison.  Because not all women have the same opportunities as men, if they do not follow a narrow path of lifestyle they can face severe discrimination and hardship from their society.  In the case of sex work, it was shocking to find out that not all women are tricked or kidnapped into slavery.  Many women have decided on their own to enter the field as a sex worker.  While those at home might scoff and say, "Ok well then she's just a prostitute and that's her own poor judgement." look at it this way.  If you were a woman who's family did not allow you to go to school, so as you grow up you have no opportunity to ever support yourself.  Instead of being a burden to your family you only have a few options.  1) Your family can arrange a marriage for you, often at a young age to a much older man that you barely know, where you will then have the potential of experiencing spousal rape, physical, and verbal abuse for the rest of the marriage. 2) You can run away from home to avoid marriage, with no education and no opportunity for a job and must then beg/live on the streets. Or 3) You can make the decision to become a sex worker where you can make your own money, have the freedom to come and go as you please, have a home and protection, and have an independence that living with your family or being married does not offer.  Which would you choose?

Sadly, this is the case for many impoverished women in India, in other developing countries, and even in the western developed world.  I may say that not all women are tricked or coerced into sex work, however, they are all forced.  Either by their parents, partner, or by their society who has not given them the freedom or chance for any other option.  Prostitution itself is not illegal in Chennai, just organized sex work that takes place in brothels.  This might be in order to allow those who choose sex work as a way of making means, but to protect those who are being held against their will.  It's a very interesting and different way of looking at it than what I originally thought before coming here.  So while I thought I was coming here to rescue and save these girls from the bondage that has plagued them their entire lives, I was in fact saved from my incorrect views on the industry, not just within India but even sex workers in America.  It may be considered a choice, but if not provided with alternatives, in a way they're still forced.

I can't say being here has been easy.  There's been countless times where I thought I couldn't take it anymore and would be on the next flight home.  A part of me does regret leaving the agency early.  I feel like I didn't accomplish everything I set out to do, like I'm giving.  Like I'm failing.  But I that my time has come to leave and that staying in longer might permanently taint my memory of this place.  At this moment, I can honestly say that I will be back despite how eager I am to leave.

I'm looking forward to my travels starting tomorrow.  Another intern, Carmen, and I will be traveling for two weeks as we head north: Hampi, Arambol, Pushkar, Delhi, then ending in Dharamsala.  From there we will part ways as she stays with another agency for a month and I continue on to Kanda, Uttarakhand.  In Kanda, I will be working for a month with an organization Rural Organization for Social Elevation (ROSE).  This agency works at the grassroots level within rural communities to help them develop more sustainable ways of living that will empower their community.  Very different from the work in Chennai, but also very similar.  I hope that it will give me a more expanded view on Indian culture outside from city life.

You can check out more on this organization at www.rosekanda.info

I thank everyone who has supported me and continues to do so while I'm away.  I've really enjoyed hearing from you, and can't wait to see you when I return.  I'm not sure on my internet situation while traveling, but I will do my best to keep you updated on my trek.  Thanks for everything, and I hope I have made you all proud.

We'd been told of its vastness, the stench, the poverty surrounding.
Wed been warned about how they  keep photographers and journalists out.  The government trying to maintain some integrity.
We heard the facts, we acknowledged the warning.  These might as well could've fallen on deaf ears, for no words could have prepared us for the sight awaiting us.

Shielded behind the privacy of tinted windows, I along with the other overseas volunteers were allowed through the gates of Chennai's dumping grounds.  The smell had already reached our AC vents a few miles before, once inside it was almost smothering at first.  The scenery soon distracting our noses, the eyes struggling to process the image before us.

One hundred acres is the area that has been devoted to piling the waste created by 33 million people.  Mountains, valleys, and rivers of waste create this ever changing landscape.  Growing faster that mountains on  tectonic boundaries, each day truck load after truck load com in reshaping the mounds.  Followed behind them, the roves of rag pickers.  Spanning all age groups, these people come in daily to pick through the rubbish, trying to scavenge every piece of metal, plastic, or any salvageable material that they can then sell.

Many of our boys used to do this for a living alongside the rest of their family, only making Rs. 300 a day ($6) out in the sweltering heat.  One of them joined us on this trip.  Once outside of the MCCSS vehicle, he ran straight up on top of one of the mounds.  The rest of us stepping ever so carefully, cautious of the undistinguishable rubbish beneath us.

Yet it was hard to look at in disgust when knowing that this was once our boy's home, and still home to many others.  Isabel told us that many of the boys still possessed a love-hate relationship with the dumpyard.  The dumpyard gave them a freedom that civilized world can not.  You could see this freedom in the boy as he darted from our vehicle.  He had family there, friends; some of which we ran into during our short visit.  All of them looking no older than 13.

Eventually the guards found us and our cameras, forcing us back in the car with enough time to speed away.  These are the few photos I managed to get:

Letters,

We've reached an age where many classical art forms are dying at the hands of more convenient technological advances.  One of the biggest tragedies is the handwritten letter.  Phones and the internet have cut through distance, taking with it longing and the reliance on memory to make it through the days apart from loved ones.  Yet even as a sucker for snail mail, I don't know if I could give up the ease of technology, my memory at times fails me, my heart pains too much to bare.

But there are somethings that telephone wires and satellite signals can't transmit, somethings that we rely on the body to communicate.  How do we then say these things when bodies are a world apart?  I'm not saying that vocals aren't capable of communicating these things.  Some most certainly are.  I, however, was not gifted with the strength and eloquence found in spoken word.  There's a wall between my thoughts and my mouth, my tongue often fumbling with the air in place of where sound should be.  Yet the words possess no structural enigma.  No trickery about the flick of the tongue or shape of the lips to form these words:

I'm sorry.

I forgive you.

I miss you.

I love you.

I'm scared.

There's safety in writing procedure.  Always the thought.  First the creating of word with ink.  Only your eyes at first know they're existence. You can read. Reread. Scratch out, tear up, start over.  All are advantages only in writing, absent in speaking.  After the perfect combination of words and sentences are formulated, the option of exposure still remains.  They can remain privately yours.  Physical representations of thoughts and feelings significant to the time of creation.  You can carry the letter around with you, as I have done with many, waiting for the right moment or when you finally have the courage to send it.

Being away for so long has showed me the beauty of written word.  Found in the letters sent to me, and the few I've had the courage to send.  Yes, the option of picking up the phone always exists, but the timing is never right.  Time in distance is the one thing technology couldn't cut.

The letters I've sent were written with time.  Always a rough draft found in my journal.  An extra precaution.  My journal now becoming an accurate account of everything I've thought, felt, missed since being here.  Every letter and word, only a few having the privilege of being shared.

But seriously,

the cuteness of this girl can not be described.

Reality in India

Before coming here, my wandering adventurous mind failed to consider some major factors of the internship and culture I was about to submerge myself into.  This oblivion has lead me to experience probably my lowest point since being here. These major factors are:

1) Social work is comprised of field work and office work. I forgot the latter.

2) I am a woman. An american woman who is now in India.

3) India is half a world away

Yes, I do realize that these are fairly obvious aspects of my current situation, however the dreams of constant adventure, meeting new and beautiful people, finding my purpose in life, and ultimately ending human trafficking single-handedly kept me from actually thinking rationally about this trip.  I'm a dreamer.  And although the harsh reality of life is often at times a horrible wake-up call, I continually find myself drifting off into another vision of a perfected reality. I understand the risks involved of the lifestyle of a dreamer, and while I may rant about things that are completely rooted in my own naivety, I'm still a firm believer that one day, one might come true.

MCCSS is a non-profit social work agency that happens to have a program in human trafficking. But at the root of it, they are a social work agency.  Having no experience with social work and its day-to-day functions, I did not consider the amount of office work that goes on behind the scenes to make all of their programs possible.  The other interns who are here are mostly social work students who are here for their practicum and are much more adjusted for the work spent in front of computer, flipping through files, and studying cases.  Not all that surprising, MCCSS has never had a Technical Photography major working for them and assumed that I was also studying social work.  When they realized that was not the case, they were so ecstatic that they finally had someone who could work Photoshop (their most updated version being CS2), archive and organize photos, help edit videos for presentations, and redesign their entire website.  A website that hasn't been updated in five years and a collection of photos on five different computers from the past six years.  This is no easy task.

I would be lying if I said that I accepted this task with an open and willing heart.  At the moment in my education, I have come to realize that although I'm getting a degree in photography, I don't necessarily want to do photography for the rest of my life.  A big reason for doing an internship in Non-Profit Management and Global Studies was to gain insight into a career that I'm feeling more drawn to, and to take a break from the photo department for a semester.  With that said, this task pretty much negated every reason for me wanting to be here.  At times I'd be sitting in front of the computer for hours on end while listening to the other interns being orientated on the human trafficking program and working on updating case reports.  So at nights when I would talk to my mother and she would tell me that everyone was waiting for an update on what I was doing, I always replied in annoyance, "I'm finding it difficult to write some creative insight to my daily activities spent in front of a computer."  Where was all the action I had anticipated?  From what I remember, I didn't sign up for a technical internship.  Wasn't I supposed to be helping and serving these people and leaving them in a better state than before I came?

Don't worry, I finally came to realize my own hypocrisy.  Before I came I even said I didn't know what kind of work I'd be doing.  For all I knew I could be stapling papers the entire time, but it didn't matter.  As long as I could be used in whatever way they needed.  So while I said that, I realized that I meant whatever way I wanted them to use me.  That's not serving and that's not social work.  I have come to learn the true backbone to every agency.  It is day after day organizing, filing, writing, and any other work that can be done at a desk, all the while still working towards a bigger goal.  While I may not be the best at writing reports or case studies, I've realized that my unique skills with my technology degree have been a huge blessing to this agency.  Technology majors don't intern here, and many social workers don't know even where to begin when redesigning a website.  Because I can do these things, I will hopefully be able to offer them a more effective website that will continue to help them long after I leave.  The goal that I originally came here to accomplish.

One of the things that I have learned while working for the agency and just by living in India for nearly two months, is that women have almost zero rights compared to the freedom that western women take for granted everyday.  It has proved to be one of the most difficult challenges since being here.  I have to be careful when critiquing a different culture because I view it through western eyes and can not properly understand.  But this challenge alone, trying to remind myself of this cultural difference, has at times just aided my frustration.  Countless events have occurred in the past few weeks that have been outright displays of women's inferiority to men, and the false sense of superiority that men gain from them.

Because I am an American woman, not only do I view the culture differently, but I am viewed differently.  So the frustration I express is not the same that would be felt by an Indian woman.  We are gawked at, followed, harassed, and on guard a majority of our time in public.  There a generally too extremes with the treatment we receive.  Either men are purely disgusted by the sight of us and have spat at our feet and snarled as the walked by, or they gain insurmountable pleasure by our presence and feel that they have every right to stand just a foot away and stare at us, take our picture, or follow us home.  This kind of behavior in the States, or in most places, would be alarming and cause the need for worry, but for the most part they are harmless and we are doing everything to maintain our safety.  However, the principle behind it is what is most frustrating for me.  I miss the freedoms I enjoyed on a daily basis back home.  The freedoms that I took for granted.  Just being able to walk to the grocery story alone, or wear a tank top when it's nearing 100 degrees outside, or just being invisible, going unnoticed.  I was warned, but no amount of talking can prepare you for the actual experience.  Although rough, its something I've adjusted to as much as possible, and it has allowed me to gain a different perspective of the life of women here in general.  Many of the actions we have witnessed have just proven how patriarchal this society is and how women are property and at times commodities that can be used and discarded at any man's discretion.  This mindset is what has made it incredibly difficult to feel as though I am making any change within this program.  My ambition has never been so dampened by something outside my control and I will never again take for granted the power I possess as a woman in the States.

I am officially coming home the 16th of May.  80 days.  While I'm excited about how much time I have here and all the adventures I have planned for the next few months, the time and distance can be daunting.  I've decided that I hate planes.  That is planes taking off.  Living so close to the airport, it is inevitable that we will see at least one plane rising through the sunset sky as we enjoy the cooling air on our rooftop terrace.  Each and everytime I can't help but wonder where that one is heading. There's always a chance that I could've been on one of those planes.  Sailing with the sunset, back to the States where I know my friends and family would be waiting.

These moments of sadness are fortunately fleeting, for I have luckily found a home here.  Not just with the kids I work with, but with the other interns.  My time here would not have been the same without them.  My akka's. Four girls, four different countries, countless memories.  So as much as I miss Boone and my life there, I know that my place is here for now.

Over the past few weeks, we have had stories shared with us about many of the girls in both the protection and short stay homes as to why they were in need of MCCSS's services.  Undoubtedly, the most common trend among all the cases besides poverty, and in a way this very well might have to do with poverty, is love affairs.  Time and time again I have heard of girls who run away from home for a man they were in love with and were then either sold into trafficking, beaten, or abandoned.  There are even some who are sneaking around trying to maintain these "relationships" with men who they believe love them.  A lot of the time it it is with older men who might even be married with families of their own, and these girls are not even 16.

In some of the cases, the child was sent away from the family by their request or a court order to keep these love affairs from continuing.  Still they happen, the men find them, but no legal action can be taken against the men.  Isabel shared with us her frustration on the matter where she wants to provide these girls with the opportunity to work and care for themselves, but these men come into their stores and convince to do things without the knowledge of MCCSS (providing them with cell phones, meeting them at other times, running away, etc.).  She genuinely wants to trust these girls but how can she when they are in constant danger of manipulation the moment they leave the home.

For me I'm angered at the slanted justice. Why is it that the girls are being punished, forced to leave their homes and families, stripped of opportunities to work where thy don't have to worry about be harassed?  Why not target the men who are actually perpetuating this activity by preying on these innocent girls who are 20 years younger?

I become infuriated by the lack of justice, but remember what Isabel shared with us interns.  "You can not come into an Indian organization to judge and evaluate with Western eyes."  It's a completely different world over here with different standards and customs to work with and against.  Where I might feel that instead of just dealing with the status quo of the legal system, MCCSS should be doing more to change it, which would in return benefit the girls even more.  But it's not just a legal system their up against, its an entire country and social structure's view on women.

When standing in line just the other day at a store, another intern and I were confronted with this drastic contrast of views on women.  I was waiting for a women and her kids to finish paying so I could then have my turn at the checkout counter when a man blew past me and Debbie, stopping beside me, and behind this woman.  The moment she gathered her last item from the counter, he reached over and laid down his purchases.  I looked back at Debbie, her face just as astonished.  Boiling.  In America, I wouldn't have thought twice about letting this man know exactly how I felt. I looked at the other lines of which he could've jumped in, all of them were shorter, one maybe two people.  However, there were only men in these lines.

Women are second class citizens here.  Double standards exist everywhere to match this mindset.  These girls have committed no crime at all except for the desire to be with someone who tells them they're loved and beautiful.  These men tell them how much they love them, how they are much better and prettier than their wives, how their family and friends disapprove only because they're jealous.  It's sick.  These girls are so full of love and ready to give it away although a lot of them have spent a majority of their lives in complete neglect and absence of love.

I find it ironic how the ones who appear to have the most overflowing heart, ready to share their love and every bit of it with the first one who comes along, are the ones who seem to have received it the least.  And despite how often they are hurt and betrayed, they are so resilient and quick to trust another.

I grew up everyday of my life being told I was beautiful, loved, a princess, and yet one minor betrayal is enough to prevent me from loving another again, despite the over abundance of pure genuine love I have received.  I in way envy their strong resilient hearts, able to endure the harshest blows and still believe in beauty.  But here I realize I envy through Western eyes.  Strength and weakness are blurred with different vantage points.  At times I believe my heart is wounded and weak, but I look and see that my heart and love for people is why I'm here.  The overabundance that I received my entire life is finally able to overflow into the hearts of these girls who have lacked this amazing genuine love.  They might be toughened from hardship, and I might be softened from spoiling.  But though whatever lens you chose to view it, it is undeniable the love that is being shared through all of us.

In a way, our pasts and scarred hearts are teaching the others how to love in a new way, not to make the same mistakes, but also how to recognize purely reciprocated love.  It's not just me giving them something.  Without their knowledge they are in return giving me a lesson on love.  So despite governments, cultures and the past, love remains the same across all barriers and becomes what truly matters.

Little Lambs

Although I was hoping to go a whole semester without stepping foot in a classroom, I (un)fortunately was not able to make it more than a month.  Tuesday, a few of the kids from our home asked us to go to school with them, and without hesitation I agreed.  Most of our kids attend either Everwin or Little Lambs school, but unlike most primary schools, Little Lamb was established to help kids, like some of ours, that didn't start school on time due to finances, family reasons, or just the lack of opportunity.  Being there no other way to reach this school, Linda and I woke up bright and early to walk to the bus stop with the kids.  This was my first time on a school bus in probably a decade, and I think they've shrunk from what I remember.

Some information on Little Lambs School

• started by Maria Gislen and her husband, a Swedish couple who moved to India about 16 years ago
• Maria still leads the children in song and prayer everyday in the courtyard with her long gray ponytail and guitar
• Peter, their social worker, goes out in the community to find kids who are working on the streets and offers them a chance to go to school
• Funded entirely by donations and sponsors, it costs about Rs. 600/mo ($12) to send a child to school
• For children who can not afford school or would normally not have gone
• Preschool-5th standard (or grade) when completed are sent to secondary school (high school)
• Special classes offered to students who did not start school on time or who need extra assistance. Once they have reached 5th standard of reading, writing, and mathematics (at their own pace and time) they continue on to secondary school
• NO standardized placement testing.  All assessment is done by the teachers and staff after spending individual time with the children and assessing their knowledge based on their own way of learning
• Individual attention given to children to help them learn in their own way
• Laid back, not strict. Children who have lived their entire lives on the streets can not sit in a classroom for hours on end.  They have the choice to sit there or can just as easily go outside to play, returning when they are ready to learn.  Short class times with frequent breaks for tea and recess help maintain attention.

I enjoyed returning the classroom, sitting in the little plastic chairs or on the floor of the library for reading.  I helped them with drawing and spelling, and had the pleasure of reading with them one on one.  The faculty were so ready to speak with us and loved that we were there to help.  

In partnership with their school, Little Lambs also has a home for children. Not a short stay home that provides temporary housing, but an actual home where they will live until they graduate or get married.  However, they receive no funding from the state and are completely dependent of sponsors and volunteers.  In order to provide the individual attention for the children, they are always accepting visitors who will sit and listen to them read or help with their mathematics.

If you want more information on this amazing project, you can visit them at www.littlelambsschool.org

Kites on Roofs

No words this time, just photos.  Meet My Boys.

 George decided to be a photographer.  I think he did quite well.

Note: Due to lack of Photoshop, these photos represent the original beauty.