For the last two months, I've been going to the Blind School every week (from one to three days, sometimes staying overnight).
You come in with the best of intentions, willing to 'help', eager to 'do something'; and then day by day, being exposed to a standard of living very different from what you would be expected in the West, seeing whatever change you had in mind would depend on so many behaviour changes and decisions, feeling the inertia, finding that not only sight seems to isolate you from the children but also language, that each visit makes you more and more tired ... this energy gets slowly eroded until it has left you almost entirely.
This is the time you learn that you have to leave your mind aside (at least for a while) and listen and look with your heart. And then I see.
That those children are so independent, able to take care of themselves so well - finding their way in the school, washing their clothers, helping each other, laughing, inventing games, telling stories.
That they are so alive when they play music, sing, or clap their hands in rythm.
That, last time, they all got a fresh aircut.
That a trustee and teacher at the school always welcomes me with blessing words and made me sing "we shall overcome" with him, making my heart melt.
That the children recognise my voice, shout out 'Karuna* didi!', hold your hand, and here I am, with Shina and Kaushal guiding me around the school, while they are gently chatting to me.
That by taking the bus back with the teachers I shared a bit of their life.
That I let a connection happen with the staff and the children at that shool and, somehow, I feel part of it now, rather than a project to do...
With the guidance and support of many volunteers, we were able to make kites with the children, in anticipation of Uttharyan, we visited the school on Uttharyan day, attempting to fly kites with them, and then run an art and crafts workshop!
Thanks Rahul and Aurelia for the pictures (and Jagruti!)... Thanks to all who helped on those days: you rock!
*The Indian name I was given
You come in with the best of intentions, willing to 'help', eager to 'do something'; and then day by day, being exposed to a standard of living very different from what you would be expected in the West, seeing whatever change you had in mind would depend on so many behaviour changes and decisions, feeling the inertia, finding that not only sight seems to isolate you from the children but also language, that each visit makes you more and more tired ... this energy gets slowly eroded until it has left you almost entirely.
This is the time you learn that you have to leave your mind aside (at least for a while) and listen and look with your heart. And then I see.
That those children are so independent, able to take care of themselves so well - finding their way in the school, washing their clothers, helping each other, laughing, inventing games, telling stories.
That they are so alive when they play music, sing, or clap their hands in rythm.
That, last time, they all got a fresh aircut.
That a trustee and teacher at the school always welcomes me with blessing words and made me sing "we shall overcome" with him, making my heart melt.
That the children recognise my voice, shout out 'Karuna* didi!', hold your hand, and here I am, with Shina and Kaushal guiding me around the school, while they are gently chatting to me.
That by taking the bus back with the teachers I shared a bit of their life.
That I let a connection happen with the staff and the children at that shool and, somehow, I feel part of it now, rather than a project to do...
With the guidance and support of many volunteers, we were able to make kites with the children, in anticipation of Uttharyan, we visited the school on Uttharyan day, attempting to fly kites with them, and then run an art and crafts workshop!
Thanks Rahul and Aurelia for the pictures (and Jagruti!)... Thanks to all who helped on those days: you rock!
| Album: working at the blind school |
*The Indian name I was given
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