Our first real day on project, with the amazing team at Save The Children (no, not that one). The project we worked with was called Save Our Sisters, a group of teachers who cared for girls rescued from their traffickers, teaching them skills so they might get a proper job and never be tempted to go back. It all felt pretty intimidating and all I could tell myself in preparation was to remember that word: sisters, and to look for what we had in common, not the differences. And to smile, and love them.
I'm going to reproduce my original journey entry for this one, because this is still the hardest day for me to reflect on in any useful way. These girls have taken up a huge chunk of my heart. I don't know how to say that without it sounding twee. But they were so hard to walk away from. I wish I knew what they were doing now, but we couldn't even take a picture to remember them by-- and that was no overkill child protection thing; if our photos had leaked, these girls could be found by their traffickers.
Anyway.
19/08/13
Today was harder than I expected. My emotions stuttered to keep up. For a long time I didn't feel much at all. Then, all at once, so much.
We worked with the Save Our Sisters group; thirty or so 16-20 year olds. I don't work well with kids. I'm awkward and anxious and it scares me. But we did a day with these kids. We made chocolates and paper flowers; we danced we played games. There was this one girl who looked just like one of the girls I teach at Upstarts.
We played. We had alot of fun, and they definitely got a good laugh at our expense.
I was almost discouraged by how normal and happy they seemed. Had they gone through anything? Was it that easy to recover from abuse and abandonment?
Men taught the afternoon lessons. I was surprised. I wondered why, but then I realised it was to try and re-acclimatise them to men- good men, positive role models. The girls seemed totally in love with them. And I wondered: was that a positive relationship, or were the girls simply so used to pleasing men?
Anyway.
19/08/13
Today was harder than I expected. My emotions stuttered to keep up. For a long time I didn't feel much at all. Then, all at once, so much.
We worked with the Save Our Sisters group; thirty or so 16-20 year olds. I don't work well with kids. I'm awkward and anxious and it scares me. But we did a day with these kids. We made chocolates and paper flowers; we danced we played games. There was this one girl who looked just like one of the girls I teach at Upstarts.
We played. We had alot of fun, and they definitely got a good laugh at our expense.
I was almost discouraged by how normal and happy they seemed. Had they gone through anything? Was it that easy to recover from abuse and abandonment?
Men taught the afternoon lessons. I was surprised. I wondered why, but then I realised it was to try and re-acclimatise them to men- good men, positive role models. The girls seemed totally in love with them. And I wondered: was that a positive relationship, or were the girls simply so used to pleasing men?
It was getting late. We had to leave soon, but for the last part of the afternoon we were shifted into another room, and the teachers told us to wait for the final part of the 'school' day. We didn't mind. We sat with the girls and learned the Hindi name for pineapple (anannāsa) and tickled each other.
Then the teacher ushered five girls and us back to the first classroom. The furniture had been moved and five stations had been set up, for some kind of ceremony. There were chairs and candles and a few bits and pieces we didn't recognise. The five girls who'd come back in with us sat in the chairs, and we watched their teachers perform the Rakhi ceremony with them-- it went like this:
We watched, as the girls solomnly took part in this well-known ritual. We hadn't known today was Rahsha Bandhan - the festival of love and brotherhood. No-one had told us.
We weren't prepared to be asked to join in. I thought the girls would think it was lame if we did; maybe they'd giggle as we messed up.
But the teachers made us part of this. They brought in the next few girls and we stood in front of these tiny faces, trying to copy what we'd just seen.
I tried my best. But the red paint wouldn't gel when I tried to paint the welcome mark on the girl in front of me's forehead. I had to try three times to paint that welcome mark.
The girl wept.
And the other girls in the chairs wept as we performed this ceremony their family should be performing. Their big brothers, and sisters.
I felt empty. Helpless. There was nothing I could do to comfort them and I hadn't expected tears; so much emotion. We tried to comfort, but it was awkward and we hardly knew them.
Then, we had to go. Our cab was there. We were waved hastily goodbye to and drove two long, sweaty, silent, broken hours back to the guest house.
The teacher had explained to us before we'd been hustled out: "It's always just below the surface."
Then the teacher ushered five girls and us back to the first classroom. The furniture had been moved and five stations had been set up, for some kind of ceremony. There were chairs and candles and a few bits and pieces we didn't recognise. The five girls who'd come back in with us sat in the chairs, and we watched their teachers perform the Rakhi ceremony with them-- it went like this:
- A red mark of welcome painted on the forehead with a thumb.
- A grain or two of rice was added to this red mark, for luck.
- The Rakhi bracelet- red string- is tied around the girls wrist, symbolising a bond between the two participants; a bond of family, a promise to protect each other.
- The candle circled four times between the two.
- A sweet: a bite offered to the girl and a bite for the 'sister', sealing the vow.
We watched, as the girls solomnly took part in this well-known ritual. We hadn't known today was Rahsha Bandhan - the festival of love and brotherhood. No-one had told us.
We weren't prepared to be asked to join in. I thought the girls would think it was lame if we did; maybe they'd giggle as we messed up.
But the teachers made us part of this. They brought in the next few girls and we stood in front of these tiny faces, trying to copy what we'd just seen.
I tried my best. But the red paint wouldn't gel when I tried to paint the welcome mark on the girl in front of me's forehead. I had to try three times to paint that welcome mark.
The girl wept.
And the other girls in the chairs wept as we performed this ceremony their family should be performing. Their big brothers, and sisters.
I felt empty. Helpless. There was nothing I could do to comfort them and I hadn't expected tears; so much emotion. We tried to comfort, but it was awkward and we hardly knew them.
Then, we had to go. Our cab was there. We were waved hastily goodbye to and drove two long, sweaty, silent, broken hours back to the guest house.
The teacher had explained to us before we'd been hustled out: "It's always just below the surface."