Thursday, September 16, 2010

A Special Visit Today.

Today was an exciting day, my dad and his friend from work came to see the Hope Foundation-Tannery Road School. It was exciting for me because he would get to see the kids that have captured our hearts and the school that takes care of them. Our journey was full of contrasts. Let me explain...
Kaval Byrasandra
I tell the driver, "Last bus stop in Kaval Byrasandra." A seemingly nervous look comes over his face as his forehead makes a wrinkle to reassure my suspicions. The driver hasn't been to this part of town, he probably never thought he would be driving his high-end Toyota though the narrow streets. We make it to the bus stop and a teacher joins us to show him the way (we usually take a short walk through the allies to get to school, not big enough for a car). A simple bridge over the creek running through this part of town tells me we are close. There is a bitter smell of sewage, the A/C can't filter out. We weave through cross streets that are more like front yards, kids playing, livestock eating, women washing, idols blocking the road. The driver tells me it is a Muslim area. Not thinking much of it I said, "Yes it is, the school is about a third Muslim, a third Hindu, and a third Christian." He was trying to indicate his nervousness, as I would later find out.


We reached the school with a bag full of books, flash cards, pencils, maps and Dictionaries we just bought. Thanks to the women from the Portland Church who raised some money and compiled books at midweek! Thanks to my dad and mom who bought dictionaries, maps, pencils for the students and packed them all the way here... halfway around the world. I took my dad to meet the kids in each room and gave them some world maps we bought from a street vendor.
Me, Sunjay (Dad's friend), Joyce and Ian (background)
Their comments were great, they loved the building HOPE Foundation provides for the kids and my dad said, "It feels very peaceful here..." It could not be more true, the school is an oasis in the middle of a very poor neighborhood. The school is doing more than just educating the community it is constantly giving in Bangalore, India in a very special way. The school should be a model for other organizations and cities of a place where children are encouraged to thrive.


We gave out some maps... 8th Standard

Third Standard
My dad showing where America is on a map to 3rd Standard.
Autographs... 6th Standard
I'm so glad my dad was able to come and see what we have been doing!
For some reason I could not get Ian Correa, the CEO of HOPE Foundation in any of these pictures, you can kind of see his head behind mine.
The kids all left for home as we drove off, many of them live on the road we took home.
The car in this neighborhood was fascinating to the kids, it was a big contrast for my dad and Sunjaya as we all returned to the Leela Palace to have dinner. There is so much poverty and wealth co-existing. In India and all over the world there are people who give back and make a difference, an impact that can be seen through this school and through the people it touches. That is why we came, to get more individuals to feel a part of what HOPE does for people here in India and around the world.  If you live in India and are wondering about a way to give back, come visit the school, donate your time and talents or financially support a cause that will change a child's life.
Here is the picture of a plaque placed by a large contributor to HOPE School: EMC
Visit HOPE Foundation and contact someone about getting involved today!
Soon (mid October) you will be able to see the Tannery Road School website Children Profiles... that is what we have been working on for the past three weeks.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Two Old Women

I passed down broken narrow street, ravenous starving dogs laid in the corners, an old starving woman in her dark hut looked out at me. I saw through her. She is nothing but a skeleton, a beautiful woman so old, so much pain deserves a castle for her old age. Today I heard her weep.

Another sweet woman, the school cook, works all day sweating in the little concrete box of a kitchen. She sings as she works with her hands in the rice. Her eyes are filled with joy, even though she possesses nothing of material value. It is clear that the Spirit of God is in her just by looking at her smile. She lives a life of service. I have seen her many times before today, smiling always, while crouched down, cleaning pots and pans on the ground. I am a better person for just meeting her. I pray I can be like this woman, so content, and at peace with how God has delivered her. Such a beautiful woman, a kind, loving woman. It is this kind of woman who heaven will applaud, and there will be parades in her honor when she arrives.
On the right is Leshia, the school cook

The Interviews

Sitting under the tree, we began to interview mothers of the kindergarten class. They came so we could ask them a few basic questions about their life to make a profile of the young students. As I was sitting with the women, and asking them very basic questions I was blown away. It is not that I didn’t expect these answers; it is just hard to hear them. When asked what their family’s yearly income was, an embarrassed look flashes through their eyes-10, 000 rubies a year. That is 250.00 American dollars. Wow. I spend more than that on food in one month. Sickness overwhelms me as the realization hits me that I hold a year’s wages in my pocket. I would be a fool to think that the injustice would end here. When asked how many people are in the family some answered up to 7 and even 8. Imagine the few funds being spread so thin. How could one eat?
    When asked what kind of jobs the family held, all of them were manual laborers. Fiberglass, carrying baggage, making tiles, and even gathering sticks were some the families occupations. These jobs require all day hard work for very little return. I asked the women, what was the hardest part of their life—most of the women had the same answers. Too much dept, and not enough income. Abusive, drunk, unstable husbands. Husbands who only had seasonal jobs. Such pain in their eyes. Even with the translator I could hear such numbness in their voices.
    Such hard, painful lives. Some women worked as well as watch the children because their spouse had died. One old woman told of her daughter, who poured kerosene on her head and lit herself on fire, and now the old woman raises her children alone.
    Despite so many hardships and difficulties, the women are very grateful for the HOPE school. Many of them said it was the best part of their lives to see their children have the possibility to go to such a fine school, to be cared for by compassionate teachers and to be fed.
    The aspirations of the children were high, doctors, engineers, teachers…all the children have high hopes of becoming something, overcoming their circumstances. Most of them want to give back to society in a meaningful way, when asked why they want to do these things they responded, “to help the poor.”
    Without HOPE school many of the children would be forced to go to the overcrowded government schools. Teachers there are abusive, and the classrooms are too big to control. Or worse off, they would  have no school at all. The children would be forced to stay home with their drunken parents, suffer and some even starve. I am not exaggerating here; this is reality for these people. I am just their scribe.
    HOPE school doesn’t only educate children; it gives them a chance to survive. Giving them dreams and even a future.
    One watches similar stores on the television, sitting in their warm couch, clean living room, and warm safe home. The pictures of the young children dirty and sad seem so far away. I know because I am that person. But coming here myself, sitting in the rubble, there is no more excuse for why it can’t exist. These people exist. They live and die here even when I am not here.

School Days

Beautiful children, run to meet me as I step my foot on the empty clay barren playground of their school. There is no majesty to it. No swing set, jungle gym or sandbox. Just the clay and the children’s bare feet. Hands rough and dirty touch my face. Wonder fills their eyes. Sadness fills mine. If only I could promise you another day little ones, a place to play or shoes to wear. But you do not even know what you are missing. Your beautiful smiles shake the world. Your laugh is the heartbeat of the city. When asked about your favorite part of school, you say lunch; because it is the only time you eat a day.
    After school, a time to play, you linger here-not wanting to leave. You know what is waiting for you in your dilapidated shack of cardboard and clay. A fathers drunken rage. Burns and scars mark your face as a permanent reminder of your young mortality. Your mother weeping in the corner as your father towers over her is your nightmare come true. What she wouldn’t do to protect you.
    What can I do to give you another day? I wish I could take you home with me. All of you. When I go home I pray I will not forget your face.