Seedlings and sadness

Its Saturday morning. The days heat follows the morning light, creeping into my room. Its early, but I can't sleep, and yet exhaustion washes over me.

I'm emotionally exhausted.

My final week with my kids has been a roller coaster. In 5 days I've had numerous realisations, broken through to Charshimla, one of the orphan girls who reserved her trust till only this week, and tried to grapple with the idea of the future for the children I spend my days with.

When travelling to places where despair and hope are in constant battle its easy to numb yourself, a safety mechanism that sort of closes you to the sadness, the constant emotional battering as you question yourself: what can I do to help? What do these people need? Where do I belong in all this?

But I let it all wash over me. And this last week, as I struggled with the passing of my Grandpa, I've cried, I've lost sleep but most importantly I've let myself feel all these emotions.

My final week was so mixed. On Monday I came into class, bouncy after my relaxing weekend, ready to impart whatever new vocabulary I could on my kids. However, my kids had not laid on a beach relaxing, my kids had instead had a full weekend of work, study and "playing" as Yarchangam explained.

What do we do after the date guys? Verb of the day! All but Mbson say in unison. He instead has his head on his arms and is lulling into sleep. He looks up, blurry eyed. Mbson is my top student, he is keen, humble, obedient and probably the most gracious 9 year old I've ever met. But today he is tired. We push on, I let him rest, he chirps in sometimes, but a fatigue settles over his ever expression. And I look more closely, all their little faces are pinched by exhaustion.

So we go through a words book and look at pictures and write words and draw pictures. Sarita takes maths and after lunch I merge Lydia's class with ours for science. She has 8 rather boisterous kids of mixed age. What is this? Pointing to a leaf. What if I have two?

I leave my kids to colour in vegetables to cut and stick on their own mini A4 veggie patch. Mbson colours a token pumpkin and lies on the bench and falls fast asleep. I take Lydia's class outside and we plant our beans in plant pots (and by plant pots I mean water bottles cut in half). They love it. We make predictions. Will the seed grow if there is no soil? They look at each other puzzled... no? Perfect! High fives for all. What about if there is no seed. NO! They shout in delight. They are getting the hang of this, not knowing they are following the most basic principle of science- hypothesis.

Tuesday everyone is much more rested and we have a normal day, English, Maths and then I take my kids out to plant their seeds. They are even more delighted. They treat the seeds like their babies. They get excited and natter in their vernacular language as I draw up a roster to water the plants. Yarshangam Monday. Onesimus Tuesday. Mbson Wednesday. PanPan Thursday. GVI volunteer Friday. Charshimla Saturday. Wonton Sunday.

Wednesday. English. Maths. Art. In light of learning all the parts of a plant I thought we could dazzle up our "classroom" which I only recently realised is the school's library. There are cabinets with books we cannot access and there is minimal natural light and the walls are a dull brown, green and yellow.

So I bring in stencils for leaves that we add to a giant tree I'd drawn. We colour in, we play, and again I hand my camera to Onesimum who goes around taking photos of anything and everything.

Thursday I had my biggest realisation. These kids are just that: kids. Their development has been stunted somewhat by their situation. They don't go home to mothers and fathers to tell them they are loved. They were sold by their parents to agents that stalk poor villages looking for children that parents can't afford to feed or care for them. Who knows how this has affected each of them.

What can I do to help? And as that question passes over my thoughts I finally find an worthy answer.

Let them be kids. I stand with a group of girls during morning 'sport' before class. I'm armed with chalk and we were playing hop scotch and a variation of horse shoes. They giggle in delight as I tickle their tummies, or high five them for jumping all the even numbers.

So again for the afternoon I let them draw. Why not? They get to harness their hand eye coordination as they cut out various sea creatures we're adding to the sea under yesterday's tree. They get to relax and if need be rest, no chores here. Just fun, pure, flawless childish fun.

To be honest, it was heart wrenching to realise this so late in the game. I'm not a qualified teacher, so I should not try to be one. I am a qualified person though, full of compassion, unconditional love and patience. So on Friday, my last day I went to school knowing all I needed was love.

We followed the routine and then I read Dr.Suess's Green Eggs and Ham. Where is the fox? What is that? Pointing to a train driver. They were hooked. And instead of maths I brought my laptop in and opened photobooth.

The kids were just overjoyed. I left them for an hour to take photos of themselves making faces- to be kids. The girls and I braided friendship bracelets.

And after lunch we watched a movie. Some slept, other were mesmerized as Buzz Lightyear flew across the screen. The orphan girls joined us too, tapping into "kid time."

So when the movie ended and it came time to leave I handed out homework (I run a tight ship) and gave them all their work back from the last week- covered in GOOD! GREAT! WELL DONE! in bright colours for them to revise for their test on Monday.

And as I said goodbye I felt that inevitable sadness. The contrast. Their futures are so unclear, but their smiles so sure.

Last night as I packed someone asked me, "what has been your highlight in your month here?"

I have boiled it down to 3:

- On Tuesday when we went out to plant out seeds, Wonton and Charshimla grabbed my hands so we could walk hand in hand through the school. I had done it. They trusted me. They wanted me there. What more could I ask for?

- Every day for the last 2 weeks I've walked up the road to a local joint have a quick chai before class and lunch at noon. Its great. The woman is sweet and come to think of it, we are the only women I've seen eat there. But she was always welcoming and the parotha and chickpea's are so scrumptious.

Yesterday I explained it was my final visit, and thank you for all the good food. You go home? Yes, a white lie on my lips. She took my hand and her husband strode the 3 steps to make it from the stove to the door, picking the paintings off the wall. Take these! I laugh, no no no, I couldn't, they are so beautiful. Please, no, really, thank you but I really couldn't. But thank you for the gesture. I giggled the whole way home.

- Everyday for the last two weeks I have gone to the girls orphanage to just hang out with them while they eat breakfast. I decided to do this because I knew I needed to gain Charshimla's trust, and to help Wonton become more comfortable with me. I'd just sit next to them, making faces at the more outgoing girls, but I was there. Always.

And yesterday, as breakfast finished Romrano grabbed my hand and pulled me outside, look! look! There in our plant pot stood a little bean sprout. The bean had grown! And her face was full of wonder and excitement, as she looked from the seedling to me. Seedling to me.

So as I reflect I see the good times were a plenty. The kids are great. And once I understood my purpose- to be a friend, a role model, a source of new words, a chief high fiver, a tickler- I felt at home.

So as I woke this morning to find my Grandpa had passed away I cried. I cry for the loss of both a man who I knew for his graciousness, passion for medicine and for the most bear like hugs and I cry for the uncertain future my kids face. I cry for all children everywhere who have had their childhoods compromised. I cry for my own stale mate situation as I watch unable to do more. I cry for the contrast.

But most importantly I feel all these emotions. So as this chapter of my adventure comes to an end I leave torn; glad for the opportunity to interact with such remarkable children and yet sad to be part of their sad story.

And I depart a little more aware of how precious life is at every stage in our journey.

Seedlings and sadness