Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
You make me smile
A recent video from a volunteer who visited Rising Star last month. Not sure where I am...helping someone figure out the area of a trapezoid?
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
All's well if it ends well
Guess who's ecstatic at the board exams being over and done?
Imagine that you had to spend six months studying for your final exams, and then three weeks taking them. That's what these kids have just endured. When it's all through, there's a tradition to throw ink at each other. Notice that only the boys actually did this.
We're eagerly awaiting the exam results, to be issued in June. A lot hinges on it.
Imagine that you had to spend six months studying for your final exams, and then three weeks taking them. That's what these kids have just endured. When it's all through, there's a tradition to throw ink at each other. Notice that only the boys actually did this.
We're eagerly awaiting the exam results, to be issued in June. A lot hinges on it.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
The children went home today. Where has the year gone?
I feel a mix of emotions, concern for the children, fear that one or another of them won't make it back, relief at the tangible peace and quiet, relief that I made it this far in one piece (my consistency having been in doubt a time or two).
Besides all the parents streaming to campus to fetch their children, there were more families seeking admission. They were all disappointed to hear that we'd already chosen the new students for this year, and that they'd have to try again next year. Some wouldn't believe me. One young mother spoke enough English for me to understand. She said that her husband drank and did drugs. He couldn't hold down a job. Would I please, please, please take her child? I was her only hope. What were they going to eat?
(All of the marriages here are "arranged marriages." A girl who doesn't have enough money to come up with much of a dowry has to resign herself to marrying someone less than desirable. More often than not, that is spelled d-r-u-n-k-a-r-d).
But our classes are full and we've already established a waiting list. By "full," I mean that I've capped the classes at 20 or 22. All of the other schools in our area cram at least 40 children into each classroom. 60 is common in government schools. What's better, educating a few as well as we can, or rescuing twice as many from virtual illiteracy?
An hour later, a leprosy-affected father arrived with his daughter. He was missing not only his fingers, but parts of his hands. The girl is starting 7th grade this summer, but has been in a Tamil school and doesn't know English. Our incoming 7th-graders are already so weak and needy, having been severely neglected for the first few years of their education. Shouldn't I focus on them? Do I have the energy or personnel to help a child at that age who can't even read English?
They had traveled six hours by train to come and talk to me, and I had nothing to give them.
Then another young family showed up. The mother only had one arm, having lost the other from an electrical shock. Would I admit her two sons, even though the classes were full and the deadline long past? They didn't put up much of a fight when I told them there wasn't a lot I could do. They are used to disappointment.
I feel a mix of emotions, concern for the children, fear that one or another of them won't make it back, relief at the tangible peace and quiet, relief that I made it this far in one piece (my consistency having been in doubt a time or two).
Besides all the parents streaming to campus to fetch their children, there were more families seeking admission. They were all disappointed to hear that we'd already chosen the new students for this year, and that they'd have to try again next year. Some wouldn't believe me. One young mother spoke enough English for me to understand. She said that her husband drank and did drugs. He couldn't hold down a job. Would I please, please, please take her child? I was her only hope. What were they going to eat?
(All of the marriages here are "arranged marriages." A girl who doesn't have enough money to come up with much of a dowry has to resign herself to marrying someone less than desirable. More often than not, that is spelled d-r-u-n-k-a-r-d).
But our classes are full and we've already established a waiting list. By "full," I mean that I've capped the classes at 20 or 22. All of the other schools in our area cram at least 40 children into each classroom. 60 is common in government schools. What's better, educating a few as well as we can, or rescuing twice as many from virtual illiteracy?
An hour later, a leprosy-affected father arrived with his daughter. He was missing not only his fingers, but parts of his hands. The girl is starting 7th grade this summer, but has been in a Tamil school and doesn't know English. Our incoming 7th-graders are already so weak and needy, having been severely neglected for the first few years of their education. Shouldn't I focus on them? Do I have the energy or personnel to help a child at that age who can't even read English?
They had traveled six hours by train to come and talk to me, and I had nothing to give them.
Then another young family showed up. The mother only had one arm, having lost the other from an electrical shock. Would I admit her two sons, even though the classes were full and the deadline long past? They didn't put up much of a fight when I told them there wasn't a lot I could do. They are used to disappointment.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Wordless Wednesday
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