Spare Some Change

When my grandmother tells me stories about her life, she reiterates: "The biggest curse is to live in a time of change." I've always understood my grandmother's aversion to change as a product of her always-changing life: she has survived the times of Hitler and Stalin, from failing Five Year Plans to Yeltsin's inappropriate antics to Putin's economical victories at the expense of civil rights.  My life, too, has not been stagnant: the fall of Communism, the trans-Atlantic move to America, my life in Texas and Chicago, and the fifteen pages of entry and departure stamps in my passport all point to an inconstant existence. Yet for me, change has always meant progress.

Transplanted from one of our city’s most prestigious lyceums in Russia to a school deemed “academically unacceptable” by the state of Texas, differences in educational systems were highlighted for me since childhood. During my undergraduate career, I explored the schools and administrative policies in Chicago, Texas, Ghana, and post-Soviet Russia. All had worked to battle the same problems: of gender bias, curricula choices, teacher quality, funding – in isolation. To me, it has always been strange that educators are so reluctant to learn from each other. As India was amidst many fascinating reforms and processes of decentralization in education, I decided to welcome another change in my life and set off for the subcontinent.

When I arrived at the Rishi Valley Institute of Educational Resources (RIVER) in rural Andhra Pradesh, I expected a challenging and stimulating work environment. Being used to the fact that traditional educational methods have not been radically renewed in hundreds of years, despite the constant rhetoric of reform, I had no expectations of seeing a paradigm shift in the world of education. However, unlike my grandmother, the Raos, a power-couple who invented the innovative multi-grade multi-level methodology used by RIVER, as well as who currently run the organization, strove for change. They saw around them under-appreciated land, frightened and apathetic students, and teachers lacking the tools to be effective in the classroom. And they dedicated their lives to change this reality.

The multi-grade multi-level (MGML) methodology fostered by RIVER is complex and multi-faceted. It is a student-centered model, where children can learn at their own pace. To describe it simply, each village school (RIVER runs 12 satellite schools) is established by the rural community to house around 40 children in grades one through five. All are taught by a single teacher in a one-room school. Currently, there are three subjects taught: Telugu, maths, and environmental science. The curriculum is structured around a single “learning ladder” made up of many steps. A collection of steps make up a “milestone,” each with its own learning objective. Each step, denoted by a logo (for example, “rabbit”) and a number, matches up with an activity laid out on an “activity card” which can be easily found by the corresponding logo and number. Students find their place on the ladder, locate the corresponding card, and quickly get to work. The classroom is filled with happy, interested students, and the teacher spends her/his time on facilitating the learning of all students.

There are many nuances to the methodology. There is grouping and activity type; there is high community involvement, women’s empowerment, adult literacy, a health care component, land reforestation, and local arts, just to name a few. It is a true paradigm shift in the classroom, and it has great potential. Furthermore, the Institute is a proponent of collaboration in education and readily trains teachers and policy-makers from all over the world to trans-create MGML into their own local contexts and languages. The beauty of the program is that while the methodology gets exported, the content stays local, as each party adopting the program designs their own lesson plans to be immediately relevant to the students’ surroundings. Currently, over 16 Indian states, as well as Nepal, Germany, and Ethiopia, use RIVER’s methodology.

Yet, change doesn’t stop there. Each year, RIVER asks teachers to re-evaluate the curriculum to ensure that all cards are relevant to the children’s learning. The Institute takes tips from other states and nations using the methodology to improve best practices. Another big transformation to take place next year is the addition of English as a Second Language classes in RIVER schools. Thus, my ten months in India are spent assisting in the creation of materials to teach English to third and fourth grade children using MGML methodology. The journey hasn’t been easy. But, then again, change never is. We have struggled with vowel sounds, timing, teacher training, and thousands of other minute details. But we have also learned so much: about just how much our students can do despite the nonsensical structure of the English alphabet, about how fast our teachers can learn despite their already heavy workload, and about how passionate we all are to bring a much-needed change to education despite all the obstacles that stand in our way.

In my short four and some months at Rishi Valley, I have learned much about myself. I have gained a number of fantastic friendships that will last for years to come. And I have decided that when I grow old and share stories with my grandchildren, I will never fear the transformations in life. Instead, I'd like to point to the history books and say, “See how much has changed? See how far we’ve come? I was a part of that.”

All of the rural students marching in a procession for Sports Day.

 

Some girls from our satellite schools enjoying Pongal celebrations.

 

Children dancing for Sports Day Opening Ceremony.

Posted by Tatiana Rostovtseva

Development: progression of human societies

What are we working towards?

What is development? Starting from the time I began working with marginalized populations and now further amplified with each and everyday’s awakening to the majestic snow covered Himalayan peaks, this question has been an ever present discourse of enormous proportion for me. I suppose at the present moment I would explain “Development” as: An umbrella term widely used to describe efforts toward the progress of human societies inclusive of advances in the expansion of land, technology, business, international relations, sustainability, and aid to disenfranchised communities with a sector comprised of varied institutions and organizations ranging from NGO’s to Banks (both state and private) to Governments.

Efforts towards building clinics, treating illnesses, fixing roads, providing microfinance schemes, distributing technology, creating jobs, constructing schools, etc are often individually tossed under the general classification of development work for impovered populations.

But is this enough?

Is it enough to build a HIV testing facility for Female Sex Workers without raising awareness about the prevention and transmission of the virus, or without providing guidance for job security once their ability to be involved in the “flesh trade” has expired, or without providing legal action for those illegally trafficked against their will? Even if a clinic exits with extended services and care i.e. legal protection, self help groups, condom distribution, sex education, etc, will this be able to protect these women from the structural violence or a system of inequalities that prevent social equity and access to available resources and ultimately their survival? Although, collectively these efforts aid in the livelihoods of underserved communities, what is actual development within the communities and target populations that our programs operate?

I have continued to learn through my work in India that in the context of serving the poor, to refer to development as a growth in the size of a community or a simple increase of financial gains within a target population would not be correct, though these are often presented as solid examples of a development within society. It has become clear to me that development should be looked at as increases in strength, capacity, and complexity within a community. It is social change, where a community becomes more complex, adding institutions, increasing its collective power, and changing qualitatively in its organization.

Lavina Shahani is working in Uttarakhand on a Targeted HIV Intervention for Female Sex Workers with KAGAS, a rural livelihoods NGO.

Garhwali Morning

Before the first adhan or alarm, you wake. Even the warmest blood cowers from this cold, but Sirius paces the Greater Dog along the horizon, invigorating. Shuffling feet interrupt the December silence until ten settle as statues in AnandJi's room. He is your mentor and he opens meditation:

“Watch your thoughts.”

Thoughts: they shroud the will, burden concentration. Your mind already strays.

"Sit relaxed, in any comfortable posture.  Your body is straight but relaxed."

After meditation, everyone gathers to study and socialize, blanketed and shawled. You will join the bundled litter, comfortable in company, together.

"Feel the weight of your body on the ground.  Feel your whole body like a baby sitting in the lap of mother Earth."

Within your closed eyelids, the sun beckons below the eastern peaks as a crackle of kindling lures all to the kitchen. Mansura plucks radish, spinach, and cilantro from the fields; Jyoti bathes them in runoff from the melting snows; Shanti tosses them in a wok; Garima douses them in masala. Children deliver fresh buffalo milk and to boil it, AnandJi hews a trunk that days ago you trekked to fell.

"Sit like a rock, rooted and immovable."

A bell rings hollow—school.  Teachers spring down the stone path as students climb from the villages. Everyone races the second bell and the start of mindfulness exercises, first standing outdoors then inside, seated.  Rigid, teachers model proper posture, essential against those furtively scanning the room. Teachers join APV to evolve through mindfulness; oxymoronically, their introspection is always displayed for the students.  After meditation, the tabla bag unzips launching a frenzy. Singing, swaying, and drumming dominate the assembly before kids run to their classes.

"You can feel your breath. Now see how many parts of the body can you feel at the same time."

Teachers animate an enthusiasm for learning through practical experiences.  To study botany students go to the plants.  Churning in ascent, toes shed stinging wind, frosted rocks, errant branches.  Students, jellybean-capped with mismatched mittens, chatter despite heaving lungs. Atop the ridge lies a grassy field, icy peaks of the Chinese border visible to the east. The life cycle and health benefits of rose hips are today's lesson. The class submerges beside you in the thicket, thorns bloodying skin and tearing clothes. Curiosity counters pain, and you return bearing both fruit and dialogue.  Questions about plant structure, function, and utility will dominate the week.

"Be as effortless as possible. You are just observing what is taking place.  The body is sitting effortlessly. You are just a witness."

In the afternoon you observe the longest-tenured teacher, Jaya, direct a classroom of the impoverished, malnourished, at-risk, and orphaned. Colored beads and dramatization engage fractions through sharing; students count, divide, trade, and donate their beads within the framework of a mock village dispute. Attentions lapse but Jaya, with deftness belying the task's complexity, reclaims them quickly: “Close your eyes, sit, watch your breath.” The students meditate. When eyes reopen the lesson continues, focus regained.

“To live innocently is to live without the boundary of ego; to live without ego is to live in harmony with the whole.”

After school hours begin in the kitchen. To absorb the recipes, you help daily despite a faculty rotation. Less satisfying tasks—chopping onions, peeling garlic—are often yours, but you work faithfully to absorb the atmosphere as well. After a Vedic chant, the scrum called dinner, and the necessary cleaning, everyone scurries to the fire. Insufficient electricity barely ignites the filaments, so tonight your English lesson devolves into candlelit storytelling.

“And now, in the end, let us pray for the well-being of all creatures:  May all creatures move from darkness to light.”

You do pray, for the sustenance of the community and the happiness of the children.  You pray for growth, both for yourself and the philosophy so that others might too grow.  You pray for those surrounding statues, a family whose loves you reciprocate, a family who shares both the brutal trials and exhilarating joys that fall daily in Garhwal.  

Another session lost in thoughts, never-ending.  Still, they have broken a smile, invisible in the unlit room.

“Open your eyes now.”

Flex the ankles, stretch the legs, roll the neck.

“Turn on the light.”

The statues shudder as shawls unravel and the room empties.  You close your eyes, inhale gently, exhale vigorously, and enjoy your first clear moment of the morning.  It is 4:30am; a day, already begun, begins. 

Charles Iannuzzi works on curriculum and syllabus development at APV School in Anjanisain, Uttarakhand.

Chennai

It all started by running in heels.

I spent my first few days in Chennai horrified by the danger in which adolescent boys and young men put themselves \to catch a bus! They run along-side a moving bus, grab hold of the door frame, and are air borne for several seconds before landing on the bus and scrambling to make way for the fellows behind them about to do the same. Internally, I promised myself never to take such a risk. I valued my life and the possibility of being trampled by traffic was less than enticing..

Chennai, day 4: Nicole and I left Spencer's Mall exhausted after a long day at work and exploring the city. Just a little longer, I tell my aching back as we shuffle down the long bus platform. There it is, bus 23C. In 20 yards I can put this bag down. Suddenly, the bus started to leave.

NO!!

We were going to catch this bus. Nicole immediately understood my determination and ran ahead to the bus’s rear entry. Run run run. Grab. Leap - SUCCESS! A glance to the back of the bus showed that Nicole had also made the jump successfully. OMG, I had actually boarded a moving bus…in heels.

Since that first welcome, the bus has become my faithful companion, never failing to offer a small adventure or insight into the minor miracles of South Indian life.

For example:

o The miracle of buying bus tickets: Remember Telephone? Kids play at birthday parties, sitting in a circle and pass around a secret message. The game is successful if the message is the same at the end as it was in the beginning. Indian bus passengers play this game daily.. When the bus is too crowded for the conductor to walk down the aisle and collect fare, which is often, bus patrons pass each others’ bus fare down to the conductor and simultaneously “telephone” the corresponding passenger’s destination. The appropriate ticket and any change is passed back accordingly – sometimes through forty hands, to its owner. No one steals, no one cheats – and no one says thank you. It seems that one’s participation in this act is regarded as a duty, not as a favor, and therefore, since you would and most likely will do the same for the other person at some point this month, thanking them is unnecessary.

o The miracle of honesty: This sense of trust and duty also applies to baggage. If all the seats are taken on a bus, you should hand your bag to the nearest seated aunty to hold for you until you get off or get a seat. Otherwise, your bag takes up valuable standing space. You can have a lap top, an ipod, and a hefty chunk of change in your wallet, and you may rest assured that it will all still be there when you take your bag back.

o Poo is the best remedy for a sweaty, smelly bus. South Indian women put "poo" or flowers in their hair. Jasmine is most common, but roses and a yellow flower called manjal kanakambarum (no idea what that is in English – it might be related to marigolds?) are also used. And they smell AWESOME.

o Chennai to the rescue: The Tamilian sense of community is especially evident when things go wrong. One day the bus flew over a speed bump, rendering us airborne for several seconds. The - rather large - aunty sitting next to me hurt her chest on the chair back in front of her on the way down. Instantly, my half the bus - about 50-70 people - was involved in either trying to help this woman, screaming at the conductor for the driver's recklessness, or trying to keep the commotion from getting out-of-hand. That would never happen in New York.

o Who needs bars? Chennai’s bar scene is minimal, so the bus is the place to meet people! I’ve met quite a few interesting characters on the bus – some of which have actually become friends! My most significant bus friend, a college student studying naval engineering, recently got me hooked on the Twilight movies…I’m still not sure if he’s a positive influence...

o Small small things: One day, a man sat next to me on the bus. (In retrospect, this was strange, since I was sitting on the women’s side.) He turned out to be a student at IIT Madras from Delhi who, unlike most northerners, loved Chennai. "There are small small things to enjoy here! Like women with flowers in their hair, these traditional dresses, families roaming around on the beach…" He's right. Chennai lacks the hip night life that Delhi and Bombay boast, and North Indians that come are often bored by Chennai. But the city has a magic all its own, the most vibrant of which is seen in the smallest things: paper stars hung for Christmas, the chai-wallah that knows and expects me every morning, a free ride from an auto-wallah in the rain, and my eleven-year old neighbor who belts out Michael Jackson tunes a little too early in the morning, and of course, leaping on to a moving bus in heels. :-)

Posted by Elyse Ahmad