Thursday, July 30, 2009

Where I Used to Beg




One hot, dusty summer night, I went out for a walk with a small woman who was the mother of a Merasi School student. She wanted to buy milk, but, knowing it wasn't safe for someone of her caste to be out alone in the evening, asked me to come along.

As we walked, our talk traipsed easily across stories about our fathers, how to make a perfect cup of chai and what kind of cheese Americans use on pizza. It was a conversation that felt like it could have happened at a sidewalk cafe in New York City or in front of a bathroom mirror on a break from dinner with friends.

We arrived at the little wooden booth and purchased a small plastic sack of milk for the morning's chai. I cupped the bag in my hand and walked alongside the woman. As we turned the corner, she leaned against my arm and indicated a dilapidated old house in front of us.

"I used to beg there," she said quietly. I started at the rundown heap of bricks and mortar that stood flimsily just off the street.

"That's why I send my children to school," she said, walking on. "They shouldn't have that. Their life is more than that. I know this."

And she's right. Their life is more than that. And so is hers. We cannot heal the wounds of the past, but we can fight fiercely to ensure that they are not replicated in the future. This generation of Merasi children will have new fights to fight, of this, I am sure. But with every class that's taught, every mind that's engaged, we move further away from the reality of the past and closer towards the possibility of the future.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Daywu Plays Offence

Mr Daywu Khan

Daywu Khan is a dignified presence. Around 3:30 every day, his slender figure appears walking down the street to The Merasi School. By the calmness of his demeanor, you’d never suspect the danger of his journey from the one-room house his family of six rents on the outskirts of Jaisalmer City to The Merasi School near the center of town.

Daywu moves quickly through certain neighborhoods where the paint is always bright on the front doors and heaps of discarded food lie soggy in the sewers. These are upper caste homes where kids laugh and point at Daywu’s ragged shirt, make jokes about his mother, or throw pebbles at his back.

At Daywu’s house, the paint is faded and peeling and the altar is a small tableau of dry flowers and a single stick of incense. There is never enough food.

While most Merasi School students sip afternoon chai, Daywu retrieves a slate, chalk and small red rug. He settles at the foot of the stairs that lead to the roof and begins to practice ‘D-A-Y-W-U.’

Daywu writes and rewrites, erasing his work with the sleeve of an old blue blazer his brother grew out of. He practices each letter until he is satisfied with the smooth curves and angular cuts of his name.

“I have a few dreams,” he says. “My father thinks I’m stupid with my dreams. But he can’t write his name. And I can.”

“We give kids enough knowledge to have dreams,” says Merasi School co-founder and onsite director, Sarwar Khan. “For most kids, being called a ‘student’ is enough. For 37 generations, we have been told we aren’t worthy of education. Now, kids have a school to call their own. That’s a garden for dreaming.”

While many students loudly declare their ambitions, Daywu spends each afternoon steadily building his future. It is unclear what the coming years hold for Daywu. But it is quite clear that tomorrow at 3:30, he will be at the foot of the stairs, doing everything in his quiet power to see a dream or two come true.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Jill Biden, The Merasi School and the community college model


Yessie, a learning student

In a recent NYTimes article, Jill Biden, community college professor and wife of Vice President Joe Biden, described community colleges as the "way of the future" for developing countries. As Pakistan and Qatar pore millions of dollars into what they hope will be the future Harvards and Oxfords, well-educated minds have been emerging from less ivied, less endowed institutions since their formal inception in the 1970s.

What, exactly, do these little educational nooks have to do with The Merasi School? In essence, everything. The community college model is shaped around community needs: it draws students from the immediate area, offers practical classes with functional application at a suitable time of day and, to stay in existence, must be constantly revising the curriculum to maintain relevance. They are repositories for fast, efficient training necessary to participate in the workforce, which is exactly what the global economy needs at the moment.

We're not so different out in our desert classroom. While few community college students work from slates or sit on brightly colored rugs, both of our curricula are functional by design. Classes are tailored to give students the most useful, applicable skills to participate in and shape the landscape within which they exist. Or, as an elementary art teacher once said: "Our job is to give you the basic skills to paint the full expression of your ideas."

The job of The Merasi School, that is shared with many community colleges, is not to develop learned individuals, but learning students who, from their education, gather the ability to articulate their most constructive thoughts in words and action.