How do we learn to give? Where do graciousness and greed come from? I met the most gracious woman while visiting an informal settlement community in Kolkata. She sat on a metal chair with no backing in front of her home made of blue tarps. She sat there peacefully, in her bright pink bubble gum sari. Her billowing black mane was parted in the middle and little streaks of grey peaked out of the dark mass. She looked placid, as she stared at the busy street before her home, with a garbage dump to her right and a post office across the street. I stepped out of the car and she identified me immediately with a warm smile. I shut the cab door and confidently crossed the street to meet her. I introduced myself and my translator gave a quick introduction to our request to ask her a few questions. She willingly obliged and guided us around the corner to what I’d like to call her front porch. There was an electricity box outside their blue tarp home. She saw me eyeing the tan box filled with electrical equipment inside. She laughed and said “Don’t worry. That’s our cupboard.” Ironic, because the family has no electricity, yet they live with an electricity box as their cupboard.
We all sat down to have a conversation, and soon her whole family had gathered around us. A young woman with her newborn baby, that she cradled as it slept. The woman’s daughter, dressed in blue, a sassiness and strength exuding from her presence. A few of her grandkids gathered around and smiled sheepishly at me. A few neighbors joined the scene too. It was a lunch break, so the woman’s son stopped by and she excitedly introduced us to him before he went back to work. About halfway through the interview, a commotion set over the group. I was unsure about what was happening, but suddenly the woman I was interviewing stood up and disappeared around the corner. It had been a few minutes and I was still unsure of what was happening until my translator informed me the woman had gone to see a beggar man. The woman’s daughter rolled her eyes explaining that her mother is “way too giving. Even when we have so little.” Apparently, the beggar man had been putting up scaffolding for a wedding and had taken a fall while on the ladder. The fall left his body half-paralyzed and left him out of a job. He had been so desperate, he began slumping around and begging for money from strangers. He came across the woman with the billowing black mane, and she insisted that he would get nowhere from begging. She said to him, “I will help you.” Together, they crafted an idea to start a roti stall with his wife, where he could be mostly immobile. All he needed now was money to buy a pan and ingredients. The woman said “Come back to me next week. I will help you.” It had been a week. The man had come back to seek out the kindness of this woman, a stranger. And so, she sat with this man for upwards of 30 minutes, counseling him and then giving him some money to start his roti stall. She finally strolled back to the metal chair in front of us and plopped down, with a warm sparkle in her eyes. The man followed slowly behind her, his body shaking uncontrollably from his fall. He made it to the edge of our group and struggled to lift up his shirt to show us the brace he now wears to stabilize himself. He began to babble in Bangla, his mouth trembling uncontrollably. He shared his amazement that we chose to sit there on little metal stools with this family. We drank the sugarcane juice that they gave us, the bright green liquid sloshing around the sides of the small plastic cups. We laughed and smiled in their presence. He told us that his heart was melting as his small eyes spouted tears. He tried, with all his might, to explain how much it meant to him that we were spending time with his people. The people who lived in these blue tarps. He continued crying tears of joy, as he went on about our presence in this place. He stood there gazing at us with a goofy smile that soon morphed into a grimace, as his body chose to wreak havoc on him as he shook. The man then looked up to the sky, to some god he believes in, and shared his gratitude. He said his goodbyes to the family and slowly turned to leave, dropping his cane as he did so. The woman with billowing black mane gently placed the cane back in his hand and placed a warm new sweater in his other hand. A simple gift to protect his shaking body from the damp Kolkata winter. A simple act of graciousness from a woman who owed this man nothing. I glanced in wonder around me, my heart swelling, and I began to cry. I cried for the graciousness with which this woman received this man. I cried for the graciousness with which this family received us. I cried because these humans had much more to give than the richest humans in the world. I cried for the expansiveness of their hearts. I cried in the hopes that my heart can be as free and giving as the heart of the woman who said to a trembling stranger, “I will help you.” When was the last time you said “here, let me help you” to a stranger. Try it out. Feel your heart expand a little bit and experience the divinity graciousness.
1 Comment
My Visit to Barefoot CollegeThe past week I had the opportunity to visit an organization called Barefoot College, an organization based in rural Rajasthan that “designs disruptions that influence unequal systems that stop the rural poor from achieving their dreams.” My motivation to visit Barefoot stemmed from a urge to understand their model of training women from rural communities to be solar engineers. In my Fulbright research so far, I have been studying barriers for women's participation in becoming a solar sales agents and entrepreneurs in urban informal settlements around Bangalore and Kolkata through my host organization, Pollinate Group. I have been seeking to understand the women's sense of agency while compiling their unique stories and motivations for becoming involved. Barefoot’s model interested me because of the rural, grassroots lens it incorporates and its focus on capacity building for the women it involves. I was excited to learn about another approach to empowering women to sell clean energy products to their communities. The solar engineering model brings women from India and from all over the world to Tilonyia, a small rural village, for a 5-6 month program that involves trainings on how to engineer and fix small-scale solar products. The program involves trainings in entrepreneurship, menstrual health, and sustainability, such as composting. What is particularly fascinating about this process is that 50-60 women from around the world are brought together- women who speak no common language- but they are united together in a process of learning and empowerment. When I first arrived on campus, I had the chance to observe one of the last sessions for a group of 30 Indian women who are called “Sukhis” who have participated in a 3 month training. The women came from 3 states in India: Jharkhand, West Bengal, and Maharashtra. As we approached the group, they sat speckled amidst the trees, little spots of color amidst the dirt, hunching as they wrote or drew about their experience in the past 3 months. As meditative music winded its way through the morning air, literate women wrapped up in colorful shawls wrote paragraphs in Hindi or Bangla expressing their sentiments. The women who could not read or write chose to convey their emotions through pictures they created with a rainbow of markers. The women exhibited wistful smiles as they gazed up from their art work. After a while, the group of women was herded into the classroom where we all sat on vibrant rugs and floral pillows. One by one, the women walked up to the front of the room and held their masterpiece in front of them, as they shared what the past 3 months have meant to them. Some of the women stood up confidently and made eye contact with all the women in the room, while other women hoped to finish their presentation as quick as possible so as to not take up too much space. One woman in a rich red shawl stood before the room and half way through her speech began to choke down sobs. Her deep throated hiccups reverberated through the room and tears streamed down her face like a waterfall. Immediately, a woman with kind eyes jumped up and embraced her. She guided her outside for some fresh air. At first I was confused, but I came to realize the sobs came from a place of immense gratitude. As the presentations continued, the sobbing became more common. The women leaned on each other, wrapped their bodies together, trembling with the thought of leaving each other. The women had created a community together in the past few months. They had learned how to make and fix solar products, they learned how to give sales pitches, they talked of proper menstrual hygiene, and they shared the stories of their lives in the villages from which they come. Now they must go back to their communities with the knowledge they have gained and electrify their communities with solar light and be an example of a women who exudes agency. The room illustrated the power of bringing women together and building their capacities- giving them opportunities to learn and understand how to be leaders, how to take up space, and how to do things they never thought they could. The positive externality of the program is the social support network that is created between the women. A few of the women stayed back so I could ask them a few questions. They excitedly announced they had written a song about their experience. The melody of their creation billowed with grace, as the words “solar” and “mama” popped up in between chunks of Hindi. Barefoot calls the international women they train “Solar Mamas.” The next day we walked into the solar classrooms, where a group of women from Botswana, Cameroon, Thailand, Paraguay, Mexico, and Syria sat with tools as they worked on switch boards, perfecting their engineering skills gained in the past 5 months. Many of the mamas gazed up from their work with excited smiles. I strolled over to two sisters from Mexico, with walnut brown eyes and faces speckled with freckles, who were poking at switchboards. I took the chance to practice my rusty Spanish. “Que estás haciendo?” I questioned curiously. “Estamos trabajando duro. Tenemos un examen pronto entonces estamos estudiano que lo aprendemos.” They explained to me that on the switchboard all of the numbers were in English so they had to learn up to 100 in English, and that this was very challenging. They complained it was hard to communicate with the other mamas, but somehow they overcame this barrier. Somehow these women overcome each difficulty with grace. They gushed their excitement for returning to Mexico next week, bringing back all they have learned and seeing their families. “Y usted les gustan la comida Indian?” They busted out laughing, their small bodies shaking with joy. Unabashedly, the younger sister shouted “NO! Nosotros no nos gustan la comida. Estamos muy pesada ahora!” She grabbed her belly, signifying the kilos she has gained from Indian food and shook her head with disgust. I giggled shamelessly, agreeing that it was easy to put on pounds here, but sharing my delight in the ease with which I can be vegetarian here. Their eyes bulged. “Vegetariano!?” I nodded with jolly amusement. Before I left the mamas to their studies, the older sister admitted that she is pursuing her dream here and she feels content. She vividly described her vision to open a community center back in her pueblo, as a safe space for women and children, running on solar and providing education. I smiled with awe at the women in the room before me, as they bent their heads back down to their screwdrivers and switch boards. Lastly, on our last day at Barefoot College there was an event called ENRICHE bazaar, in which all the solar mamas set up a booth from their country and practice their entrepreneurial skills by selling goods they made that tell stories of their cultural heritage. I walked into the bazaar, where pink and purple streamers were strewn from the ceiling. The women had aligned their booths in the courtyard, and joyful songs from Botswana danced upwards through the brilliant blue sky. The women from Cameroon were a lively bunch. They shouted with joy, gesticulating wildly and insisting that I buy a necklace they made with traditional beads from Cameroon. I mentioned to the mama in a yellow dress that my brother, Jeff, was soon heading to Cameroon for solar work. Her eyes light up wildly, “make sure you tell him to come see me!” she cooed. I nodded sweetly and obliged to their sales offer, fastening the black beads around my neck. I gave the mamas a big grin and made my way through the lively courtyard. The mamas from Paraguay had knitted handbags and scarves, the Thai and Botswana mamas weaved baskets of palm and plastic waste. The Mexican mamas whipped up empanadas, piling on fresh red salsa, pink pickled onions, and chopped cabbage. The empanadas were an absolute hit. The mamas from Syria and Egypt concocted special sweets and were insistent their sweets be consumed, as they danced in their sparkling clothing. Some of the mamas began playing the drums on a metal pot and began dancing, as their yellow dresses swished in the mid-morning light. The Indian sukhis shuffled through the courtyard, munching on empanadas. One Sukhi from West Bengal grasped hands with a mama from Mali, who happens to be a beautiful poet, and they embraced each other warmly, exchanging in broken English. After I made my rounds I sat down with a woman from Colombia and learned how this experience has changed how she views the role of women, something I have been seeking to understand. She spoke of her excitement to bring her feelings of newfound independence back to her community in the Amazon. I sat back on the rainbow rug beneath me and took in all the energy before me. The space radiated with the resilient and abounding feminine spirit. She shall overcome. Together, women shall overcome. This is in fact the song the mamas sing everyday after chai time. It was a beautiful grand finale to witness, that displayed the power of bringing women together. It illustrated the power of true grassroots approaches to social change and to boosting human agency in every way possible. Agency was abounding here as the women floated on their dreams of lighting the world with solar and their bright new ideas. I feel grateful to have experienced the magic of Barefoot College. The magic that is created by bringing women together and building their capacities to take hold of their dreams and their ability to act on their own decisions to create a more sustainable future. |
Sammi Bennett I am a dancer, singer, creative non-fiction writer, yoga teacher, outdoor lover, and book-binder. Archives
August 2022
Categories |