Montessori School

The montessori school is just a block away from where I am staying. When I head over there I take a main road so to avoid the isolated neighboring street that lies near the slums. I have to clutch my bag tight. It is not uncommon to have your possessions snatched away by people zooming past or a slick monkey smelling something promising, though I haven't had that sort of exciting misfortune just yet. When I arrive at the school I knock on the door and Amica, the eleven year old "servant" at the school, opens the wooden window door behind the bars protecting from intrusion. When I am greeted with her cheerful smile and she opens the door I enter into a thick aroma of either cleaning detergent or sewage.

The school is just a little bit big than my last duplex apartment was, but there are ninety kids and seven employees. There are five small rooms total that weave themselves around the apartment complex that they are attached to. The rooms serve as hallways also. The walls are pink with murals full of lotus flowers, dolphins, and cows rowing boats. There are English motivational posters on the walls and tacky posters of white babies on clouds or next to flowers. In the rooms the children either sit in small unstable plastic chairs or on the floor.

The teachers at the school are often very harsh to the small children, grabbing them abruptly by the arms and throwing them on a pallet or dragging them across the room, slapping their faces with their hands or hitting their heads with sticks of bamboo. Yet, you will also find the teachers hugging the kids and talking in Telugu baby talk. I've even seen a teacher lovingly cradle a child in one arm and while yelling, hit a child with the hand of another. This has taken me some getting used to. It is difficult for me not to judge the slapping, screaming, bamboo misusing teachers. It is just a different way. But just for the record, Mona is always only loving to the kids.

The cleanliness of the school is considered very high standards for India, but would be considered unacceptable in the United States. As far as I can tell, diapers do not exist in India. Puddles of pee lie scattered throughout the school deceiving me for the splotchy floor pattern. Frequently, I end up with a carefree, relaxed two year old and urine soaked jeans. When I sit to cradle a child to sleep or to simply rest my legs, I avoid the walls and cracks in the floor where roaches freely emerge, undisturbed by anyone except maybe a curious two year old. Last week I had to swat a scorpion type creature off a little boys neck.

For the potty-trained children at the school, there is a closet sized wet room with a drain and an Indian style toilet that no one uses. Before entering the child drops their breeches outside the room. The the child enters the room and simply squats on the floor. Every half hour Amica comes to dump water on the floor and spray away any droppings.

Amica is an amazing young girl whose positive energy is always radiating through the building. From her giant teethy grin to her constant admiration of the youngsters, Amica seems to be embracing each moment with great passion and confidence.Though most people might be frustrated with that lot in life, having to work twelve hour days six days a week at such a young age, missing out on school and friends, her spirit remains unshakable. Days when I do not go to the school I find myself missing her presence that ineluctably alleviates any frustration or sadness just by my witnessing such true spiritual beauty. If there is a god, I believe it may be shining through her in every instant, scattering its light upon on the little faces. I think she is one of the most admirable people I have ever met. Her life will be great because she is great.