Freedom has been granted!

When I told people about Project Trust and my months overseas I found myself saying, 'I'm going to teach for eight months, in a school in Ongole, in South India'. Infact until a couple months before all I knew was 'I'm going to India'. I never imagined India to be the place it is. I'd seen photos, videos, the odd top gear special but really I didn't know what I was in for. The only thing I knew about India was that it was very far away.

I'd never flown that far, never been to Dubai airport, never imagined seeing a tuk tuk in person. It's one thing seeing it on tele, and it's another going full throttle over every bump and cranny in one! If anything it doesn't compare to a four wheeled taxi, especially when it's okay to jump on the drivers seat and ride along side the steering bar. March has marked the month we have been able to walk to the supermarket, bus station, and down the road alone. This may sound a bit strange to comprehend, but being able to walk 'two members' from a new project down a busy Indian street has taken its time to earn. We may have set a project trust record, but we were aware we'd be protected, sheltered, worried about and loved like one of their own.

At home it's common to wake up to the sound of rain, a grey sky and seagulls on the roof next door, stretch out in bed under a princess and the pea style mountain of duvets and toddle on down the stairs to switch the flick on the kettle, take the milk out the fridge, the cereal out the cupboard and start the mammoth task of getting ready. It's easy to take for granted a warm shower, an extractor fan, a flushing toilet with magically appearing toilet paper, and drinking water straight out of the tap. It's strange and hard to explain the little life we have here. And I can openly say, I took the life we have at home for granted. Though it really does feel like a little life of our own we're living here - half Indian, half western. It super busy, crazy, in your face, yet frustratingly laid back and unorganised but it's not at all stressful, just tiring. It's only when you go to sweep the dust up off the slate floor with a large brush made out of reeds rather than hoovering the fluff off the carpet you remember it's so unlike home and it's five thousand miles away! The distance doesn't seem real, but the experience does. You only realise how far away you really are and how different things are when you think about it. It feels normal now to crawl out of my sleeping bag liner (on top of a blanket rather than underneath one), unbolt the bathroom door and turn off the fan, take a cold tap shower, collect our flask of coffee, and be bought a rice flour pancake, a ring of rice (idly), or vada for breakfast, accompanied by chutneys. 

The school and the children have become such a big part of our every day lives that school no longer feels like another day of work, but instead another morning with kids that love to learn and be with us too. I sometimes take for granted that English isn't everyone's first language and it's hard to get my head around that these children are able to have such good broken English conversations because they've put so much effort into learning a language other than their own. Language can be a barrier but it's one that can be so easily broken with a thumbs up, smile or Indian head bobble. I'd never imagined being stood infront of a class of fourty six being asked a question I had no idea how to answer, unable to understand the mix of Telugu and English. Though it's something that I haven't found myself feeling embarrassed or intimidated by at any point. A 'come-see, come-sa' hand gesture is understood by all and cracks a smile across the room, whilst ten others try to explain, 'Miss, Miss', jumbling English words around in a bid to complete the sentence.

Our everyday company has become the children. Before they were just students, small pupils, an array of unfamiliar names and faces. Now these are the children we think of as friends, neighbours and school kids that are just as smiley, just as happy. The only difference, they are less fortunate. If these children were in the UK they'd have a better chance of thriving, fulfilling their ambitions as teachers, lawyers and doctors. In our structured, privileged society theres such an abundance of opportunity. Here it's easy to get lost in such a competitive, overcrowded environment with class sizes over forty. I guess it's making the most of what you've got. If that's a blackboard, slates and chalk there's still open space they can look to and rooftops to run along. These children are lucky enough to turn up to school in uniform. Thats their opportunity, and I hope we can leave these children with good memories and motivation to succeeded, to take time out and enjoy themselves too.