Until the Next Time

I spent the morning with The Bravely Blind Climber Child in the small park within the Sishu Bhavan complex. I am leaving her soon. And if feels just like that – leaving, abandoning, out of sight out of mind.

The progress which she has made since the time we first met eight months ago is Amazing. She is amazing. When we starting playing together, she was only swaying from side to side – unable to - or reluctant to walk independently. She had a curiosity which seemed muted – silent. Once her attention was attained she would quietly explore the new object within her hands or close to her ears, but if she was led away she would 'just follow'. Now I watch as she screams for the musical guitar or the tambourine if another child snatches it from her, and I feel reassured that she is beginning to learn how to fight in this world. Now she walks more confidently, not only that but she is even climbing – using her body rather than allowing others (her 'carers') – to move it for her. She will pull herself in and out of her chair, climb the stairs pulling herself up each step with both hands on the cold stone banister. And as she walks with me to the playground, she will pull me towards sounds, which without her would remain invisible to me, such as the warbling of the water inside the water pipes, or the clicking clinking of a cooling car engine or the mysterious rattling vibrations inside the climbing frame.

The Sister in charge of Sishu Bhavan is away at the moment. Three months in the USA. This explains the increased bullying of the children by the staff who do not have the luxury to work for pleasure like the volunteers do. This also means that I have been unable to ask her about Gita's possible education: Does the Sister still believe she is 'mentally retarded'? Is she still refusing to send her to a school for the blind?

In her absence I decided to check out for myself how the orphanage school for the 'visually impaired' was working out for Gita. I sat in the back of the room while watching three special needs teachers work with four children. The task of the afternoon was for the blind children to put their paint covered fingerprints inside a drawing of a hand. However, Gita found her art lesson a little too traumatic. She particularly disliked having her fingers pushed down onto the paper when she seemed to want to rub the paint between her hands. It is this sort of attitude towards the children which infuriates me. Everything seems so superficial – well fed (force fed); clean clothes (but not allowed to become 'dirty); new toys (hidden away in the class room otherwise they will be broken); a million volunteers (too many 'carers' and not enough 'facilitators'); a special needs school (to produce pretty paintings for the wall). Yet despite all of these frustrations of the best of the worst situation, working with Gita continues to fuel my energy and determination.

A returning volunteer told me that she first met Gita two years ago when she was still a baby. She told me that Gita had actually been born in a slum, where she was left to sit, ignored and starved of both physical and mental nourishment. When she was brought to the orphanage she would cry whenever she was made to stand so would just be left to sit. The returning volunteer was amazed at Gita's 'progress' and it is this 'progress' which fuels my determination to fight for Gita's right to education; that despite being blind, orphaned, female and alone in this world that she has a right to a future.

And this morning in the park was no exception. Leaving. the blaring music, running toddlers and staring eyes we walked out of the nursery – hand in hand – and found the air, the quiet and the freedom of the little park. Following my instructions to lift her feet at the steps I felt her reactions sink into me, producing waves of pride and admiration. I watched as she moved her hands searching and then finding the familiar iron ropes of the swing, turning herself around to sit on the small wooden plank. I watched as she sat suspended in the air and totally trusting in me, and I stood by her side feeling so strong and full of energy.

Gita inspires me and reminds me of the endurance of the human spirit. Meeting her – a stranger who I have never been able to 'talk' to, who does not even know my name, or what I look like and yet who utterly trusts me and laughs with me and holds me close to her – has changed something deep inside of me. As I pushed her on the swing and waited for her to lift her hands to her ears and stop the swing as she falls off, I felt such an admiration paired with a resolve that anything is possible. Watching as she explored the sea-saw, pushing the seat up and down and then climbing on it and waiting to be lifted to the sky until she would be grinning with such a wide smile that I could not help but join her at the opposite end, as we sat sea-sawing away, and this time it was me trusting that she would not let go and slide to the fall. Watching as touched the metal rungs of the ladder and then began to pull herself up the giant steps. Climbing, one (un)sure step at a time, slowly exploring, yet unaware of the dangers of slipping off. And feeling my own amazement when she reached the top of the slide and pushed herself back down to the ground.

I am amazed at her potential and her ability to fulfil it once given the space just to be. Her ability to learn, her quest for new sounds, her love for dancing and her ability to endure is such a tribute to her energy – her spirit. And it is this which makes it easier to leave her; knowing that she will continue to learn with or without me, even though I will desperately miss sharing Our World. And I know its not just me – I know that it is a power which comes from within her; and which if you can keep your eyes open you can see. I know because I have seen the reactions of strangers; of the unattached who meet her for the first time and who quickly become captivated. I watched as headphones were shared and Gita swayed to Bob Marley for the first time, and I kept watching and smiling as she grabbed the headphones back as soon as the opening beats of 'Get Up, Stand Up, Don't give up the Fight' whispered into her ears.

I said goodbye silently. We rowed across the nursery floor for one last time, I tipped her over my legs and hung her upside down for one last time, and I hugged her tightly while spinning her around for one last time... until the next time.