INDIA: Child Labor and Rural Education

The school we visited was started by a man who was expelled from the government education system because he believed in a different education style: he answered children’s questions honestly about religion, politics and social issues. Against the will of his family and society he started The RIDE Program: Rural Institute for Development Education aims to bring victims of child-labor up to speed so that they can enroll in government schools. Basically, kids of all ages come to school when they can and are able or allowed. Attendance is usually low, parents do not want their kids to leave home because they are jealous or they need them to work. Some of the kids were part of silk-weaving families. Some had the dangerous job of working in a quarry where explosions played eeny meeny miny mo with the children’s lives. The kids were behind in schooling because they had not yet been able to attend because of forced labor. The school aimed to teach fundamentals like the alphabet, washing hands, and simple arithmetic. Most memorably, there were posters of large gruesomely mutilated bodies laying in streets because the school wanted to educate the students about safety, specifically staying out of the streets.

We played in the dirt schoolyard with the kids. It was peculiar that they were visibly divided in two groups: the silk-weavers and the quarry workers. The silk-weavers had shoes and school uniforms. The quarry workers wore a pathetic excuse for clothes and their bodies were much dirtier than the others. I thought it was hypocritical to have started a school based on establishing equality of education among the youth but not have made an effort to break barriers inequality within the school. 

I stood back on the school steps watching everyone play and taking photos trying to capture the happiness in the schoolyard. Mom, my compassionate guide in life, has always said that in orphanages around the world and other services that help society, the young adults don’t benefit as much. They are not as cute as the little children and they are not old enough to be trained for the real world. Sure enough, standing on the outskirts were three older boys not receiving attention or asked to join in a game. With my mother’s humanitarian spirit I engaged them all in a game of catch. Our group leader Mr. Wulfman from the Field Office, had brought his two sons along on our village trip. The younger one Gabe joined in our game as well. The Indian boys spoke no English and we spoke no Tamarin. Nevertheless, we all laughed and enjoyed our games. Gabe and I showed them how to play volleyball. We practiced their English counting, seeing how many hits we could keep it in the air. We demonstrated monkey-in-the-middle, our friends enjoyed playing keep away from Gabe, but once one of them was in the middle they didn’t understand why they were being left out. So we stuck to basic catch.

The program director pointed out one boy that was fifteen due to malnutrition he looked age nine. He kept his brother on his hip like a host carries its parasite. The younger brother looked no older than two but was in fact age five. Anytime the younger parasitic brother was separated from his host, he wailed. I felt…I felt sad and helpless. The older brother was already being held back in his education and his physical development. Now, he was obviously an outsider because he had his other half with him at all times. I tried to involve him in our game, he smiled because he was able to catch the ball with his free hand. The other Indian boys never threw the ball to him. When he fumbled the ball it rolled behind him into wet mud. Through the universal communication of laughter and neglect, the brother and I both knew that he was hindered by his parasite. He left the game. It was so sad. It was noble for the brother to take care and understand his little brother. The little one needed to be taught to stand, to be alone, or at least accept the arms of another.

I was helpless because I am so unfamiliar to their lives. No one told us what to expect, what we rode away with were our raw observations. Less than two hours were spent at the RIDE school. I was thankful, appreciative, and moved. Thankful for my own education, the ability to go the ability to touch the lives of these school children, to have a mom that taught me how to handle these situations. Appreciative of the opportunities I have had in education thanks to my parents and grandparents, starting with the Montessori school that taught me at age four the fundamentals these preteens were learning, an amazing prep school that gave me the tools for analysis and opened my mind to experiences like these, and the choice and ability to attend a top ranking school. Moved to help the world through education. Moved to learn more about these children’s lives. Moved to question the structure of our own education system.