The Disgruntled Volunteer's Theme Song

After a very disheartening morning of realizing that there is no imaginable way for me to design a thorough curriculum for English learning in the next month to leave behind for the next volunteers that would work at Vidya, I began questioning once again how my experience in India would contribute to the long-term objectives of my NGO.

After wrestling with this matter for the past three weeks, I have finally decided that it would be unrealistic for me to expect myself, an intern/volunteer, to create a sustainable system completely on my own without previously understanding the needs of the community, and having thus taken the appropriate steps to prepare for the grandeur of the task at hand. And so, in spite of having partially resolved this inner struggle, I felt conflicted over my desire to…[[dare I say it??]]…make a difference.

Ugh. I know.

I sound like a bad remix of every volunteers’ theme medley. I imagine this is a case that repeats itself. We all want to leave something behind [human nature?]; and make our mark on humanity. So, without exception, we all suffer from not being able to directly see the benefit we cause, especially those us of who can’t devote longer periods of time to a cause.

I already knew this before ever coming out here. I knew that it would be naïve to expect that my seven weeks interning with an NGO in a foreign country might result in making some serious headway in reforming education or significantly furthering women’s empowerment on a national, or even global scale…I knew this before ever coming out here, and yet…here I am: setting unrealistic expectations for myself and questioning my qualifications for this position. I’m yet another conflicted “do-gooder” who feels unaccomplished because we are unable to measure whether we were capable of bringing about “change.”

Needless to say, it was an emotionally charged morning.

Yet, in spite of my defeat, I ended up having a surprisingly successful day, all because of Mamta and Manju, two of my more timid students. To give you a better idea, Manju is 18 years old and married, and rarely ever participates in class. As soon as more students arrive, she refuses to acknowledge my worksheets or class activities. In my poor knowledge of Hindi, I interpret what I imagine is her regular explanation: like Kavita, she prefers to stitch. Mamta is 14 and always follows closely behind, rarely engaging in the lesson without her friends shared interest.

Still, Mamta and Manju are always the first to arrive to class. They walk in together, and smile at me coyly as I greet them in the local language: Namaste. I then routinely ask them each, “How are you?” in English, and they sway their head from left to right in acknowledgement of my question and in answer that they are fine. After this, they usually lay the dusty mat out on the floor and sit and whisper among themselves until I either address them, or some more girls arrive.

Assuming that they are more absorbed into their own conversation than they would ever be in my lesson for that day, I usually allow them to chat until other students arrive, but today they pointed out to me that they arrive earlier to have more of my attention. Inspired, I sat down with the two of them and reviewed the English alphabet for what felt like the hundredth time in the last three weeks.

This time, however, it was different. I decided to focus on two letters that the girls always mix up: C and S. In a desperate and exasperated attempt to differentiate between the two sounds each letter creates, I utilized the minimum Hindi I have actually learned: the Devanagari alphabet.

They were ecstatic.

Manju frantically instructed Mamta in Hindi to open to a blank page in her notebook and write out the entire English alphabet. I watched, intrigued. They then pointed to the notebook and explained that they wanted me to write out the sounds made by each English letter in relation to the Devanagari alphabet.

Woah. Haha.

Detecting that the girls were so eager to understand the sounds made by each letter because it would help them to read better, I dutifully accepted this challenge, struggling to remember every one of the 47 letters of the alphabet known to them. As I worked with them on this task, other girls began filling the mat. A group began to form around our small section on the ground. Girls were intrigued to see that the girls with the least skill in the class were suddenly able to turn individual sounds into words: red, cat, ball, ant, cold, etc. Other girls ignored us altogether. 

Krishna, me, and Pooja working on pronunciation. I don't go one day without someone asking me if I'm Indian, even after I tell them I was born in Brazil. They love seeing pictures of the USA.

Pooja, Krishna, and Parvesh taking a break from reading. It's really the more difficult task to get these girls to smile in a picture. It's not what good "pavam" wives would do, as Joyce always tells me.

Invested in our project, I didn’t even notice the sewing teacher enter, who curious by my uncharacteristic lack of greeting at her entrance, called me by my name for the first time and sat beside me with an English book in hand, curious about the work I was doing with the girls. Parvesh, Pooja, and Krishna soon joined us and began taking notes and practicing their newly acquired skill.

It was around this time, as I realized that the entire morning had gone by without me feeling insecure, that I understood my purpose here. As a community center intern in Munirka, I am working with women who are looking to better themselves in any way…some who would not have the opportunity to learn any English without my experience there, and who are sincerely interested.

We can never measure what good we do in life, or the effect we have on others, and perhaps this is the greatest tragedy in life; but I knew, as Manju and Mamta worked together to read English words for the first time without my help, that in that moment, I was fortunate to be there, and they were happy as well.

This is all I can feasibly ask for.