Whenever you hear of a charity with a personal name attached, it is often the case that there is a tragedy (usually a death) underlying its founding. Such is the case with The Esther Benjamins Trust, named after my first wife who died so tragically back in 1999 (see the link to the story of the Trust in my own words at the bottom of the page). Last evening I had dinner in Kathmandu with Richard Carss who is on a flying visit to Nepal. He founded the Zoe Carss Education Trust after the death of his daughter in Thailand in 1996. Just prior to her visit there she had been teaching as a gap year student (age 18) in Nepal. Uncannily - and we see so many of these overlaps - I discovered that the school that she had taught at is a mere 200 yards from my home here in Godawari.
Richard's UK-based Zoe Carss Education Trust now funds education projects in South Africa (Richard's wife is a South African) and in Nepal. For the last couple of years the Trust has funded our schools' capital development project in Makwanpur and adjacent districts. Funds have been spent on enhancements at under-resourced government schools in villages within those districts. But as I wrote in a previous post, I now have serious reservations about such activities, attractively tangible as they might be in a land where so much development funding seems to vanish into the ether. My misgivings are based upon the pathetic quality of the education in these schools and a fundamentally flawed rote learning system. We can't repair these deep fault lines and providing funds to such schools only seems to condone unacceptable standards. On an entirely personal front, I am no longer convinced that I wish to remember Esther (and now Zoe) through the construction of school compound walls and toilet blocks. Moreover, as charitable organisations I feel we should be at the cutting edge of social change, setting an example for others to follow.
I discussed with Richard my latest idea of setting up a special school in Kathmandu dedicated entirely to serving the victims of child trafficking. This would pull together two of our initiatives that are currently underway as pilot projects. In Bhairahawa we have been running educational bridging courses that are designed to fast track returnees (including the pictured girls) who have no previous education into school at a level appropriate to their age. This course was set up by us last May in response to the returnees' request for a proper education (rather than a half-hearted non-formal education provision) and a wish not to join school and sit in class with infants. In parallel in Kathmandu we have been running an art workshop for returnees that has been teaching ceramics and mosaic techniques to older girls. This started in September and we have been enjoying the support of UK volunteer and professional potter Alex Hunter in this exciting development that will lead to jobs within the arts and crafts sector in Nepal. We see great merit in collocating both activities so that returnees have the option to mix their interests and see which pathway suits them better. A school in Kathmandu would be more readily accessible to Western volunteer teachers, both artistic and academic, and would put an appropriate distance between the students and their families in rural areas who only spoil their daughters' chances in life (again) by interfering in our provision.
I have shared this vision with Richard and we concur on the desirability of moving on to a higher level. It remains to be seen exactly what shape that partnership will take.
Sitting at the dinner table last evening and discussing our respective personal bereavements it inevitably became quite emotional. I was reminded by that once again of how gut-wrenching and fresh that sense of loss remains. But rather than being a pair of sad, inward looking people we find ourselves both here in a foreign land trying to make it a better place for some of the country's most vulnerable children. The human response to trauma can be quite paradoxical and perhaps it is our capacity to rise above this that sets us apart from animals and reflects the divine that is within us all, whether we choose to recognise it or not. The divine that happens to be saluted through the Nepali routine greeting of "Namaste".