Hannah Lefeuvre - Working at BASHA, Centre for Slum Children in Kolkata, India
Hannah Lefeuvre, Artist
Contact:-
Telephone: (01460) 249450
Working at BASHA, Centre for Slum Children in Kolkata, India
This project was made possible thanks to financial support from the Lisa Ulmann Travelling Scholarship Fund
Context
The following case study outlines my journey to Kolkata, India, where I spent one month at BASHA, a centre for slum children. In a city where child poverty and exploitation is rife, my study of Early Years children was bound to stretch beyond the confines of a single NGO, set up for just one section of the starkly defined social ladder. The following case study outlines some of the activities we explored at the centre and my own observations. Where appropriate, these are paralleled with my experience of children on the street. My observations are merely impressions. They are not conclusive or reflective of the entirety of India. However, they may be of interest to other practitioners.
The centre
BASHA (meaning the bird’s nest) was set up in 2007 to serve high-risk children from slums. Unusually, the school takes children from 2-years, believing in the importance of the early years. According to the annual reports, BASHA is a ‘pre-school’, but in terms of our understanding, they are a primary school, which includes a Kindergarden.
First impressions
On arrival at the school, I quickly notice the different approach to the under 5s, compared with the older children. The 2,3,4 year olds are non-uniformed and generally allowed to roam. They are scolded for getting in the way, breaking things or fighting. The older children learn by rote, assemble in neat lines, stand when their teacher enters and are generally extremely appreciative to be at school. None of this is a criticism of the school. The teachers have a lot to keep track of and with the older children approaching exams, they need to study.
However, this makes for fascinating raw research and my presence as an early years specialist is valuable. I quickly devote my time to the youngest children, working in a small area of one of the classrooms, partly shielded by a screen. Initially I watch them. They fight a lot, run, sit, look bored or restless, but don’t play.
Similarly, on the streets, I observe fighting and restlessness, but not play. I had a romantic notion that I would see children creating their own games with what they could find. On one occasion, in a taxi, we observe three children under a flyover, just meters away from the cars. Two are fighting. One, younger boy has a piece of fabric, which he puts over his head as he watches the other two fight. “Do they get run over?” I ask my colleague. “No” she replies. “The children are clever and drivers are very careful here.
The next day, in a rare park, I see children playing cricket, football and with kites. On a later trip to rural areas, I encounter children playing with stones in the dust. Perhaps play is a luxury, afforded by those who have choice, safety and space?
Activities
At school, I introduce a number of heuristic play sessions - the simplest way to interact without language and requiring minimal intervention so that I can observe. I use simple, readily available resources that cannot be argued with (I am informed by older children and some staff that younger children “should not trusted with luxury items”, as seems to be the perception in the slum culture). So we play with cardboard boxes, newspaper, paper shopping bags, umbrellas (since it’s Monsoon), bottle tops, plastic water bottles and water play. The children pick up on provocations instantly and happily play for 40 minutes to an hour, often role-playing what they see in everyday life. With newspaper, one boy finds various places to sit in the room, his legs crossed, laughing at intervals, as though reading the paper. Another boy meticulously covers the school table, perhaps mirroring a street vendor setting up his stall, or a family laying out newspaper to eat or sleep on. Another girl rips up the paper and screws it up into small balls, then packs it into one of the boxes. She puts the box on her head and transports it across the room.
With the boxes, they build temples, houses and, due to one child’s fascination with his car, we turn smaller boxes into cars, tunnels, flyovers and eventually realise that we can fit inside the larger boxes and ‘drive’ around the room. The boy’s car is brought into every activity: tyre tracks on the playdough, creating a road with masking tape on the floor and singing songs about the car. Gradually the boy becomes less reliant on the car and happily engages in other activities.
On one occasion the toddlers are moving the small wooden chairs. Without any language, I coax them into making the chairs into a train. They understand instantly and delight in moving down the train, taking the tickets and making the sounds. On a real train a few weeks later, I encounter many children who I can’t give such attention to. All are begging, with various offers. One boy is hopping naked through the carriage, out of necessity. One of his legs has been removed.
My days at school are hugely enriched by one of the teachers, Sreetama, a social worker, teacher and MA student, who lives in the children’s community. I find her inspirational and we quickly develop a rapport of bouncing ideas and supporting each other. ‘We all have it in us to be creative’ she says, ‘in whatever way that is.’ She wants to bring in ‘creative time’ – unusual in an Indian school. Our days together are dense, we achieve a lot.
On day 2, she takes out some playdough that was donated. I give each child a tiny amount. The challenge is to create with only a small piece. It takes a bit of coaxing to encourage the children to explore their own ideas, but soon they are creating a range of small creatures and objects. Language is no barrier. Their fine motor skills are exceptional. One boy works with the tiniest amount of playdough, laughing at each scenario he creates. Unlike some of the others, he doesn’t put his hand out for more. With some hesitation, I bring out my flip camera and film. Unsurpisingly, they swarm, delighting in seeing their own work on the screen. I am reminded of an experience earlier that day, without the uniforms, when a sea of children’s begging hands was daunting.
On another occasion, whilst drawing with the children, Sreetama tells me she wants to set up a library. In ten minutes, she has retrieved a box of donated books (including a lot of Enid Blyton, which she loves), we have cleared a space, stacked them along a desk and onto dusty shelves, counted them and started a lending system. She finds the older children. They marvel at the covers and pages, a complete mish-mash of contents, from fairy tales, spiritual guidance, to travel guides. She draws beautiful images for the children to colour, of western houses (with chimneys), a western tree and a path to them. I don’t have the language to ask the children to draw a picture of their home, a slum, but whilst she’s out of the room, I allow the younger children to scribble. I apologise as soon as she returns. ‘No’ she says, ‘it’s good for them to scribble first. It helps with their control of the pencil.’
Stories and songs
I miss being able to read children stories. But they still enjoy me leafing through the books, making sounds, exclamations and saying the odd word in English or Hindi. I conclude that it is still valuable for the children to develop relationships with books and to enjoy them with an adult. Plus, some of the children create their own stories from what they see on the pages. I explain the idea to create story sacks for some of the books and the staff are keen. However, since this is late in my visit, I leave a sheet of coloured sugar paper inside the cover of each book, with creative ideas of how to extend the story, using songs, play activities and games.
We share a number of English and Bengali songs during our time together. Certain songs have a particular resonance – the ‘beep beep’ car song, songs about the weather and perhaps most chillingly:
See the sleeping children sleeping
Til it’s nearly noon
Come and let us wake them
With our merry tune
Oh how still
Are they ill?
Wake up soon
Everything that I have been exploring over two years in the UK is, as I had hoped, applicable to these children. But also turned on its head. For example, in the UK, I encourage over-clothed, car-seated, clean children, to take off their shoes, touch their toes, crawl, take physical risks, roll around on the floor, have physical contact and be messy. Here, the floor is dirty and a place for the poor, they don’t need to be encouraged to crawl or squat and touching one’s feet is taboo. They need sanitary techniques installed in them, in order to survive. They happily crawl all over each other, push their way to the front or the top of the pile, working in tiny spaces. But they struggle to spread out in the room and give each other personal space. The teachers request ballet technique, for posture, alignment, grace and deportment - all indicators of social stance. Perhaps this is what is needed.
Donations and resources
During my time at the school, a number of donations arrive: beautiful clothes, English story books, cushions and fabric. We decide that the items should be kept at school and talk about the importance of putting things back, looking after things and sharing. Using some donated cushion covers I create three sacks: of socks to make puppets or ‘sensory socks’, animal print items and a sort of treasure sack of various textures.
In my final few days, I become determined to make the area we have been working in inviting for play, with resources visible and organised for the children to access. I fish through the cupboards, dig out a children’s farm play mat, wash down the dusty surfaces, find some number cards that someone has made and peg them up on string, open up the window and hang posters on the wall. I retrieve some uncovered donated cushions and put them on the chairs by the reading books. I collect together the items we have been playing with – the boxes, shopping bags and buckets, and find a space for each. After a lot of politics and assumptions about my wealth, I buy the school a CD player. With the stereo on, the children are delighted. We dance for most of our final mornings together, a mixture of CDs I have brought from England, and their own CDs, including ‘Heal the World’.
Towards the end of my visit, I upload film footage of the pre-schoolers playing onto the school computer. It seems to validate the younger children’s play and staff and older children are delighted to see their friends on the screen. I show them images from my UK practice and a non-verbal dance-theatre piece I created for early years children last year. The children and staff love the piece and understand the universal images created with string.
We create a display board of photos of our play together. I begin to create individual profile sheets for the smaller children, listing their play preferences and using their photos as evidence. All our explorations are documented in a book for the school, with photos, observational notes, ideas and pictures. I leave half the book blank, for the staff and children to continue documenting their play. This will also be a tool for my own reference when I hope to return next year.
