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garbage experiences

I travel on the train from Agra to Delhi. I just got my incredibly delicious Indian Take Away enjoyed dinner and left behind: Waste.
Where to put it? My eyes peer through the car, but nirgenwo is a trash can discover. And my response to the space between the cars is unsuccessful.
When I return to my seat, I see my Indian fellow passengers with that typical mix of Indian helpfulness and sensationalism. I try to describe my problem. A family man points out the window. I am white, he has shown some time ago his little son how to properly throw garbage from the train window, but that is not determined but the only solution. I remember the condition of the embankments and begin to doubt me. I try to imagine seriously mentally waste my equal to throw out the window. It feels terrible.
I answer half jokingly, half seriously: "I just can not do this, it's a cultural thing. I am from Germany shake. "Indians and I are laughing. Meanwhile, the scene
has also attracted the conductor. I ask him what to do with my garbage. He also points out the window. I ask him with a presumably to Verweiflung bordering expression on the face, if not somewhere on this train a trash can. His face gets a paternal train: this poor foreigner should be helped to schlieβlich he is here the authority figure. He takes me to his Schaffnerkabuff. I would be looking for the longed- Dustbin. But there is none. But I can then throw the garbage in the corner on the floor. Really? It is meant seriously. I throw the garbage in the corner.
I have pangs of conscience that is now my garbage in the area of the conductor. Later me comes a comforting thought: He's probably the rubbish, as soon as I was no longer in the area, gets thrown out the window.
I am glad that is big respect for the cultural idiosyncrasies and oddities of different people in India so and I will be very warm feeling.

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sign of life

Yes, I live yet! I have the blog not only long updated since the picture upload has worked in recent times not right and I only get tired of blogging and had me then, as 75% of Indian travelers the revenge of the Mughals has caught, and my only significant activity was for three days the race of my bed to the toilet.
was pretty right after my arrival I had a flu infection by following bronchitis and then a week of itchy red rash all over my body, which was probably triggered by the heat and extreme humidity, and I actually have all the time a dry cough, finally, I am yes here in one of the cities with the highest air pollution.
Somehow, the European body does not really prepared to be on the India and reacts well with a kind of shock that paralyzes the immune system and for many Europeans is the mental reaction is very similar.
What is really fascinating, however, that so many Europeans hanker after India, although we must honestly admit that we are not really created just for that corner of the world.

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My favorite image from the "Healthier Cooking" - course in home science lessons.

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The first school year

For some of these children is the first school year at the Hope Project something very special because it the very first ever in their family who ever visit a school. The teacher Mrs. Batra reported that they always encouraged the children to pass their knowledge on to their family. Indeed, some of her students are already doing their own fathers taught the basics of writing, beginning with its own named.
course it is a particular challenge, these children motivate even go to school. But I think that precisely this challenge leads to the great atmosphere and lively teaching style here.

Scary And Disturbing Images

sirens in Delhi

I wake from sleep. The sirens wail in Delhi. I look at the clock, the time is 3:19. Is this a false alarm or a Pakistani first strike?

Take it easy, I tell myself, this is probably just the wake-up call for Muslims in Delhi, for the month of fasting starts today Ramadan. eat from sunrise to sunset and do not drink adult Muslims, but there is an evening groβes dinner with the family. The atmosphere just with us in the district will probably be quite fascinating. I'm curious, even if I'm going back tomorrow brought by sirens from sleep.

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An Indian Summer Night's Dream

taken at a sample of the theater group of the Hope Project.

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views of Basti Nizamuddin, "my" neighborhood in Delhi.

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Butterflies

Last night I had first met with the Butterflies. The children are young people living on the streets during the day but at night in the large classroom in the basement of the Hope Project to find a safe place to sleep, having no relatives have more that can take care of them or they are running away from home.
In her room were installed lockers, so they next day when the space is used for the school, where their few belongings can be stored. They can also eat dinner there, and shower. It's the whole night, two night guards present (one of whom is also my Hindi teacher), one of them at the entrance, scans the children on arrival, so that no weapons or drugs can get into their space and one that in them room to sleep there, contact for the children to be and to be able to settle disputes. Each of the
perhaps even on the road was once homeless for some time, can understand certain that three of the main needs are a safe place to sleep, a chance to wash, a meal and a safe place for his belongings.
course I had some concerns, what should I do actually, when I meet the Butterflies, because of course no one speaks of them only rudimentary English, and I've also through my civilian time in the nursery probably little useful experience with children with a such social background won. Fortunately, there is an international communications media: games. I was told that the Kharam board game would be very popular with the kids and I wanted to show me the game.
When I came into the room, it had the 15 Butterflies have been welcoming, some even slept on mats on the floor already (this is normal in India), the others had to hingefläzt front of the TV, the older kids took my presence only briefly noted and after I had said in broken Hindi, I was happy to take learn Kharam Board, they soon turned back to the Indian soap opera, probably the most globally popular teenager attitude: "I'm too tough and cool for Kinderspielchen such, I look far better now. " The younger Butterflies, however, were enthusiastic, however, and there were first fighting for the three players places. The rules they could explain to me quickly with little English and lots of Show. Kharam board can be explained best as a minimal version of billiards, you play it on a small wooden board with four holes in the corners, instead of balls used small wooden disks and instead Billiardstöcken Snip special techniques with the fingers. Is there a way to really simple means really much to have fun. The 8 - year-old play so much better than me, but yes I will have time to learn.
What I just noticed you play again and again, the explosion of aggression with which the Children react when they feel unfairly treated. The suspicion of cheating or if someone wants to play, but just can not enough, and you start a really evil looking tussle. Fortunately, children usually take the other quickly and try the brawlers "no fight" - and call each other apart Wegzerren forward and already less than a minute after a really nasty squabbling, the two fighting cocks play again peacefully.
I have a feeling that the kids have a good sense of fairness. They have always worked for me, for example, if someone tried to take advantage of my lack of knowledge of the rules, to me they are not aggressive. Presumably, this explosive Agressionsausbrüche are a necessity when you live on the streets and defend his food and other needs Lebensbotwendigkeiten. Also, most of the children and young people as quickly and explosively when laughing. The night watchman in the room told me the really bad incidents rarely are, and assured me that his job is actually not as difficult as it appears at first glance, because the kids were here as satisfied as rare in her life and would therefore usually in deep, fernsehberieselter, ready to play or just in need of sleep mood.

supplement: 3 nights later ... (The I will photograph of this evening)
meantime I found thanks to Bollywood dance music and an access to Toughen and cool under the Butterflies, I think, "If you can not dance well, dance wildly!" now use it as a life motto.

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meeting

I drive an auto rickshaw in the heavy traffic on a four-lane main street in Delhi. We stopped at a traffic light. Middle of the road someone is sitting on the median strip. An old man with stumps instead of legs. He sees that I see him. Our eyes meet. He crawls into the street, turns green in the middle between the two cars right next to mir.Die traffic lights, drivers on the gas. The old man may be just about back to save the central reservation.

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Faruzina's Science Lab

One of my tasks at the Hope Project is helping with the photographic documentation. You can all see the fruits of my first mission: Capture the excitement in Faruzimas Science Classroom ".

I thought this would be no easy job, but after I had shadowed a morning when the teacher Faruzina, it seemed not so difficult. It was so much curiosity, fascination and joy of argument in the room that I almost just had to press the shutter button.

The Hope Project is a school with 600 pupils, it has set itself the task to allow the children to attend school, remain excluded from the public school system. Community Workers make their way into the homes to convince parents to send their children to school with them and try to overcome the social and organizational barriers that prevent this normally. Some of these reasons include financial problems, lack of papers, concentration problems caused by malnutrition, advanced age, lack of language skills, or simply that they are female and therefore education is not relevant for them and they reach a certain age anyway better move should only be placed in spatial and social boundaries. The aim of the school is to train these children so much that they can be integrated into the secondary state school system. There is also a night school for working children, special support classes for children in the public school system and vocational qualifier measures, such as teaching computer skills.

This school is in many respects quite extraordinary, if you still have further interest, I can you the blog of Pritha Ghosh, recommend the Educational Advisor to the Hope Project, there you will find even more photos ( http://curriculumathope.blogspot.com/ ). Pritha Ghosh is an energetic whirlwind and has taken more than two hours (she was hoarse), I explain the peculiarities of gesture-rich pedagogical approach. I was pretty excited to see the whole thing in practice to see.

My photos show especially the fruits of the "inquiry-based education." In Faruzima's class focused on the adaptation of organisms to their environment and take the knowledge to mediate in the chalk and talk, they would with a question like: "Why do the plants look really different in the desert than in the jungle?" and start the students then begin their own Develop theories why this might be so. You can ask the teacher holes in the stomach and so eventually develop their own understanding of the learning material. While I understand almost no Hindi, it is really fun to attend classes. It's just so much of in the air, which makes science really fascinating: dare wonder, curiosity to ask themselves questions, to share knowledge, gain new knowledge and the joy of it to understand things. In addition, I have to Faruzima's gesture somehow always think of Socrates.

Faruzima has tried to convince me with my background neuropsychological and maybe we will bring in one of the higher grades of plaster molds really brains and draw in the main sensory and motor areas ...

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A first look from the Hope Project to the neighborhood.

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First impressions

As I step off the plane in Delhi hits me in hot and humid air counter. The runway of the airport at night populated with real crowds, many more people working here than at a European airport. Or are sleeping. Really on the luggage transport trucks or semi-open barracks on the runway sleep crowded workers.

After I brought up immigration behind me and I picked up my luggage, I finally find the taxi driver with a sign reading "Mr. Eckhoff", which will pick me up. It is about half as tall as I appear and speak no English. But he got a card from my hosts at the Hope Project ( http://www.hopeprojectindia.org/ ). When we finally get to the parking lot and he wants to load my luggage into the car, he pulls a young man my backpack out of hand. Fortunately, he does not run away with it, but throws him into the trunk. My exhausted brain creates it with a schlaflosigkeitsbedingten Delay just to wonder at the strange scene when the situation clears up: The young man really wants a tip for his devoted service carrier. I explain that I have no small change, while still more young men gather around, some of them talk to my "rack" field. I fly into the car.

shows on the highway, the true character of my little taciturn driver. Horn is the background music of the Indian road traffic, but my driver is really for India itself something special. As soon as he saw another road user, it starts to honk at and covers the other with a flurry of camera flashes from his flashing. Its mirrors are folded for safety's sake before, in order to squeeze through tiny gaps between two lorries can. Only after a while I find that is at least for most other drivers in traffic systems offered India. Red lights have anyway only be a force if a police officer next to it, so you can honk to announce his arrival.

My little with his new taxi drivers can afford, a car driver he is one of the stronger road users, a "Maharajah of the road". It is unbelievable what is on this multi-lane highway romps: pedestrians with large Handcart, load bikes, packs of dogs and of course the obligatory cows. These countless auto rickshaws, a cross between a rickshaw and motorcycle, "Horn Please!" Some of which have large lettering, as if the Indians would need to a prompt. We overtake a scooter honking. Sitting behind a young woman, her long black hair and her red sari with gold embroidery blowing in the wind. Before you sit the moped riders. As we pass by them, I see that have been reached between the two somehow, two little boys room on the moped.

sleep by the roadside individuals and families. Even at night are all still small stalls geöffnet.Wir survive the journey, although my driver or one of the artfully decorated truck port, but the squeaky brakes gives up and we reluctantly granted right of way. When I think that the worst is behind me and the traffic calms down, my driver suddenly starts to go into dark deserted dead end to, turns around again, stops short and talk to people on the street. I'm getting nervous. He has moved well.

Finally, we believe shortly before midnight in an alley full of people and strange smells that is too narrow for the car, my driver jumps out of the car without saying a word, fortunately, a short time later he comes back. It shows in the darkness and seems to be well understood that our journey ends here and I should get out of here and can find themselves in my path. I am fortunately just enough presence of mind to him somehow to imply that he gets only his money if he takes me to the location on his map and me there in the "Security Guard" emits. We walk through the narrow alleyways and eventually reach a large building with the words and the sign of the Sufi Order, the founder and one of the main support of the Hope Project. We ring the bell: no answer. Onlookers gather, the taxi driver is talking to them. A helpful man begins to ring tower. We wait. No response. I begin to have me pick out hotels in the area of the guide. Then, suddenly, the taxi driver is gone. A friendly Indian offers me his cell phone to call my contact numbers. There also is not reached. I offer him money for his mobile phone costs, he refuses to smile, accept it. The taxi driver is gone.

opens after a long period of waiting, finally the door to give me a stone falls from the heart I say: "My name is Simon Eickhoff, I think that you are expecting me," but the young man who has opened the door, he watches loss of, and he speaks no English. I would now like to go in and the door behind me close, but the still unpaid taxi driver is still missing and this young man certainly seems up to the date on which it was rung out of bed to have never even heard of my arrival. Finally, also appears the taxi driver again, maybe he was looking for a different input, I give him a good tip for a long time he has been waiting with me.

Finally, a woman steps out of the buildings around the courtyard add to us, we probably have woken up and, luckily, she speaks English. I had the taxi driver but will not tip, as in fact turned out he had brought me to the wrong place, namely the mausoleum Hazrat Inayat Khan, founder of the Order and not for the Hope Project. I ask the up far from their sleep for that. You have understood my situation and the young man offers himself to me to the Hope Project. In there, the night watchman has been waiting some time for me. So I finally reach the place of the next month will be my home.