Every Sunday afternoon, Tolu picks us up after her church and takes us to the Dustbin Estate. This place resembles any slum in any developing country in many ways. Cute, little naked kids running around barefooted and complacent adults staring innocuously. The one thing that's different is the absolute magnitude of trash! Hence the name, I guess. Instead of it just littering the sides and gutters, we were literally walking on about 4 layers of trash that had been compressed by barefooted slum-dwellers. It felt like a bouncy carpet but looked horrendous.
In the middle of all this craziness, was one safe haven. Tolu's school building for the children of Dustbin Estate. Walking in, we were greeted by our first roly-poly little Nigerian Nugget, Joe. He insisted on solemnly shaking hands with everyone which quickly descended into madness as thirty to forty 3 to 9 year olds followed suit. After the initial madness, the kids were separated into relevant age groups and we began our lessons. An hour later, my hair had been brushed by a thousand fingers, every part of me had been hugged by tiny bodies, and my hands were constantly held by at least eight other little ones. Discipline was somewhat secondary, and even a stick that I had been threatening to use didn't faze anyone. Three hours later, battered and bruised like we were emerging from battle, the group reconvened and decided to walk around the neighbourhood. Like any good slum visitors, we visited the Slum Lords. Clad in Nigerian wear, they solemnly shook our hands and told us what a good job we were doing, before going back to taking bribes or whatever they were doing.
I think a lot of the housemates were a bit traumatized by what they saw and I don't know if it's a good thing, but I guess being a Mumbaiker has desensitized me to a lot of things. Either way, the spirit of those little munchkins is undeniable and Tolu is a solid soul.
In the middle of all this craziness, was one safe haven. Tolu's school building for the children of Dustbin Estate. Walking in, we were greeted by our first roly-poly little Nigerian Nugget, Joe. He insisted on solemnly shaking hands with everyone which quickly descended into madness as thirty to forty 3 to 9 year olds followed suit. After the initial madness, the kids were separated into relevant age groups and we began our lessons. An hour later, my hair had been brushed by a thousand fingers, every part of me had been hugged by tiny bodies, and my hands were constantly held by at least eight other little ones. Discipline was somewhat secondary, and even a stick that I had been threatening to use didn't faze anyone. Three hours later, battered and bruised like we were emerging from battle, the group reconvened and decided to walk around the neighbourhood. Like any good slum visitors, we visited the Slum Lords. Clad in Nigerian wear, they solemnly shook our hands and told us what a good job we were doing, before going back to taking bribes or whatever they were doing.I think a lot of the housemates were a bit traumatized by what they saw and I don't know if it's a good thing, but I guess being a Mumbaiker has desensitized me to a lot of things. Either way, the spirit of those little munchkins is undeniable and Tolu is a solid soul.
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