Own it

Last month, I was a witness for a Yuwa girl as she gave a police statement about an incident of harassment and attempted theft. To collect this girl’s statement, twelve detectives and officers rolled up to Hutup village in two police-issue jeeps, wielding AK-47’s. It seemed absurdly over-the-top for the case in question, but I was still happy that a case of harassment was being formally addressed. These things are often shrugged off as nothing.

As the girl finished giving her statement, the head detective turned to me asked me if I was married. Then he carefully spelled out my name on the statement as a witness:

Kumari Rose Thomson

 Kumari is a title that means unmarried girl. After I signed the document, the detective asked me for my father’s name, so he could write it under my name. If I had been married, my husband’s name would have gone in that place.

It seems that as a woman, I have no legitimacy without the addition of the name of my male keeper. I’ve been in rural India long enough that this irritating formality didn’t surprise me—but it was still felt like a slap in the face. It’s as if girls and women can’t own their own lives.

Kumari, Kumari, Kumari

Kumari is the last name shared by the vast majority of girls in the villages of Jharkhand. After marriage, girls change their last name from Kumari to Devi: a title that signifies that a woman is married.

If you took a Yuwa team roster that consisted exclusively of last names the list would read: Kumari, Kumari, Kumari, Kumari, Kumari…. Endless Kumari. This led for some confusion at the tournaments in Spain, where it had to be clarified that No, the girls in Yuwa are not all related.

The use of the title Kumari is a constant reminder of the life path expected of girls in villages. Many parents believe that higher education, or anything beyond 10^th standard[1], is pointless for their daughters. Why invest in education when the girl will get married in her mid to late teens? Why waste money on school when the girl’s future is to be a wife and a mother? For a family that struggles to feed all its children, it makes financial sense to prioritize a son’s education.

For a woman without education, temporary construction work is one of the few options available for supporting her family.

A girl is rarely asked about her own dreams for the future. Her future is not her own. The girl belongs to her family—until the day that ownership is transferred to her husband and in-laws.

Unexpected consequences

 As a state, Jharkhand is notorious for its high rates of child marriage. In Hutup village, I meet young women my own age who have two or three children. Many of the girls in Yuwa have older sisters who were married off before age eighteen. Because I see the girls of Yuwa everyday, however, I’ve come to think of them as exceptions to this cultural norm. I see them as immune outliers who bravely defy expectations. I forget that early marriage is still a very real threat for them.

After returning from the trip to Spain, the Yuwa football players became local heroes. These girls are the only people around who have flown in an airplane or traveled to a different country. As Kusum explained in her Tedx talk, after the trip abroad, “Everyone in the village knew us. Everybody knew my name. Everyone says girls in Yuwa are doing very good things.”

With the media attention and visits from big-shot politicians looking for good photo ops, the girls did more than just gain respect for their unconventional passion for football. These 13- and 14-year-old girls became attractive potential brides.

Yuwa’s full-time Female Mentor, a young woman from Jharkhand named Neha, meets with player’s parents regularly to discuss the girls’ futures. Some mothers revealed that in the wake of the trip to Spain, men have approached them with offers of marriage for their daughters.

One mother, a widow, told Neha about a marriage offer that came for her 13-year-old daughter from an older man in the army. Her extended family pressured her to accept the proposal because the suitor had a stable job and could offer financial security. She refused because she knows her daughter has different dreams.

Another mother told Neha about a tempting proposal that came from a man working for a computer company. Again, this offer promised the sort of financial stability which parents in villages dream of. This mother refused the proposal, even though in the past she has married off her other girls in their mid-teens.

When asked about her rejection of the proposal, she explained,

“My daughter is a very different kind of girl. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with her. But I will support her in what she wants to do. I knew she would be very angry about the marriage offer, so I didn’t tell her. She wants to continue her education.”

Rewriting the script

 A few weeks ago, I watched a team of 11- and 12-year-old Yuwa girls draw pictures of the woman they want to become. The final result was a winsome hodge-podge of teachers, police officers, “doctys” (female doctors), and bankers. This typical kids’ activity has a much more significant impact in this village, where the script for girls has already been written. There’s a novel message being reinforced again and again, every time a girl meets with her Yuwa team, six days a week, year-round: You can take charge of your life.

Girls in Yuwa’s early morning English class.

The senior girls of Yuwa who have already rejected offers of marriage are living proof of that message for the younger players. They speak up to their parents about their goals, excel at school, and seize the opportunities in front of them. They report incidents of abuse and harassment in their villages, school, and homes because they know their own rights. These girls shake up the system and it upsets the bitter, beaten people who cling to it.

It is not easy.

But the little girls look up to these players and see the message in their actions. This is your body. This is your voice. This is your life. Own it.

One of the senior team captains gives a speech at the Yuwa Spring Talent Show.

 

One of the state’s highest level police officers, Sampat Meena, visiting Yuwa to tell her story. Girls asked how to become officers themselves, how to protect themselves from boys and men who harass them in their villages, about their right to get married when they want, and how to prevent their parents from sending them to live at places they don’t want to be.

Last week, I introduced one of the senior team captains to a visitor. “This is Sabitri Kumari,” I said as they shook hands.

Sabitri immediately made a face and shook her head. Then she corrected me with smile.

“No Kumari.

Sabitri.

Just Sabitri.“

 

 

 

[1] Sophomore year of high school, for those of you in the US.

Sharah, Lioness of Hutup

Hello and happy new year! This is Rose, here to introduce my first-ever guest blogger. Sarah came to volunteer with Yuwa in mid-January as an English teacher and will be here until June. She has launched a new daily English class in Basati Village, in addition to teaching a second afternoon class in Hutup. She gets to her class via auto-rickshaw every morning at 6:30 am, helps train Yuwa goalkeepers, and can make a mean Italian pasta sauce using local ingredients. Sarah has quickly become the friend of countless Yuwa girls and gained a reputation for being tough and outspoken.

It’s fitting that the girls pronounce her name like the Hindi word for lion: Sharah.

One Month Later: Thoughts & Impressions During My First Month in Rural Jharkhand, India

Girls just want to have fun. And they do in Yuwa. 🙂

As I sit on the Yuwa House’s (Aka my workplace and humble abode) patio, basking in the sun and swatting away flies with the famishment of a hungry lioness, I question if it is possible for my written words to leap off the page and truly entrench themselves into your mind’s eye.

I often get asked to eat with the girls and their families.

First of all, let me introduce myself. My name is Sarah or Sharah as the young Yuwa girls pronounce my name. I was born and raised in Iowa, which for those of you who do not know (yes, there are many who do not know) is located in the Midwest of America; aka, the greatest area, period. Coincidently enough Yuwa’s Founder and Director, Franz, and Yuwa’s Coordinator, Rose, are both from the Midwest. Minnesota and Missouri to be specific. Which means we come from three states that line up perfectly on top of one another on the map. Needless to say we form an illustrious Midwestern spectacle in the tiny village of Hutup, where we all live together. Filling out our crack team and household are Neha and Ana.

Ana is from Spain and has a business mind like no young adult I have come across before. She speaks perfect English and gets the worst sunburns one can imagine!

Neha is easily the most impressive young Indian woman I have and most likely ever will come across in my lifetime. She is from the state of Jharkhand and is the Yuwa girls’ mentor. She has a mind of an accomplished scholar and the soul of a humble, mature woman. If I was better with words, I could write a book about Neha – she exemplifies the type of woman Yuwa hopes each girl in this area will become.

Nothing like a little afternoon footy amongst the beautiful hills. During practice there are always cows, goats, stray dogs, people, etc. walking through the pitch. 

Our oasis. This is one of the football pitches the girls play on. It is located on the compound where I live. You can see the Yuwa house on the back right. The blue building on the back left is the Yuwa Nike Game Changers classroom where girls learn English and study Math. 🙂

So many rad girls in Yuwa.

Speaking of Yuwa, what is Yuwa? Yuwa is a NGO that uses football as a platform to promote girl’s empowerment, health, education, and improved livelihoods as well as prevent human trafficking, illiteracy, and child marriage. Through gaining confidence the girls spark youth-led change, which transforms the culture around them through their peers, families, and communities.

Where is Jharkhand, India and what is the state like for girls growing up here?

Jharkhand is the 28^th state of India and the last state to form in Nov. 2002. The social and economic indicators of Jharkhand are amongst the worst in the country. Even though the state is rich in minerals (Jharkhand accounts for 40% of the mineral resources of India), the inequitable distribution of wealth and the lack of political will plague the state.

A 2013 UN report declared the state of Jharkhand as the worst victim of human trafficking in India. Child marriage is very common and acceptable and illiteracy is rampant. When a girl is born in Jharkhand, her life has usually already been planned out for her. She is isolated— if she is not seen working in the house or fields she is harassed. She is illiterate—more than six in ten women here can’t read. She is married off—Jharkhand leads Indian states in child marriages. She remains vulnerable— an estimated 30,000 girls from Jharkhand are trafficked every year. She gets pregnant. The cycle is passed down to her girls and continues.

In its single-page entry on Jharkhand, Lonely Planet describes the state as follows:

“…there is widespread government corruption, sporadic intercaste warfare, banditry and Naxalite-Maoists (insurgent) violence, all of which contribute to the region being the poorest, least literate and most lawless area in India.”

Now that you know a little about Yuwa and the state of Jharkhand let me get to the juicy part….My thoughts and impressions during my first month here, in no specific order.

*Are men and boys in this state really THIS WORTHLESS???? They sit around in groups all day, drinking chai or alcohol, eating sweets, playing games, scratching their asses and staring gape-mouthed at girls passing by. It blows my mind every time I see this repeated type of behavior. Do they work? How to they make money to blow on all the chai, sweets, and alcohol?

*Duh, I should not be surprised to see a 12-year-old boy (or younger) driving a scooter. Boys do anything they want.

A lovely woman hard at work and squatting.

Need water to drink, cook, clean, and bathe with? Just find your local hand pump and bring a lot of buckets to carry on your head. Women and girls allowed only. (Get it? Because men do nothing.)

*Woman and girls do EVERYTHING!!! Wash the dishes, sweep the house, hand wash the laundry, lay the laundry out to dry, collect firewood far off into the distance, pick up cow poop, roll it into many small-ish balls, flatten them and hand plant them on the brick walls to dry so they can be used later to start a fire. Also woman make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, take care of the farm animals living on their property, clean the farm animal waste, sweep, wash, repeat. It is unreal. My favorite moment (sense the seething sarcasm) thus far was when I witnessed a mother, father and child walking down the road. The mother was balancing a 15 pound tub on her head filled with clean laundry and the father was carrying the small infant. At first I was semi-pleased – at least the father was taking care of the infant. Not even 10 seconds later the father flung the child at the mother and walked down the long road empty handed. Let’s recap – Mom is holding an infant in one arm and balancing a 15 pound tub on her head while the father does nothing. HHHMMMMMM. As one of my wise teenage students told me the other day “I never want to get married. You become a private servant when you marry.” You go girl!!!

*Dear god the sanitation situation in this state is repulsive! AHHH! If you live in a western country, are a clean freak and have no sense of adventure, it is safe to say you would not make it in this state or country.

Fresh coconut (Safe to drink and delicious)

*Eating street food, restaurant food, or household foods not cooked by you can be an adventure in learning about how tough your stomach is. I have a fairly fortified stomach thanks to all my travels. Even in Mumbai years back I had no problem. Well, rural Jharkhand is a little different. Do not eat the pani puri unless you want to spend the next day in bed.

*People of all ages squat for hours and hours and hours everyday…cutting veggies, preparing rice, sweeping, doing laundry, chatting, cleaning dishes…HOW? My legs shriek for relief from my body weight after 5 minutes.

*Speaking of squatting I must squat to use the restroom…thankfully I am squatting into a flush toilet that is essentially a hole in the ground, but heck, at least my thighs will be as strong as an ox by the end of my time here.

*Really, nearly 92% of the people in Jharkhand do not have access to a household toilet?? Yep, true story. People go anywhere and everywhere to relieve themselves.

*It is completely normal to pile 20 or more people into a tiny tuk-tuk. Clown cars have nothing on how many people here you can find in a moving tuk-tuk.

*Also, it is wholly common for 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 people to be riding on a scooter or motorcycle. Really.

*Oh, driving on the wrong side of the road is standard. My first foray into this common practice had me wondering if I should have updated my will as the cars came barreling down at us head on.

*All drivers are maniacs. Thank god I lived in Italy, otherwise I would be white as a ghost after each ride.

Our local market is a hopping good time. Everything is fresh and cheap. I can buy 1 pounds of tomatoes, 1 pound of potatoes, 3 bundles of cilantro, 1 pound of oranges, 1 pound of bananas, 1 pound of peas, 1 pound of apples, and 1 pound of lemons for perhaps $2.50 USD. Take that overpriced American supermarkets.

*If you are have white skin and light brown hair be prepared for open mouth stares and whispers everywhere you do. Really, everywhere. Thankfully Italy prepared me for this type of uncomfortable situation. Just wear sunglasses everywhere, walk with confidence and wear your don’t F with me face.

If I had to live with livestock I want baby goats!!

*Animals are everywhere. People live with lifestock in their homes. Not on their compounds, in their homes. Image for a moment that you sleep with all your cows, chickens, and even ducks. Yeah, I cannot imagine that either.

*Is it really ordinary to have a driver? And a cook? And a maid? I do not understand this concept.

*The newspapers here are not just dreadful, they are also amusing. If you have never read the Dil Se section of an Indian newspaper I highly suggest you send me your address and I will post you the cut out tomorrow. Pure amusement.

These are the cow poop fire starters I referred to. You will find them hanging out to dry on every brick wall available.

*Toffee (Or candy, as us Westerners refer to it) is given as change. So even if I do not get my 7 rupees back, at least I will be hopped up on sugar for the rest of the afternoon. 🙂

Medical practices in villages can make you believe the “doctors” studied in the 16th Century. This is a before and after picture of one of the Yuwa girls who had to get stitches. A village doctor used what I like to prefer to as “rope” to stitch up a girls arm. Thankfully we have a brilliant REAL doctor who took those stitches out and the girl is going to be A OK. Will probably leave a wicked scar though. No worries, scars are beautiful

*The Christmas sweater is the greatest invention ever. It is fuzzy, sparkly, brightly colored, outrageously popular and downright hideous. Thank you for my daily giggle, India. 🙂

Yuwa girls are eager learners. 7AM English class.

Oh my goodness, I could go on for another 20 pages, but you get the point…Life in rural Jharkhand is downright different. Nonetheless I am loving every minute thus far. The people and girls I spend my days with are so interesting and inspiring; it is an absolute treat working with them!

Basically, life is weird here, but dang is it good.

Peace.

It’s Kusum!

Two months ago, 13-year-old Kusum volunteered to give a talk at TEDx Gateway in Mumbai. Franz had been invited as a speaker, but wanted to pass the opportunity off to one of the girls to talk about Yuwa in her own words.

I explained to Kusum that there would be over 1100 people in the audience and that thousands more might watch it over the internet. The other speakers at the event would include some of the most passionate, intelligent and driven individuals in India. And her talk needed to be English. Kusum’s English is good… but she still has a long road ahead before she reaches fluency. She has never read a chapter book in English.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, after showing her some TEDx videos online.

She hardly paused before looking at me with an expression that clearly said: Well, duh.

Kusum (standing, far left) and her Yuwa team, circa 2009

Yuwa jerseys: good for football practices and rice-cutting.

For 6 weeks leading up to the TEDx event, Kusum and I worked together on her speech. We talked about what details to include, what was important for people to hear, and what fundamental message she wanted to share with everyone. She wrote her story by the light of kerosene lamp. Kusum’s family had electricity installed in their mud house last year, but power is spotty in villages.

After several drafts and revisions, Kusum created a hard copy of her talk. In less than a week, she had it memorized. She practiced in her home in the mornings and in the evenings, in front of her family and friends. She practiced in Yuwa English class and on Skype for my family. She practiced with Franz shining a giant flashlight in her face, to simulate the stage lights. She practiced with a microphone at Jharkhand’s World Toilet Day Event to an audience that wasn’t actually listening. 

Time for TED

We flew to Mumbai several days before the TEDx event to meet the other speakers and rehearse on stage. Kusum navigated a swanky cocktail and dinner party wearing a Yuwa track-suit. She carried around a martini glass of juice with a glowing ice cube and made casual English conversation with adults from around the world. I thought she might get tired or bored after a few hours. She didn’t. She talked with a man who recently became the first Indian in the world to circumnavigate the globe, alone, in a sailboat. It took him 150 days. She introduced herself to an Israeli composer, an acclaimed wildlife conservationist, a 15-year-old who has constructed a 3-D printer, the founder of a micro-enterprise development bank, a National Geographic photographer, and a woman who’s revolutionizing interactive museum technology.

Kusum leaned over to me and commented very seriously, “Everyone here is interesting.”

Over and over again, Kusum was asked if she was nervous for her talk. Again and again, she said she wasn’t. We found out that her talk had been scheduled as the last of the day; the organizers wanted her to be the grand finale. 

Raising the roof

Franz took to the stage first to introduce Kusum. He described how in the past year, since the trip to Spain, Kusum and her teammates have become youth icons. They have been featured in every national newspaper, a myriad of magazines and news shows, and acclaimed by Bollywood stars like Shah Rukh Khan and Priyanka Chopra. We’ve estimated that in the past few months, their story has reached over 200 million people in India. 

Why is the story of the Yuwa girls so compelling? The struggles Kusum and her teammates face are shared by hundreds of millions of women and girls in rural India. Their struggles are not unique. When the girls of Yuwa confidently share their stories, they give voice to millions more who are not heard. Their triumph over the odds is inspiring.

“Kusum and her teammates are leading a movement of girls who are fighting for and finding their freedom, one football practice at a time. Ladies and gentlemen, my Indian super power…girl power…”, Franz began, attempting to refer back to a Marvel Comics executive’s speech earlier in the day that referred to a new female Indian superhero, “whatever she is, Kusum Kumari!”

Franz gave her a high five as he walked off the stage, and Kusum walked into the spotlight. The audience went wild, making Kusum wait, smiling calmly, for at least 20 seconds before beginning.

“I am Kusum.

I am 13-years-old.

I’m from Jharkhand.

I want to tell you how football changed my life…”

She shined. Her delivery was flawless and her voice never faltered. Although the auditorium was packed, I believe her when she said she really wasn’t nervous. Although I couldn’t see it from my place in the front row, many people were tearing up throughout Kusum’s talk. I was one of them.

The climax of the talk came when she delivered the following observation:

“In Spain, I saw that girls and boys were the same. There were no differences. Girls went everywhere that boys went, even at night.  [Big cheers and laughter]

“They did everything that boys do. I thought this was very good. [Big cheers]

“I want to feel free like the boys!”  [Audience went wild]

When Kusum came to her conclusion, the audience leaped to their feet and gave a rousing standing ovation, as if they had been waiting on the edge of their seats for their cue. The auditorium was a roar of sound. Kusum stood in the center of it all, beaming.

Back to the village

Weeks before, in preparation for TED, I showed Kusum a video of Malala Yousafzai’s speech at the UN. She was impressed by the story of Malala and excited that a girl was advocating for girls’ education; something Kusum wants to promote as she gets older. I pointed out to Kusum that her own story and her own TED talk held the very same message… and that she too was already reaching thousands of girls.

On the way back to Jharkhand in the airport bookstore, we bought Kusum her first chapter book in English: I am Malala.

As we went through the airport security, a female airline pilot approached us with the enthusiasm of a teenage Bieber fan. She explained that she had flown in from Delhi for the TEDx event and had been extremely moved by Kusum’s talk. As the pilot was speaking, a security attendant approached us, curious about the celebrity attention being given to this young girl, and asked the pilot who she was. The pilot smiled broadly and replied,

“It’s Kusum!”

I will post the video of Kusum’s TED talk when it comes online. In the meantime, you can read the text of her talk here.

Want to support Kusum and her friends? Click here!

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Play Fearlessly

(Photo by the wonderful Gari Garaialde/Bostok )

July 2^nd, 2013

San Sebastian, Spain

Minutes before the beginning of their second match of the Donosti Cup, the Yuwa girls looked ready for business. Their synchronized warm-up routine complete and their water bottles filled, they filed onto the ground alongside their opponents: a Spanish team[1] of notably taller girls. Around the football field, the Supergoats’ fan base consisted of the TZBZ students who raised the money for the trip, a flock of curious kids who had migrated from a nearby park to watch the game, professional photographers following the story, and several old Spanish men leaning against the back fence.

The girls looked calm and eager to prove that this was their game.

I, on the other hand, had difficulty standing still due to nervous excitement.

The day before, the Supergoats had lost their first match (1 – 3) to a team from Wisconsin (USA). As the first match of the long-anticipated tournament, tensions had run high. The girls played with their usual zeal—but their decision-making seemed affected by the high stakes and new conditions. The team from Wisconsin was big, strong, and organized. The Supergoats, unfamiliar with playing on such a large ground against a truly competitive team, failed to utilize the space or communicate with each other. 

Playing their first match against Wisconsin (USA). Photo courtesy of Donosti Cup.

The Supergoats did not lose their first match from lack of effort or will. Photo courtesy of Donosti Cup.

It was a tough loss. But with all the new things to see in Spain, the team spirit rebounded quickly after leaving the ground. The next morning, Coach Sonu channeled their renewed energy into a strategy session and pre-match practice, utilizing the ground behind our dormitories. By afternoon, the girls were charged and prepared for their second match. 

Winning matches at the Donosti Cup was not the ultimate goal of this experience. In fact, for many people, it wasn’t expected that the Yuwa team would win any matches. Spain is the football mecca of the world, and the Donosti tournament annually attracts the most competitive youth teams around. The Yuwa team doesn’t even have the opportunity to play in a local league in India—it’d be surprising if they were able to keep up with their more experienced competitors.

When matched with the group of village girls from an Indian non-profit organization, opposing teams at Donosti did not expect a difficult game. When we spoke with other coaches at the beginning of matches, they were always gracious and excited to meet the team—but their attitude was sometimes patronizing.

But anyone who’s seen the Yuwa girls play knows that they are formidable fighters. I knew they could win. Franz and Sonu knew they could win. And even after their initial loss, the Supergoats knew they could win too.

Early on, it was clearly a fairly even match-up. The Yuwa girls, in their usual style, aggressively made up for their smaller size by throwing their entire bodies into getting behind the ball. The Spanish girls looked shocked upon being plowed over—I think the Yuwa girls were playing a much more physical game than the one to which the Spanish are accustomed. Or maybe they just weren’t expecting the Indian girls to get so pushy.

Neeta takes control of the ball. Photo by Gari Garaialde/Bostok.

Photo by Gari Garaialde/Bostok.

Shivani, in focus.

Chances are, you would lose in a 1 v 1 against Punam. By Gari Garaialde/Bostok.

The fast-moving game moved into the second half still tied at 0 – 0. Sonu decided to make a switch on the field: a younger sister replacing her older sister’s position.

Laxmi Kumari is a striker. She’s the youngest and the smallest on her team. With huge eyes and spindly limbs, she doesn’t look like much of a threat. For years, she’s played in the shadow of her ultra-competitive older sister, Punam. Since joining Yuwa, Laxmi’s initially confrontational attitude and behavior with other players has improved dramatically. While in Spain, she adopted a habit of quietly imitating the sounds that foreign objects make: electric scooters, hand-dryers, and elevators. She also invented the Pudding and French Bread Sandwich. 

On the field, Laxmi turns into a miniature machine.

Laxmi Kumari, in the first match against Wisconsin. Photo by Donosti Cup.

And so it was that in the middle of the second half, there was a quick pass to Laxmi. She gained possession with three Spanish girls on her tail and, in an instant, hammered the ball past the goalkeeper[2]. The girls exploded into cheers, some of them spontaneously somersaulting to the ground in joy. They rushed at Laxmi, collapsed on each other. Within minutes, the game was over. They had won.

This is what winning feels like. By Gari Garaialde/Bostok.

By Gari Garaialde/Bostok

There were many unforgettable moments on this trip, but this one just shines like the sun.

The following video compiles footage from the families’ send-off in Jharkhand, the press conference in Kolkata, matches at Donosti, and sightseeing in San Sebastian. For footage of Laxmi’s winning goal, skip to 3:20. 

Thank you for sticking with this blog despite the lag in posting! I will likely make one or two more posts about Spain. I’m eager to finish posting about Spain so I can start writing a bit about what’s been happening in Jharkhand (A LOT). Stay tuned.

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[1] The Spanish team: Añorga

[2] See Minute 3:20 in the video for Laxmi’s match-winning goal

The Send-Off

Thanks to all who contributed to Yuwa’s campaign Invest in Girls Who Are Changing the World. These next few posts about the Yuwa girls’ trip to Spain are a couple months belated, but I still want to share some of the stories and memories I have from the experience. I’ve put off writing these entries because it’s extremely difficult to put into words how much this trip meant. Thanks for reading! 

In the early evening of June 25^th, I stood in the Yuwa house in Hutup village, surrounded by bags of football boots, jerseys, and essential travel supplies like deworming pills and ibuprofen. I obsessively re-checked a list to make sure nothing had been forgotten. In less than an hour, the 19 girls selected for the Supergoats team were scheduled to arrive. We would all pile into auto rickshaws, which would chariot us to the train station 40 minutes away.  From there, we’d hop the overnight train to Kolkata, where Franz would meet us with the girls’ visas (which had literally just been issued by the Embassy in Delhi). And the next day, we’d all board a plane to Spain: the culmination of a project that had been set in motion more than a year ago.

Unfortunately, all I could think about were the things that could still go wrong.

An auto rickshaw horn brought me out of my fretting. Which was strange; it was thirty minutes early. In rural India, nothing starts when it’s supposed to start. And weirder, there were two rickshaws pulling up to the house—each of them jam-packed with people. Scrappy kids, sari-clad mothers holding infants, and fathers spilled out the vehicles and into the yard. It was the families of the five Supergoat players who lived in more distant villages. Nobody had instructed them to come to the Yuwa house. They just wanted to be there for the moment of their daughters’ send-off.

This may not sound like an extraordinary parental gesture—but I can’t understate how meaningful it was. These were the same mothers and fathers who, for the past four months, had not always been supportive or helpful in the process of obtaining their daughters’ birth certificates, passports, and visas. For most of them, it was the first time they had been asked to go out of their way to do something for their daughters.

Photo taken at dawn: our first stop on a parental scavenger-hunt to collect necessary signatures for the visas.

The family brought out this plastic table as a makeshift desk.

Although Urmila’s mother (pictured above) is an exception, the majority of the Supergoats’ mothers are illiterate and cannot sign their names. We collected their signature in the form of and ink pad and thumbprints.

Supergoat families stand by as we collect signatures for visa forms. Despite multiple meetings with families, it was challenging to make them understand the significance of their daughter’s opportunity to travel to Spain.

Interrupting rice-beer-brewing to collect thumbprint signatures.

A father reluctantly waits his turn to sign papers.

Supriya prepares to go into Ranchi with Franz to track down her passport, which got lost in the mail. For unknown reason, Supriya’s passport ended up at the Medical College.

In the next fifteen minutes, the other Supergoats began to arrive with their travel bags—and their families.  The sun set over the crowd of people slowly flooding into the Yuwa house yard. The girls clutched their bags and milled around the porch: yelling to each other, carrying younger siblings on their hips, grinning like mad. In the anxiety of packing and prepping for the big departure, I had not expected a scene like this.

In a moment, it all became real: the Supergoats were going to Spain. And their families were proud of them for it. After all the ridiculous hurdles and challenges thrown at us, everything was falling into place. 

After the girls had refused to stop going to the abusive officials at the local government office to get their birth certificates, and the media storm that followed.

After the years of being taunted for wearing boys’ shorts and playing a useless game, a boys’ game.

After keeping their school attendance up, despite the voices around them telling them a girl’s education is worthless.

After the hundreds of kilometers Franz spent on the motorcycle, going to and from government offices to meet with officials, track down lost passports, obtain signatures.

After the hours spent poring over parents’ documents, identifying and explaining inconsistencies that could cost the girls’ their Spanish visas.

After carrying a printer on the back of a motorcycle in the middle of the night to find somewhere with electricity to print visa forms for the next morning.

After the tireless, persistent efforts of the student organization in Spain to raise an astonishing amount of money to fund a trip like this.

Passports: APPROVED.

After everything, the Supergoats stood on the porch stairs of the Yuwa House, ready to embark on the journey that would take them to places wildly different from everything they’d ever known. These 19 girls stood, assembled, before the crowd of their friends and family—parents and siblings whose faces shown with a new and fierce pride in the last of the day’s light. The girls sang a parting song, a prayer for safe travels and blessings of good luck in their competition. They sang beautifully. I had to choke back tears.

Finally, we crammed into the waiting rickshaws and lurched down the dirt road: girls, luggage, bulging bags of football gear, the young woman (Neha) who had been leading the girls’ preparatory workshops, plus a couple of tag-a-long teenage coaches to send us off at the Ranchi railroad station.

I watched Hutup and the waving farewell party until they faded into the night, my heart in knots. I turned back around and settled into my seat. The girls next to me were already falling asleep on top one another.

We were off.

Neha, Yuwa’s newest employee and mentor to the girls, says goodbye to the team at the Ranchi train station.

Aboard the train to Kolkata.

The next installment will be up within a couple days… If you’d like to continue supporting Yuwa’s efforts to put girls in charge of their own futures, please visit our Crowdrise site here. Every contribution helps!

Jai Yuwa!

Jharkhand, Definitely not Perpendicular

The Lonely Planet guide to India is a beast of a book, extensively covering the country from Chennai to Kashmir in 1244 pages[1]. There are exactly two pages of this guide book dedicated to the entire state of Jharkhand.

But Jharkhand (located in the North-eastern corner of the country) is no small or insignificant mass of land. It’s got 40% of India’s mineral wealth—mostly in the form of coal and ore—not to mention a massive lumber industry. This wealth has not trickled down to the people who live here, however, and it’s obviously not being utilized to put in infrastructure like quality roads, schools, health centers, or sanitation facilities. Jharkhand tops the charts of all the lists you don’t want your home state to be on: high maternal mortality rates, number of child marriages, malnutrition, poverty, trafficked people, and corruption. It’s a textbook example of a resource curse. The sizable profits from Jharkhand’s natural wealth remains in the inefficient hands of its greedy politicians.

When I mentioned to friends in Mumbai that I was planning to spend time in Jharkhand, I might as well have said I was going into the Heart of Darkness. Reactions varied from confused to shocked to wary. Jharkhand has gained a recent reputation in the film industry due to this summer’s release of a movie called The Gangs of Wasseypur. The film, set in the Dhanbad region of Jharkhand, depicts two warring families vying for control of mining and fishing industries. The place is portrayed as lawless and backwards[2], and I was jokingly and maybe not-so-jokingly reminded of this many times before I left the big city. To be honest, the dramatic responses about going to Jharkhand made me all the more curious and excited to visit—not to mention the fact that Lonely Planet practically skipped over the state. I didn’t know what to expect, and that was a little thrilling.

Yuwa 101

I came here to volunteer with the organization Yuwa: the same group that sent young coaches to lead the new football team in Dharavi (Mumbai). Yuwa was founded by Minnesota-native Franz Gastler in 2009. While teaching English in the village of Hutup outside of the capital city of Ranchi[3], Franz asked one of the girls what she liked to do in her free time. She said she liked to play football and wished she could play on a team. Franz told her that if she found some other girls who wanted to play, he could lead practices for them. The girls came out in flying colors, and practices became a daily occurrence. Franz saw the enthusiasm and dedication of the girls and recognized that a football team could be the perfect platform upon which to promote education and instill confidence. Eventually he quit his job with an Indian NGO and began devoting all his time to the creation of Yuwa.

For these rural girls, life is almost entirely centered around housework and farming. It is not uncommon for girls to get married at age 15. In the vast majority of families, boys are given preferential treatment in terms of money allocated for education, portions and quality of food, and access to health care. A girl will eventually cost her own family money in the form of dowry when she leaves to live with her husband. For those living in poverty, giving preference to boys is a financial and practical decision. Despite the many hours of work girls contribute to the household on a daily basis, it is the boys who will stay with the family and carry on the name.

There was a good deal of skepticism—and even resistance—in the community when girls began leaving their houses to play football for an hour and a half every evening. Shouldn’t the girls be working? It is common to see men and boys idle or at play in public areas; walk around Hutup and you’re likely to see groups of men lounging around tea stalls, teenage boys gambling with cards, and younger boys playing cricket or marbles. Women and girls, however, always seem to be working: cutting grass for the cows, planting rice, washing clothes and dishes, collecting water and cow dung, carrying massive baskets on their heads. If the women are ever idle, it’s definitely not in public spaces. Yuwa’s practices were unprecedented. There had never been organized recreational activities for girls.

Along with three young Indian men— two of which were Anand and Hirlal—who also dedicated time to coaching the Yuwa girls, Franz visited the houses of players with reluctant parents. Apparently there had also been fears amongst the community that Franz was going to traffic this girls out of Jharkhand—a concern that isn’t outlandish, given the high rates of trafficking in this area. Ironically, however, it is often girls’ family members (uncles or brother-in-laws) who are directly involved in trafficking coordination. Speaking with the families helped ease concerns and misconceptions. But what really changed local opinions about the Yuwa girls was their successes. In a short amount of time, the teams started traveling around the state to play in matches. Although they weren’t going very far, it was an opportunity to travel that they never would have had otherwise. And the Yuwa girls played good football. Since 2009, 17 of the girls have been selected to play on the state team, and three were selected for India’s National Team (which included flying to Sri Lanka for a tournament). A handful were chosen to participate in a coaching clinic in Delhi.One was accepted to a 6-month training program called Colorado Rush, although sadly her visa was denied. Six girls have spent time coaching the new Dharavi team in Mumbai. And just last week, two Yuwa girls returned from a 2-week-long football camp in Washington D.C., sponsored by the US State Department. The local media had a field day. The community now recognizes the good that Yuwa program has done, and takes pride in its girls’ acheivments.

The less glamorous but more profound achievements, however, are evident in the way players have changed since joining. Kusum, a 12-year-old Yuwa player with a huge smile and quick mind, explained that before Yuwa, “No one ever looked at the girls. Now they pay attention.” She said that playing football has given her a reason to take care of herself and her appearance. Before the team, she says she didn’t have any reason to keep clean or look nice. When she started going to practice everyday (which is held on a dry grass field near Hutup’s main road) she saw how the other girls looked and acted, and began taking the time to care for herself.

Now, Yuwa’s daily practices draw about 150 players between three different, nearby sites in Jharkhand, and between 15 and 30 players at the Dharavi site in Mumbai. There are several boys teams, but the majority of the teams are made up entirely of girls. Yuwa’s underlying principle is for the girls to take ownership of their own teams. Team captains keep an attendance log, which includes both practice and school attendance of each player, and manage a team savings fund with money for subsidized shoes and balls. This all encourages the players to be  accountable to one another and act as their own leaders. The Yuwa teams are not a single coach dominating a group of young athletes; they are groups of friends dedicated to enjoying and improving their football game and themselves.

For many of the girls, it’s more than game. It really is changing the course of their lives. Yuwa’s ultimate goal is to prevent girls from early marriage by keeping players in school. I’ve talked with girls who have bluntly told me that the reason they attend school everyday is because Yuwa encourages them to do so. By showing both the girls and—importantly—their families that furthering education can mean opportunities to successful futures, Yuwa has already prevented the marriage of its older teenage players.

Life in Hutup

I moved into the Yuwa house in early September. It’s settled near the edge of the Hutup village: a place teetering between rural and urban, where the sounds of the nearby highway disrupt any ambiance of remoteness.  Most people here get by by farming small plots of land (rice, corn, wheat, and potatoes), keeping livestock (cows, water buffalo, goats, and chickens), and working temporary manual labor jobs. The amount of trash heaped along the sides of the unpaved roads seriously mars any chance Hutup had of being picturesque, but it does have some things going for it in terms of scenery. When it’s windy, the rice fields look like lakes of green waves. The sky seems more expansive here, and the cloud formations can make for spectacular sunrises and sunsets. At night, hundreds of fireflies congregate in the trees, reflecting the spread of stars above. There’s a river nearby, and on clear days you can see mountains in the distance.

The Yuwa house has become a sort of community center and second home for the group of girls who originally started Yuwa. The walls are plastered with drawings, short compositions in English, football photos, and news clippings about Yuwa. A small desk in the main room is cluttered with trophies and medals won at various matches, and the bookshelves are crammed with early-reader books, dictionaries, atlases, and educational games. On any given night, three to five girls sleep in the spare bedroom after cooking dinner of oatmeal, chapatti, and a vegetable dish.

Although most of the girls have basic, conversational English and I can speak a handful of Hindi words and phrases[4], communication is a challenge. Franz (who speaks Hindi) is currently in the US, so the girls and I have had to be even more creative and persistent when talking about anything complex. Still, we’re able to connect over things like Justin Bieber, laughing at my inability to make circular chapatti, killing mosquitos, and—of course—football. I’ve gotten to the point where I feel comfortable walking down the road and strolling into the girls’ houses.

I’m going to wait until my next post to describe some of the projects I’m working on for Yuwa, but my days look something like this: I wake up around 4:45 and fumble around collecting teaching material and making myself look presentable. Ride over to a nearby village of Sildiri with coach Anand, and teach a small English class to some Sildiri football players. Come back to Yuwa house around 8, and spend the day reading on the roof, preparing for Khan Academy (more on this later), or wandering about Hutup. I help organize several students who are participating in math program on Nook tablets between 3:30 and 4:30, and then walk over to the football ground for practice. While at practice, I try to burn off my extra energy, remember all the girls’ names, and try not to twist my ankle as I attempt to keep up with some seriously skilled 12 year-old footballers. After practice, a small group of the girls head back to the house with me. We cook dinner, do small art projects, and listen to music. The power will invariably go out at least twice.

The days in Hutup get long: there’s a lot of hours between 8 and 3:30. My mobility is much more restricted than it has been during the rest of this trip, and I’ve had to adjust to change. I also feel more conscious of my foreign-ness in Jharkhand than I have anywhere else in India, but the Yuwa players have done a wonderful job of making me feel welcome. Many of the kids in the area seem to know my name now, and nothing makes you feel more welcome than some five-year-old screaming your name from across a field when you walk down a road. 

Another note on my name: the way people pronounce “Rose” here sounds similar to the Hindi word that means “everyday”. So several of the players have taken to addressing me as “Rose – Everyday!”

Thanks for reading this extra long post. I’m going to try posting shorter entries more frequently. There are many small, good moments that deserve mention. Stay tuned!

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[1] I’m not traveling with this book, by the way. Not worth the extra weight.

[2] I  saw Gangs of of Wasseypur Part Two in theaters, making it my first Indian cinema experience. It was in Hindi and there were no subtitles. I thought that I was more or less understanding everything, until the last five minutes. And in that one, quick scene some key things happened, and I realized that I has missed all the film’s major plot points. Oh well. I liked the soundtrack.

[3] Yes, Ranchi is pronounced as “raunchy”. It makes for some good names like The Ranchi Club.

[4] My favorite word so far is good-goody. It means tickle or ticklish. Although I also really like the words mutlub and lugbug.

Jai Dharavi!

Although I’ve been in Mumbai for two weeks now, I want to rewind to my first full day in the city.  To spite the jet lag, I took on the heat and humidity and started getting to know the home turf of the girls’ football[1] team with whom I would be working: the largest slum in the city, Dharavi.

As many of you know, my reason for traveling to India is to study the use of team sports to empower girls. I have two main contacts here that have started ‘sports for empowerment’ projects all over the country; both, however, have projects in Mumbai. The football team in Dharavi was co-founded this past April by a group called Reality Gives and another group from the northern Indian state of Jharkhand called Yuwa.

The non-profit organization Reality Gives provides tours of Dharavi. The idea of a ‘slum tour’ is immediately a controversial concept, giving rise to ethical questions about the exploitation of the poor. An uncomfortable image may jump to mind of wealthy foreigners staring out the windows of a tour van at scenes of abject poverty and taking photos of slum residents going about their everyday lives. This image is, without a doubt, an assault on the dignity of the people being “observed”. The Reality Gives organization, however, conducts their tours in an exceptionally respectful manner that actually gives back to the community. Their goal is to correct misconceptions about slums, share the reality of life here on a person-to-person basis, and harness the economic benefits of tourism for the benefit of the community. And for the record, no photos are allowed during Reality tours.

The Overcrowded, Undersized Heart of Mumbai

 My own tour began at the train station right outside the slum, where I met my two guides and the six other travelers who had signed up for the day’s tour (from Guatemala and South Africa). Our guides were both young men from Mumbai. The tour was entirely on foot, though over the next two and a half hours we covered only a small portion of Dharavi. The slum itself is about 2/3 the size of Central Park and has a population estimated to be around one million. The main streets are paved with concrete bricks and lined with shops, businesses, hair saloons, elaborate Hindu temples, restaurants, firehouses, and bakeries. Hundreds of tiny alleyways spread like capillaries off the main roads to separate neighborhoods and industrial sectors. It is truly a city within a city.

The largest industry in Dharavi is recycling. Residents collect plastic and aluminum from all over Mumbai, and then take it through an elaborate process in order to export it both nationally and internationally as high quality raw material. The conditions for workers in these industries are horrible and obviously dangerous; but efficiency is prioritized above all else, and workers willingly sacrifice their health for the sake of making a living. On the tour we were also shown the leather tanning sector, the cloth-dying district, the women’s businesses that produce massive amounts of snack foods everyday, and the community center that receives funding from Reality Gives. The residents were familiar with the routine of walking tours passing through their neighborhoods; we were greeted with smiles, blatant stares, and countless children who wanted to practice their English.[2]

The underlying vibe of Dharavi is enterprising, lively, and hard-working. I don’t mean to paint a falsely rosy picture of this slum: it has serious problems. It is overcrowded, lacks quality drainage for its sewage, and struggles with outbreaks of illness, especially amongst its children. But these are not despondent or even disenfranchised people—it’s community with a culture and economy all its own. If you look at a map, Dharavi appears to be in the shape of a heart. Hence, its  affectionate nickname: the heart of Mumbai.

A Field of One’s Own

The 20 girls who made up Dharavi’s newest football team are a motley crew with the common desire to do what every kid wants to do: play. They range from age 6 to 12 and come to practice wearing everything from full-length dresses and headscarves to shorts and bare feet. The coaches include Anand (22), Meena (15), and Sunita (17), who traveled down to Mumbai from their rural home in the state of Jharkhand in order to help found this team. These three have all been coaches for Yuwa, an organization that has been wildly successful in establishing seriously competitive girls’ football teams in small villages since[3]. I can only imagine the courage and confidence it must have taken these three energetic young leaders to travel to a city like Mumbai. That said, both Meena and Sunita confessed that they really did not like the city. With its noise, pollution, and frenzy, I can’t say I blame them.

If you were to watch one of the Dharavi girls’ practice (which take place every evening between 6:30 – 8:00), it may appear to be on the brink of chaos. The girls tend to bicker and have trouble following directions. Because it is monsoon season, their field is currently flooded. The space left for them to play is ridden with trash, boys trying to play cricket, younger siblings who tag along, and mud. All of this creates innumerable distractions for the girls; the vast mud pond that used to be their field is just begging to be explored. The coaches have made the very best of the situation, but it’s extremely difficult to keep order or rhythm to practice times. Since that first day, I’ve been attending every practice—even though I’m not the one leading practice, I feel exhausted by the end of it.

But there is real significance to what could be disregarded as a chaotic free-for-all. I had the opportunity to do some interviews with the parents of a couple of the team’s most dedicated players. I learned that before the team started in April, many of the girls had nowhere to go and nothing to do after they got home from school. They stayed in their houses (which consist of either one or two small, multi-purpose rooms), did homework, and then did chores like cooking and housework. And that was it. One mother told me that over the past three months, her 10-year-old daughter Mansi had completely opened up. Before the team, she was quiet and insecure and never spoke up in school. Now, Mansi talks to everybody and has a group of friends she never would have met otherwise. Her teachers have even noticed a difference; she regularly participates and has even become the top student in her Sanskrit class. Mansi’s mother attributes these changes to the fact that she has football as a daily outlet. She never misses a day of practice, even on the weekends.

After a day of interviews, the girls’ behavior at practices made more sense. Of course they were going to be a little unruly! This was their chance to unleash all that energy that had been building all day. They were amongst their friends, they were playing a game they love, and they were outside. Can you really expect them to stand quietly in line?

Reality Gives is currently searching for alternative field space and actively fund-raising for the team. It’s a tough dilemma, though—Dharavi just doesn’t have open space and the field must be close by, otherwise the girls wouldn’t be able to come everyday. Meena, Sunita, and Anand all hope to see the team grow to include more girls and eventually become a competitive team. It’s a dream that I sincerely hope can be realized.

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[1] From now on, I will be referring to soccer as ‘football’. Every other country calls the sport football. I get weird looks when I refer to it as soccer. Amurica, we need to get with the program.

[2] Indian children’s favorite English phrase is “How are you?”, closely followed by “I am FINE!”. I don’t think any other response is taught to the “How are you?” question in their schools. I have yet to meet any Indian child who is not “FINE.”

[3] Check out their website. It is very cool: http://www.yuwa-india.org/