Volunteering in India

Group of Paharia children

The week before I arrived, they found a cobra in the kitchen. I'm not a snake person (nor a bug person for that matter) and when I'd agreed to volunteer for a month in the foothills of Jharkhand, in India, I hadn't realised that tree snakes, cobras and scorpions would be part of the deal.

Not that it would have stopped me. As an undergraduate in Communications and Development, I wanted first-hand field experience, and Dakshinayan promised me just that. Cheo Project was based amidst a group of small villages of mud and grass huts, home to the Paharia tribes. Considered 'untouchables' in the Indian caste system, these communities survive by hunting, gathering and cultivating maize. Maize is roasted on campfires and eaten all day. Every day.

My life in the village was a stripped-back existence. I was teaching rudimentary English in an informal school to a group whose numbers ranged from three to thirty students, depending on how much work there was to do at home or in the fields. Three times a day I carried buckets of water from the well, which was the only water source and a 20-minute walk away. I learned how to make chapatti (bread) and how to keep the cookfire going in the rain, so I was able to help out with meals. I walked on the narrow forest trails from village to village for meetings, classes or visits. I'd trek the three hours to the weekly market and back up the hill with supplies. Checking my sleeping bag for scorpions and the tree near the outhouse for deadly snakes became second nature. Such drastic adjustments to my lifestyle were quickly absorbed into routine. What required more time was fitting in.

For a while, the women of the villages gave me the cold shoulder when we met at the well to do our washing. But as the weeks passed they began to smile...

Unsurprisingly, having suffered the extremes of prejudice, the Paharia are wary of outsiders. It's only after you've been there for a while that cautious attempts at friendship are made. The children accepted me quickly and I was soon playing games with them and accompanying them on visits to the river. The kids I taught were gregarious and often bubbled with laughter, despite the poverty that showed in distended tummies and threadbare clothing. The oldest students were perhaps seven years of age (though the Paharia don't keep track of birthdays) and often came to class with baby siblings on their hips; the responsibility they took for these charges was impressive.

For a while, the women of the villages gave me the cold shoulder when we met at the well to do our washing. But as the weeks passed they began to smile and exchange jewellery with me. They even became determined to give me the wide tattoo across my collar bone that they all proudly wore (the offer was infinitely flattering, but I ultimately shied away from it). Once the women had accepted me, the men did too.

The Paharia work hard. They are largely uneducated and malaria, tuberculosis and alcoholism are rife in their community. But their determination and motivation make charity seem as patronising as it often is. Cheo had originally been a government-run project focused on doling out clothing and building wells and buildings - whether the locals wanted and needed these things or not. When the funding ran out, the government pulled out and the project fell into the hands of the locals. It is now a local initiative that strives to meet the needs and aspirations of the communities, focusing on sustainability and self-reliance. In my mind, this is development as it's meant to be - the only thing holding it back is the lack of funding so often faced by small, independent projects.

Unsurprisingly, having suffered the extremes of prejudice, the Paharia are wary of outsiders.

When I arrived in the forest, I wondered how - or even if - I'd be able to contribute. It goes without saying that I left with much more than I gave. I've often heard people grumble about having to pay for a volunteering stint, but the monetary contribution I made to the community covered the cost of my stay and helped to fund the project's initiatives. In many respects that was my most tangible contribution. But I also taught the children some English letters, numbers and words. I showed them how to hold a crayon (some of them had never encountered crayons and paper). I taught songs, held babies while their mothers received treatment, helped distribute medicine and assisted in a tree-planting project. I also believe that volunteers can raise the confidence of the Paharia by showing that there are people who are open to learning from them and sharing with them. Overall, my contributions to the project were as limited as one should expect in a short-term volunteering placement. But was it worth it? Every single moment.

One evening a loud rattling noise came from the kitchen. The story of the cobra flashed through my mind. The project worker was away and had left me with instructions to 'self-cook, self-teach, and self-care' and so I marched purposefully toward the cement room that housed saucepans, firewood and provisions. And what does one do when confronted by a cobra? Thank God, I never found out - instead I found a goat with a metal bucket stuck on its head.