Shishur Sevay

Sonali had a focal seizure Saturday morning while I was coming back from taking the children to school.   The massis called me and all I could understand was that something was wrong with Sonali.  I ran as much as I could, cursing that I didn't get to the gym more often…. and arrived to find her having a right sided convulsion, limp except for the twitching and jerking of the right side of her face, arms and legs.    I threw her favorite soft blanket around her and Seema (our Governing Body secretary who walks the girls to school with me in the morning) and I headed out to find a cab. I called Bijoy to come early, but he lives too far away to come instantly.  Out on the street there were no cabs, as drivers were probably sleeping off the Puja celebrations of the night before.  Then Seema went to find the ambulance, but she took my bag with my wallet.  So there I was standing in the midst of Panchabatatala holding a convulsing baby and realizing I no longer knew where Seema was, or when she would come back.  I also realized I had no money as it was all with her.  I was really afraid — with both the mother me and the doctor me scared Sonali would stop breathing.

The ambulance came — Seema having roused the guys from festival celebration the night before and we rushed off to the hospital.  I called ahead to the pediatrician who took care of Rani there.  By the time we got to the hospital the seizure was subsiding.  We decided to admit her to the PICU and put her on iv's as we didn't know what was going on.  Sonali is about three.  I have old records showing brain ischemia and asymmetry.  She has an odd shaped head, not noticeable with her full head of curls.

The hospital is one of Kolkata's better known places, a private hospital.  It cost Rs. 25,000 to admit her, about $500, which will sound like nothing to those living on a dollar or euro economy, but is a great deal of money for someone living on rupee economy.  Once in the PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit) the team came to start an IV.  That's when I stopped them from re-using a bloody needle and catheter from previous four failed attempts at getting a line into a vein.  In this hospital, and according to the doctors this is true throughout Kolkata, needles are re-used in this way.  I was shocked, really.  I can't imagine being in an intensive care environment for sick children and finding dirty needles being used!

We got through that, but then later a nurse came to put something into the iv.  The syringe said Augmentin, but she was pushing fluid in and out.  I asked what she was doing, and first she said medicine, then changed it to "saline".  The bottom line is that they reuse syringes too.  In this process the nurse also let the IV line hang so the open end was touching the bed and I told her this was no longer sterile.

A young doctor I'd met before on Rani's admissions explained that the staff reuses needles and syringes to save money for patients because the patients are poor, and they are charged for needles and syringes and bed pads, etc. 

There was also the matter of the toilets and the lack of soap.  I saw this on the last admission a few months ago and talked with him about it.  He tried to institute change but it didn't last.  Actually there is no soap in any of the toilets in the hospital (as I'm told) because it isn't the custom. 

I had met the Director of Operations by chance when I was arranging for the C-T scan and called her, thinking she would be aghast at what I'd found (don't laugh too hard at me).  She was defensive and said the hospital was wonderful, hadn't I read in the newspapers?  Now I clearly had lost my cool and said I didn't care what the papers said, but I'm sure they would love to know about the re-use of needles.

I went back to Sonali's bed and tried to be calm.  Another senior doctor there said it's this way everywhere.  She said, "we go abroad to train and then come back to these standards."  I heard again about how India is a poor country.  It's not a poor country but it is a country of poor people.  I talked of transferring Sonali but I no longer knew where to go.  I wanted to take her in my arms and flee, take her to safety, but there was no place to go.  Then I decided I'd stay the night and work as "massi" since visitors weren't allowed but massis were. 

There was one scene in the elevator because the guard tried to take me out of the elevator because my card (given to me by emergency room) said Day/Night Visitor but he said that was only for the lobby.  I said my baby was upstairs and I wasn't leaving and all the other people started yelling at me and I yelled back that I was sick of this place as they used dirty needles and syringes.  I asked if they knew that!  One man, particularly nasty said, "well, anyone can make a mistake!"  My readers have to understand that when doctors "make a mistake" in West Bengal they are likely to be beaten up by the patient's family.

I had called Seema earlier to come and help me decide where we could move Sonali if we had to, so she was in the vicinity, thinking all was well since I had gone back up to see Sonali.  I called her and said I was in the corner of the elevator refusing to leave.  The hospital had also started posting men in black uniforms and black turbans, looking like bar bouncers or the body guards of gangsters, and I wasn't going to be bounced.  Seema came and pushed herself onto the elevator and did a lot of just patting people and telling them to take us up to the PICU — did the, "she's a doctor from America and she is upset about the dirty needles."

I decided then that I had to stay the night with Sonali and play the massi role.  The PICU had said they had to have someone with her as they couldn't manage her, so I became the one, to their dismay.  I came back to Shishur Sevay to say hi to the kids and tell them Sonali was doing well, and to have something to eat as I hadn't eaten all day.  The girls packed a bag for me… picked out a sari, blouse, made sure I had comb, tooth brush… towel and I went back.  But I told Ganga I'd be out for the night taking care of Sonali.  I have to tell her or she gets very upset.  Meanwhile Bornali was already upset that Sonali wasn't there.  She keeps track.

The part that was nice was spending the night with Sonali as I don't usually spend a lot of time with her alone.  To everyone's shock I was able to feed her, change her diapers, etc.  I sang songs to her, stretched out next to her — they allowed that.  The doctor came late at night so we had a chance to talk for a while.  Like everyone else, she just says that's how it is here.  But we also talked about soap and I suggested dispensers since bars walk away.  That part was surreal, talking about dispensers….  

In the evening the nurse brought me a blue gown to put over my sari.  I asked why and she said because i'd be sleeping there and in contact with the baby.  This is true and good, but I asked why only in night.  Actually I'd never seen a blue gown on anyone!  She said in the day the massi didn't have contact with the baby so she didn't need a gown.  This is nuts!  In the day the massi carried Sonali, fed her, sat on bed with her.  I wore the gown and insisted the massi wear one when she came in the morning.  I asked about the child in the other bed and the nurse said the mother didn't touch the child so she didn't need a gown.

This hospital has a School of Nursing.  These nurses and students are from their School of Nursing.  They were working as they had been taught.  I was clear these were lapses in teaching, not intent of any of the staff there.

In the morning Sonali was clearly ready to go home.  The nurse asked if she should give her a bed bath and I said fine.  Then she asked me for the soap and powder to bathe her but of course I didn't know I had to bring it.  After the plain water bath i went to change my sari, brush my teeth, etc.  The bathroom and toilets were flooded but there was a small container of soap!  I had to take the top off the toilet and fill it with water from a mug so it would flush.  But at least I could wash my hands.

I drew the curtains around Sonali's bed and put on my sari…. engaging in what I call the Zen of Sari.  It means you have to relax in order not to get into a battle with six yards of material that wants to go on it's own, not where I want to fold it.  But, once done, my sari was much admired.

I told the staff that my arguments were with the administration, with the head of their nursing school, in the hospital…. and that these were policy issues, re-use of needles, soap for toilets…  The junior doctors I talked to were upset that they are constantly compromising their standards.  They want to leave India because they can't stand what is happening to them, the lowering of their standards.

I have a thing about handwashing, which is to say it's big in my head.  I still see images, drawings, of women dying of puerperal fever and Semmelweiss ridiculed for wanting to disinfect the hands of doctors.  I love building toilets.  In one orphanage here in Kolkata I put in a septic chamber and toilets for girls in the dormitory rooms.  I've built a few toilets in villages.  At heart maybe I'm a "barefoot doctor."   My idols were Albert Schweitzer and Tom Dooley.

Soap is so simple.  It's so cheap. 

By noon Sunday we were ready to go home, and I made my way through the bill department and the pharmacy.  Seema called to see if I needed help and I said I thought I could get through the process without making a scene.  Actually, when I was standing in line at billing a huge fight broke out with men screaming at each other!   I waited…. I'm fine waiting.

Bijoy had brought a massi in case Sonali was staying, and I wanted to leave for a bit. Instead we were packing to leave. We were at Sonali's bedside and I so much wanted to carry her.  I didn't want to always be "white lady carrying bags."  But this young woman really wanted to be the one carrying her out so I let her take Sonali and I followed with all the "stuff." 

Sonali got a huge reception at home, with girls arguing over who would hold hold her and feed her.  She seemed happy with the attention.  Bornali laughed; Ganga just looked relieved to see me and didn't want me to put her down.  Rani seemed fine when I was away, but seeing me got her started… crying, screaming… hitting her head.  So I spent time with her, immitating her sounds, clapping my hand in rhythm to her clapping.  This went on.  She was happy and calm. 

…Which reminds me, Kasturi,  a close friend of mine and of Shishur Sevay has posted pictures and a note and poem about Rani.  http://ashajournal.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-met-rani-in-june.html It is really beautiful.  My dream is for my children to have voice, to not be orphans to the world.  Kasturi has given Rani voice, even as Rani works so hard to create her own voice of communication.  This is what they all work on.  Voice is connection.  We all search for connections.  Our connections are part of how we know ourselves, how we build sense of self, identity, and dignity.  Washing and grooming are part of who we are, what and who we carry with us….

Sonali and her massi in Bed I of PICU. (Blue gown per my instructions)

I've been away from the blog for a month, the longest time since I started.  I've blogged in my head but it's been harder to get the time to write.  To catch up on several fronts:

The new school for one of the girls has been wildly successful!  She is happy and self confident, and loves to go.  She has so impressed the taxi driver that he took out the taxi to take her on a puja holiday — something he has never done before.  He said, "I just thought of that little girl and how much she loves school."   On our way to school the first day…. a girl about ten put her hand in the window for money.  I asked if I should give her money, and of course my girl said yes.  Then I told her that when she grew up and had a job she could give money to children on the street and she beamed.  I told her she could bring children to Shishur Sevay.  Something clicked for her and she saw a future for herself.  My kids are so incredibly caring and generous.

I finished the finances and had the audit completed and had the taxes filed.  These are major accomplishments since documents all need lots of signatures, and there had to be meetings to discuss many aspects of the finances and taxes.  And, mostly I have to do it through others.

I put an ad online and hired an assistant part time.  I am really thrilled.  This is my first real relief from all the responsibilities.  He is working on the annual report, which has to be done so we can file our registration renewal and then apply for FCRA.  I met with the registrar of societies who said a foreigner CAN be on the gov body of the society — contradicting what i'd been told for years.

The girls have had me very busy — actually they consumed me — and I'm not totally sure why it became so bad.  Starting our weakest girl at a good school shook up the order of things and there was a lot of jealousy.  There was more fighting, and more out of control time that kept me here, which was their purpose.   I felt trapped.  No one else wanted to deal with them.  Neither did I at times, but they are mine, this is what I say to myself over and over.  They are mine, so I have to find the solutions.  Part of this is their feeling more secure, and know they won't be kicked out.  So the more they feel secure, the more they will challenge me.

In their anger they repeated the "old lady" term and a re-run of past emotion.  Some of that is still here, and there are still people who would like me to fail.  Too many people are waiting for me to die. 

There have also been magically wonderful times with the girls, the big ones and the little ones.  Today is the last day of the Durga Puja which has really been fun.  Without real family we had to create how we would spend the holiday.  I found people to visit.  Like others in the community we dressed up and visited the beautiful pandals, elaborately decorated temporary temples.  I totally overspent on Puja clothes!!!! I was really angry with myself until I saw them all dressed up and was happy for every rupee I'd spent, every gold thread, deep colored beads of glass, bright pinks and blues and deep red… I will get pictures up soon.

We found a local mela with rides, not crowded as this was not the more elaborate of little parks around.  But it was perfect for us.  Rani rode alone on an child's airplane ride.  Most of the girls went on the ferris wheel.  They stuffed on puchkas. We went back a second day.

We were invited to an ashram where we were truly treated as guests.  I had hired a bus for the day.  We all went except for Sonali who was running a fever, and a massi who stayed home with her.    Everyone was tolerant and even laughed as Rani took the paper plates from the table as I moved her along in her stroller (until we noticed!).  I asked the Sambuddha Maharaj to bless all the children.  He held Bornali on his lap as she smiled at him.  The food was great; there were geese and a field to run in, and lots of kind people.  On the way back the bus had a flat tire, just another bit of entertainment.

Yesterday the girls were invited to Gibi's for the day.  They dressed up again, and truly enjoyed their time with Choto Ma and her family.  Ganga and Bornali went too.  Rani stayed home.  I took Sonali to the doctor as her fever and cough had not improved after three days on antibiotics.  I'd listened to her lungs and thought we just needed to change antibiotics, but I wanted another opinion.  The doctor did not have chamber hours but asked that I bring her to his house.  We are really accepted and supported by so many people her.  We make them smile.

Staffing over the holiday has been very difficult.  The usual seems to be to wait for puja bonus and then leave.  Of course, I like many others think this won't happen, but it did, so we are very short staffed.  It's hard on the kids because the same women who often try to become "mothers" to them disappear overnight without a call.  I've been more and more aware of how vulnerable the girls are to people who indulge in fake emotion that makes them feel good, and then leave.  It was hard with Sonali sick as the massis she knew were all gone! 

Today got off to a bad start.  We were supposed to have three massis but one called Bijoy at 7 to say she wasn't coming.  So I figured we would all pitch in, which we did and it's worked out.  But one of the girls took my keys when I went to shower.  We found them scattered, off the chain, but the key to my money cabinet is gone.  We all tore this place apart but didn't find it, as she stood by watching.  I have her on time out in Rani's crib and I've been clear to everyone she isn't after the money, only trying to make my life miserable and trying to make me angry enough to hit her.  I told her I could beat her but then I'd be the bad person.  I asked her a few times to tell us where it is, but she won't.  She is also the one I pulled out of school for the rest of the year last week as she hit another child in the nose with a scissor.  Before this the school didn't believe me when I said she couldn't manage school in terms of behavior.  I worry about her a lot.  She scratches herself, makes herself bleed.  She is in so much pain.  I'll lock my room tonight to keep her out of the cabinet and tomorrow the carpenter will change the lock.

I've been sorting clothes all day, matching up the three pieces of churidar and salwar sets, and I've been doing laundry.  The girls scrubbed the classroom and all the desks.  The room looks beautiful.  Now they are working on homework, as one of the teachers returns tomorrow morning.

Neither of the two massis today has cooked here before so we did the simplest kitchuri, a rice and dal mix, and the girls cut all the garlic and ginger, potatoes, and cucumber for salad.

The man who cleans the bathrooms is away, went to his village, so I clean the bathrooms.  Someone dropped a towel down the toilet so I reached in and pulled it out.  This is not a glamorous job!

I have been thinking a lot about what this job is, what is needed, what I can delegate and what I can't.  No one else will worry about whether the red outfit runs in the wash and turns the white outfit blotched pink.  I care, so one of the girls and I washed all the outfits.  I taught her to separate the colors, and to wash gently to protect the sequins and stones.  We changed the water after each group of colors.  We hung the clothes on hangers to dry.  Nothing ran, nothing was ripped, no sequins or stones came off.  I've lost a lot of good clothing I bought for the girls because of how they were washed.  This is universal, not about India, or our home, or our staff in particular.

The girls missed lassi, a yogurt drink they usually have mid day, so I said they would have yogurt with rice at night.  I like them to have yogurt every day.  We make it here.  It is healthy.  But it wasn't served.  The massi didn't give it to them.  It's like vegetables — or anything else — staff or babysitters will rarely do as we say (I say this after years of babysitters in the US).  It's part of how I've come to define motherhood, being the one who cares the most, who commits the most, the person to whom it matters most that homework is done, clothes are clean, good food is given and eaten.  It's also what is hardest to find or create in an institution, where  ultimately the children only have each other.  These girls lived together, along with many others.  But they are like a sibling group, their fighting, their caring, their vigilance for fairness, and their acceptance of the oldest as their Didi.

I know what their lives were when they were alone.  So even when they are at their worst, I am grateful they are with me, and not out there hungry, cold, being abused, not getting their yogurt and vegetables, and looking like orphans.  I asked for orphans, not "good" orphans.  This is what I signed up for.  This is really what any parent signs up for.  Kids from any family may act this way.  There are no guarantees with who we give birth to, who we adopt, who we mother in any other form. 

Maybe it's just an illusion to help me through, but I really imagine one day that this girl will say to me, "Mom (she refers to me as mom), I'm really glad you stood by all those years when I was such a jerk."  She might even thank me.  Or, none of the above, but I'm doing what makes me feel right, standing by, steady as I can be, yelling when I'm not so steady, writing when I feel so alone in what I am doing.

What if I take the child I most worry about, the one with the worst prognosis, and give her the best available?  One girl worried me the most. In a year and a half she has not learned any alphabet, numbers, colors, etc.  She has learned to manage and control a pencil and can now do beautiful handwriting, but has no idea what it is.  She has learned to draw.  She is a very good dancer; she can sing and act.  But she is also naive and trusting and would easily follow a stranger anywhere.  She has no sense of danger.  She has limited impulse control… and more.  It's not that anything she does is terrible, but it's hard to imagine her being independent in any way, or even socialized to manage in a combined family marriage.  She is a caretaker by nature — but she can be very stubborn.  The usual track for such a girl is to put her into "vocational training" either in sewing (she puts her clothes on inside out half the time) or beautician — a quick path to prostitution for the vulnerable.

She was in school with the others but couldn't keep up.  So she was moved to nursery in the hope she would learn as she "helped" the teacher. But she was restless and the school never knew where she was or what she was doing.  On paper she is nine years old but is probably about 12.  I moved her out of our classes and had her assisting our special educator with the little ones.  One day the teacher told her to write her name ten times.  She refused, and said, "If you make me do this I will cry and then Mummy will fire you."

There were times I really wished she were not here, that she had not been among the others — which of course made me feel guilty but also forced me to confront the problem of what to do. I asked myself what I would have done if she had been mine by birth or adoption.  In a snap, even a normal child can have a head injury, lose knowledge, memory, lose impulse control…. Yes, I could have been faced with raising such a child, and now I was.

Then last week I saw a news story about a special school for mentally disabled children.  It had a big focus on dance, music, theater — social adjustment –and rehabilitation.  It looked like a place full of resources, and I assumed it would be very expensive.  Like an epiphany, I suddenly thought, "what if I take my most worriesome child and give her the best?"  This looked like a place I'd send my "own" to.  I went on line and found more info, and called the number given, which turned out to be the founder.  The school is 20 years old.  We had a good conversation and he said to visit this week. 

Yesterday I took my trouble child to visit the school.  She was such a perfect young lady.  I was so proud.  She wants so much to go to school.  The others want her to go too.  There was a happy send-off when we left for the interview, with our teacher telling her to make sure she answered everything right.  In the car I assured her that this wasn't a school where you had to answer right and there were other children who had trouble learning.  And this is exactly what it is!  This was the first time I'd heard the term dyslexia here.  These are educators.  They know the territory.  They work with a variety of problems, autism, retardation… more.. but they speak the language of education in its broadest sense. 

The day was also a chance to see how much she has changed in a year.  She was so sweet and graceful.  She clearly was the better functioning of the children, but reached out to each one.  She is used to children with handicaps.  In one class we visited, she drew a fish, and then a flower.  In another class a girl was trying to write letters of the alphabet — kaw, the one letter she knows.  The school has a physiotherapy room, with treadmill, trampoline, stat. bicycle, which she sat on — and I took a picture.  Back home at rest time she sat with a circle of the others around her, telling about the school. 

This child could never have made it through the day, the interview, the visit, without the intense teaching and guidance she has received from one of our teachers.  Helping, socializing this child has been a mission on the part of a teacher who sees good in everyone but knows it takes some doing at times to get there, to get them to that good, to be able to see that good.  She has taught the girls meditation, and yoga, and also sitting up straight in class, keeping hands on desk, asking to leave or enter the class — she is strict about handwriting.  These are all reasons I am happy to have her here.  At times the girls didn't like her, her discipline, strictness.  I told them this was life — that some teachers you like and some you don't — but you have to do the work.  They also threatened her that I'd fire her, which they have tried with everyone (it's never happened).  But I set up a system so that every time a girl complained about a teacher, the teacher got a ten rupee bonus.  

The major obstacle to this school is the distance, but having decided it was what I wanted for her, I looked for solutions.  For now actually, this teacher will take her every morning by public transportation.  This will be a chance for more learning, for learning how to behave on buses, how to cross streets, how to deal with peeking eyes and wandering hands.  Most important it will be a chance for talk about the past, about the change in her life from being on the street watching buses and autos to being on the bus, riding in the auto.  "What does she think about when she sees a child on the street, or a mother and child on the sidewalk, or beggars reaching in the windows?"

Shishur Sevay is about learning, about learning by the children, learning by us — I think about this girl.  How many people walked past her and did not see her, did not help her?  She doesn't remember where she is from or the names of her family.  Now she has us, and this is the question:  What happens if we give the best to the child who is the worst?   We will learn.  But it's not just about outcome.  Everyone here is excited!  Everyone is filled with hope because we are not abandoning or giving up on the child who is so difficult.  "Mummy is sending her to a good school!!!!"  Shishur Sevay is also about hope, which at times can be contagious.

"Mummy, We want to have a meeting."  It was about seven last evening.  I was at the computer, several girls were doing homework in the room, on the couch, the floor… They whispered and I tried to find out what was going on.  They kept looking at one another, and then our oldest said quite determinedly, "Mummy, we want to have a meeting." 

"All of you?" I asked.  This was a first and I really was clueless, but I did know something important was happening.   The girls called the others, and then we all sat on the floor, eight girls and me.  I wished I could have gotten a picture.

Our oldest, Mother India, spoke for them all.  They had been afraid to tell me, but she convinced them we could all talk.  The gist is that a few of them have talked with the boy who lives in the house behind us.  I've written before about "Romeo" as I call him, because at one time staff was very upset that he watched them play in the garden, and there was an attempt to keep the girls inside all the time.  I had made light of it all, even putting on our picture wall a snapshot of him peeking out his window.  One afternoon last week he was blasting rock music when I was in the garden.  I called for him to turn it down, which he did right away.  This could have been anywhere in the world, except that in the US the music might have been turned higher in spite.

He has chatted with the girls, and they with him, and with his mother.  The boy and the mother both said our home is nice, that their mother (me)is good.  The girls said the boy was nice and he wanted them to refer to him as Dada, the term for brother.

I put them at ease immediately, telling them how happy I was that they came to me, and then telling them I thought they had done very well.  They want to call him Dada — so fine.  I told them what would worry me…. if he used bad language, if he tried to get them to come outside the gate, and if he tried to touch them.  Until their incarceration in the government orphanage they had always lived also among boys and men.  I want them to be safe, and the best way is to give them skills, not isolate them behind walls.  We also talked about politeness, being friendly to neighbors, all of which is part of the culture in which they grew up…

We used to need a translator, but we are really fine on our own now.  Reasons for past meetings?  The first I recall was to dispel fears that I would die and leave them having to beg.  They didn't come to this on their own, but they heard all sorts of predictions about my leaving, everything from cancer to my deciding to leave.  So I took care first of the practical and explained about Wills and that there would be money to take care of them.  Then I told them there was no reason to worry, that my health was fine, and that I was here because I love them. 

I told again the story of my walking along a street in NY and hearing them call to me for help and how I'd said, "OK, I'm coming to find you!"  I tell them about selling my house and coming to Kolkata and telling the government I was looking for my girls, and then standing outside the institution and waving to girls behind the grilles, and waiting and waiting, and going to the government over and over, and praying to Kali and Sarmu to bring my children home…. and then their coming home to Shishur Sevay.  They love the story, a piece of their histories, a thread of empowerment, that they called to me and I came to find them.

Another meeting was for us all to talk about one of the girls who was disruptive, took things from others, and fought.  We worked out a plan, with her participation, and it worked for a while…. then we had another meeting…. and now things are quiet.  When I run out of ideas I ask them for help.

Teaching discipline, and self discipline are major priorities, but I also recognize that most of the girls were in charge of their lives, and that of their siblings at times.  So I respect their sense of autonomy while insisting they learn self control and restraint.  It's all about "attending to them" in the various forms they present — much of it about cutting nails, helping with homework, admiring art work, watching them dance, settling disputes — which is easy because I rarely understand so I just say babababa and send them away. 

Bababa is a very important word here.  It's what I use to describe what goes on in their minds when they are angry, out of control, can't study, are "bad." They tell me about their bababa.  When my kids from the US visited and some of the tension spilled out at Shishur Sevay, I just told the girls we were having bababa.  I told them everyone has bababa, and we have to learn what to do with it, how to manage it.

Walking to school a few days ago one of the girls told me about her bababa.  She had been failing all her math work.  I asked about whether she had bababa in her head and learned that she was feeling terrible about her looks, her dark skin, her eyes… so we talked about skin color, and prejudice, and stupidity, and how others try to hurt people…. Some bad stuff had been going on among the girls.  But also, a month ago when we went to visit a temple, some beggars there were pointing her out and talking about how dark she is.

When we got to school SeemaDi took my hand and showed her, brown and white, two hands, friends… and I reminded her of her two older didis, brown and white, sisters — they love each other.

Truth?  She has not gotten a wrong math answer since!!!!!  I wish it were always so simple….  Her teacher is amazed… thinks she was holding back.  But no, it was bababa in her head.  That's the psychiatrist part of me here, as well as mother — knowing a lot about bababa in your head and how it can intercept good thinking and good work.  I know.  It's part of what I love about being here with these children.  I want this to be a bababa-free-zone.