The whimsy of Garba music circled from my open door as I exited the car that had whisked me from Bhachau at around ten that morning. The playfulness of the faint notes filling my ears was in stark contrast to the environs I surveyed: the village that was and remains Adhoi, Kachchh. As the driver turned off the car and the music faded, I was left in silence as I beheld the horrors the Mother can render when, waking from slumber, she decides to stretch her stiff joints.
At 8:46 IST on the morning of 26 January 2001, a previously unknown oblique-slip fault between the Indian and Eurasian Plates in the Kachchh district of Gujarat made itself known, unleashing a 7.7 magnitude earthquake across much of Gujarat and parts of Pakistan. Villages and towns across northern Gujarat foundered, taking 13 to 20 thousand lives in the process. This event marks a dividing day for many people in Kachchh. Engage a person in discussion about the event, and you will likely hear them discuss their lives “before-” and “after-earthquake” as readily as some still use before Christ and anno Domini. It comes as no surprise then that, in year 15 after-earthquake, the people of Kachchh are able to recall the event as if it were yesterday.
Adhoi was one of the villages severely affected by the seismic movements of 26 January. Within the two minutes of the quake, the lives of those in Adhoi were changed forever. After all possible rescues were attempted and survivors had resettled in temporary shelter, the people of Adhoi were given a choice by the government. Their first option was to go back to their village, remove debris and destroyed structures, and start rebuilding the lives they used to lead. The second option was to start afresh: a new life in a new village that the government would help them make.
After deep consideration, the people of Adhoi chose the latter option. Their rationale: there should be a memorial to those friends and family members that were lost. There should be something for future generations to visit and see how easily humans’ structures fall in the face of nature’s movements. And, so, the people of Adhoi left their before-earthquake lives behind in hopes that others could appreciate, in even the smallest iota, their losses from 26 January.
It was to this place of remembrance that I drove one morning in early October. As I looked at the buildings that remained and the shrub-covered foundations of those that once were, for some reason I could not help but think that they served as a visual representation of India’s primary education system. Now, I understand that for most this is a large mental leap that does not really make sense; but, you have to understand that all I had been hearing for the previous three days was passionate people debating ways to increase the quality of education provided to children in rural Gujarat. The very reason I was in Kachchh was for a training module that LAMP (AIF’s Learning and Migration Program) was hosting for its affiliated organizations on the topic of increasing community involvement in schools in the hopes that this would lead to the provision of higher quality public educations. So, for whatever reason, when I saw the first abandoned block of cracked buildings, the thing that came to my mind was the primary education system.
One thing that almost all agree upon is that the Indian public primary education system needs work. Sometimes the issue is attendance by students or teachers. Sometimes the issue is funding or the availability of resources. But one overriding theme I have heard from non-profit workers, scholars, and even my fellow Fellows, is that something has to be done to fix it. So, as I looked at the remains of Adhoi, they reminded me of the education conundrum that faces those who wish to change the current reality of rural education. Much like the survivors of Adhoi, these education stakeholders must make a choice: start anew or try to rebuild.
Unlike with Adhoi, the reality of beginning at square one when the thing to rebuild is the whole of the primary education system is nigh impossible. Thus, the only viable option for stakeholders is to rebuild: to patch the gaps in the foundation, repair the roofs, reinforce the walls, and hope that your effort has created something stronger than it was before.
As I, possibly ill-advisedly, walked onto one of the crumbling terraces of Adhoi, I could not help but feel overwhelmed on two levels—for those who lost everything from before, and for those who continue to not receive a quality education after-earthquake. It was my sincere hope that I would leave Kachchh with a better idea about what LAMP and its partners were doing in Gujarat and what, if anything, my project could add to the stakeholders’ efforts to increase the ability of Gujarati children to receive a quality education within government-run schools. Needless to say, I had a lot to think about and exponentially more to learn.
Caleb- This is an eloquently written post; your link between the earthquake and the education system shows at what level you are analyzing the work that you are diving into in Gujarat! Also, it’s a nice post for the Fellowship, as this links us back to the very roots of both AIF and the Fellowship!