Paula Nelsen had a wonderful time in Gurap. Here is her story:

I wake up up to music playing on the loudspeaker outside. I dress and hurry down the stairs from the girls’ dormitory building. A hundred girls, all ages, are running down with me, outside, into the cool, dark morning, just at dawn. Girls are taking my hands to help me walk over the uneven ground, smiling up at me. We arrive at the main community building where everyone settles down on tarps, sitting close together on the floor, wrapped up in their colorful shawls.The five nuns, the priests, and we five visitors are seated on the chairs in the back. 

The Jesuits celebrate a Mass that is a celebration of the Divine for everyone. We all have different religions and beliefs – Santali, Hindu, Muslim, and Christian – and yet we are all celebrating together as we join the children in song: three hundred little voices filling the room with joyous sound. Everyone is celebrating the Divine in their own hearts. It is one big family of God.

After the celebration, the three hundred children go outside, single file, slip into their sandals, and run laughing, arms around each other, down through the courtyard. Then they line up in rows, say a prayer together, and have a breakfast of of steaming rice porridge. They eat while sitting all around the courtyard, gathered in groups, always helping the little ones. Afterwards they wash their plates and do their chores. Each child has a housekeeping job to do. All the while, they laugh and run. After their chores, jackets and shawls are put away, books are gathered, and off they go to begin their school day. 

At that moment, the courtyard is suddenly transformed from a bustling, laughing, colorful sight to quiet—as everyone is tucked away in their classrooms.  

I sit for a while, observing the change, but the quiet does not last long. I am sitting under a large tree in the shade, and the birds are making a huge cacophony of sounds: tweets, chirps, squawking, new bird songs I don’t hear at home. I look up and watch. There must be hundreds of birds all living together in that tree, fighting, mating, and carrying on, just like a little city. They swoop out and in and all around and then back to their group of friends on their branches. Such close quarters! Such an orchestra! 

I slip into the back of a math classroom. Two girls move over and motion for me to sit with them on their bench and share their desk. The teacher welcomes me, and the children, excited to see me, all smile and say, “Good morning!”  The teacher is diminutive and has the children’s complete attention. She asks questions, incorporating some English, and they readily answer questions or write on the board – a very attentive class.The desks are closely packed together in a small classroom, maybe forty children to a class. It feels cozy and very welcoming. After class, I sit on top of a desk with a few seventh grade girls. They are trying hard to speak English with me. We talk of their dreams, of school, and what they want do when they grow up. They have wonderful ideas: nurse, doctor, teacher, police officer. It is a struggle for us to get our ideas across because I cannot speak Santali but they really want to practice their English with me and we all try very hard, with a lot of laughter.

At noon, school is paused. Kids pour out into the courtyard, laughing, tumbling, squealing, many with their arms around each other, sharing stories and jokes. It is time for lunch. Everyone finds their own bowl and lines up, we all say a prayer together, and each is served their hot rice, lentils and vegetables, one by one. It is very organized and they never push or shove. After lunch, play begins: running, rolling hoops with sticks, playing ball, some girls sitting in groups under the trees. The boys wash their clothes in the pond, and the girls have a separate area. The children’s clothes are clean and spread in the sun, on fences, on bushes, and construction piles, so many colors laying out to dry! 

Meanwhile, we five tour the grounds and walk up to the new school building. At that time one wing is done; the rest is still under construction. From the top floor we can see for miles.

Everyday at three o’clock we adults slip away to our tiny dining room and squeeze in around the large table together: the three or more Jesuits, the two volunteers, the five of us, and the five sisters who live in a nearby convent, who teach and help the children. It is Tea Time. That’s when we share some wonderful beer and a little cake that the sisters have made. They all tell us fascinating stories of their history and their life there at Gurap with the children. 

After dinner, it’s getting dark. Suddenly the music begins as the lights go on to illuminate the courtyard, and the dancing begins! Lines of children snake around,  in long chains, linked arm in arm, like line dancing in a barn dance. The Jesuits dance, the volunteers dance, the five little nuns dance, Father Pat dances, all five of us, and all the children, dancing and dancing, arm in arm, under the trees and the birds and the cover of stars.

I was transported. 

Finally we all climb into our beds, very tired and happy. The crickets are singing and the occasional bird chirps as we all slip into peaceful sleep.