Childhood in the hills

 

Children playing football in Monyakshu, Nagaland against the backdrop of other Konyak Naga villages across the valley.

Childhood in the hills.

Balancing acts on mountain-tops,

Where home is a tightrope,

Valleys of hope and dearth,

Beckon from either side.

Playing on land that moves,

Carrying baskets across shifting crops,

A world of spirits and one of futures,

Meet in an overwhelming rush.

Holding on, letting go,

Of words of grandmother's wisdom,

Forgotten on the meandering road,

between church and school.

Where birds are friends,

Because they are fun to shoot,

And love for the forest lives,

In blood, food, and memory.

Greeting green men with guns,

Who live on their playgrounds,

And march unabashedly before they disappear,

Behind walls of pride and fear.

Birthed with the bamboo,

Learning from the logdrums,

Facing the new world,

They ask, "Will you listen?"

To say that this journey of trying to bring "nature education" to the children of the hills has been incredibly humbling would be an understatement. Peeling layers of ignorance and arrogance off my mind as I discover the unbelievably rich world of children growing up in Northeast India, with their daily lives moving between jhum fields, tin-roof homes, tiny schools, and big churches. I can feel a growing recognition that I carry the responsibility of understanding their reality within socio-political contexts, cultural histories, and lived experiences that I may not even have the faculties to understand yet. My adult friends from the Northeast who are a source of endless inspiration are a testament to how powerfully creative and genius changemakers the children of the hills can be. So much of practising any kind of "education" is to be inspired by children and their lives.