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Sowing the Seeds of Hope

By Kalai Murugesan '03

It’s March in Andhra Pradesh; the days are long, the sun scorching. In spite of the heat, Shamalamma[1], a woman about sixty years of age, is walking briskly towards the nursery that she and two other women started just a few weeks ago. I follow as closely as I can, picking my way through a dusty terrain full of brambles that do not seem to faze my guide. As we cross over a small rocky hill, my eyes fall upon a clearing about half an acre in size, where hundreds of 10” plastic bags stand side by side. The bags are filled to the brim with what appears to be nothing more than some dry red clay, but in these bags are small plants that Shamalamma and her partners hope will reap them a hefty reward for all of their hard work and effort.

Once we reach the clearing, Shamalamma sets down the PVC piping that she has carried for the last kilometer and sets off to find the landowner from whom she is leasing both land and water. She locates Jangaiah and shows him the tube that her group has purchased to connect to his borewell. After we unravel the pipe, Jangaiah explains that connecting the pipes will be futile because the size of Shamalamma’s piping appears too small to fit the larger one coming from the borewell. Undeterred, Shamalamma and I quickly set about attempting to fix the pipes only to find that Jangaiah’s observation was in fact correct. A bit dejected, Shamalamma and her partner Jhangerbe-amma sit in thought. After a few minutes of discussion, the two women stand and make their way over to the clearing with shovels. Though the water problem remains unresolved, they still have other bags that must be assembled.

I observe carefully as the women sift through a mound of dark, rich soil. From a distance, the heap of soil looks enormous, but as I watch the women separate the usable soil from the chunks of rocks and sticks embedded throughout, I watch the pile diminish. After about half an hour, Kalamma, Shamalamma’s other partner, arrives. Shamalamma and Jhangerbe-amma are busy clearing more land for bags of soil that have to be filled; Kalamma is working to fill bags. I bend down to hold one of the small 10” plastic bags steady for Kalamma as she pours a mixture of dusty red clay and dark soil into a bag. Today the three ladies will try to make at least a hundred bags like this. They have a total of 10,000 such bags that must be finished.

It’s now 2 o’clock. Having been in the midday sun for several hours, the women are hungry but more importantly out of water. I offer them my water bottle, but they refuse—worried that I might not have enough if they take their fill. I insist. They drink sparingly and return my bottle to me. Since I must catch the 3 o’clock bus back to my village, Shamalamma decides to walk me back to her home in Japal where she tells me we will eat lunch together. I am excited by the prospect of a home-cooked meal, but hesitant to overstay my welcome. However, Shamalamma refuses to hear of me leaving without lunch, and so I agree.

Our meal is a heaping plate of rice accompanied by a small ladle of tomato curra (a stew of tomatoes and spices) and a teaspoon of chilli pachidi (a finely ground mixture of chillis, salt, and spices). The rice is warm; the curra and pachidi, specialties in this region of Andhra, are no doubt spicy. Hungry, we eat quickly at first. After a few minutes, though, we begin to talk about Shamalamma’s family.

Explain what the savings group is.

Shamalamma’s husband died some years ago from an unnamed illness. Her eldest son Mahesh died only five years ago in an accident; he left behind three children, the eldest of whom Lila was born with cerebral palsy. Shamalamma and her eldest son’s wife now work to support his three children—all of who are under the age of twelve. The head of a large household, Shamalamma tells me that previously she had never worked outside of her home, but now in addition to her savings group she runs a small side business selling locks and other goods. Though much older than most working women in her village, Shamalamma is hoping that the savings of her nursery business will enable her to provide her family with a better income.

Hoping to find out more about the nursery, I ask Shamalamma to tell me about one of her typical days. Every morning, Shmalamma and her two partners meet at someone’s house—Jhangerbe-amma lives nearby in the Muslim basthi[2], Kalamma lives farther off in the poorer, but predominantly Hindu basthi—to decide what must be done for the sake of the business. Sometimes this means splitting up: while one or two women might go to a nearby town for supplies, the other may go to talk to their loan officer. At all costs, someone (or all of them) will go to the nursery to clear more land and fill more bags every day. They must assemble these bags before the end of the dry season arrives, so that the plants will be ready by the time monsoon season (June through August) ends. The process seems simple and yet full of uncertainties.

I ask Shamalamma what she will do if the plants do not grow properly. She is silent for a moment but smiles warmly as she says that there is no other alternative—she has saved for three years to start this business and now must try to make it succeed for the sake of her family. Towards the end of lunch, I ask Shamalamma if she sees herself as a role model for other women in her community. Here she is firmer when she says that all the women in her village are role models and must learn to support one another. In spite of their challenges, the women in her group are all struggling towards the same goal—to give their children and grandchildren an education and opportunities in life that they never had.

Despite her modesty, Shamalamma and the group of women, with whom she works, are an anomaly. Of all the self-help groups (SHG) I have visited in the last few months, Shamalamma’s SHG is the only one I have seen where women of different backgrounds have put aside their differences to work together. Her determination, humility, and wisdom have brought out her natural abilities as a leader. The fact that these qualities are changing the roles that women in Japal have traditionally played is truly inspiring. My continued presence at Shamalamma’s nursery is not required, but I know I will be back in the course of a few days. In the end, I will be there not so much to learn about the nursery, but to draw strength and knowledge from Shamalamma’s experience to share with the women in other villages.

Did You know?

Indicorps offers a variety of programs and opportunities that encourage leadership and civic engagement. While the fellowship focuses on empowering people willing to do whatever it takes to affect change, we also have local volunteer programs in India, an established internship program, an emerging domestic program, an effort to engage late-careers seniors in development, an online volunteer opportunity site, and more....

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If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.

- Lila Watson