"We met at a Starbucks," Georges says. "We happened to be sitting next to each other."
"We then bumped into each other at gym a few days later," Jenny explains.
"It was then that we realised that we lived in the same apartment block!" Georges enthuses.
Destiny? Love at first sight?
Yes.
But not in the way you are thinking.
This is part of the remarkable story of how Georges Hilaul and Jenny Tjoa, co-founders of Inspiration Factory Foundation, met.
Both had a passion for fighting poverty. From their chance meeting, the foundation came to life.
Inspiration Factory works in Jakarta slums - educating and empowering the children of the slums for a better tomorrow.
"It all started when I asked a child who lived in this slum what she wanted to be when she was big. Her answer was…" Jenny pauses as she tells the story.
Her answer was: ‘I want to be nothing'.
How can any child grow up with a vision to "be nothing"?
It was this conversation that catapulted Jenny into action.
Georges was a professional magician in the Netherlands. In fact, he was a protégé of a world-famous Dutch magician. Then he left it all to move to Jakarta with the sole objective to serve the city's poor.
If you're going to perform a disappearing act it might as well be on poverty.
It was love at first sight for the children of Jakarta's slums for Georges and Jenny, and they have given up a lot to run the Inspiration Factory fulltime.
"Why do you do it?" I ask Jenny.
"The need is so great," she says. "Everyone has a gift. We get given gifts to then give them to others."
Jenny's gifts include a degree from an Australian university, a profitable career in food technology in nearby Singapore, and a family background of relative privilege.
"These are things given to me to enable me to benefit others," she says.
What about the bad days on the job? I was expecting to hear about funding problems and money issues.
"The bad days are when one of the children dies," Jenny's voice bravely quavers. Then she turns our attention back to the foundation's motto and compass.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
Dreams, Dignity and a Muddy Jakarta Slum
I recently spent a Sunday in a Jakarta slum.
There had been heavy rain that morning. In fact, the plane that I arrived in had had a bumpy landing.
Rain means something different to those who live in a slum. It means flooding. And mud.
As a Jakarta novice I somehow found the right place. There was no address given. Slums don't have numbered street post-boxes. Or even street signs. The map I had been given as directions suggested my destination was on a highway.
In fact, it was under the highway.
Google maps doesn't show the entire community of people who live under highway bridges. There their homes are. Between the concrete pillars.
Under the bridge it was dark. Some men loitered. Water dripped from the highway above. Mud puddles complicated the access. Did I have the wrong place?
Then I found my friends. My friends run a foundation for the children of this particular slum.
"Every child deserves a dream," my friend said.
The children who attend the foundation have little. Most have parents.
"Some of the fathers are missing. Some of the mothers work undesirable professions," my friend told me. One little child seemed to be more physically parented than he should have been.
The Inspiration Factory Foundation reaches out to 300 children who live under the highway. I could scarce believe so many stayed in such a cramped place.
Without any chance for school, the foundation and its volunteers give classes on a Sunday morning. Each child is given a brand new uniform—in bottle green. And a matching school bag.
Sunday admission to school requires three things: be in uniform; be on time; bring your good conduct badge (a sticker system to encourage proper behaviour). There was 100% compliance.
About 60 kids filed in. Happy. Laughing. Beaming. Despite the rain, 60 suns arrived.
I was struck by the order and the cohesion of it all. The school lined up. Then the portable speakers pumped out the national anthem. Sixty little voices chorused in unison - at the tops of their voices. Then the Indonesian flag was solemnly escorted and ceremonially raised.
Proud of their school. Proud of their nation. I was proud of them. In time, they will be proud of themselves.
Each child of the foundation gets issued with a "dream book". In it they write what they want to be when they are big. Their world starts at the highway and ends at the busy perpendicular road to the west. They know nothing else. All the professions they know belong to garbage men, small-time knick-knack vendors and sex workers.
At the school on Sunday, they get taught what other jobs exist in the world. Each week's lesson gets linked back to their dream on page 1 of their dream book.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
How did today's lesson help me get to my dream? It's that question they have to answer in their books every Sunday.
Next we broke into groups. Materials were distributed. The kids made their own board games; and dice - all to take home. Such enthusiasm and delight. Some English was taught.
We coloured. We laughed. They laughed at me (in Indonesian). They asked me questions (in Indonesian). I answered in English. They mimicked, desperate to learn a few phrases.
And all the while I could feel them absorbing something. It was like their little hearts were extracting something from me, as if I were a well that they were drawing from. I think they were drawing dignity.
School that day ended with a birthday ceremony. The last Sunday of every month all those with a birthday in that month get called to the front. Then they get given a gift. In most cases it's their only birthday present for that year.
"Some of the children don't know when their birthdays are. Their parents don't know either. So we have to allocate them a date of birth," my friend whispered to me as they were giving out the gifts.
I can hardly think of a more powerful gift than giving a child a birth day.
They don't smile when they get their gift. It's too big to smile. Something far deeper than happiness occurs. It's dignity. And dignity doesn't make you smile. It swells your heart, and gives you a certain kind of power, and makes you feel strong.
The lie exists that if you live in a slum you are not entitled to worth. A lie believed often enough becomes the truth.
But for every lie there exists an antidote.
The truth is that every child born to a slum has deep value and worth. The truth is that every child has equal importance in the world. And the truth is that every child born to a slum needs someone to tell them that.
Without agents of truth the lies are victorious.
Perhaps it should be our dream that every child sees the truth that they deserve to dream.
And to have a dream and reach up high for it, Hope needs to stand on the shoulders of its friend, Dignity.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
"Every child deserves a dream," she continues. "Everyone has a purpose. Everyone has greatness in them."
Daring to dream
Inspiration Factory is a foundation that dares. It dares to dream for the forgotten children of the slums.
If Georges and Jenny dare to dream for the children, perhaps the children will dare to dream for themselves.
Each week the children's classes include English and basic literacy. They are given a "dream book", in which they articulate their dreams and hopes. Each class gets related back to their dream.
"How did today's class help you take steps toward your dream?" It's a question they answer every week.
"We took the children to the movies recently," Georges says. "Part of the trip was so that the children could see a world bigger than the four corners of their slum."
A luxury mall – with a modern multiplex cinema - is a short walk from the children's slum.
"Part of the outing was so that they could see what other jobs are out there."
He means jobs other than garbage collectors, road-side knick-knack vendors and sex workers, which is often all that the children are exposed to.
"Do you know what the highlight of the kiddies' visit to the mall was?" Georges' eyes flashes.
Obviously, it was the movie.
It was the washrooms. We couldn't get them out of there.
The washrooms?
"They had never seen running water before. They kept turning the taps in delight. Water on demand. Fresh water. And toilets. You see there's this thing called a toilet, you could press this button, and the toilet flushes."
"We battled to get them back into the movie," Jenny explains.
And the stories continue to pour out. Stories about how some of the children do not know their own birthdays.
Some of their parents just didn't care enough to remember that day of days. So Inspiration Factory gives them a birthday. Because someone has to remember and celebrate the day you were born.
The morning after I returned home to Singapore, I got up early, while it was still dark.
And I sat on my balcony, overlooking the world. And I began to cry. I had to cry.
At first I cried tears of sadness for little children mired by loveless poverty. Then I began to cry tears of gratitude. Someone was out there - Georges and Jenny - remembering the forgotten, loving the loveless and enriching the poor.
While the world goes to the movies to see super-heroes, other kinds of super-heroes take kids from slums to the movies.
It was one more reminder that in man's search for greatness, true greatness is hidden in the most daring of all places: where love reaches out to the unloved.
Support the Inspiration Factory Foundation by donating, volunteering or getting your group or company involved.
