On the wrong side of the railroad tracks

The storage space on the tin roof was tiny, the boxes were warped due to rain from months back, and the tin roof shook as the fifth train went by since I had arrived. I looked down the row of clay and tin houses that bordered the train tracks, as children ran along adjacent tracks chasing tires hit with sticks, mothers beat wet clothes against stone platforms or bathed their children, and some men still passed out, now melting in the sun from the heavy night of drinking. We had stopped to speak with a mother in the women’s group who had no legs, cut off from an accident with a passing train as a child. The slum of Mayapuri in Delhi was not one of the bigger slums, and certainly nothing compared with Dharavi slum of Mumbai (and Slum Dog Millionaire), yet was nonetheless eye-opening. Houses were piled on top of each other and squeezed in between, so that each wall separated two houses. Roofs of tin were covered with bricks, sticks, cartons for storage, trash, or anything else that would weigh the roof down. The inside of the one room house was cozy to say the least, made for five to six people and their clothes, food and other needs, with parents sleeping on the bed and children on the floor or on mattresses.

Mayapuri’s roads had recently been upgraded, thanks in part to Asha - the NGO my supervisor had come to evaluate - so that the main road was concrete and side roads had ditches for water. The ditches were meant to be covered to prevent mosquito breeding but in many plays stood uncovered and unflowing, filled to the brim with dirty, soapy water. Some of the roads had yet to be converted to concrete and it was a jumping maze from one clean area to the next, splashing through mud or dust, walking through dirty water puddles and trash-filled passageways. The kids running around us had no problem as they fought for attention, running through and often falling into the mud, getting right back up and pushing the other kid down, squeezing into the photos we were taking. Clothes filthy, cuts and bruises covering faces and arms yet these kids were nothing but smiles.

The maze was equal for my nose, as different smells competed for recognition by my brain. At times the scent of animals dominated, where as at others metal dust (since the slum was situated next to a metal plant), or sweets and tea, or just of trash that accumulated in muddy piles along the street. In addition to smells, Mayapuri was pocketed with settlements, as most slum residents came from different parts of India in search of work and money. In one section were the Gujurati’s, in another from Uttar Pradesh, in another from Orissa or Bihar – all with different languages, trades, cultures, and work skills. Some helped to build the new upper-class mall, others rickshaw driving, or some in the local metal factory. It is exactly that need for work that drives people to the cities, yet without money they are forced to live in transitory and overcrowded areas, creating a slum. Slums are illegal, yet in places like Mumbai 55% of the population lives in them because other options cost so much money.

The traditional definition of a slum is a run-down area of a city characterized by substandard housing and squalor and lacking in tenure security. Mayapuri is an area of land also owned by the government yet inhabited by squatters, who settle in the very condensed area. As it is so condensed, slums are often subjected to abnormally high rates of disease, most commonly diarrhea (rotavirus), malnutrition, hepatitis, worms (round, hook), tuberculosis, HIV, pneumonia, or at times mosquito-born diseases like malaria, dengue and chickun gunya. As it is illegal, the slum is subject to destruction at the government’s will. Some of Asha’s other slums had been leveled in a matter of hours with a day’s notice because the land was needed, with no assistance in relocation. More than just a slum, the leveling destroys an industrious city-within-a-city, where businesses flourish and essential services provided.

As I looked down the row of shacks strung along the railroad tracks, I recognized the difference in the effect that Asha could make in a slum versus CRHP in a rural village. A slum faces a less united community as it is inhabited by pockets of people and most families are first-generation to the slum. In villages, though, residents know each other and relationships have been built through generations. It is more difficult to map out a slum, coordinate slum dwellers to identify their highest areas of need, and mobilize action when the population is so large, the problems so varied and the community so diverse. And as goals can be longer-term in a village, slums need more immediate impacts and are threatened to be destroyed the next day.

Asha has done great work, using CRHP’s model translated to a slum setting. Each area has a local dispensary, composed of a health clinic and classrooms. On the ground, community health volunteers are elected to monitor the health of 250 houses, performing pregnancies, prenatal care and necessary referrals. Female lane volunteers are further responsible for the health of their local lane of 40-50 houses, reporting to the CHV. Groups of women are organized into Mahila Mandels (for empowerment, decisions, and representation) and adolescents into Bal Mandels (for education on sexual health, diseases and nutrition through street performances). In the dispensary, computer and English classes are set up for the kids, encouraging higher education and career paths. On computers, young kids who cannot read English have learned to input data and write formulas in Excel, create logos on Microsoft Word, create powerpoint presentations with photos and graphics, and use google and check their gmail account – further signs that Indians are just way too smart. Success is on a smaller scale but nevertheless great, as 34 kids from the slum have free rides through college, roads have improved and water cleaned, tuberculosis and malnutrition has reduced, and a strong sense of empowerment, especially among the women who have demonstrated they are not afraid to hold their political representation accountable for problems in their city-within-a-city.