Shanti – Where Future Counts Instead of Origin

When I first meet Binisha, she's sitting on her caregiver's lap, laughing. A cheerful child with lively eyes. But a subtle scar on her neck, peeking out from under the collar of her school uniform, tells a different story: As a toddler, Binisha was «rented out» to begging gangs to finance her alcoholic father's addiction.

Today, she is four years old and lives at Shanti Sewa Griha in Kathmandu – a unique facility with a school, boarding facilities, medical care, workshops, a music school, and a clinic. Shanti was founded in 1992 and offers protection, education, and community to children and adults who would otherwise fall through the cracks in Nepal: lepers, orphans, members of the so-called lower caste Dalits, people with disabilities – or, as in Binisha's case, children no one wanted.

A beginning amidst exclusion

Shanti was founded by Marianne Großpietsch, then a foreign correspondent in Japan. She first traveled to Nepal in the 1970s. A chance encounter with a leprosy-affected family in the village of Khokana led to her sponsoring a child. When this child was later expelled from school because of his ethnic origins, she promptly brought him to Germany. There, he became the first Nepalese Waldorf student.

However, this experience in Nepal never left Grosspietsch's mind. She returned and, with relatively little of her money, founded a center that welcomes people without exclusion – guided by the basic principles of Waldorf education.

Today, around 140 children attend the school. They either live in the building's residential groups or arrive by school bus from surrounding neighborhoods or slums. Many of them come from families affected by leprosy – a disease that is still prevalent in Nepal due to poor hygienic conditions and a lack of medical care. Leprosy causes nerve damage, often leading to disfigurement. Social stigma is strong – even for children whose parents are affected.

A large proportion of the students belong to the so-called Dalit caste. Dalit means oppressed or broken—it is the self-designation of people who are at the very bottom of the traditional Hindu caste system and are considered untouchables. Although discrimination is prohibited by law, many Dalits are still excluded from social life today. They often work in low-paying jobs considered unclean, live in segregated settlements, and have little access to education or medical care.

Other children are half- or full- orphans, have been abused, neglected, or grew up with disabilities. In such cases, state schools often refuse to accept them – even in the capital, Kathmandu. For children from these backgrounds, Shanti is often the first and only chance to learn – and to be seen as human beings with dignity. At Shanti, diversity is part of everyday life. Children with and without disabilities live and learn together. In Binisha's class sits a boy with cerebral palsy. His muscles are severely cramped, and his arms have limited range of motion. The person sitting next to him helps him paint: he guides his hand carefully over the paper. No pity. No amazement. Simply taken for granted.

Living inclusion

«We don't talk about origins, but about the future», says Apsara Karki, managing director of Shanti. The facility is currently home to 75 children on a permanent basis. They grow up in supervised residential groups led by experienced nursing staff. The remaining children live with their families, mostly in poor conditions – many come from slums where several generations share a single room.

On holidays, when some of the staff are on vacation, the older children take on responsibilities: They prepare breakfast, help with laundry, and look after the younger children. They grow up feeling needed.

Up until sixth grade, the children work without textbooks. Instead, they create their own notebooks – with drawings, essays, and observations. Lessons are divided into blocks: For three weeks, the classes devote themselves intensively to a topic – biology, mathematics, or literature.

The approach follows Waldorf pedagogy: First, observe, then describe – in one's own words. Theoretical knowledge is introduced later. From seventh grade onwards, state curricula are also taken into account so that students can obtain official qualifications. The daily routine is structured rhythmically. Main lessons are followed by craft, artistic, and sports activities: sewing, pottery, woodwork, music, and gardening. Particularly gifted children receive individual support – some now dance on stage, others train on national sports teams.

A school that heals

Many children arrive with deep emotional wounds. The school works closely with the residential groups. Music therapy, rhythmic exercises, storytelling – all of these help to reduce fears. A girl whose mother bled to death during childbirth didn't speak a word for months. Only through singing together did she gain confidence. Today she helps out at the kindergarten. Her dream: to become a teacher.

Around 500 families regularly receive food packages, medical care, educational opportunities, and legal advice. All of this is financed solely through donations organized by Marianne Grosspietsch in Germany. She calls the team in Kathmandu daily, writes reports, and plans new projects.

The Nepalese government does not support the work. Fees are often charged for permits. Shanti requires approximately one million euros annually. This is used to finance teachers, nursing staff, meals, school supplies, medical camps, and even uniforms.

Medical help on four wheels

A special part of Shanti's work is the mobile health camps. Several times a month, a team of doctors, dentists, gynecologists, and physiotherapists travel to remote regions – for example, to a brick factory where hundreds of families live and work in precarious conditions. There, they treat up to 600 people daily: free of charge, professionally, and respectfully.

The support doesn't end with graduation. Children who want to study continue to receive support. Currently, over 30 young adults are completing training in medicine, engineering, pharmacy, or social work. Many return later – as teachers, nurses, or trainers.

«We make sure that the children don't define themselves by their poverty», says Apsara. «We want them to see themselves as people with potential – not as problem cases.»

Binisha dances

The second time I see Binisha, she's dancing. A music teacher is beating a soft rhythm on the drum. Binisha raises her arms, spins, laughs. Everything is light.

I think of Bijendra Kunwar, project coordinator at Shanti, who told me on my first visit: «She used to be a commodity. Now she's a child.» Perhaps that is precisely the greatest success of this school: that children like Binisha can be children again. And that they learn to shape their own place in the world.

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