My DMP

Part of my job is leading a program called the DMP(Design Mentoring Program). What this means is that the Design center recruits women interested in pursuing design as their career and mentors them for a year and a half. We provide in-class workshops, training, lessons that will introduce them to the world of design. I, as the in-house-designer for the center have the task of providing these classes for them.
So far, the center has 6 DMP students. And we are planning on starting a new class in September. As this one is starting later, it will run for a year.
The 1st DMP group, the one that begun in April began with a lot more students. One by one they have stopped attending, and well, now, 4 months later we are left with only 6 BUT quite dedicated students.
I met them briefly, when I came in May, but the day we met was the day they were bidding farewell to Dani, the Bolivian designer who had been here for 3 months and had opened the world of design to them. We had no time to talk.
Yesterday was my first day with them. Of the 6 only 3 attended. Our work tends to move in this direction. We prepare, plan, and invite women to come to the center to receive training. They agree to come, sign up and then don't show up for one reason or another.
Now in our world that just seems incredible. We ask ourselves, why would these women with limited resources and work skills do this to themselves? Why don't they take advantage of such a great opportunity?
I find myself asking the same questions even though ever since I graduated university my work has been all about development work, working with people in the countryside, villages, and very retired, off-the-path places.

At the same time, I find myself always reminded of all the struggles these women face day in an day out.
Why don't they come?
I have asked my mother the same question. She leads a scholarship program in Honduras, funded by a Presbyterian church in Dayton, Ohio. She has done this work for years, and similar work all her life.
She is full of answers all the time. Well, because fulanita(so and so) didn't have the money(a quarter of a dollar) to pay for the bus to come to the house to get the scholarship money for her son.
Well, because her husband was shot and there is no one to take care of him but her.
Oh because, she makes tortillas for a living and she couldn't find anyone to take over while she came.
And on, and on, and on. She could give me a million reasons of why they don't come to receive the scholarship money, or the school supplies, or the basic foodstuff they would receive if they haven't eaten for days.
This is real. I am not making it up. She lives this. Honduras is full of this.
Then I come to Afghanistan, and when the women commit to come and receive lessons in elements of design, color theory, trends, booth design, product development, quality control, customer service, etc. I ask myself once again, why don't they come?
I find myself thinking "Why if I was them I would so take advantage of these opportunities."
But then I chastise myself as once again I remind myself that I am not them. That I have no idea of what their daily struggles to make it through each day are like. That if I was really in their situation, would I really be able to come?

Do women have freedom here? No, not much.
Can they manage their own lives? No, their husbands, fathers, brothers, and all the men around them dictate how their lives are lived.
Are they allowed to get an education? The new government states they are, and can. Yet many families, specially the traditional ones, the ones who are still stuck in the past, in Taleban-era times, firmly believe it is a waste of time to educate a woman.
And on and on and on.
So, I have 6 students. 3 came yesterday.
I am promised they will all come on Saturday.
They are brilliant. You would be astounded. I have been.
Their projects tell me so. Their manner emates so.
They had an exhibit on Monday. They recapped how they began their design experience from 2-D designs to the final products they showed us which are all their designs. They blew me away.
They were confident, composed, spoke eloquently and showed they have learned something this past 4 months.
I am full of excitment to begin working with them. Moreover, walking with them, being their older, foreign sister if they allow me to be.
As I write all of this, I am once again reminded they are willing to do it. They do want to come. It's just that when the day finally comes, they as much as me, have no idea what the day will bring, and if they will be able to make it to my classroom again.


Ps. The 6 women in my DMP class are far more priviledged than the average Afghan woman. However, they because of the priviledge of having an education, are a small percentage of the Afghan female population seeking to absorb anything and everything. They try to grab as much as they can and in doing so I believe end up spreading themselves too thin.