Sentila's secret dream

A dream that comes from home. You may think a dream means becoming a doctor or a scientist. But dreams grow from where we live. In Sentila's village, people make pots, and from a small age Sentila dreamt of making pots like her mother, Arenla, and her grandmother. Arenla wanted her to be a weaver instead. Whenever she could, Sentila slipped away to watch the expert potters, who were amused at first.

Why Arenla said no. One night Sentila overheard her mother: pot making had brought her no joy and only a pittance (very little money).

• The grey and red clay was sixteen kilometres away, down a steep drop to the riverbank, and had to be carried uphill.
• Pounding the stubborn clay was tiring.
• A batch took months, and the reward was a few rupees.

Weaving, Arenla said, paid better, gave the family cloth, was clean, and could be done indoors all year.

What Sentila watched, step by step:

• clay mixed with water and pounded;
• the left hand pushed into the soft lump, the lump turned, and a spatula in the right hand shaping it with a steady tap, tap;
• after two or three days, a final touch-up;
• drying in the sun;
• firing in a kiln on a bed of hay and dried bamboo, watched carefully, because too much or too little fire spoils the whole batch.

(Notice: no potter's wheel. The lump is turned by hand.)

The village council. The village began to gossip. The council called Sentila's father, Mesoba, and asked why Arenla would not teach her daughter. He humbly said they only wanted Sentila to grow stronger after an illness, and that she would soon make the best pots in the village.

The elders' message. They let him go, but reminded him: skills like pot making serve the people and carry their history, so they belong to no single person. Experts must pass them on, not only to their own children but to anyone who wishes to learn.