It's about 6 weeks since I last wrote, when everything still had a rose-tinted glow and I was awash with wonder at everything I was experiencing. Not much has changed since, except that I have an even deeper respect for the girls I am teaching. I have overcome the shock and awe which led me to revisit my own education and find a new respect for my teachers, and while this admiration for anyone who chooses the profession remains, it has been reinforced by a complete understanding of why they do it.

As I type, I am sitting on the roof, laptop on my knees, sipping a cup of tea that has just been brought to me by Sangita - one of the enchanting ex-circus girls who looks after us. The day's teaching is over and there is a gusty breeze playing through the trees. The sun is tingeing everything with a gentle apricot glow and I can hear the distant drum beat of a funeral procession. The surrounding hills are echoing with a clumsy but wonderful chorus of sound: children playing, the clanking saucepans signalling the preparation of evening meals, fruity-sounding horns of busses trundling up the hill, dogs barking, goats bleating and the active buzz of family life at the end of another day. This is the backdrop to my life at the moment.

It has been a turbulent month-and-a-half, with 48 hours' worth of enforced power cuts each week and a serious shortage in fuel which nearly had the country grinding to a complete halt. Even ambulances didn't have enough fuel to operate and we couldn't get art supplies because no-one had any fuel with which to drive up here. The temperature is at least getting warmer and although a warm shower is still something that dreams are made of, at least my shampoo no longer freezes at night! The crazy thing is that, despite the fact we have limited electricity and little diesel, I can still get wireless internet up on the roof!

Time has flown by - teaching during the day and designing mosaics by night. The sculpture workshop is in full swing. I have tried to provide the girls with a studio that is both relaxing and fun to be in. I have introduced music to the studio and so far they haven't objected to my taste - in fact it has even received a thumbs-up on occasion - thank you, Moby! All of the girls have completed a piece of relief sculpture modelled in clay and then cast it in plaster which has involved teaching them to mix plaster … after my first afternoon of teaching this particular skill the studio looked like there had been a explosion in a flour factory and I realised the urgency with which I needed make sure they could all mix their own plaster proficiently and quickly!

Apart from surprising me with how much they developed in just 4 days, the girls have totally surprised themselves. Every Monday I would set them the task of drawing from a picture that I had provided and they were to develop it into a sculpture. The room would echo with winging cries of 'Aun-dai-na' ('I can't do it'), and every time they did this I would mimic them back which surprised them so much that they stopped doing it!

They have produced some stunning results and have now progressed on to designing and modelling their own three-dimensional mirror surrounds in clay, casting them in plaster. The students are now in the process of covering their casts in mosaics of their own design. The results are absolutely beautiful, not necessarily because they are perfect (though some of them are nearing it), but because each one has come from a place that the creator never thought existed within themselves - the sense of pride I feel in these girls is indescribable and at times overwhelming.

Having responsibility over their own designs is not something that they relish. This is as much to do with lack of confidence as anything else, and like everything else, will come in time. In the 'design' stages, I have now taken to leaving them in the room so that I don't have to hear their protestations at having to take this step!

I have been building up a small library of source material for them to use as inspiration so that they can learn to build projects up from concept to design all the way through to a finished product. I'm not sure if they quite understand what I'm trying to achieve with them, but it is stretching their minds in all sorts of ways they have not been before - it's great to see the changes take place.

I have tried to encourage them to help each other as much as possible and to use initiative - something that is not forthcoming because of what they have been through. I have also found it hard to assess how their past might be affecting them day-to-day and have at times had to gently remind myself of the traumas they have lived through.

I am aware that I have become quite a demanding teacher and although I have encouraged them at every stage, I have pushed them quite hard to do the very best that they can. I have also realised that my often obsessively perfectionist tendencies within my own work (my brother never stops reminding me of them) have led me to expect this of them. This, I realise, is not particularly fair; but I have also developed a theory that even though they were dealt a rough blow by being sent to the circus in the first place, by the same measure they have been blessed to be rescued and given a fresh start.

During my time here I have come to the conclusion that thanks to the stigma that this country imposes on them, these survivors will probably have to work harder than everyone else to make a life for themselves: being totally soft on them will not do them many favours. That said, I make sure that everything I do or say is accompanied by a smile and I have tried as much as possible to satisfy their often unquenchable thirst for love, affection and attention.

What strikes me with increasingly harder blows is the thought that each one was sold by a parent who wanted or needed money more than they wanted these incredible, totally individual, and wonderful girls. It staggers me that in doing so their parents have forfeited watching them grow up, and missed getting to know them as I am doing now. All of their characters are blossoming in different ways. Yesterday a girl who has been rather aloof and difficult went away and came back with a piece of chewing gum for me after I had helped her with something - an amazing gesture and I was totally surprised and touched.

A parent's ability to give up their child so readily is something that we in the west have trouble coming to terms with. Since being here I have learned that, in the rural areas where these girls come from, a daughter is never really considered her parents' property and therefore not really belonging to the family - in short, she is dispensable. It has impressed upon me even further the realisation that these girls have had a lucky escape, not just from the circus but also from a rural life of servitude and suppression where a woman is considered of lower ranking than her baby son, and where independent thought and expression, or voicing an opinion is frowned upon. Here they have been given the opportunity to have all of the above... already, the effect that the workshops are having on them is quite overwhelming.

With four weeks to go, it's difficult to know how to do justice to the last 2 months. It is bigger than anything words can describe. There have been times when I have wanted to pull my hair out with exasperation when the girls just would not listen, seemed uninterested or even worse in my book, didn't even look like they could be bothered to try! And then, just when I have thought that I had them pegged, they have shown up, keen as mustard the next day, having absorbed everything I had shown them and finally using their common sense and helping each other. I have been overwhelmed at seeing them grow in front of my eyes from girls I thought were just going through the motions because they had been asked to, to girls who now arrive an hour early and just get on with it, without prompting. (It should be noted that despite being overjoyed by this development I do miss the extra hour's peace and quiet!)

I will be desperately sad to leave, and I would like to thank all those who donated so generously to make these workshops happen. I can promise that you have made a real and visible difference to 17 young girls' lives, and I apologise if I fail to do it justice in these words. Amazing, and I'll use that word again, humbling.

Rebecca's first post (January 2008)

When I arrived here, I had never taught before – and for those of you who haven’t either, I would like to share something with you: teaching is exhausting! I feel compelled to apologise to my teachers for any times I caused them to wish that they’d pursued a different career path. It’s not that I was a particularly troublesome pupil - in fact, I was a relatively quiet girl - but Art was the only thing I was ever really interested in, so teachers of other subjects had to work extra hard to keep my attention.