Stepping a bit further, there is a second room. Two women sitting in a circle were feeding lunch to some more children. Right next to it is a relatively larger room, where 20 or maybe 25 kids were sitting in neat rows, plates of rice in front of each of them.

A few looked up, startled by the unfamiliar face at the door and for a second something like hesitation crossed their faces. But it did not take long to overcome that hesitance. A handful ran over anyway, smiling like they'd known me for years.

But at the other end of the ground floor, there was a different kind of celebration.

Several women stood in a line, holding certificates in their hands. Their faces carried a quiet sense of confidence and relief. A large part of the room was filled with rows of sewing machines. On another side were sacks filled with rice, lentils and other household essentials. One by one, the women walked up to a banner hanging on the wall. They were smiling, sharing their journey and stories, and taking photos.

But it would be a mistake to see those certificates as just paperwork marking the end of a training course. In every step of their lives, there is a fierce struggle for survival that has only pushed them to the margins of society day after day. Our ‘well-ordered society’ never kept track of that struggle.