of jatras and julus'

new digs

The new digs

In the midst of floods, landslides and the heaviest monsoon in decades, we have moved into our new house. On top of a cart that resembled something from medieval times that would make the rounds to collect the dead—or a Monty Python film—we loaded our meager belongings and pushed through the ankle deep water to our new abode. It’s roughly the same size as the former; a stand-alone ground floor place with a, at the moment anyway, small, marshy yard. The bathroom is outside yet still connected by one wall to the house. Technically outside. Water leaking in from the rooftop down the concrete stairwell to the outdoor foyer to the bathroom has created a rather wet mosquito haven, as does being on the ground floor generally. As I squatted over the toilet yesterday morning, I killed three, and this morning I made it ten for ten. I would not make a good Jain, I suppose…

But we share no water tank here, and there is a direct line from the tap to the rooftop tank, so there will be no more tinkering with a pump continually on the blink. Our new place is in rather close quarters with other houses, and despite the smallness of the Bard, I hear people rumbling around outside—sometimes shouting to their neighbors, sometimes listening to the Nepali news at full blast—as early as 4:30 AM. The water tap for the house behind us is within sight and earshot of our kitchen window: the family lines up one by one at the tap for the brushing of teeth and the obligatory clearing of throats. We have finally figured out a milk delivery system for the morning ciyah; every morning between 5:15 and 5:45 two sisters with identical close cropped hair, nose piercings and school uniform of pleaded blue skirts arrive at our door with a small stainless steel, half liter jug of buffalo milk.

Too Much Dudh, Dude!

And the milk keeps coming… We have opted to receive an additional half-liter of milk in order to make our own yogurt. We are trying to knock back our first delivery to the more sensible 6:30 or 7:00 AM, and we are still trying to figure out the timing for the second delivery (from two different buffaloes/households), which sometimes comes on the heels of the first—30 minutes later, or so—sometimes mid-morning and sometimes in the evening. A growing group of children shows up on our doorstep at different times of the day—one to deliver the milk and the others to try and get a peek inside our house or to just observe the proceedings.

For all of its good-natured intrusiveness, I must say that in our new neighborhood (even though it isn’t that far from our old one) we are feeling a greater sense of connectedness and community, which was, for the most part, lacking in our former location. People in our immediate area seem a bit friendlier and inviting.

We picked the right day for the long journey back here from Kathmandu, for the very next day the skies opened up for 4 straight days—approximately 250 ml of rain per day! Roads, bridges and houses were washed away; the electricity and power supplies were cut for 4 days (we started catching rain water for bathing and cooking when our supply ran low) and we were generally trapped inside mopping up the water that seeped in through windows and under doors. Almost every piece of clothing we own seems to have molded…But we didn’t see the worst of it—just to the south of us, whole towns, villages and cities were cut off and many more houses were washed away or otherwise destroyed. Thankfully, we’ve had partly sunny skies for the past couple of days with only intermittent rain, which has dried things up considerably. Our water supply has returned in various forms: partly cloudy to muddy to even a vague resemblance to clear water.

I made my first trip to Janakpur today in a bout a month on the back of a motorcycle with a colleague. I tried logging on to send something out today, but, alas, all of the internet servers were down. Typical. I’ll try again in a few days hopefully… Nothing will be easy (it was never that easy) anymore since one of the bridges on the way collapsed right in the middle (still possible for bicycles, motorcycles and pedestrians to make a rollercoaster trip across, but buses have to attempt to ford the river, which they are already doing) snarling and delaying vehicles on both sides. The locals taking advantage of the economic opportunities caused by the delays have set up a makeshift market just beyond the collapsed bridge. Our big day in the city has been made more complicated.

I also made the trip to apply for a mobile phone at the Telecommunications Office—it’s a convoluted, not out of the ordinary process for Nepal: make a personal introduction and ingratiate yourself with the chief; take your forms to be stamped and looked at by several people seemingly all doing the same thing; pay your very hefty-by-Nepal-standards registration fee; take it back to the chief for one more going over, and wait for the thing to be activated. My colleagues have passed on an old phone set, so we’ll see how this works out in a few days. Reception for calls that have been made to Kathmandu have been rather lousy, but when I asked I was told that I “might” be able to receive (but not make) international calls. I doubt this will happen, but will send you the number if you’re interested…

My gut is much better, thank you, and Migyoung is doing much better as well. Gastrointestinal problems are common during this time of the year: the monsoons wreak havoc with water supplies and there have been serious outbreaks of diarrhea, cholera and typhoid. Even though public advocacy campaigns and newspapers urge individuals to boil their water for purification, most do not. Whether this is because of the considerable time and energy that goes into boiling, ignorance, or mistrust I am not sure, but even many well-informed Nepalis refuse to utilize this simple measure. I implore everyone I know to take caution; some, at least, have filters to use.

What to say about work? Things are still not progressing as seamlessly nor as quickly as I would like, but the slow nature of work and life is an inevitability that I cannot change. Communication continues to be a problem—more to do with open lines than language barriers although, of course, language interpretation creates difficult situations from time to time. As technically an advisor to the organization, one would think that I would be asked for my opinion and/or assistance; rather, it is normally me that does the asking. I probe into all the inner workings of the organization, which may at times come across as intrusiveness to my colleagues or is perhaps even seen as a threat to their authority. There are a few projects in the works, with opportunities for many more, and I am hopeful that a 4 day strategic planning session I have arranged for my organization in the coming weeks will be a good opportunity for me to re-clarify objectives and goals and work through the mission and vision of the organization in addition to reiterating my own work objectives.

A few days later:

It seems as if all of the planets must be in perfect alignment for me to accomplish some simple tasks these days. Migyoung and I made the perilous trip to Janakpur yesterday via bus, or rather, what used to be a one-bus journey of approximately an hour has turned into a 3 hour 3 bus affair. What used to be the road is now mud and water. We disembarked from one bus, sloshed our way through the mud, zigzagged our way through the mass of humanity, made the risky trip across a collapsed bridge now in the shape of a V and leaning heavily to one side as if it might drop at any moment, and waded through the waterlogged village of Mahendrenagar for another bus southward. Hundreds gathered on the bridge to watch the raging river below and the efforts of a truck to pull a bus out that had earlier and foolishly attempted to ford the river. Old women setting up makeshift vending stalls fanned buckets of coal used to char ears of corn for the hungry and growing throng of bystanders. Other barefoot woman and girls carried large sacks of rice plants on top of their heads, rushing off to the paddies to take advantage of the breaks in the rain to plant their crops. The humidity is overbearing—the air hangs thick with epidemics of typhoid and cholera; people cough and sweat. The whole scene resembles that of a crude refugee camp—a temporary village set up on the periphery disaster and disease.

While there was electricity when we left the Bard this morning, in Janakpur there was not. We bought a few supplies and waited around drinking cups of tea for the power to return and the opportunity to use email, but by late afternoon when it became apparent that the electricity would not return, we again sloshed our way back to the bus park for our return trip. What was a few weeks ago our rather easy—by Nepal standards—and enjoyable trip to the city, has now become a nightmare of logistics and luck.

Muddy, sweating and feeling rather sullen and depressed about my day’s effort to communicate with the outside world, I consoled myself with some of the striking beauty of the passing countryside: rows of women in brightly colored saris moved like little rainbows on the horizon in the paddy fields; hundreds of dragonflies hover over a field of wheat; the slow passage on foot and bicycle offering time for the renewal of friendships or even conversation with a stranger.

Posted by david at August 9, 2004 01:42 PM